He looked at her, his eyes big, aiming for puppy dog but coming across as pleading. “So why does it feel like you’re avoiding me? Don’t you like me anymore?”

His fingers were working their way under the fabric of her swimsuit.

“You’ve just been on holiday with your wife and child.” She squirmed away, but he pulled her back hard.

“Oh, playing hard to get today, are we? You’re usually gagging for it.” His voice was low and throaty and, instead of making her feel desirable, she felt nauseous.

She pushed his hands away again and stepped back decisively.

“No, Peter, not today. I have a lot going on.” She turned away and faffed with folding the soiled towel.

“Right.” His voice had chilled now. She could feel his eyes boring into her, as though her intentions were written as clear as day on the back of her swimming costume.

“Peter, we should probably not do this anymore…” She used to be so much better at breaking hearts, but this felt cumbersome.

“Oh, I get it. You’ve had your fun and now you’re bored.” He was sulking like a school boy. The sulk quickly turned into a scowl. “You rich bitches are all the same.”

“Don’t let your wife hear you say that. We pay her mortgage.” Helen couldn’t keep the chill from her voice. She was starting to wonder what she had ever seen in him, if anything. He’d scratched an itch. Now the itch had turned septic.

Peter launched off the lounger towards her and she stepped backwards, feeling the edge of the pool beneath her heels. “Don’t you dare mention my wife. You have a helluva lot more to lose than me. That teacher husband of yours – I wonder what he would think if this little arrangement was made public. No doubt that fancy school wouldn’t be too pleased if you were the talk of the village. Again. And you could probably kiss this lovely big manor house goodbye.”

That was where he was wrong. This lovely big manor house belonged to Helen. It had nothing to do with Hugh, but men always liked to assume it was the woman that was financially dependent.

“What do you mean by again?”

“Oh, come on, we all remember the stories about you. Part of me was curious more than anything else. You know, whether you’re still as much of a goer as you used to be. I guess once a slut, always a slut.”

He was right up in her face, to the point that she was arching her back to put space between them, but not so far that she fell backwards into the pool again.

“Peter, you’re fired. You need to leave.”