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‘Yeah well, he doesn’t exactly advertise it. Everyone falls for the “poor me” act; they all think he’s such a hero carrying on as a single father. But it was all his fault, and he’s never faced justice. One day he’ll pay for what he did to Stephana.’ Edoardo’s expression was grim, and he clutched his whisky glass so tightly that Lucia feared it might shatter.

Instinctively, Lucia reached out and touched his arm, a gesture of comfort and reassurance. As one lonely person to another, recognizing sadness and anger within. She knew what it was like to feel unworthy in the eyes of others, to feel you had to fight to be deserving of love. ‘I feel your pain,’ she said.

Edoardo looked up and Lucia knew she’d misjudged the moment. His eyes were full of lust, a sleazy grin spreading across his face.

‘Why don’t we go up to your room?’ he suggested with an unattractive leer. ‘We could have a little fun, keep each other company …’

Lucia glanced at her pink-diamond-encrusted Chopard watch. ‘Oh my goodness, is that the time? I’m due at La Fenice for my performance and I must prepare. Waiter,’ she called, as she slipped out of the other side of the booth. ‘Get my friend another drink. Charge it all to my suite.’

In a whirl of Shalimar perfume and platinum-blonde hair, she was gone.

Edoardo stared drunkenly after her, blurrily watching her walk away, following the wiggle of her bottom in her tight dress as she sashayed across the bar.

‘Puttana,’ he swore under his breath. Bitch. She thought she was too good for him. They all did: Lucia, Marco, Gina … He hated them all. They were probably laughing at him right now. He drained his glass, slammed it down and walked unsteadily over to the bar where the barman was preparing his next drink.

The guy looked at him uncertainly before pushing it across the marble countertop towards him. Edoardo took a slug, enjoying the way the whisky burned, the way it blotted everything out for a few moments. He would have the hangover from hell in the morning, but right now he intended to drink himself into oblivion.

He knew he was drunk, but not nearly enough, yet. Allowing his resentments free rein with Lucia had opened the floodgates. If Marco was in front of him right now, he’d tear a piece off him. No – more than that – he’d sock him one, or worse! In fact, he’d knock him unconscious.

Then I’d take him out in one of the helicopters and throw him in the Lido, where he can sink to the bottom and rot.

Edoardo seated himself unsteadily at the bar, and tried to look more sober than he really felt. He desperately wanted another drink and didn’t want to get slung out. This place was up itself, and it was just the sort of thing it would do to an ordinary guy like him.

He nodded to the bartender for a whisky. ‘Make it the finest malt, the lady’s paying.’ Then he looked to his right and noticed for the first time a middle-aged couple who were sitting next to him at the bar.

They seemed to him like the usual well-heeled sorts that the White Palace attracted. The bartender placed a drinks mat in front of Edoardo, hesitating slightly as he scrutinized his boozy customer, before placing a Macallan eighteen-year-old single malt on ice before Edoardo, who picked it up and said, ‘Salute’ to the couple, before taking a swig.

The woman turned to him, clinked her G&T glass to his and said, ‘Bottoms up’ in an English accent.

‘You’re English?’ Edoardo asked and the couple nodded.

‘We’re getting married,’ she told him, ‘in a few days.’

‘A wedding and honeymoon all joined into one,’ the man added.

‘Ah, true love eh?’ Edoardo slurred, leaning his elbow on the bar, missing the first time. ‘I never got married myself, never wanted to be tied down by a woman, you know?’

‘Oh, I think there’s nothing more wonderful than having that someone special in your life, someone who will always be there for you, don’t you agree Max?’

The man smiled indulgently at his fiancée, ‘I couldn’t agree more Olivia.’ He kissed her on the cheek.

‘So, as you are footloose and fancy-free, what do you do with yourself, Mr—’

‘Conti, I’m Edoardo Conti. I fly helicopters.’ He took another slug of the Macallan, it was quite strong, and he felt the room start to sway around him a little. ‘I got my own company,’ he lied. ‘It’s a family business, but I run the show.’

‘How exciting!’ the woman said, enthusiastically, her eyes twinkling with interest. ‘Are you something to do with all the filming that’s going on? Brad Redford is one of my favourite actors, I got a glimpse of him the other day, he’s quite dreamy, I must say.’

‘Olivia, you’ve wounded me,’ Max teased.

‘Don’t be silly, darling, you know I only have eyes for you.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘My friend Gina, who works here, says that he has a body double, who looks almost like him. A very handsome chap, apparently, and he sounds as if he’s very much the expert on helicopters too. Do you know him?’ Olivia asked innocently.

Edoardo felt his anger rise again, dangerously this time. It seemed as if he couldn’t move for people who were fawning over Marco. Couldn’t he just get away from that pompous ass for five minutes? ‘Know him? You know what, signora, the man you’re talking about is a nobody, he’s a bastardo!’

Olivia pulled back slightly at this unwelcome outburst, and the barman, who had noticed the rise in volume of Edoardo’s voice, was walking towards him, shaking his head.

Edoardo stood then, wobbling on unsteady legs. He faced Olivia and Max, trying to keep his voice to a whisper, but failing. ‘Everyone thinks they are better than me, everyone! But they are all going to pay, especially Marco. One day I’m going to fix it so that he’s going to get into that helicopter and it’s going to come crashing down to the ground. If my sister is dead, then he deserves to die too.’

The bartender picked up the phone, ‘Security to the Casanova Bar immediately.’