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He stood up and answered the call, turning away from her and walking swiftly to the back of the boat. The vessel was only small, but from his body language it was clear that he wanted the call to stay private. He spoke in a rapid, low stream of Spanish. Stephanie could pick out the occasional word – ‘Palma’, ‘noche’ – but understood very little.

She watched him as he spoke, his back broad, his skin tanned, his manner cocky. He was definitely a bad boy, but there was something appealing about him and Stephanie wasn’t immune to his charm. She liked the way he flirted so openly, the way his eyes teased when he looked at her. He let out a peel of throaty laughter, followed by a final burst of Spanish before ending his call.

‘Sorry about that,’ Paulo apologized, as he strolled back to where she was sitting. ‘Just a bit of business. Now, where were we?’ he asked, as he picked up his beer and clinked it against hers. ‘Oh yes, you were going to tell me everything there is to know about the captivating Stephanie Moon. And I mean everything.’

Stephanie burst out laughing, unable to help herself. Paulo clearly spelt trouble, but he could certainly make the next couple of weeks a lot more interesting.

Nicolas Martin swore lightly under his breath as the limousine inched forwards, and the air around him was filled with the noise of dozens of car horns, as angry drivers vented their frustration at the New York traffic. Vehicles had ground to a halt on the George Washington Bridge – which at least afforded him a good view of the city – but he was in a hurry to make his flight, and anxiously checked his wristwatch.

Nicolas was heading for Teterboro Airport, just across the Hudson in New Jersey. Whilst he knew his private jet wouldn’t leave without him, he was eager to get going, impatient to begin his journey now that he’d decided on a course of action.

He wasn’t going to give up on Camille, and he refused to let her simply walk out of his life. They’d known one another for so long now that it was impossible to imagine never seeing her again. It had been hard enough not to be in contact these last few days, which was probably the longest they’d gone without speaking in more than twenty years. Nicolas had lost count of the number of times he’d gone to pick up the phone to call her, before remembering his resolution and hanging up.

Nicolas’s heart ached without Camille. He was barely eating, struggling to sleep, and he’d uncharacteristically completely lost interest in his work. He couldn’t go on like this – which was why he was heading to Mallorca.

The plan had always been for Nicolas to attend the launch – after all, it was a collaboration between Camille Andre and American Athletics. But more than that, it was a huge occasion for Camille, and Nicolas wanted to be by her side, just as he’d been for every other major event in her life: the launch of her company, her marriage to Andre, the birth of her son. In fact, Nicolas had seen Lucas even before Andre had – Andre had been overseas visiting a supplier and his return flight had been cancelled, so Nicolas reached the hospital before him. And, of course, he’d been the first person Camille had called after the accident, and the one she’d turned to ever since.

Nicolas wanted to fix everything in Camille’s world. He instinctively took care of her, determined to resolve every issue and smooth over any trouble. He did it because he loved her – always had, always would.

But now Nicolas was beginning to question how Camille seemed to take his support for granted. Was he destined to always be her fixer, his only role to troubleshoot her problems? Nicolas wanted to be more than that. He wanted to be her lover again. He wanted to be her husband and for them to grow old together.

The traffic started moving suddenly, the hold-up magically disappearing as they crossed the bridge into New Jersey. Nicolas rubbed his temples, feeling the beginnings of a tension headache.

At least now he had a valid reason to see Camille – the fusion fashion line between their companies had been a long time in the pipeline, a crucial pivot for both brands. But he knew that it wasn’t strictly business driving his need to get there. The last few turbulent years had thrown up a lot of questions; now Nicolas was heading to Mallorca, and he wanted answers.

Chapter 8

The pretty little town of Valldemossa was picture-perfect and felt like stepping back in time. It was situated on top of a hill, its honey-coloured stone buildings clustered higgledy-piggledy on the side of the slopes, surrounded by the spectacular Tramuntana mountains. Isobel and Stuart were strolling through the picturesque old town, winding their way through narrow, cobbled streets where bougainvillea ran riot across the walls of the ancient houses, the buildings adorned with wrought-iron balconies and emerald-green shutters.

Isobel was in her element browsing the artisan shops, looking at the trinkets and the jewellery, unable to resist buying some of the beautiful textiles for inspiration. Stuart seemed on edge, showing little interest in the hand-painted vases his wife had fallen in love with.

‘Darling, I know shopping isn’t your favourite activity in the world, but do try to be a little more enthusiastic. Oh, look at those stunning candles, wouldn’t they look perfect in the dining room?’

‘Mmm,’ Stuart replied distractedly. He pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. Isobel watched him and frowned.

‘Are you expecting a call?’

‘What? Oh no, just checking I haven’t missed anything important.’

‘We’re on holiday. Try to switch off a little. I’m sure your colleagues can cope if anything happens. Ooh, have you seen those batik dresses?’

Isobel raced off, as Stuart lagged behind like a sulky schoolboy. Isobel could feel herself growing increasingly irritated. Why was her husband determined to be in a bad mood? They were on vacation, and there was nothing more taxing to do than laze by the pool, order delicious cocktails, and have the occasional trip out to a nearby village. It felt like heaven to Isobel, but Stuart was acting as though it was torture.

It was as though they’d never left Scotland, Isobel thought in frustration. Stuart was here in body, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. She might as well be on her own – she’d probably have more fun, she thought resentfully. Take last night, for example: they’d both been on a high after their meal at Il Paradiso, where they’d dined with two bona fide movie stars – not to mention Stephanie Moon, who’d been very sweet, and Isobel hoped she’d make good on her promise to let her design a gown for her.

Isobel and Stuart had returned to the hotel, had a nightcap at the bar, then gone back to their room and made love. It was a sultry night, and Isobel had taken a shower afterwards, the water cooling her skin, but when she’d stepped out she’d found Stuart still awake and working on his laptop. It had been the same thing that morning after breakfast – Stuart had jumped straight on his laptop, muttering unhappily about the hotel’s Wi-Fi connection. Isobel had practically had to drag him out of their room when their car arrived, and now he was being sulky and distant.

She browsed the rails in the boutique with a practised eye, taking in the styles and shapes. This shop was full of beautiful beach dresses, light and flowing, in bright colours and exquisite prints. Isobel pulled one out admiringly, holding it up against her body.

‘Would you like to try?’ the saleswoman asked in English.

‘Yes please,’ Isobel nodded, selecting a couple more items and calling out, ‘Stuart, I’ll be a few minutes, I’m just going to try these.’

Stuart sighed, looking bored. ‘OK.’

Isobel stepped into the cubicle and began to undress, wondering what was going on with her husband. In truth, it felt as though things hadn’t been great in their marriage for a while now. When they were at home, it was easy to paper over the cracks, falling back on the excuse that they both led busy lives. They’d become like ships that passed in the night, due to Stuart’s high-pressure career and Isobel’s boutique, as though justifying why they spent so little time with each other. Now that they were together twenty-four seven, it showed just how far apart they’d drifted, and how little they had in common any more. Conversation was sometimes stilted, and they rarely had fun; Isobel couldn’t remember the last time Stuart had made her laugh.

She smoothed the material of a blue-and-white porcelain print dress over her hips then stood back to admire her reflection. She was pleased with what she saw, and she pulled back the curtain, emerging into the shop.