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Beneath were the bank account numbers again. Camille let out a cry of fear, before clamping her hand over her mouth. She couldn’t lose control, not now. She had an incredibly important day ahead of her, and thanks to Nicolas they were so close to exposing the blackmailer.

She pictured Isobel rising early and creeping around the hotel, hanging around in the corridor by Camille’s room, slipping the waiter fifty euros to deliver the note along with the breakfast tray …

Camille’s face hardened. She wouldn’t let her get away with it. Isobel MacFarlane wasn’t going to destroy everything Camille had built and worked for, for almost three decades.

She strode over to the phone and dialled the extension for Nicolas’s room.

‘No more playing nice,’ she told him, her eyes narrowing, her pulse racing. ‘I’m not taking the risk. Let’s call the police. Now.’

It was early afternoon when Isobel returned to her room to get ready for the Camille Andre show. She’d had a relaxing morning, going for a leisurely swim followed by lunch on the terrace, but it was impossible not to be caught up in the buzz that was sweeping through the hotel. Many of the celebrities who’d been at the yacht party were staying at the palacio, and Isobel felt a surge of excitement whenever she spotted a famous face – Vanessa Paradis in the lobby, or Thandie Newton by the pool.

There were plenty of comings and goings, with cars arriving and couriers leaving, and the area by the Sunset Room was a hub of activity. Isobel felt excited to be part of it, thrilled that she would be attending the Camille Andre show as though she were a VIP too. It felt like justice. If life had worked out the way it should have, she would have been there anyway, Isobel thought bitterly, a tingle of anticipation running through her at the thought of what was to come.

She dressed with care, knowing that today was important, and wanting to look her best. She’d selected a navy-and-white wide-legged jumpsuit from her own collection, accessorized with her tan Camille bag. There would be press and cameras, and Isobel wanted to ensure that she blended in with the glamorous guests; she didn’t want to stand out and draw attention to herself.

Now, she was sitting in front of the vanity mirror, Gwen Stefani playing on MTV in the background, and a glass of sparkling Asti in her hand as she finished getting ready.

She took a sip of wine as she reflected on the evening she’d spent with Paulo. Now that had been interesting, and a slow, secret smile played across her lips as she regarded herself in the mirror … They’d both been a little drunk, and not a little indiscreet. Paulo had turned out to be a lot more useful than she’d originally given him credit for. Being a long-time friend of the Fontaines meant he was privy to all kinds of secrets. Ones which Isobel was sure the family wouldn’t want to be revealed.

Isobel had used every drop of her charm on Paulo, coaxing him to share what he knew. She could see that he was desperate to reveal all, to brag about his closeness with the family. They’d traded stories of how Camille and Andre’s marriage wasn’t as perfect as they’d led the public to assume. Isobel wasn’t shocked by that – when she’d interned for them all those years ago, it was obvious that Andre was a philanderer. The atelier had been rife with rumours of his cheating, and Isobel had been warned that he had an eye for pretty young interns. By all accounts, women fell at his feet and he could take his pick, whilst Camille slaved away in the office, working to make the business a success.

No, Andre’s infidelity was hardly a surprise. What Paulo had found surprising was the rumour that Camille hadn’t been faithful, and it was even possible that … Oh, it was too delicious! Yes, it seemed that – over the years – Camille had accumulated a significant amount of dirty laundry, and now it was time for it to be aired in public.

Isobel jumped in fright as she heard the door click and realized someone was in the room with her. She leapt to her feet, letting out a cry as she spun around.

‘Stuart!’ she burst out, as she saw her husband standing there. ‘What are you—?’

‘Isobel, I’m back,’ he said, dropping his suitcase by the door, they stared at each other for a moment. Isobel was confused by his sudden appearance, and surprised to find she wasn’t overjoyed to see him – she was getting used to being on her own and had been quite enjoying herself.

He came towards her and kissed her on her cheek, and Isobel felt a flash of anger. He had swanned off with barely an explanation, and now here he was, as cool as anything.

Stuart stood back, his hands on her waist, taking her in. His eyes ran over her. ‘Christ, you look amazing.’

‘Thank you. I’m attending the fashion show this afternoon. Camille Andre – the handbags,’ she added. ‘We dined with Camille the other night – Lucas’s mother.’

‘Oh yes, of course,’ Stuart nodded, and Isobel thought he looked stressed for once.

‘But why are you here? I thought you were in Spain for a few more days?’

‘I … I needed to get back here … to see you.’ Stuart reached out to embrace her.

‘Careful,’ Isobel wriggled in his grasp. ‘I’ve spent ages doing my hair.’

‘It’s so good to see you again,’ he sighed.

‘So … no more work, this holiday?’

Stuart shook his head. ‘No. No more work.’

Isobel felt a wave of relief wash over her as she allowed herself to sink into Stuart’s arms. Perhaps she was glad to have him back. No more dining alone, no more filling up the time aimlessly. Sure, she had his credit card, but it wasn’t the same as having him to treat her. She felt a wave of guilt over the evening with Paulo, memories of the time they’d spent together troubling her conscience … She would get this show out of the way, then she and Stuart could go back to enjoying their holiday.

‘What time do you have to leave?’ Stuart asked.

‘In about half an hour.’

‘I’ll jump in the shower quickly, then we can talk.’

‘Sure, darling,’ Isobel beamed.