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Stuart strode off towards the bathroom. Moments later, she heard the water running. Isobel had almost finished her make-up and was adding the finishing touches when she noticed Stuart’s suitcase lying where he’d left it. She tutted inwardly, setting down her bronzer and wheeling the case out of the way. Then she paused for a moment – Stuart had come back; she’d do something nice for him and unpack, one less job for him to do.

She lifted the case onto the bed, unclipped it and began sorting through, making a pile to send to the hotel laundry. His clothes were all casual, which seemed strange, but then he hadn’t brought work clothes on holiday, Isobel reasoned. She picked up his washbag and shaver, and was about to take them through to him in the bathroom, when something caught her eye.

Isobel frowned and hesitated, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. There was something bright red peeking through the clothes, something caught up in a pair of his boxer shorts. She knew Stuart didn’t own anything in that colour. With her thumb and forefinger, she took hold of the corner and pulled. A lurid red lace thong that she’d never seen before in her life emerged from the depths of Stuart’s case as fury surged through Isobel.

She stormed into the bathroom, which was cloudy with steam, and wrenched open the door to the shower.

‘What the hell is this?’

Stuart jumped in alarm as he turned round. He took in the red thong, which she held out to him, holding it at arm’s length as though it might explode into flames.

One look at Stuart’s face told her everything she needed to know – panic, guilt and terror flitted across it, plainly signalling his transgression.

For a moment, Isobel thought he looked so ridiculous standing there, naked, half covered in soap bubbles, that she almost wanted to laugh hysterically. But then anger, sadness, betrayal welled up inside her, and it was all she could do not to scream.

Stuart stepped towards her, and she jumped backwards.

‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ she hissed. ‘Who was she? One of your wealthy divorcee sluts, who are happy to be underneath you as well as under your knife?’

Stuart swallowed. ‘We need to talk. And you’re not going to like what I have to say.’

‘You bastard,’ she shot back, turning to march out of the room.

Stuart turned off the shower, grabbing a towel and hastily wrapping it round his waist, before following her through to the bedroom.

Isobel threw the underwear in his face. ‘You’re pathetic, disgusting—’

‘Isobel, sit down,’ Stuart said firmly.

‘Don’t you dare tell me what to—’

‘I’ve been having an affair.’

Isobel’s mouth dropped open. She knew things between her and Stuart hadn’t been perfect, but she’d never imagined he’d cheat on her like this. A one-night stand she could perhaps have forgiven, but an affair … To her horror, she felt tears welling up. Then the pieces slid into place. ‘There was no client on the mainland … You were with her.’

Stuart nodded slowly. He sank down onto the chair in front of the vanity table, where moments ago Isobel had been polishing her look.

‘Her name is Valeria Perez – the actress. It’s been going on for months now …’

Isobel couldn’t take it in. Valeria Perez was known as the Goddess from Girona, the bombshell model-turned-actress who had been linked with everyone from Tom Cruise to Antonio Banderas. What the hell was she doing with Stuart, with his slight paunch and receding hairline? She felt dizzy, as though the bottom had fallen out of her world; adrenaline was coursing through her system.

‘Is it serious?’ she whispered.

Stuart shrugged. ‘There’s something I need to tell you. The … um … the newspapers have found out about it. They’re going to publish this weekend. I’ve been speaking to my lawyers, trying to get an injunction, but they say there’s nothing they can do in Europe.’

Isobel put her fingertips to her forehead, her eyes wide with disbelief. So she was going to be humiliated, on top of everything else? Her private life splashed across the tabloids for all to see. Everyone would know that her husband had betrayed her, that she was a fool. ‘How the hell did you meet her? Was she one of your clients? Did you throw in a free facelift with every lay? I hope you’re struck off for that,’ she raged.

‘That’s how we met, but I never operated on her. She came to me, asking for work done. She wanted a facelift. I said no, she was too young – only twenty-eight. It was unethical and I wouldn’t do it.’

‘Oh, now you have morals! You wouldn’t operate on her, but you’d happily screw her behind your wife’s back.’

Stuart had the good grace to look ashamed. ‘I never meant to hurt you. It just … happened. She asked me out for a drink after the consultation. I was flattered, I suppose. I never expected …’

‘Never expected what?’ Isobel held his gaze, her eyes like chips of ice.

‘To fall in love with her.’

Isobel gasped. All her dreams lay shattered in front of her – her future, a baby, growing old together. She’d put her needs second, all these years, for Stuart, and this was how he’d repaid her. She couldn’t think straight. All she knew was she wanted to get out of there. She grabbed her bag.