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great joy to her that it was so; of course, there had been times, after babies, during crises both domestic and professional, that it had been just a little less of a delight, indeed not a delight at all; but the crises had passed, the babies had grown and slept, and they had been able to return to this extraordinary thing, so vital and so precious to their marriage.
    It surprised her when it happened, often at times when she would least have expected it, when she was exhausted or stressed, or even, indeed, after a day of quite mundane domesticity. She would look at Patrick and he at her, and they would acknowledge without a word what lay ahead, sometimes in minutes, sometimes many hours later, but they would know it was there, waiting for them, and enjoy the contemplation as much as the reality.
    People – well, many people – thought Bianca must be the dominant one in their relationship, given her position in the world, her glossy public success, but it was not so, and Patrick was not dominant either: they were rather wonderfully equal. They discussed, they argued, they compromised; moreover, they respected and enjoyed one another and their entirely complementary roles within the family. It was, she knew, or might sound so to the cynical, rather too good to be true.
    She raised her head a little now, looked at him, smiled.
    ‘Want to talk?’
    After sex they were both energised rather than tranquillised and moved into a state of emotional and intellectual closeness, discussing problems, sharing dilemmas, debating issues in a way that their standard days did not allow.
    Bianca knew this was unusual; indeed, as far as she could gather, almost unheard of. She only knew that of all the unexpected blessings in their marriage, it was perhaps the greatest.
    ‘Well actually,’ said Patrick, ‘yes, I rather do . . .’
    Bianca now found herself seriously frustrated. PDN had decided she should go on gardening leave with immediate effect, while the Farrells, or rather Athina and Caro, had refused to agree to her joining the company until the deal was signed and sealed. They were not prepared to have her installed as CEO under, as Athina put it, false pretences.
    ‘They’re so bloody arrogant,’ she said, storming into Mike Russell’s office one morning after a fruitless attempt to persuade Caro to at least let her look at the consultants’ sales figures. ‘What do they think I’m going to do, sell their secrets to Lauder?’
    ‘Probably,’ said Mike. ‘I’m sorry, Bianca, but hang on; won’t be long now.’
    ‘Let’s go on that half-term skiing holiday after all,’ Bianca said to Patrick that night. ‘I’ve got nothing to do until the wretched Farrells deign to play ball, and it would be a distraction as well as fun.’
    ‘Oh . . . right.’ Patrick looked at her, almost sharply. ‘You do realise I said we wouldn’t be going? I’m pretty busy myself now, cancelled the time off, and the Rentons have probably filled our space in the chalet?’
    ‘Darling, don’t be awkward. You know you can always get time off,’ said Bianca, ‘you only have to tell them. It’s only a week, and if the children are kicking their heels at home over half-term and I’m kicking mine with them, we’ll all go mad. I’ll have a word with Patsy, see if there’s still room for us.’
    Patsy Renton, who knew it would do her school gate cred no end of good if she announced the Baileys were going to join them in the chalet in Verbier, said she would see what she could do, while mentally already moving three sets of children into two rooms, and rang Bianca later that day to say that would be fine and they’d love to have them. ‘Just the flight to sort,’ she said.
    ‘I’ll get Patrick on to it,’ said Bianca. ‘Wonderful, Patsy, I’m thrilled.’
    And settled as contentedly as she could into some extra sessions with her personal trainer preparing herself physically for the trip – there was no way she was going to