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said, but you get my drift. The trouble is, I wouldn’t even know where to apply, because the whole thing’s so shrouded insecrecy that not even the supermarket managers seem to know who’s behind it.’
    Looking at the paper again, Emma remarked, ‘Well, all I can say is he or she must be pretty well off to be doing something like this.’
    ‘And the owner of a pretty big heart too, so, let’s drink to them, whoever they are. Long may their angels fly and even longer may their loot last.’

Chapter Three
    ‘IS THAT ALL you can say to me?’ Sylvie Lomax cried furiously, her French accent slurring awkwardly around the words that were already being formed with difficulty. She’d been beautiful once, and vestiges of it remained, but right now temper and excess were torturing the loosening flesh of her pale cheeks, and turning her bloodshot blue eyes to watery pools of confusion and anger. ‘You’re sorry, but you’re not changing your mind?’
    ‘OK, how about this?’ Russell Lomax shot back angrily. ‘I’m not prepared to waste any more time going over this again and again ...’
    ‘I’m not yesterday’s paper that you can just throw out ...’
    ‘Try some new lines, I’m getting pretty sick of that one.’
    Looking as though she’d been struck, she said, ‘You are turning into a monster. You are not the man I married ...’
    ‘I’ve heard those too. Now, I’m leaving and if you ever pull a stunt like last night’s again I swear to God I’ll call the police.’
    Anguish was rushing through her so fast that she stumbled against the table as she tried to grab him. ‘Russ, stop,’ she cried wretchedly. ‘Please. I know I shouldn’t have ... Russ, please don’t go. We need to talk ...’
    With his back still turned he closed his eyes in furious frustration. ‘There’s nothing left to say,’ he growled. ‘You have to get a grip, Sylvie ...’
    ‘I’m trying, you know that, but I love you, Russ. I can’t go on without you.’
    He didn’t turn round, but for the moment he couldn’t quite make himself walk away.
    Sylvie’s face was starting to tremble with all the terrible emotions crushing her heart: fear, desperation, jealousy, hate, love at its very worst and most painfully intense.
    When he finally turned round her husband’s handsome face was still taut with anger, and there was no light of forgiveness or even affection in his harsh brown eyes. ‘You know I want a divorce ...’
    More panic surged through her. ‘No! I am not giving you a divorce. You are my husband ...’
    ‘You are the one who walked out on me,’ he reminded her cuttingly. ‘This is your flat, the one that you bought so you could live your own life, away from me.’
    ‘Not away from you, only independently now and again. It is for when I want to see my friends and do some shopping.’
    Though Russ knew very well that its purpose was to provide her with somewhere she could down as much wine or vodka as she pleased without anyone trying to stop her, he didn’t bother to point it out. She knew he knew and he really didn’t want to get into yet another row about that right now.
    ‘It isn’t where I want to be all of the time,’ she went on plaintively. ‘I need to come home, Russ ...’
    ‘No. What you need is to find yourself a lawyer so that we can both get on with our lives.’
    ‘No! No, no, no. I am not giving you a divorce just so you can marry the little tart you ’ave been screwing in my bed, in the house that I bought ...’
    ‘ We bought,’ he corrected, ‘and I’ve told you a hundred times, if you want me to sell it ...’
    ‘Of course I don’t want you to sell it. It’s our home, it is where our children ...’
    ‘I can’t have this conversation again,’ he cut in savagely. ‘You know very well that our marriage isn’t working and hasn’t been for years ...’
    ‘That isn’t true. It has been for me ... Russ, please. My whole life is with you, and our sons. They need us to be