“Thanks to Luigi Manzini,” sniffed Molly. “I think he’s rather dishy, don’t you? All that money, and they tell me he isn’t even married.”

‘Dishy’ was just the sort of word you’d expect to hear from Molly, Melissa thought. Thirty pounds overweight on a five-foot-two-inch frame, her mousy hair in a perpetual state of frizz, at the age of forty Molly had somehow managed to retain the vocabulary and outlook of an adolescent schoolgirl. The idea of someone like the suave Manzini looking twice in her direction was laughable. Her own chances, she rated somewhat higher. Now, now, Melissa, she chided herself, you’re a respectable married woman. Still, there was something about that man; some sort of feral attraction that had nothing to do with wealth or physical features; some aura of power. Power, she had once read, was the ultimate aphrodisiac.

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