As usual Riche was packed. Chris ordered a bottle of cava. By then they were too drunk to need champagne. That would be a waste of money, and Faye actually preferred cava and prosecco to champagne anyway. In a blind tasting she might well not have been able to tell the difference.

There was a swaying, intoxicated wall of flesh over by the bar. Most of them were a few years older than her. It was hardly surprising that Riche was known as the divorce ditch. It was a meat market for middle-aged divorcees, where the size of men’s wallets mattered more than the size of their cocks. And where women who’d had far too much Botox clung desperately to the delusion that they could pass for twenty in the right lighting.

The bottle arrived in an ice bucket and Faye raised her glass to Chris.

“To freedom,” she said, then realized it sounded more pompous than she had intended.

The alcohol had reduced her ability to filter out banalities.

But Chris looked her seriously in the eye.

“Well, it only took you thirteen years to realize,” she said. “But now you’re free. Cheers! To Jack! May the Lord have mercy on him!”

She giggled.

“Do you think I can succeed?” Faye said, putting her glass down. “With Revenge?”

“I think the first part, finding investors, will be the easy bit. Like you said, we’ve all been hurt. One way or another. We all want to get our own back, and can identify with your message. It’s a stroke of genius from a PR and marketing perspective. Vengeance sells.”

Chris grinned and emptied her glass. A waiter hurried over to refill it. They were used to thirsty women here.

“It’ll take a few years. Is that crazy? That I’m prepared to devote so much time to getting my revenge?”

Faye felt a flicker of doubt.

“No. Not when you think about what he’s done. Is your conscience starting to get at you?”

Before Faye had time to answer, Chris went on, her glass raised halfway to her mouth, “Don’t forget that you helped build up Compare. Without you, Jack and Henrik would never have succeeded. Getting divorced is fine, it happens, but it’s not fine to leave your previous life partner and the mother of your child out on the street. Not after all you’ve done, and everything you’ve had to put up with. All the shit he put you through. And by that I don’t just mean after you split up.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right.”

“A man would never think the way you do. He’d press on without hesitation.”

A figure appeared at the end of the table and Faye looked up. A guy in his mid-twenties met her gaze. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt and dark trousers. His arms were covered in tattoos. Close-cut hair, full lips. He was impossibly handsome. Like a young Jack.

“Sorry to bother you,” he said, “but my friends and I are tired of standing at the bar being jostled by the other losers. We were wondering if we could seek asylum at your table? Or at least apply for a temporary visa?”

A few feet away two more guys raised their hands in greeting.

“Just one moment,” Chris said.

“Sure, I’ll be over there,” he said, and went back to his friends.

Chris laughed.

“What do you say?” she asked.

Faye shrugged.

“Why not?”

“Because only a few months ago you would have been embarrassed to sit here with three handsome young men.”

“I was married then. Besides, men have always hung out with younger women without feeling embarrassed. It’s high time we learned to do the same, and—”

She fell silent abruptly when she found herself looking directly into Alice’s eyes. She was sitting with a group of people a few tables away. When she saw that Faye had seen her she turned away at once.

“Let them come, it’ll be fun,” she said, and drained her glass.

She could feel Alice’s stare burning into her as she got her glass refilled, and noticed them sitting there whispering.

Chris ordered two more bottles of cava and made room for the young men. All three were wide-eyed, pleasant, and clearly impressed. Faye couldn’t help thinking that this generation of men was very different from Jack’s. To them, successful women weren’t at all frightening. They treated them with friendly curiosity and asked about Chris’s work. They showed nothing but admiration for what she had achieved.

She could understand the appeal of being surrounded by young, attractive people. It was intoxicating.

The conversation flowed easily, if very much on a superficial level. Nothing seemed complicated to these young men, who hadn’t yet been weighed down by life. They flirted shamelessly. Faye’s cheeks flushed, from both the wine and their compliments. The whole time she felt Alice and her table keeping an eye on proceedings. There wasn’t enough Botox in the world to hide the looks of horror on their faces. The only question was whether they would be able to lower their eyebrows again afterward.

Jack would be furious, yell at her, but he couldn’t hurt her. What she did was no longer any of his concern. Or who she did it with. The thought intoxicated her even more than the cava. And for the first time in many months she felt the stirrings of interest between her legs. She grabbed hold of the guy in the black T-shirt, the one who had approached them first, pulled him toward her, and kissed him. She started to get wet from the feel of his tongue against hers, his hands on her thighs. She kept her eyes on Alice the whole time.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds. When their faces parted she nodded toward Alice, reached for her glass, and raised it in a toast. Alice stared back at her, then turned demonstratively toward the person on the other side of her.

“What’s your name?” Faye laughed, focusing her attention on the guy in the black T-shirt.

She could tell from his eyes that he wanted her, and when she glanced down she could see a bulge in his trousers. She had to stop herself from stroking his erection there and then, under the table at Riche. Instead she leaned toward him so he could get a better view of her cleavage. She knew her nipples were clearly visible, rock-hard against the fabric of the dress. Chris, as usual, had persuaded her not to wear a bra.

“Robin,” he said, staring at her breasts. “My name’s Robin.”

“I’m Faye. And I’m planning to go home with you tonight.”

She leaned forward and kissed him again.

—

Faye woke up with a thumping headache. Memories of the previous day flashed past as she stretched. Her hand bumped into a tattooed arm, hard with muscle. Faye got up from the bed, walked over to the window and looked out. A parking lot and some blocks of flats. The sky was mottled and gray. Behind her the young man with the tattooed arm moved. Robert? Robin?

“What time is it?” he mumbled sleepily.

“No idea,” Faye said. “But it’s probably time for me to get going.”

She felt uncomfortable in this small apartment in Solna.

“That’s a shame.”

He stretched out on the black bedclothes and looked at her with puppy-dog eyes. Faye’s head was thudding out memories of last night. Hell, it had been a while since she’d had sex in a single bed in a cramped studio with all the usual accoutrements—glass table, black leather sofa, a yucca plant, and the obligatory collection of Absolut vodka bottles on a shelf on the wall. Young guys seemed able to withstand any changes in fashion.

“Really?” she said, looking around for her clothes. “What are you going to do today?”

“I thought I’d chill. Watch some soccer.”

“Chill,” she mimicked, unable to stop herself. “Sadly this old lady hasn’t got time to chill today. I need to get home.”

“You’re no old lady . . .” He smiled in a way that was simultaneously cute and sexy. “Can I have your number?”

“Sorry, sweetie. It’s been a lot of fun. But me and men aren’t a good fit right now.”

She heard how bitter she sounded. The previous evening had gone flat, her hangover was thudding against her skull and her tongue felt badly furred.

He laughed and threw the pillow at her. She jumped out of the way.

“You’re very sexy, you know that?” he said.

He got up from the bed. Naked. His abs glistened as he turned to face her. She drank in the sight of him. She’d forgotten how quickly young men could recharge. The night was a blur, but she remembered losing count of the number of times he had taken her.

He walked toward her and she backed against the window with a smile. The glass felt cool on her backside. Robin kissed her. Pressed himself closer to her. She felt his erection against her thigh. Felt her body shouting for more. She sat on the windowsill. His face roamed over her body. Nipping, kissing, tickling. Her thighs, her crotch, her stomach. She groaned loudly, grabbed hold of his head and pushed it down between her legs. Leaned back and allowed herself to simply enjoy it. Without feeling that she had to do anything in return. He was happy for the chance to satisfy her, taking pleasure from her pleasure. Which was something she hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

When she came she stroked the back of his neck and let out a loud laugh.

This was a new phase of life, and it was her turn to enjoy it.