Faye was making her way across the cobblestones of Blasieholmen. She realized she was feeling nervous. Her meeting with Irene Ahrnell was particularly important. Through her investment company, Ahrnell Invest, she owned a large slice of the three largest chains of department stores in Sweden. Not only was she a potential investor in Revenge, but she could help to get the products into shops. Right from the start Faye had known that Irene could determine if Revenge was going to be a success or just another of the thousands of failed hair-care products and perfumes.

It was a crazy market to launch yourself at. One of the most difficult of all. Especially for someone like Faye who had no experience or platform in that area.

She was still seething after her recent failures, the meeting with Louise Widerstr?m Bergh in V?ster?s and the lunch with Sophie Duval. The bill she’d been left with after the latter had stung, causing her to reevaluate her priorities when it came to potential investors. She’d gone through her list and struck off anyone like Sophie; they only had fool’s gold to offer anyway.

Irene Ahrnell was infinitely more crucial when it came to Faye’s chances of success. With Irene’s backing anything would be possible, internationally as well as in the domestic market.

Faye had read up on Irene until she knew practically everything about her. Raised in an affluent family in Gothenburg, educated at Yale and Oxford. She was a generous donor to women’s organizations, and supported female entrepreneurs. She had an impressive network, stretching right across Europe and the United States. The fact that Faye had been granted a meeting presumably meant that Irene was curious about her after everything that had been written about her divorce from Jack.

Faye didn’t give a damn what the reason was, the thing that mattered was that she was being given a chance to enlist Irene’s support. It was all up to her now.

Ahrnell Invest was based on the fifth floor of a handsome building dating back to the early 1800s. The view across the water was magnificent. Faye was given coffee and shown into a meeting room.

There were six chairs around the table. She remained standing, unsure where she should sit. She had been planning a rather daring opening move, but wasn’t sure how Irene Ahrnell would react. There was a risk that it could be taken as unprofessional. But her meeting with Sophie had made her realize that she couldn’t afford to let herself be easily dismissed. She needed to open with fireworks and demand the attention she deserved. Not wait politely until anyone deigned to give it to her.

Faye could feel her back sweating. She was starting to do the very thing she needed to avoid, doubting and questioning herself and the whole idea.

Irene came into the room wearing a navy-blue trouser suit. A cream silk blouse poked out of the top, Faye guessed it was one of Altuzarra’s tied blouses. She’d been hankering after one just like it, but couldn’t afford it until she had gotten her starting capital in place. She had borrowed the Stella McCartney suit she was wearing from Chris. A couple of months ago she wouldn’t have got the trousers over her knees, but now it fit perfectly. She hadn’t dared ask Chris what it had cost.

Irene put a similar mug to the one Faye had been given down on the table and held out her hand.

“Irene,” she said in a neutral voice. “We’ve got ten minutes before I need to leave.”

Chair legs scraped the floor as they sat down opposite each other.

Faye took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Reminded herself of why she was doing this. Conjured up the image of Jack thrusting between Ylva’s legs in their home, in their bed.

“How many times in your life have you been betrayed by a man?” Faye asked, forcing herself to look Irene calmly in the eye.

The image of Jack was still etched onto her retina. Her pulse rate slowed down. Her uncertainty vanished. The first shot had been fired.

Irene looked unsettled at first but quickly composed herself. Her expression switched from surprised to affronted.

“I consider that too personal a question to answer in circumstances like this.”

She looked like she was about to stand up.

Faye kept her eyes on her. Refused to let herself be put off by Irene’s initial reaction. Her intention was to shock, and there was no doubt that she had caught the investment manager’s attention. She leaned forward, folding her hands together on the conference table.

“The answer to that question is the basis of my business idea,” Faye said. “But first, note that I didn’t ask if you’d been betrayed by a man. I took it for granted that you had been. And why is that so shameful, prompting you to react the way you did? You weren’t the one who did anything wrong.”

Irene straightened her neck and leaned forward. She looked simultaneously amused and slightly unnerved. She seemed to make a decision.

“Twice,” she murmured.

Her features relaxed for a moment before she composed herself again. Outside on Strandv?gen some cars were blowing their horns angrily.

Faye nodded.

“And you’re hardly alone in that. As women, no matter what our standing in society, we will almost all of us have been betrayed by a man at least once. Yet we’re the ones who feel the shame. Who are left wondering what we did wrong. Now, why is that the case?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

Irene’s interest had definitely been piqued now. The door was ajar, and Faye needed to push through it. And be invited to stay.

“Well, I’ve certainly had good reason to think about that,” she said. “Because it’s humiliating to be abused and then rejected. Sometimes because our husbands find someone else they want to spend the rest of their lives with, sometimes because of a squalid fuck in a conference hotel in ?rebro. All the love, children, time, and effort we’ve invested. All that can be thrown away for a drunken fuck in a conference center. We’re replaceable. And they don’t appear to show any remorse. Or have the grace to feel ashamed. It’s as if it’s their right to trample all over us. And they have an invisible network that we can’t break into. Where they give each other advantages that aren’t offered to us. Because they regard us as inferior.”

Irene didn’t speak when Faye paused for breath. But the hard expression on her face had softened. She looked curious.

“Have you ever dreamed of taking revenge on a man who betrayed you, walked all over you, treated you badly?” Faye asked.

“Of course, everyone has,” Irene said, and her face suddenly looked naked and vulnerable.

Faye guessed she was seeing images in her mind. The sort of images you had to live with for the rest of your life, like war wounds, but in your heart rather than on your skin.

“And did you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Irene reflected. “I don’t actually know.”

“My ex-husband, Jack Adelheim, was unfaithful to me for years. I have no idea how many women he slept with. This spring I walked in on him while he was having sex with his finance director, Ylva Lehndorf, in our bed. And that’s only part of the betrayal. The less important part, really. I helped him build up his business empire. I can tell you the whole story some other time, over a few glasses of wine. But the short version is that he has me to thank for a lot of what he’s got now. Yet he wasn’t just unfaithful to me; when he discarded me, he left me high and dry. And you know what, Irene? I begged and pleaded with him to be allowed to forgive him so that everything could go back to normal. That was how desperate I was to save our family. Even though he had taken everything—my career, my home, my security, my self-respect. In the end, I decided that enough was enough.”

“And now . . . ?”

“Now I’m going to take it all back. Plus a bit extra.”

“How?”

They had switched roles. Suddenly, Irene was the one asking the questions. A sure sign that she was interested. She leaned closer to Faye, intrigued.

“By refusing to feel ashamed,” Faye said, pushing a sketch of the Revenge packaging across the table. “And by tapping into an enormous target market. Smart marketing needs to press a button that no one has pressed before. Personalized marketing, taken to its extreme. Storytelling combined with good products.”

Irene held the sketch up and inspected it carefully.

“What does the R stand for?”

“Revenge.”

“I see,” she said with a wry smile. “What do you need me for?”