I boarded my husband's private jet and his secretary was in my seat, feeding him peeled orange. His mother told me to be considerate. I stepped off. Then the crew asked whether I wanted the flight cancelled.

PART 1

When I came into that cabin, she was sitting in my seat beside my husband.

Aurelio's new secretary, leaning towards him, smiling, feeding him pieces of peeled orange.

She saw me and did a small gasp that was about two sizes too big for the moment.

That is the thing I keep returning to. Not the seat and not the orange.

The gasp was a performance, and a performance requires an audience, and the audience was eleven members of his executive team.

A segment fell onto his thigh and she immediately started brushing at his trousers.

She said: I'm so sorry, Mr Vantrelle.

Mr Vantrelle. Eleven months in that role and she was still using the surname, in a cabin, with her hand on his leg.

Nobody does both of those at once by accident.

He made no attempt to move her hand.

Four seconds, maybe five, of a woman's hand on his thigh in a cabin containing his wife, his mother, and eleven people who report to him.