He slapped her.

She stared at him, her ears ringing, the impact of the slap like an echo on her face. He’d never hit her before. She didn’t know what she found more amazing; the fact he’d managed to surprise her, or that he’d even thought of trying to hit her in the first place.

He stood in front of her, his eyes wide.

She shook her head, smiled brightly and said, “Oh, boy,” then punched him hard in the jaw. Jyr’s head snapped back; he fell crashing into the dressing-table behind, scattering bottles, pots, jars and brushes. He slid to the floor; perfumes and lotions spilled from smashed bottles and made dark stains on the tiles around him.

She turned, picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. She hoisted a small satchel from the side of the bed and put it over her other shoulder. Jyr moaned, lying face down on the floor. The room began to reek of expensive perfume.

She inspected the knuckles on her left hand, frowning. “Get out of my house, now,” she said. “Phone?” she spoke to the room.

“Ready,” chimed a voice.

“Stand by,” she said.

“Standing by.”

She tapped Jyr on the backside with one boot. “You’ve got two minutes before I call the police and report an intruder.”

“Oh gods, my jaw,” Jyr whimpered, getting to his knees and holding his chin. The back of his head was bleeding. Bits of broken glass fell from him as he stood, shakily. She took a couple of steps away from him, watching him carefully. He almost fell again, then put one hand out to the dressing-table to steady himself. “You’ve broken my jaw!”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Not with an upper cut.” She glanced at the bedside clock. “That’s you down to about a minute and a half now, I’d say.”

He looked at her. “You fucking heartless bitch.” His voice was quite steady.

She shook her head. “No, Jyr, I never liked it when you talked dirty.” She looked away from him. “Phone?”

“Standing by.”