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But it turns out Katie actually had an affair of her own, embarking upon a steamy romance with a married man. It certainly wasn't love at first sight - or even lust - with Katie admitting she 'recoiled' the first time she google lurked the high-profile showbiz man who had begged their mutual friend for an introduction.

Not one to let the icks rain on her parade, and believing he was single, she admitting, "He wasn't exactly the dark, tanned sort I usually fall head over heels for.

Deciding there was no harm in getting to know him, they started furiously texting and Katie quickly got swept up in his eagerness.

Within hours of landing back from a work trip to LA, he rocked up at her home in his sports car and they started snogging on the sofa.

Nevertheless, she persevered, hoping he might be something of a 'dark horse', but he instead turned out to be a bedpost notch she wished she'd never bothered to carve.

Instead of handling me gently and passionately he was like a cordless drill on a multi-speed setting. Then she had a depressing realisation - "Mr X wasn't having sex with me.

He was having sex at me. The reason for his 'efficiency' became clear when it emerged he was not only married, but had three children.

Katie tried to end it, but said Mr X explained he was going through a divorce and their four-month fling continued.

Albeit with atrocious sex. She was looking for more than a no-strings deal though, and his excuses for not staying the night soon began to wear thin.

So when Leo came crawling back looking like he'd 'been working out loads', Katie couldn't resist and started seeing the two of them casually at the same time.

And as she grew closer to Leo, she learned something that made her realise what a bad egg Mr X was. He'd pulled up in a Limo and sauntered in draped around another woman.

So that was that. It was out with Mr X and in with Leonardo and peace was restored. Summer and people concept. Neon Female Logo Background.

Neon Male Logo Background. Woman swinging her feet by the lake sitting on the edge of a wooden dock. Female sitting on a bench in a picturesque place.

Beautiful woman relaxing near the lake. Valentine Gift. Young Girl holding white wooden heart with rose petals. Those fishy blue eyes held a look I never saw there before.

Now, you mustn't laugh when I tell you this--I did feel something like a sudden chill. The sea was as flat as a plate-glass window.

We were drawing near the island then. What I felt was a--a mental chill; a sort of sudden dread. But sometimes I think sailors have an extra sense that tells them when they are in danger.

Sometimes I think evil is a tangible thing--with wave lengths, just as sound and light have. An evil place can, so to speak, broadcast vibrations of evil.

Anyhow, I'm glad we're getting out of this zone. Well, I think I'll turn in now, Rainsford. See you at breakfast.

Good night, Whitney. Rainsford, reclining in a steamer chair, indolently puffed on his favorite brier. The sensuous drowsiness of the night was on him.

Off to the right he heard it, and his ears, expert in such matters, could not be mistaken. Again he heard the sound, and again. Somewhere, off in the blackness, someone had fired a gun three times.

Rainsford sprang up and moved quickly to the rail, mystified. He strained his eyes in the direction from which the reports had come, but it was like trying to see through a blanket.

He leaped upon the rail and balanced himself there, to get greater elevation; his pipe, striking a rope, was knocked from his mouth.

He lunged for it; a short, hoarse cry came from his lips as he realized he had reached too far and had lost his balance. The cry was pinched off short as the blood-warm waters of the Caribbean Sea dosed over his head.

He struggled up to the surface and tried to cry out, but the wash from the speeding yacht slapped him in the face and the salt water in his open mouth made him gag and strangle.

Desperately he struck out with strong strokes after the receding lights of the yacht, but he stopped before he had swum fifty feet.

A certain coolheadedness had come to him; it was not the first time he had been in a tight place. There was a chance that his cries could be heard by someone aboard the yacht, but that chance was slender and grew more slender as the yacht raced on.

He wrestled himself out of his clothes and shouted with all his power. The lights of the yacht became faint and ever-vanishing fireflies; then they were blotted out entirely by the night.

Rainsford remembered the shots. They had come from the right, and doggedly he swam in that direction, swimming with slow, deliberate strokes, conserving his strength.

For a seemingly endless time he fought the sea. He began to count his strokes; he could do possibly a hundred more and then-- Rainsford heard a sound.

It came out of the darkness, a high screaming sound, the sound of an animal in an extremity of anguish and terror. He did not recognize the animal that made the sound; he did not try to; with fresh vitality he swam toward the sound.

He heard it again; then it was cut short by another noise, crisp, staccato. Ten minutes of determined effort brought another sound to his ears--the most welcome he had ever heard--the muttering and growling of the sea breaking on a rocky shore.

He was almost on the rocks before he saw them; on a night less calm he would have been shattered against them. With his remaining strength he dragged himself from the swirling waters.

Jagged crags appeared to jut up into the opaqueness; he forced himself upward, hand over hand. Gasping, his hands raw, he reached a flat place at the top.

Dense jungle came down to the very edge of the cliffs. What perils that tangle of trees and underbrush might hold for him did not concern Rainsford just then.

All he knew was that he was safe from his enemy, the sea, and that utter weariness was on him. He flung himself down at the jungle edge and tumbled headlong into the deepest sleep of his life.

When he opened his eyes he knew from the position of the sun that it was late in the afternoon. Sleep had given him new vigor; a sharp hunger was picking at him.

He looked about him, almost cheerfully. Where there are men, there is food," he thought. But what kind of men, he wondered, in so forbidding a place?

An unbroken front of snarled and ragged jungle fringed the shore. He saw no sign of a trail through the closely knit web of weeds and trees; it was easier to go along the shore, and Rainsford floundered along by the water.

Not far from where he landed, he stopped. Some wounded thing--by the evidence, a large animal--had thrashed about in the underbrush; the jungle weeds were crushed down and the moss was lacerated; one patch of weeds was stained crimson.

A small, glittering object not far away caught Rainsford's eye and he picked it up. It was an empty cartridge.

It must have been a fairly large animal too. The hunter had his nerve with him to tackle it with a light gun.

It's clear that the brute put up a fight. I suppose the first three shots I heard was when the hunter flushed his quarry and wounded it.

The last shot was when he trailed it here and finished it. They pointed along the cliff in the direction he had been going.

Eagerly he hurried along, now slipping on a rotten log or a loose stone, but making headway; night was beginning to settle down on the island.

Bleak darkness was blacking out the sea and jungle when Rainsford sighted the lights. He came upon them as he turned a crook in the coast line; and his first thought was that be had come upon a village, for there were many lights.

But as he forged along he saw to his great astonishment that all the lights were in one enormous building--a lofty structure with pointed towers plunging upward into the gloom.

His eyes made out the shadowy outlines of a palatial chateau; it was set on a high bluff, and on three sides of it cliffs dived down to where the sea licked greedy lips in the shadows.

But it was no mirage, he found, when he opened the tall spiked iron gate. The stone steps were real enough; the massive door with a leering gargoyle for a knocker was real enough; yet above it all hung an air of unreality.

He lifted the knocker, and it creaked up stiffly, as if it had never before been used. He let it fall, and it startled him with its booming loudness.

He thought he heard steps within; the door remained closed. Again Rainsford lifted the heavy knocker, and let it fall.

The door opened then--opened as suddenly as if it were on a spring--and Rainsford stood blinking in the river of glaring gold light that poured out.

The first thing Rainsford's eyes discerned was the largest man Rainsford had ever seen--a gigantic creature, solidly made and black bearded to the waist.

In his hand the man held a long-barreled revolver, and he was pointing it straight at Rainsford's heart. Out of the snarl of beard two small eyes regarded Rainsford.

I fell off a yacht. The revolver pointing as rigidly as if the giant were a statue. He gave no sign that he understood Rainsford's words, or that he had even heard them.

He was dressed in uniform--a black uniform trimmed with gray astrakhan. I am hungry. Then Rainsford saw the man's free hand go to his forehead in a military salute, and he saw him click his heels together and stand at attention.

Another man was coming down the broad marble steps, an erect, slender man in evening clothes. He advanced to Rainsford and held out his hand.

In a cultivated voice marked by a slight accent that gave it added precision and deliberateness, he said, "It is a very great pleasure and honor to welcome Mr.

Sanger Rainsford, the celebrated hunter, to my home. He was a tall man past middle age, for his hair was a vivid white; but his thick eyebrows and pointed military mustache were as black as the night from which Rainsford had come.

His eyes, too, were black and very bright. He had high cheekbones, a sharpcut nose, a spare, dark face--the face of a man used to giving orders, the face of an aristocrat.

Turning to the giant in uniform, the general made a sign. The giant put away his pistol, saluted, withdrew. A simple fellow, but, I'm afraid, like all his race, a bit of a savage.

We can talk later. Now you want clothes, food, rest. You shall have them. This is a most-restful spot. Rainsford," said the general.

I'll wait for you. You'll find that my clothes will fit you, I think. Ivan laid out an evening suit, and Rainsford, as he put it on, noticed that it came from a London tailor who ordinarily cut and sewed for none below the rank of duke.

The dining room to which Ivan conducted him was in many ways remarkable. There was a medieval magnificence about it; it suggested a baronial hall of feudal times with its oaken panels, its high ceiling, its vast refectory tables where twoscore men could sit down to eat.

About the hall were mounted heads of many animals--lions, tigers, elephants, moose, bears; larger or more perfect specimens Rainsford had never seen.

At the great table the general was sitting, alone. Rainsford," he suggested. The cocktail was surpassingly good; and, Rainsford noted, the table apointments were of the finest--the linen, the crystal, the silver, the china.

Half apologetically General Zaroff said, "We do our best to preserve the amenities of civilization here. Please forgive any lapses.

We are well off the beaten track, you know. Do you think the champagne has suffered from its long ocean trip? He was finding the general a most thoughtful and affable host, a true cosmopolite.

But there was one small trait of. Whenever he looked up from his plate he found the general studying him, appraising him narrowly.

You see, I read all books on hunting published in English, French, and Russian. I have but one passion in my life, Mr. Yes, he was a monster.

But I got the brute. Then he said slowly, "No. You are wrong, sir. The Cape buffalo is not the most dangerous big game. I have to stock the island.

I exhausted their possibilities, you see. No thrill left in tigers, no real danger. I live for danger, Mr.

I think I may say, in all modesty, that I have done a rare thing. I have invented a new sensation. May I pour you another glass of port?

Some He makes kings, some beggars. Me He made a hunter. My hand was made for the trigger, my father said. He was a very rich man with a quarter of a million acres in the Crimea, and he was an ardent sportsman.

When I was only five years old he gave me a little gun, specially made in Moscow for me, to shoot sparrows with.

When I shot some of his prize turkeys with it, he did not punish me; he complimented me on my marksmanship. I killed my first bear in the Caucasus when I was ten.

My whole life has been one prolonged hunt. I went into the army--it was expected of noblemen's sons--and for a time commanded a division of Cossack cavalry, but my real interest was always the hunt.

I have hunted every kind of game in every land. It would be impossible for me to tell you how many animals I have killed. Many noble Russians lost everything.

I, luckily, had invested heavily in American securities, so I shall never have to open a tearoom in Monte Carlo or drive a taxi in Paris. Naturally, I continued to hunt--grizzliest in your Rockies, crocodiles in the Ganges, rhinoceroses in East Africa.

It was in Africa that the Cape buffalo hit me and laid me up for six months. As soon as I recovered I started for the Amazon to hunt jaguars, for I had heard they were unusually cunning.

They weren't. I was bitterly disappointed. I was lying in my tent with a splitting headache one night when a terrible thought pushed its way into my mind.

Hunting was beginning to bore me! And hunting, remember, had been my life. I have heard that in America businessmen often go to pieces when they give up the business that has been their life.

The general smiled. Now, mine is an analytical mind, Mr. Doubtless that is why I enjoy the problems of the chase. You are much younger than I am, Mr.

Rainsford, and have not hunted as much, but you perhaps can guess the answer. I always got my quarry.

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