Perhaps it was the wine. It was, after all, what had brought the Carrington brothers to Ibiza. Andrew for business reasons. Liam for no reason at all (Liam, as always, preferring to act on impulse).

It was what had led them to the cliffside chateau of a wealthy vintner, where they had tasted the local Malvasia. And found it good. Similarly the Parellada, the Macabeu and the Monastrell. Likewise, at Liam’s prompting, the Tempranillo and Ull de Liebre.

As the shadows of the bottles lined up on the table began to lengthen, Andrew stood suddenly, bid their host farewell and hurried off. Liam grabbed a full Malvasia and followed. Day’s end found the two on a nearby beach, Liam lustily singing obscene ditties to a giggling group of Spanish women, Andrew thinking of Isabelle and absentmindedly hitting golf balls into the sea.