They had ended up staying at the powder pink villa until late in the evening, having watched the stunning sunset over the Italian Riviera and eating al fresco on the veranda. An exquisite feast prepared by a local chef of ham and mozzarella Stromboli followed by scallop and pesto linguine, then marinated cherries with mascarpone and amaretto biscuits. Many bottles of locally sourced prosecco accompanied the meal, finished off with grappa shots so strong that Grace had gasped and pressed a hand to her chest on trying one. Ellis had been spared the grappa experience as his mobile had rung, having recharged on Tom’s charger, and it had actually been Jennifer calling to talk to him. Grace had heard him say something to her about it being late here in Italy and that he’d catch up with her properly in the morning, but she must have been insistent as Ellis had wandered off to the far side of the pool for some privacy.

And then later, even through her own merry state, Grace remembered him being unusually monosyllabic in the taxi back to the hotel. Or maybe it was the hare-brained way the driver had chatted on in Italian without drawing breath and gesticulating animatedly as he tore around the hairpin bends in the road, boldly close to the cliff’s edge. Grace recalled gripping the door handle so tightly that her knuckles had still been aching when she’d climbed into bed what felt like just a few hours ago. She pulled her own shades on and sipped some more water from a bottle in her hand.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said, seeing that it was almost ten past eleven on the clock on the dashboard and they had agreed to meet outside the hotel at 11 a.m. ‘It took me longer than usual to galvanise myself into action.’

‘No worries, Grace,’ Ellis said, more formally than usual, continuing to look out of the window and away from her. She pulled the seatbelt over her shoulder and wondered what was up with him. She hadn’t seen him hungover before so maybe this was just his way, detached and quiet.

‘Are you OK?’ she checked.

‘Sure. You?’ he replied, folding his arms.

‘Yes, just about. I’m not used to late nights or grappa shots, come to think of it. But I had a great time. Did you?’ she tried again.