Whatever was going on between his brothers, he’d find out later. He felt a small pang of pity for Owen. He was never going to grow up if he was always treated as if he were ten years old. Harry wondered if Owen really was still sober these days. It wasn’t something he could just drop into conversation when he called his mother. Pru was a strong woman, but having an alcoholic son was not something she liked to dwell on.

Harry turned away from the window. They were all due to have dinner together tonight – the whole Sinclair family, including partners and children. Feeling restless and unable to settle, Harry decided to go for a walk around the grounds. He might even bump into Owen, who had appeared to be heading towards the stables. Owen loved the horses and was responsible for looking after the animals they used at the resort. Horse riding in small groups, hacking around the lake and surrounding countryside, was where his brother was at his happiest.

Harry made his way towards the house, which was at the centre of the resort, and, following the path, he headed across the courtyard to the stables. He went through to the yard, the distinct smell of manure wafting in the air as the stable lad mucked out one of the stables. He gave Harry a look and a polite nod.

‘Hi, is Owen around?’ asked Harry as he neared the stable lad.

‘He’s in the office, I think. Do you want me to get him?’

‘No. It’s OK, I’ll be fine. Thanks.’

Harry made his way along the row of stables, stopping as a big bay stuck his head out the half-opened door. ‘Hello, Billy.’ Harry rubbed the white blaze on the horse’s face. ‘Long time no see, eh? You’re not looking bad for an old boy.’

‘Same could be said for you,’ came a voice, and Harry looked up and grinned at his younger brother.

Owen wore a V-neck jumper, cords and a checked shirt, and his dark blonde hair flopped down into his eyes. ‘Unlike you, who looks like they’re just about to do a photo shoot for Horse & Hound.’ Harry strode over and shook Owen’s hand, before giving him a brief hug. He realised as he did so he had taken a moment to monitor for any smell of alcohol on his brother. Old habits die hard, he thought, but was relieved that today Owen only smelt of aftershave. ‘How are you, mate?’

‘I’m good, thanks. You? Or should that be, ça va?’ Owen said with a French flourish.

‘Very good – you’re practically bilingual.’ Harry followed his brother into the yard office.

‘Good to see you,’ said Owen, giving a small sniff as he took his seat and plucked a tissue from the pack on his desk.

‘You OK?’