She lay spread-eagle, the spliff held casually in her left hand. The aroma of her exhalation was not uncommon around Cala Bassa on that August afternoon. On the raised terrace of Room 512, seen only by buzzards and gulls, her buttocks were supported by pastel-coloured, silk-covered cushions, as he plucked her pubis. Using gold-coloured tweezers, he extracted one by one, the unevenly-curled auburn hairs, and laid them in his favoured silver snuff box. In the coming months he would open it and relish the memory of the four weeks spent on the Island of Ibiza.