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struggling to come to terms with being imprisoned by Peter Myers.
    ‘I’m really going to miss that view,’ Emma said, as she joined him at the doors.
    The sky was a flawless blue, and the sea sparkled like thousands of diamonds.
    Dan slid the doors open, allowing cool air to drift in. ‘Me too. And it feels nice and fresh out there – perfect weather for a swim and a walk on the beach. We should make the most of the morning, before we have to say goodbye to all this.’
    ‘You’re right.’ Emma hurried to get dressed. The minibus was due to pick them up at one o’clock, delivering them to the airport in good time for their 4.30 p.m. flight back to Heathrow. Twelve hours later, they would land in a much colder and, probably, wetter England, with only the memories of this magical island remaining.
     
    They headed down for their final champagne breakfast, which they enjoyed on the open-air decked area that overlooked the beach, then spent the rest of the morning walking along the golden sand, swimming in the warm sea, and making use of the all-inclusive bar – sticking to non-alcoholic drinks in view of their up-coming flight.
    Emma sat up on the sun lounger as Dan handed her a glass of Mauritius Sunshine Surprise, a particular favourite of hers – a blend of orange and mango, and a number of other tropical fruits, served in a tall, frosted glass. ‘Here you go.’
    She took a cooling sip as she looked at the ocean. ‘I’m really going to miss this.’
    ‘What, the view or the drink?’
    ‘Both.’
    ‘Here,’ Dan said, handing Emma a piece of paper. ‘Something that might ease the pain of leaving. A little bit of Mauritius that we can take back to London with us.’
    ‘They agreed to give you it!’ Emma read down the ingredients list and instructions for making the cocktail.
    Dan smiled. ‘I managed to persuade the barman.’
    ‘But how?’
    The cocktail was advertised as a hotel secret special, and the barman, who was otherwise the friendliest, most helpful man you could ever hope to meet, had, two days ago, refused to reveal exactly how it was made.
    ‘Well, yesterday I tried asking again, nicely. Then I tried begging. And then I just made a deal.’
    Emma pulled up her sunglasses to look Dan in the eye. ‘A deal?’
    ‘I swapped the recipe for something.’
    ‘What?’
    Dan hesitated. ‘One of my Manchester United shirts.’
    ‘You didn’t!’
    ‘Afraid so. It was an old one, from a couple of seasons back. It doesn’t matter.’
    ‘The shirt they wore in the European Cup final?’
    Dan looked caught out. ‘Er, yes. I was hoping you might not remember that fact.’
    ‘But that’s one of your favourite things,’ Emma said, her heart filling at what Dan had just done for her. ‘You swapped that for the cocktail recipe?’
    ‘It’s just a shirt.’ Dan laughed it off. ‘It’s no big deal.’
    Just then Emma spotted the shirt. The barman was already wearing it, along with the broadest smile she had ever seen.
    ‘Hey, look, I’ve made two people very happy,’ Dan said, also noticing as the barman showed off the shirt to a customer. ‘He’s a huge United fan – said he’s been supporting them for twenty-five years, and he watches all the games he can get to see on the TV here. His dream is to go to Old Trafford.’
    Emma continued to watch, as the barman simulated scoring a header. ‘I can’t believe you did it.’
    Dan shrugged. ‘I wanted to. Now you can make your drink at home – a little bit of Mauritian sunshine in soggy, grey London.’
    Emma kissed Dan. ‘You’re a big softy, Dan Carlton. Thank you.’
    ‘Anything for you, Em.’
     
    The day passed quickly and, before they knew it, they were saying goodbye to the hotel and clambering aboard the minibus, which was already busy with fellow departing holidaymakers. The journey to the airport took less than an hour, and within no time they had checked in and found a couple of seats in the airport’s waiting area. But it