'Prego,' he replies with a cheeky grin, that being one of the few Italian words he knows. It's cut off as he's abruptly handed a small child and has to juggle him and his cigarette and avoid the two coming into contact with each other.

He's handed back with pleasure and Ramon sinks to the sand, shedding the Armani and laying it carefully across his legs.

'How is it women seem to have this in-built knowledge of what to do with kids?'

Always weird to him, that.