Dad often asked me now to go to El Dorado with him and help with his deliveries. I was really pleased. He’d probably decided that I’d done well over the course of the year and that I’d earned the right to be given some responsibilities. What I remember most, as we set off into the night, is the headlamps from cars coming towards us from time to time, making me blink. At the warehouse, I would load up the car, checking items off on Dad’s list. Then I’d go and join him in his “office”. We never planned our route, so we’d still travel in complicated circles around Paris, as if it was a labyrinth. Sometimes Dad would share his reflections on life in general, on history and on the way the world was going – or as he saw it, going to the dogs.

“Know something, Victor?”

“What, Dad?”

“The truth is that ever since Citroën liquidated the Panhard business, well, everything’s gone belly-up.”

“Such a dirty trick for Citroën to play.”

“Once upon a time no one would have dared to liquidate the first French car manufacturer like that. Nowadays you only come across Panhards in South America and Cuba. Or Vietnam.”

“It’s a shame, Dad, but that’s life.”

“Life sucks, if you want my opinion.”

So there we were, father and son, travelling through the summer nights and calling on all Dad’s clients in turn. There were so many of them that their faces and addresses eventually got all jumbled up in my head. One who I remember a little more clearly than most was an old gentleman who wanted Dad to supply him with anything to do with Charles de Gaulle. He always offered us a cup of tea and before we left he would look me straight in the eye and say, “Never forget: your father’s the best. If he’d wanted, he could have worked in … in … in America, that’s it. The best, you see, be sure and remember that.”

“Yes, the best. I’ll remember … or at least I’ll try. The best.”

Once I asked Dad about it.

“Why is that old client of yours always telling me you’re the best? The best at what?”

“I don’t know.”

“And why America?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s a bit odd though, don’t you think?”

“I think he must be confusing me with someone else. Collectors are often deranged. And anyway, being the best doesn’t mean much. Paul and Jean Panhard were also the best, but it didn’t stop Citroën doing the dirty on them.”

“As far as I’m concerned, Dad, he’s right and you are the best. Really and truly the best.”