‘Truly, Sally, why don’t we just throw in the towel and sell up as it is now? Leave the place dark, as they’d say in your métier.’

‘You know why, William. We need to sell it as a thriving business. With decent accounts and recommendations.’ Her voice faded out as she realised that tonight was demonstrating the exact opposite. ‘But our locals like us, the regulars. Perhaps we could ask them to go online and—’

‘Sally, don’t be ridiculous. You don’t honestly think that people who live round here have got the time to fiddle about on phones giving stars and writing reviews of their favourite restaurants? They’re French! They simply come out to dine, expect it to be wonderful, and then go home replete and happy. And quite right too. Only an imbecile writes reviews of a meal without being paid for it. Once upon a time that’s how it was here, every night at La Mosaïque.’ William hung his head.

Sally couldn’t be sure, but she thought he might actually be crying.

‘The cruise ship will be gone tomorrow, thank God,’ Sally suggested quietly.

‘Perhaps. But who’s to say another one won’t arrive?’ Suddenly he looked up, his face earnest and suspicious. ‘And another, and another. And we’ll have a constant stream of people who mistake our gastronomic restaurant for a greasy spoon. Give me a moment. I’m just popping out.’

He strode past Sally and out. A few minutes later he was back.

‘That bloody Marcel. His terraces are certainly not full. Nor are the tables inside. He just dumped that lot on us, knowing what would happen.’ William rolled up his sleeves, and made again for the back door. But Sally grabbed hold of him, just in time.

‘Please don’t do it. Just know that we’re on to him. Remember that, at this moment, Marcel is our best hope of a buyer. And naturally he wants to drive down the price. In his position, wouldn’t we? Seriously, William . . .’

William was about to respond when Benjamin arrived back in the kitchen. He was sobbing.

‘That does it,’ he wailed. ‘One of them just vomited all over my new trousers.’

Once the two policewomen arrived to take down this new information, one in uniform, cap in hand, the other in plain clothes, Theresa sat in the corner of the living room and let Imogen do all the talking.

‘We’ve put out an alert at the airports,’ said the detective sergeant. ‘And so far no one with Chloe’s name has gone through on any airline. I gather Chloe has her own passport. I need you to check that it’s here. If it’s not here, I’m sure you appreciate, that changes everything.’

Imogen rushed through to her office. Theresa could hear her pulling open drawer after drawer.

To fill the awkward pause, Theresa introduced herself as Chloe’s grandmother.

Imogen returned with three passports in her hand. She flung them down on to the coffee table.