‘They say thirty kilos.’

‘Thirty kilos! That is more than a baggage allowance!’ protested Jean-Christophe.

‘If you flew with a carp in your luggage, bien sûr,’ replied Philippe.

Jean-Christophe grinned and finished his coffee before getting up to dress. They both knew they didn’t have a chance in hell of catching the carp. The venture was about bonding, because his father still worried that he’d screwed up his son’s childhood through his own selfish ambition. So although it was still dark and cold and foggy, he pretended it was as exciting as a childhood adventure. ‘Allons-y alors! As long as no one sees me in this ridiculous garment.’ He gestured to the rubber wader suit that went right up to his armpits. ‘Not exactly John Galliano.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Philippe ruffled his son’s long hair. ‘The fashion police aren’t up yet. And you’ll be glad of it when we meet our fish.’

By the time they reached the banks of the Savarin the sun was beginning to light up the sky with a faint pink glow reminiscent of the palest Provencal rosé, making the trees stand out against the lightening sky. A faint mist gradually replaced the fog, rising gently from the water and giving the morning a magical, mystical feel, as if it were completely out of time. Jean-Christophe felt grateful to experience it while having no desire to repeat it soon, though he would tactfully refrain from telling his father so.

Enjoy the moment was his mantra and he intended to, even though the moment he would have preferred would have been to stay tucked up warm in bed.

‘Grand-père taught me to fish.’ Philippe cast off the rod until the hook settled about four metres from the shore.

Jean-Christophe smiled and didn’t say that he’d got the message: fishing for carp was a father–son thing, like learning football or going together to a bar. ‘Can you fix the net under the water near the bank?’

‘For when we catch the monster?’

‘Of course.’

They both sat silently on portable stools, neither needing to speak, and studied the reflection of the light on the water. It was extraordinarily beautiful and eerily peaceful at the same time.

‘Coffee?’ Philippe asked, after almost half an hour had passed and the sun had risen above the treetops and was beginning to offer some welcome heat. ‘It’ll warm you up! According to Grand-père there are two useful things you can learn from fishing – to catch a fish you need first, patience and second, cunning!’

Jean-Christophe nodded as Philippe poured two small cups and smiled as he added a thimble of cognac. It was indeed warming. As he knocked it back, he caught a flash of movement towards the middle of the river. ‘Look,’ he pointed out, hearing the excitement in his own voice. ‘There! Halfway across! It’s a big fish!’