‘I am not a guest,’ I murmured. ‘I am here to work.’

She said nothing, only frowned at me, sucking in her lower lip. Were they lovers, after all? Was she jealous? Her piercing gaze made me nervous.

‘Please excuse me,’ I said. ‘I must go and see if Monsieur Langham would like breakfast.’

‘You won’t find him. He’s already gone. Never sleeps much.’

I stopped. I had thought of Langham as a man of leisure. ‘Gone where?’

‘Business.’ She took a handkerchief out of her sleeve. ‘Always business.’

I wanted to ask, What business? but instead I dropped my head. I had to learn this role of the polite, disinterested cook. I had to disappear behind my apron again, to be safe. ‘Will you be wanting breakfast, mademoiselle?’

She sighed and sat back. ‘No, I couldn’t possibly. And it’s madame, not mademoiselle.’ She looked down at her hand. It was tanned, save for a pale line that encircled her wedding finger. ‘I suppose you weren’t to know that.’

I hurried back towards the house, adding another mystery to the hoard that seemed to dwell in Dar Portuna.

I was prowling the kitchen, poking into every corner, searching through the cupboards when Bouzid found me.

‘There will be six guests for dinner tonight,’ he told me in Spanish. ‘They will take an aperitif at eight, followed by dinner at eight thirty. Monsieur Langham wishes to impress upon you that his guests will be using cutlery. Not their hands.’

I gave him a polite smile. ‘Of course.’

‘Do you wish me to send out for the food?’ The man was looking at me curiously, as if trying to gather information, now that he saw me in the daylight. ‘Monsieur Hubert, the previous chef, had his own supplier. A French importer.’

‘That’ll explain why it was all so bad,’ I said. ‘It was probably half-rotten by the time it left Marseille.’ Was that a glimmer of amusement on Bouzid’s face? ‘I would prefer to buy my own supplies from the market, thank you.’

‘You mean the medina?’

‘Yes,’ I said, pouring myself a glass of water, as if that was what I had meant all along. ‘Perhaps you could point me in the right direction?’

When I turned back, I found Bouzid stony-faced. ‘If you truly wish to buy your own ingredients, it will be best if I show you. The medina can be … confusing, for foreigners.’

I watched him over the rim of the glass, wondering at his motives. I decided to be gracious. I needed every scrap of help I could get in this place.

‘Merci, Bouzid,’ I said.

‘Also, Monsieur Langham has asked me to give you this.’ He took something from the pocket of his robe. ‘He believes it might be of some help, with regard to menus.’