‘Well, he could always write us an essay all about it!’ said Haight, and he laughed.

‘That’s an excellent idea,’ said Cooper-ffrench.

‘It was supposed to be a joke, actually,’ said Haight quietly.

‘Bond,’ said Cooper-ffrench, ignoring the other master, ‘I will need all your cousin’s details: his full name and address, and so on and so forth. You will write me a letter as soon as you get there, letting us know that you have safely arrived. Then you will send us a thousand- word essay telling us all about that part of the island, your cousin’s villa and so on. You can send it to us in Cagliari. Then we’ll know that you won’t have been idle.’

James and Haight exchanged looks and Haight raised his eyebrows before quickly disguising his expression as Cooper-ffrench looked up at him.

James smiled, glad that he had an ally.

He sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, pulling his right ankle up on to his left thigh, the position he always adopted when he felt at his most relaxed. He was getting away from all this. And he could stop worrying about Cooper-ffrench and his possible connections to the Millenaria. From now on the summer would be his to enjoy.

James’s cousin Victor lived in the far north of Sardinia, where the Straits of Bonifacio separated the island from Corsica. The nearest town was Palau, and the journey there by train and bus took the best part of a day.

James arrived in Palau with a splitting headache, hot and tired and in need of a wash. There was dust everywhere; on his clothes, under his clothes, in his mouth and ears. Even his eyes felt gritty.

Palau seemed to consist of little more than a miserable, dusty street of single-storeyed houses washed a grubby pink. There was a dilapidated, dirty inn where a group of local men were eating octopus, and nearby two other old men slept on stone benches. It felt like the end of the world.

James waited in the shade of a tree for over an hour, and it felt as if time was standing still. A lizard darted out from under a stone and ran over his shoe. The men in the inn stared at him. The two old peasants snored on their benches. Flies buzzed. The sun shone.

James put his head in his hands and let out a long slow breath, feeling it burning down the front of his shirt.

He waited for a few minutes longer, then took his suitcase and walked to the edge of town. He looked up the road. He could see nothing. He wiped sweat from his face. His throat was dry. His clothes stuck to him and he was sore where they had been rubbing. The heated air felt solid, pressing down on him.

Gradually he became aware of a sound, a far-off engine noise, as of a motor car approaching. He didn’t dare raise his hopes and imagine that it might be Victor. He stood, squinting into the fierce sunlight, and at last saw, coming down the hillside, the black shape of a car.