Along the path going towards the house, the peonies were in fat bud, the vine now green. A flash of brilliant yellow streaking across our path brought us to an instant halt. Florence had her hand on my arm, holding me.

‘You saw?’

‘A bird? Yellow.’

‘The golden oriole. They are so shy. The song is marvellous. I always used to wait for them. Every spring. And then the hoopoe.’ She let go of my arm and we walked up to the terrace. I took the key, the fatal key, from my jacket pocket, dragged the two tin chairs into the sunlight on the terrace. Already the vine was thick enough to freckle the tiles with light and shade.

‘School is the problem,’ I said. ‘For Giles.’

‘He is called that?’

‘Giles. Yes. In French it is “Gilles”.’

‘I know. He is nine?’

‘Ummm. If he is to stay here for a while, well, I mean more than a couple of weeks, he’ll have to get some education. What I need is a tutor. Someone to get him interested, working his brain. To learn French perhaps?’

‘Schools here finish for the summer next month, you know? Until September.’

‘I wonder if there is a teacher, someone local, who might be interested in a little spare money? To tutor him? Do you know?’

Florence had kicked off her sandals, thrusting her bare feet into the warmth of the sun.

‘I don’t. Most of the teachers go away for holidays, you know. My mother might know of someone. She plays bridge with so many other people. I’ll ask her.’

I got up and unlocked the front door. She did not move, or turn round. I opened the shutters, opened the windows, let the air course through the shaded room.

‘I hope that Monsieur Simon and his sons will come tomorrow. To take away the bed and that wardrobe,’ I said.

She pulled on her sandals once again, got to her feet. ‘Annette’s brother wants both of them. And anything else you want to get rid of. He has a brocante shop. Secondhand shop you call it.’

‘Simon clears attics and barns. It said so on his truck, which is why I got him to come over. You are certain you don’t want anything … it’s all right?’

‘I don’t want anything. And the canvases? Mr Aronovich’s canvases?’

‘When I go over to Nice to collect Giles I’ll go and see him. Do you know his address?’ I was extremely casual.

‘Telephone number. Not his address.’

‘Perhaps I should call him? Tell him the canvases are all ready. He can take them, they have been paid for. And I would use the studio to work in. One day.’