‘Le Pigeonnier is a much nicer name: why did he change it?’

She wrinkled her brow, concentrating on my words which I had tried to speak slowly.

‘To change it? Why? Well … he said that it was Jericho because that was the first city the Jews had – what do you call it? – occupied in the Promised Land … he said it was because of this. His refuge, he had found his Promised Land, is it? And then we built the walls. Ouf! so difficult, all so many rocks and bricks.’

‘And no one came. To disturb him?’

She looked at me quickly, looked away. ‘No. No people came. Oh …’ She shrugged in a hopeless way. ‘Sometimes people did, people to buy his work, to look at it. The Mr Aronovich from Commodore Hotel in Cannes, people like that. Is all.’

Maurice turned into the square before the hotel. We got out and I paid his bill while the woman stood by the little pots on the terrace. I gave him a decent tip for waiting. He touched his forehead, smiled and said something to the woman I didn’t hear because I was walking behind the car.

‘Monsieur Maurice said he is back in good time. He must be in the bar by twelve o’clock so that Eugène can begin the lunch!’ she said in French.

Maurice drove off, and left us standing by the terrace.

‘I’m glad to speak in my own language again. I am so sorry for you!’

‘Please don’t be. Would you care for an aperitif? Coffee? It’s only eleven-thirty.’

She shook her head, thanked me but refused. She had to prepare her own meal, but if I would care to, could I come to the house, her house, for some tea, about four? I accepted readily, there was still a lot to ask.

‘I live at 11 rue Émile Zola, it’s behind the church and down the hill.’

‘I know the address. He put it in his letter, the one you sent me.’

‘It is not really my house, it belongs to my mother. Madame Prideaux … I live with her. Jericho is too far away, too lonely, and too full of memories now.’

‘I imagine it must be all those things.’

She turned to go, called over her shoulder, ‘Four o’clock? Tea or, if you prefer, a drink?’

‘Tea. Thank you.’

She had gone, and was walking briskly past the church; I went into the hotel. The bar was busy at this time in the morning. I took my pastis over to the little table in the corner. I felt, frankly, a bit weary and blurred, in a strange way, by too many thoughts. A confusion of questions tumbled in my head; perhaps the pastis would help me to steady them down and observe them calmly, one by one.