“Bond girls?” asked Anouk, leaning toward the window. “Ah, you mean like the ones in a James Bond movie.”

“Yes. The gorgeous ones who sleep with him and then try to kill him.”

“That sounds like my first marriage.”

“I didn’t know you were married before.”

“I wasn’t. I’m still on my first marriage.” Anouk grinned. “Come on. Let’s go out and meet your competition.”

“They’re not my comp—” Her heart sank as she suddenly felt dowdy and plain in her white cotton sundress. She flushed, knowing she’d put it on just for Finn. It hardly mattered now, she thought, following Anouk outside. There was no competing with Vivi, a willowy Somalian who offered a brilliant smile as Finn made the introductions. Roz was British, with long red hair, a toned athletic body, and at least a dozen sharpened pencils sticking out of her shirt pocket. The three of them were speaking English together as they unloaded archival boxes, laptops, and camera gear from the car.

Camille stuck out her hand. “The name’s Adams. Camille Adams.” It was silly, but she couldn’t help herself.

Finn sent her a confused look. Anouk snickered, then offered them something to drink. “Mineral water would be lovely,” said Vivi.

“I’d like one, too,” said Roz.

“Shaken, not stirred,” Anouk murmured as she went off to the kitchen.

“The two of you have some kind of inside joke going on?” Finn asked.

“We would never,” Camille told him. Then she turned to her visitors. “All right, then. Should we get started?”

Vivi tackled the project with a fierce passion. There was site preparation work to be done before they delved into the artifacts. Within a short while, it was clear that they’d stumbled upon a major trove of information, not just about daily life around the farm and village, but about a compelling mystery buried deep in the past. They marked off the attic space in a grid pattern in order to keep track of the location of each object as they removed it.

The white dress was an epic fail, Camille realized, five minutes into the chore. She had pictured herself sitting in the shade with Finn, leisurely studying keepsakes and artifacts as they sipped sparkling lemonade and gazed into each other’s eyes. Instead, she soon found her dress soiled by dust, cobwebs, and rubble.

Despite the wardrobe challenge, Camille enjoyed working alongside Finn’s associates. Both women were so interesting. Vivi was the daughter of a cultural minister from Somalia, and a gifted marathon runner. Roz came from an industrial town in the west of England and had learned her research techniques by helping her grandfather, a notorious bookie.

“How did you both wind up in Aix?” Camille asked.

“One doesn’t ‘wind up’ in Aix,” Roz said with a laugh. “One focuses on it like a laser, and doesn’t let up until one finds a way to live there.”

“You’ve been to Aix-en-Provence, haven’t you?” Vivi asked.

“Not yet, no.”

“Once you see it, you’ll understand,” Roz said. “It’s beautiful, it has the perfect climate, amazing food and wine, fantastic music, and plenty of men.” Both she and Vivi glanced over at Finn. He had peeled off his shirt and was taking a water break over by the well pump. His physique gleamed with bright trickles of water streaming over him.