He tries to call Kimberly. He can imagine her warmly asleep in Ladbroke Square. Her phone goes straight to answer. He takes comfort from her breathy, upbeat message, which always sounds as though she is trying out for the Radcliffe cheerleading squad. He whispers, ‘Love you, will call from the villa.’

In the Liechtenstein morning, which arrives surprisingly soon, he finds that in the night his migraine has retreated, like a bear to its winter cave, where it is growling only indistinctly. The housekeeper has prepared him a breakfast of ham and cheese and fruit, with fresh croissants, rye bread and a pot of coffee. All his life he has been cosseted and it seems particularly shameful to him this morning after what he has done. He gives the housekeeper a huge tip, as though he is propitiating the Madonna and asking her to intercede for him. She tries to refuse, but he insists.

He adds, ‘C’est parce que vous êtes une ange.’

She probably thinks he is crazy, and in a sense he is. Dax arrives in another car, and assures him as they drive that all has gone smoothly. Dax smells of cologne, like an old-fashioned boulevardier. He remembers one of his father’s chums, Leo Mountjoy, saying it was important always to have your own cologne to hand to douse yourself, so that you never aroused suspicion by coming home differently scented. Women, he said, are very sensitive to scents. Very sensitive, like forest creatures; they can catch a scent at fifty yards. Leo Mountjoy kept chorus girls. Julian tells Dax that he will send him his father’s endorsement of the deeds by special courier.

At the border another car is waiting to take them to Altenrhein where the plane is straining at the leash.

‘Ready to lift off, sir?’ James asks.

‘Yes.’

‘Are we going home, sir?’

‘My family home. Nice Airport. Staying for one night.’

‘Right, let’s just get your bags on board. We have some nice fresh croissants and the morning newspapers, and Kevin has printed out the online FT, sir.’

‘Lovely. Thank you.’

A few minutes later James reports that they have a slot in five minutes.

When the plane lands in Nice one and a quarter hours later and the door opens, Julian gets the warm and welcome scent of his boyhood holidays, of baking hillsides and wild thyme and some of that clinging saltiness of the Mediterranean. When he’s sold to Mannheim, he and the family will move here.

A car is waiting. Standing beside it like an undertaker is Jean-Marc, driver and handyman.

‘Bonjour, Jean-Marc. Tout va bien?’

‘Oui, merci, Monsieur Julian, tout va bien.’

Chapter 3

Chapter 3