“Wait, Suze!” I say in a sudden undertone. “What’s our code word?”

“Shit.” She stares at me, wide-eyed. “Dunno.”

We’ve been talking about having a code word all morning, but we haven’t actually thought of one.

“Potato,” I say hurriedly.

“Potato? Are you nuts? How am I supposed to bring ‘potato’ into conversation?”

“Well, you think of a better one. Go on!” I add, as she looks blank.

“I can’t,” she says, sounding cross. “You’ve put me on the spot now. All I can think of is ‘potato.’ ”

“Hello?” A woman’s tinny voice comes over the intercom, and my stomach turns over.

“Hello!” says Suze, stepping forward. “My name is Jeanne de Bloor. I have Pauline Audette here for Mr. Raymond Earle. Pauline Audette,” she repeats, enunciating clearly.

Suze came up with the name Jeanne de Bloor. She’s decided that Jeanne was born in The Hague, has settled in Paris but has a long-term lover in Antwerp, speaks five languages, and is learning Sanskrit. (Suze is very thorough when it comes to creating a character. She’s made notes and everything.)

There’s silence from the intercom, and Suze and I exchange questioning glances. Then, just as I’m about to suggest that Suze try again, a man’s voice comes from the speaker.

“Hello? It’s Raymond Earle here.”

Oh my God. Now my stomach is churning furiously, but I step forward to speak.

“Allo,” I say into the intercom. “My name, eet ees Pauline Audette. We ’ave corresponded.”

“You’re Pauline Audette?” He sounds gobsmacked, as well he might.

“I ’ave see your exhibition at ze fair. I weesh to talk to you about your work, but I cannot find you. So I come to your ’ouse.”

“You saw my work? You want to talk about my work?”

He sounds so excited, I feel an almighty stab of guilt. I shouldn’t be doing this to a poor, innocent potter. I shouldn’t be raising his hopes. I’m a bad person.

But, then, he shouldn’t have sent Mum and Janice away. Tit for tat.

“May I come in to your ’ouse?” I say, but already the gates are swinging open.

We’re in!

“Jeanne,” I say briskly, for the cameras’ benefit, “you weel accompany me and take ze notes.”

“Vairy gut,” says Suze, in what I think is supposed to be a Dutch accent and nearly makes me double over.

The house is about half a mile away, up a badly kept track, and I realize he was expecting us to be in a car. But I can hardly go and get the RV. As we trudge along the track, I keep seeing weird sculptures everywhere. There’s a bull made out of what looks like car parts, and a man’s yelling face made out of iron, and lots of strange abstract pieces made out of what look like tires. It’s all a bit freaky, and I’m glad to reach the house, until I hear the frenzied barking of dogs.

“This place is spooky,” I mutter to Suze as we ring the bell. The house was probably really impressive once, but it’s a bit dilapidated. It’s made of stone and wood, with gables and a veranda and a massive carved front door, but some of the wooden railings look rotten, and I can see two patched-up broken windows. The dogs’ barking gets even louder, and we both shrink back.