“Have you still got a signal?” I murmur to Suze, and she checks her phone.

“Yes. You?”

“Yup. All good,” I say loudly, for Luke’s benefit. Suze’s phone is recording in her pocket and mine is connected to Luke’s, so everyone in the RV should be able to hear what’s going on.

“Down!” comes Raymond’s voice from inside the house. “You get in there.”

Inside, a door bangs shut. The next moment we hear what seem like about twenty-five locks being undone, then the front door swings open and Raymond Earle greets us.

The first word that hits my mind is “grizzled.” Raymond’s beard is like a gray furry blanket and reaches all the way down to his chest. He’s wearing a blue-and-white bandanna round his head, and his ancient jeans are covered in mud or clay or something. The house smells of dogs and tobacco and dust and old food, with a faint reek of rotting vegetation.

He could really do with a scented candle or two. I’m tempted to give him the link to Jo Malone.

“Miss Audette.” He bows low and his beard flops down. “I’m honored.”

Oh God. I feel even more guilty about tricking him, now we’re here. We need to get into his studio as quickly as possible and action my plan.

“I am enchantée to meet you after all zis time,” I say gravely. “When I come to Wilderness, I remember Monsieur Raymond who has written me ze kind lettairs.”

“Well, I’m delighted to meet you!” He grabs my hand and shakes it heartily. “This is such an unexpected pleasure!”

“Let us go straight to ze studio and observe ze work,” I say.

“Of course.” Raymond seems totally overcome. “I’ll just…come in. Come in.”

He ushers us into a wide hall with a fireplace and a wooden vaulted ceiling, which would be stunning if it weren’t such a mess. There are dusty boots, coats, dog baskets, a bucket of old bricks, and a rolled-up carpet, all just lying around.

“Can I get you a beer? Some ice water?” Raymond leads us into a messy kitchen, which smells of some meaty dish. The back wall is covered in shelves, on which are propped-up paintings and drawings and a few weird-looking sculptures. A housekeeper is trying to dust them, but I can see she’s not finding it easy.

“Careful!” Raymond suddenly snaps at her. “Don’t move anything!” He turns back to me. “Miss Audette?”

“Non, merci. I would like to see your work. Ze piece most dear to you in ze world.” I’m trying to hurry him along, but Raymond doesn’t seem the hurrying type.

“I have so much to ask you,” he says.

“And I ’ave much to ask you,” I counter. Which, at least, is the truth.

“You’ll have noticed my Darin.” He nods toward the shelves.

Darin? What’s a Darin? Is Darin an artist?

“Absolument.” I nod briskly. “Shall we go?”

“What’s your take on his use of form?” His eyes blink at me earnestly.