The evidence is in his cry – he’s telling the truth. Even Manuel, for all his anger, must realize that. But frankly, here and now, nobody gives a damn about the truth. It’s much too late to worry about the truth.

“Sooner or later you’ll admit it. I’m in no rush.”

“I swear on Mecca, I’ve never touched Céline!”

“On Mecca? You think that’ll save you?”

Saïd sniffs pathetically, muttering words to himself. The men prick up their ears but can’t make out what he’s saying. Manuel’s face is switched off, pale. He grabs the bottle and takes a long swig. He proffers the bottle to Patrick but the other man declines with a gesture. Manuel puts the bottle back down, closes his eyes and clenches his fists. The kid is still droning faintly.

“Speak up, we can’t hear anything.”

Manuel’s eyes are bloodshot, he’s here to dispense justice, to take revenge, to make a clean sweep. He’s getting his own back and won’t let go.

“I’ve nothing to tell you, you sons of bitches.”

The builder’s foot cracks his shin. Saïd screams. Manuel is standing, sweating and breathing heavily. The tic in his cheek doesn’t relent. He crosses his arms.

“We’ve got all night, you know.”

Shoes. Shoes and clothes. An entire roomful. A room the size of a bedroom. Jo stands on tiptoe, in her swimsuit, wrapped in a towel she stole from the bathroom. There’s a sailing boat on it, navy blue on a white background. From here, she can hear the music, trip hop, maybe Morcheeba, she’s not sure. An old track, in any case, one she quite likes. With her free hand – the one not holding the towel tight above her breasts – she strokes the clothes as if they were arms.

“What are you doing?”

She jumps, caught in the act. She turns to Garance, gripping the towel from the bathroom.

“Nothing. I was looking.”

“You can. If there’s something you like, I can lend it to you.”

“No, it’s OK.”

Jo almost pushes past her as she leaves the walk-in wardrobe.

“Have you seen my sister?”

“She’s with Côme. Actually, he’s – she’s – I mean perhaps you’d better go to them. Côme can sometimes be a bit heavy-handed.”

“What do you mean heavy-handed?”

Garance shrugs, looking embarrassed, but Jo isn’t too worried: on the heavy-handed front, there’s quite a distance before he’s on the same level as Lucas or Enzo.

“I borrowed a towel.”

“You did well. Shall we go down?”