Churned by elves, no doubt, Vidor thought. While the mountain folk clung to their outmoded ways, the twenty-first century nipped at their heels like an insistent terrier. He smiled at his own nonsense. The hope of being sprung from this penal colony at last was making him giddy. The fire crackled. The coffee was perfectly brewed. Vidor had settled into a soporific calm when Gessen’s voice broke through his thoughts. Something about his teenage years in Paris.

A spasm of annoyance spoiled his mood. Had they circled back, once again, to the Paris of forty years ago? How many more hurdles did Gessen expect him to leap over before he was discharged? He gritted his teeth. ‘I’ve told you everything I remember from those days.’

‘Have you?’ Gessen raised his cup to his lips. ‘We’ve talked about your early days in Paris, when you were a schoolboy. We’ve never talked about your time as a pupil at the lycée, or about your decision to attend university in England.’

Vidor stood and walked to the window. He felt claustrophobic with the curtains shut, and pushed them aside to look out at the steadily falling snow. A winter landscape, gloomy, foreboding. In the distance he could just make out the Zen garden with its snow-covered topiary and the lamps lit against the gloom. A shadowy figure, lurking near the entrance, turned his face towards him before slipping inside the gardens. Ismail. He was alive.

It all made sense now. Part of the plot to force him to admit he was mad. I’m onto you now. As Vidor pressed his face to the glass, the boy caught sight of him and hurried away. Should he say something to Gessen? No. Better to keep it quiet and go along with whatever game the doctor was playing.

He returned to his chair and topped up his coffee. How to proceed? Tell Gessen the boring truth, or spice things up a bit to keep the man guessing?

‘What’s there to say? I went to school, did my homework, ran errands for my mother. When I was sixteen, I took a job at a grocer’s, stacking shelves.’ He smeared strawberry jam on a gipfeli and bit off a chunk of the flaky pastry. Lately, he’d developed a nearly uncontrollable craving for anything sweet. Must be the mountain air, Vidor mused. At home in Cambridge, he hardly ever indulged, but now he couldn’t seem to get enough. ‘I was never arrested, never tardy to class. An excellent student.’ He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and gave Gessen a look of unrestrained exasperation. ‘I had the most boring adolescence imaginable.’

‘What about girls?’

‘What about them?’

‘Did you have girlfriends?’