‘When word got out about my inheritance,’ Hélène said, ‘it didn’t take long for the wolves to come sniffing at my door. The most persistent of these was an impossibly handsome and charming man, with sleek chestnut hair and beguiling brown eyes. You’d recognise his name if I told you, but I prefer not to speak of him. Some people claim you can summon the devil himself by speaking his name aloud, so let’s not take any chances.’ Her eyes crinkled. ‘Anyway, we had a whirlwind romance, a lavish wedding, a glamorous honeymoon and parties galore. Of course I was too smitten and starry-eyed not to realise he had no money of his own. When the first of my three children was born, I wanted them to have the best in life, so no money was spared in raising them, though my Midwestern Calvinist heart quailed at the extravagance of our lifestyle. My father had drilled into me the idea that the two pillars of a good life were hard work and giving back to the community.

‘I’m sure you can guess the rest.’ She raised her hands in a gesture of weariness. ‘He siphoned off most of my money. Fancy cars, yachts, women.

‘After our children went off to private boarding schools in Switzerland, I tried to rein in his spending, but he counter-attacked by convincing some quack doctor I was crazy, and that he woke one night to find me standing over him with a butcher’s knife. Not terribly original, but a time-honoured ploy men have used for ages to get rid of their wives. I spent some time in a psychiatric hospital, not this one, but a private clinic in the South of France. My children believed his poisonous lies and stopped visiting. We were completely estranged for several years, but I do see them now on occasion. That picture I showed you from a magazine. It wasn’t the delusions of a madwoman. Those really are two of my children, though that photo is nearly fifteen years old. I scissored off the caption with their names and the bit about how they were the offspring of Count…’ She made a sign in the air.

‘Oh yes, I can see what you’re thinking. European royalty, no matter how silly and outmoded, is catnip to a young American girl. I began life as Helen Roberts, but later transformed myself into Hélène at that finishing school in Switzerland, so I would sound more exotic. Anything was better than being plain old Helen Roberts from Cleveland, Ohio.’ A shadow dimmed her eyes. ‘What’s that old saying? Be careful what you wish for.’

Vidor stirred from his befuddlement, as if passing through murky water, reaching for light and air.

‘You’re American?’