Her laugh rang out. ‘Is that all you got from my story? I’d better wrap things up then. Here we go: fast forward several years, and Count – let’s call him “Dracula” – and I divorced. By then most of the money was gone, so there was little to divide up, but I agreed to the divorce on one condition: that I was given sole ownership of this house and the property that came with it. It suited my needs perfectly. By that point I was so demoralised and beaten down, all I wanted was to hide away in this tiny village in the mountains and live out the rest of my days in peace.’

‘When a psychiatrist named Anton Gessen showed up with fire in his eyes and began buying up the surrounding chalets to create his clinic, I resisted. No matter how much money he offered me, I made it clear I wasn’t leaving my home. So we reached a compromise. I would stay on in this house, which was just inside the border of what would become the clinic grounds. To avoid questions from the other patients, I would pretend to be one myself. Heaven knows I had enough practice during the years my ex insisted I was crazy. For several years I’ve been acting the part, with nobody the wiser.’ She raised her cup in a mock toast. ‘Until now.’

Vidor’s mind was electrified. If Hélène wasn’t a patient, she was free to come and go at will. She might be his only chance to get away. It was now or never. With Gessen hinting that someone had pushed Ismail into that ravine, Vidor was sure the next step would be to accuse him of murder. He didn’t kill that Egyptian boy. But who would believe him? The police would take the word of a doctor over a patient.

‘I need your help.’ He got on his knees in front of Hélène and took her hands. It didn’t matter that she had played him for a fool. Not when she had the power to smuggle him out. His breath came in gasps.

‘Do get up,’ Hélène said, pulling her hands away. ‘There’s no need to panic. Anton isn’t a bad man. His only concern is to help you get well.’