Gessen stood in the centre of the Persian carpet, scanning the contents of his office to confirm that everything was in order. The polished mahogany desk was free of paperwork, and the dove-grey curtains were drawn against the morning sun. Between the two wingback chairs, a potted yellow orchid lent a tropical note to the otherwise neutral decor. On the far wall, the single piece of artwork, a watercolour of mountains and sky, was intentionally bland. The work of turning inward to excavate the mind required minimal distraction.

A knock on the door, and Vidor was ushered inside by his personal attendant, a bright-eyed young man from Krakow, fresh from his trainee programme in Bern.

‘Professor Kiraly.’ Gessen crossed the room to offer his hand. ‘I am Dr Gessen. Welcome to Les Hirondelles.’

Vidor’s grip was dry and cool, and Gessen studied his face, hoping for a spark of recognition from either one of them. But now that he’d seen Vidor up close, it was clear they were strangers to each other. Had he imagined it, that flicker of familiarity? He gestured to one of the chairs.

‘I trust you’ve settled in by now,’ he said, sitting opposite Vidor, ‘and I apologise for not meeting with you earlier. I find our guests feel more comfortable when given a chance to settle in before starting treatment.’ He waited in the silence. ‘I presume Dr Lindstrom explained that to you when you arrived.’

He had assigned Vidor the Adagio Suite in Chalet Est, the largest on the grounds where Vidor could, if he chose, watch the sun rise over the mountains. The dawn at Les Hirondelles was a moment of sublime splendour, if one rose early enough to take it in.

Vidor examined the objects in the room, starting with the row of books on the shelf behind Gessen’s desk and coming to rest on the orchid on the table. ‘I’ve settled in quite nicely, thank you,’ he said, his voice laced with irony. ‘If I didn’t know better, I might believe I’d been spirited away to an exclusive resort for the idle rich.’

‘Spirited away?’

‘Didn’t your Dr Lindstrom tell you?’ Vidor discreetly coughed. ‘I have no memory of my arrival here. I woke to find myself in one of your chalets wearing strange clothes.’ He gestured at the loose blue tunic and tan trousers. ‘My wallet and wristwatch were gone.’ He paused. ‘My passport, as well.’

Gessen suppressed a flicker of surprise. He stood to retrieve the file on his desk and extracted two sheets of paper. The clinic’s admissions form and a document from the hospital in Copenhagen confirming the transfer to Les Hirondelles. ‘That’s your signature, isn’t it?’