“I’ll see you tomorrow, Claude.” I give him a kiss on his forelock and stand up to go. And I promise him this will not be the last goodbye, but as I shut the door behind me, I worry that my promise is a lie.

Chapter 14: The King Tide

20 July, 1853

I write in this diary now shivering and shaking, frozen to the bone and harrowed to the core but counting myself lucky to be alive. The events of today, I must get down on paper while they are still fresh in my mind – for they have changed my world forever.

It began with the tides. I had noticed over the past days that the swell of the high tide was growing much higher than usual. Each day when the sea swept in, it kept on going, higher and higher, way above the usual tide marks, until it was flooding the estuaries and swamping the rice paddies and the marshlands so that the landscape was underwater and utterly unrecognisable.

“Late spring is the season of the king tides,” Mimi explained. “A natural phenomenon. The cycles of the moon cause the sea to swell much higher than usual. You must be wary when you travel now because the waters can deepen further than you expect. Tides here in the Camargue have always ruled the land, and they can be treacherous.”

This morning the sky was red, which is a sure sign of bad weather, and Mimi had suggested perhaps it might be wiser to stay home today and paint. But I was determined to go outside. I hate to be cooped up. I promised her I would not stay out all day and would get Pierre to bring me home in time for lunch. I was ready for a fight over this, but she seemed satisfied with my plan.

“The storm won’t arrive before then,” she said, eyeing the skies with a confidence of someone who has spent a life here in the Camargue reading the weather.

Pierre was in a sullen mood, partly because of the inclement weather and also about being sent out to herd back three black bulls that had escaped their pens. Even though he admitted to me, as we set off, that it was his fault they’d got free! He had left their gate unlocked.

“They are idiot creatures, escaping in such bad weather,” he griped. “And now we are out here too, and why? We should both be indoors!”

“I think stormy weather is exciting,” I insisted. There was no rain yet but already in the distance the clouds were rolling black towards us and there was an ominous rumbling. Suddenly, a fork of lightning flashed against the rose-grey streaks of the clouds and Babette gave a most fearful whinny and almost bolted! Pierre had to clutch at the reins to stop her.