De Payns was uncomfortable, but he was also aware that as their children grew up he couldn’t control the friendships they made.

‘I said we’d head over around seven,’ Romy told him.

Great, thought de Payns. The whole thing was planned. One of those arrangements that was not really optional at all.

Across the road he saw Jim, obviously waiting. Jim put on his cap and de Payns walked to the pedestrian crossing and waited for the green signal. He walked westwards from the Port-Royal RER station towards Montparnasse Cemetery. Jim led them into one of the leafier streets, filled with grand Belle Époque apartment buildings with awnings over the restaurants and cafes at street level. They cut down a side alley, which de Payns never liked, although this one had old cobble pavers under foot and ended in a tall cast-iron gate, which Jim pulled back and walked through. They were now inside one of Paris’s private gardens, which formed a park from the combined backyards of an entire block of Montparnasse. They wove through trees that were hundreds of years old and crossed a bridge over a brook. De Payns pulled back as they walked across an enormous lawn. He didn’t know this garden and he was wary of being so exposed.

Jim must have sensed his reluctance, because as he reached the edge of the lawn he stopped and looked back at de Payns, making a small gesture with his head. Then he walked towards a brick cottage which looked like a gardener’s quarters. De Payns advanced as Jim reached the cottage door.

‘Come on. You walk like an old woman,’ said the former soldier, holding the door open and gesturing for de Payns to enter.

De Payns paused at the threshold and looked Jim in the eye. ‘This is on you, Jim,’ he said. ‘If I have a problem in there, then you have a problem. Understand?’

Jim laughed. ‘You and I already have a problem, mon pote. Now get in the goddamn room.’

De Payns ducked under the mossy lintel into a low-ceilinged space that might once have housed a family. Now it was filled with lawnmowers and motorised yard equipment and shelves of chemicals. In the dusty corner was a kitchen and sitting area, and on a sheet-covered sofa sat Philippe Manerie.

‘I’m in a hurry,’ said the director. ‘Sit.’

De Payns walked to a wooden kitchen table and pulled out a rickety chair.

‘There’s no need for the crap you’re giving Jim,’ said Manerie. ‘We are all on the same side, and anything he asks of you is an order from me.’

De Payns looked at the soldier, who was standing guard at the door. ‘Sorry, darling.’

‘You’re forgiven, ma chérie,’ said Jim.

‘Stop it, both of you,’ snapped Manerie. He looked at de Payns. ‘You owe me some insights. What’s happening with the Falcon investigation?’