Clarisse ran a satisfied hand over her light-brown hair that was twisted into a sleek coil at her nape. Her green eyes were fierce in a way that belied her indolent manner and I wondered what was coming.

‘It’s your mayor,’ she said. ‘Cousin to Gilles Bertin.’

‘Charles Durand?’

‘Yes. He’s not what he seems.’

‘A smooth-talking money-maker who stands for election on a moderate Socialist ticket.’ I didn’t mention the word ‘blackmailer’.

‘Exactly.’ She sipped her coffee and glanced approvingly around the elegant room with its handsome scrollwork and polished mahogany. ‘Nice hotel. What’s its history?’

‘It used to be a Carmelite convent.’ I shook my head at her. ‘Don’t tease. What is Charles Durand hiding?’

‘It seems he used to be a rabid Communist in his youth and early adulthood.’

‘Really? I’ve never heard that before. He keeps it very quiet.’

Clarisse smiled slyly. ‘Clearly he had a change of heart, a Road-to-Damascus moment, and became a dedicated businessman instead.’

‘Who lends money to farmers at exorbitant rates and when they can’t repay, he repossesses their land and builds on it.’

‘Which he would never do if he were a Communist, would he?’ She paused to blow softly on her coffee. ‘Unless . . .’

Our gazes locked on each other. ‘Unless,’ I finished, ‘he is a sleeper.’

CHAPTER THIRTY

Mas Caussade never looked more welcoming.

I’d shot home from Arles as fast as my tin-can car would go. If anyone was following me, I didn’t spot them, but I saw no point in anyone following me as it was obvious where I was heading. I had run home.

There was a flurr y of activity around the house, with new stables going up already, hammers and saws and the clean fresh scent of new wood. My father was among the builders, banging in nails and giving orders. I stood and observed him for a few minutes. He looked happy to be making a new home for his beloved white horses, more cheerful than around me or André. Someone had trimmed his beard.

The dogs lazed in the shade, eyes never leaving Papa, and a handful of hens and ducks scratched in the dirt, bickering with one another. A row of crows sat on the barn roof like grubby urchins on a wall, waiting for a chance to snatch at any beetles fool enough to make a run from the stable. The sight of it all stirred something in me, the part of me I’d long forgotten that was moulded out of Camarguais black earth.

I turned my back on it and hurried into the house. I closed the door behind me with a resounding slam and in the gloomy hallway I leaned my cheek against the wall. I could hear the house breathe and gradually my own breathing slowed to its pace. I felt Mas Caussade wrap itself around me once more.