I ignored that. ‘We didn’t finish our conversation at the air base yesterday, did we?’

All pretence of politeness dropped from his face and he threw an uncomfortable glance towards the house to ensure no one else was within earshot. Almost touching the roof, the clouds looked bruised and blackened. I could feel the first spit of rain.

‘I don’t want you here at my house,’ he hissed at me. ‘I don’t want you anywhere near my office either. So say what you’ve come to say and then get out of my garden.’

I didn’t blame him for being protective of it. The garden was extensive and well stocked, the kind of sweet-scented haven that could lull you into thinking all was well in the world, as bees murmured among the heavy blossoms that lined the gravel paths and yellow-plumed serins dropped in for a drink at the Roman stone fountain.

‘I wouldn’t be in such a hurry to throw me out, if I were you, monsieur.’ I omitted his title.

‘You have nothing to say that I want to hear. You Caussades have always been difficult.’

I could hear an undercurrent in his voice and I realised this man was afraid of me. Of what I knew. ‘Let’s talk about blackmail,’ I said coldly. ‘About you and blackmail. And then we can get round to you and treason.’

He was a tall man and he used his height well. He stood too close, an intimidating presence, and looked down his handsome nose at me. I was forced to look up.

‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,’ he said. But he didn’t walk away.

‘Your blackmailing of my father is finished.’

His eyes donned a mask of innocence. ‘What lies has the old fool been telling you?’

‘My father is not old. And he is certainly no fool. He has the newspaper article in his possession now and intends to burn it, so you will get no more money out of him. The chances of an obscure local newspaper in northern France being still in possession of a copy of an edition printed thirty-five years ago are nil. Especially after being caught in the middle of two world wars. I doubt that the newspaper even exists anymore. This is the end of it for you.’

He wanted to hit me. I could see it in his face, the flicker of physical rage, but I was accustomed to bulls. I stood my ground. In one hand he still held the dead head of a coral-pink rose, its petals soft and defenceless, and slowly his fist tightened on them.

‘You are talking nonsense, girl. I know nothing about any blackmail.’