A manade is the Camargue word for a farm. The Americans were setting up camp right on our Caussade doorstep.

‘Will there be nuclear weapons stored there?’

‘Of course. In readiness to strike back in case of an attack. The Americans’ – Léon was feeding his apple core to Cosette – ‘are the only ones with sufficient money and firepower to confront the Soviets. Europe is teetering on the brink.’

A chill touched my spine despite the warmth of the evening. I looked out through the stable doorway to where the barn stood hunched and shadowy in the last dying rays of daylight. Inside sat my brother.

‘Léon.’

The apple-scented breath of Cosette shifted the musty air in the stables.

‘Do you ever visit my brother now?’ I asked. ‘You used to be his friend.’

‘I tried.’

‘He turned you away too?’

‘He’s in a dark place right now. He needs to be alone.’

A rifle across his knees. As if he knew what was coming. I didn’t attempt to speak. I had no voice and the silence deepened along with the shadows but Léon made no attempt to brush it aside. It was only when one of the gardians who worked on my father’s manade rode in on Pépé, a muscular high-stepping horse, that the stables came back to life with the rattle of hooves and the creak of warm leather.

‘Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Eloïse.’

‘Bonsoir, Louis, ça va?’

The rider’s mouth pulled down in a grimace and he gestured towards the barn where Goliath’s body lay, hacked to death. He glanced at the police uniform at my side, wiped the back of his gloved hand across his mouth as though ridding his lips of the words that rose to them, and moved off to the far end stall. Police were never welcome. They always meant trouble. I nodded goodbye to Léon and walked towards the wide doorway. It was time to speak with my father.

‘Eloïse.’

I halted. Léon was barely visible in the gloom. ‘What is it?’

‘If you are going into town, into Serriac or even to Arles, take care.’

‘Take care?’ A pulse kicked in my throat. ‘Why?’

‘Because a lot of people know you are the daughter of Aristide Caussade.’

‘Léon, understand this: I am proud to be the daughter of Aristide Caussade.’

He nodded. ‘Of course you are.’ I could hear the smile in his voice rather than see it on his face.

I moved closer. ‘Do you think there could be some other reason for the brutal death of my father’s prize bull? Other than the air base land?’

‘Do you know of one?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

I wasn’t certain he believed me. I started to return to the house, but I heard his policeman’s boots just behind me.

‘Eloïse, I am sorry about what happened to your face.’