Captain Léon Roussel was right. They know I am the daughter of Aristide Caussade. That is why no one referred to the American air base, though as I walked, a flight of three bomber aircraft passed overhead. No one referred to the massacre of Goliath either and that scared me. As if they thought it a subject too dangerous to mention, as if the stench of our champion bull’s blood clung to my skirts. Even the town’s idle dogs chose to hole up in the cool patches of shade rather than sniff at my ankles or growl at my approach.

I made my way to Thiery’s Bar down Rue des Lavandières where years ago the washerwomen performed their work under the municipal water pumps in the town square. The patron, Monsieur Thiery, paraded in his trademark purple apron, laughed and kissed only one of my cheeks, the good one. I ordered coffee and a glass of iced water, and I sat outside under the lacy branches of a plane tree, observing the small square with its smooth cobbles and its two cafés facing each other, like bulls in a stand-off. Nothing much stirred. I made a mental note of the few cars that were parked around the edges of the square. It was safer that way. So that I would know if one followed me home.

Time passed. Shadows started to shrink as the sun climbed higher in a naked blue sky and I waited to see who would come. I sipped my water and picked over the bones of my meeting with Serriac’s mayor. Why would he protect those who committed the crime against my father? He might be standing with those in the town who were opposed to the air base expansion, but as mayor he should not be condoning violent behaviour in any form. Still ringing in my head like a church bell on Sunday was his comment: In the town’s bars. Most weekends. Followed by the cosy, We miss him.

André never said a word to me in Paris about any trips home. Not a word. Why keep it from me? Why, André? Why? Didn’t you trust me? Even then. Trust. The word spiked in my mind and wouldn’t go away. The more it sounded in my head, the louder rang the lies.

A shadow spilled on to my table. I had heard no footsteps and I looked up quickly, one hand shading my eyes to see who had come to poke a stick in my cage.

‘Bonjour, Eloïse. Enjoying Serriac again?’

‘Good morning to you, Léon.’ I smiled up at him. He looked bigger than yesterday, as though Serriac broadened his shoulders; his uniform looked darker, his grey eyes less friendly here in town. Something about his polite smile made me feel an outsider.

‘Any progress?’ I asked.

‘We are questioning people.’ So noncommittal.

‘You’ll let me know if you discover something?’