‘Maurice Piquet. He is an Intelligence operative who works as one of their heavies. He’s a cleaner. He deals in the dirty work, the dirtier the better. Watch out for him. He likes to hurt.’

‘He works in Paris?’

‘Usually, yes.’

‘Not always?’

‘No. Wherever there are dirt and lies to be found, he could turn up. So yes, if necessary he could be sent to clean down here.’

‘His friend?’

‘Gilles Bertin.’

‘The one with a prissy thin moustache and a chin that looks as though someone took a meat-cleaver to it.’

‘That’s him.’ André’s lips gave a half-smile. ‘He makes scum like Piquet seem like a pussycat. He’s the brains. He doesn’t often deign to get his fingers bloodied. He collects information. But he favours the good life on the ChampsÉlysées, so rarely leaves Paris. But if you ever spot him,’ his voice was stern, ‘don’t hang around. Just run like crazy. Got that?’

I nodded. It was enough.

‘The only reason I am agreeing to you working with me on this operation is because of the note left on your car. They won’t leave it at that, and I don’t want you blundering in blindly.’

I kept my face calm.

‘The air base is where we start,’ he announced. ‘You will be my eyes and ears. My legs. To gather information.’

‘Well, that’s fortunate, because I have arranged to go there tomorrow evening.’

‘How the hell did—?’

‘To a dance. I was invited. By one of the airmen.’ His sandy eyebrows shot up. ‘That didn’t take long.’ A knock at the door startled us both.

‘Come in.’

Mathilde’s grey head popped around the door. ‘Telephone call for you, Eloïse. From Paris.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Clarisse Favre.’ My boss.

*

‘Is he alive?’

‘Hello, Clarisse.’

‘Your brother. Is he alive?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m happy for you, chérie,’ she said. ‘So what are you up to down there in your dreary wilderness? Having fun?’

I laughed and the sound of it was odd in the gloomy hall of my father’s house. ‘What can I do for you, Clarisse?’

‘When are you coming back? Paris needs you.’

‘Paris?’

‘Merde, all right, I’m the one who needs you.’

‘What’s going on? Are you on a new case?’

‘Yes, I’ve been hired by a wealthy father whose son is caught up in an illegal gambling syndicate.’

‘Tell me.’

We spent the next ten minutes discussing the case. I suggested several options of action and I could feel the purr of satisfaction in her voice.

‘Are you able to come back to Paris just for a week or two to oil the wheels on this case?’

‘Sorry, Clarisse, I can’t.’

‘C’mon, Eloïse. There’s more to life than horses and bulls and bloody brothers. You need some fun in your life again. Pop back to Paris.’

‘No time, sorry.’