Lepine cleared his throat and spoke quietly in French, Rowan nodding and answering in a voice so low it was almost a whisper. From what I could make out, he was asking her to identify the body. Rowan nodded again and said something else in French, her voice cracking.

Lepine put a hand lightly on her arm, his severe features softening.

‘Je suis vraiment désolé, Madame,’ he said.

He unfolded the tarpaulin and laid it gently, carefully, over the body.

I couldn’t bear to look at her broken body but I didn’t want her to be covered, either. It seemed so impersonal, so final, that she was beyond us and beyond all hope of help, beyond the bond of friendship that had bound us together for half our lives. Without thinking, I knelt down and stroked her outstretched hand. It was cool to the touch, the skin waxy, but still warm to the touch.

My friend. Little more than an hour ago I had faced her across a table, trying to contain my fury, clenching my hands in my lap to stop myself from lashing out at her.

And now this.

Somehow it seemed as though it was my fault, my responsibility. My suspicion and ill-will and anger towards Izzy had sent her over the edge of that cliff.

I’m sorry, Izzy. Truly, I am.

‘We need to get in touch with her family,’ Rowan said, her voice shaking. ‘Her brother. Ring the Irish consulate.’

‘I think the police will take care of that.’

‘Madame?’ Lepine said, with an apologetic smile. He was gesturing for me to move away from the body.

‘Of course.’ I stood up. ‘I’m sorry. Pardon.’

‘What’s the matter?’ Rowan asked.

‘I don’t think we’re supposed to touch . . . anything here.’

‘Oh. Of course.’

The fireman spoke to her again, Rowan translating for my benefit.

‘He’s going to put a call into the regional Police Nationale office to report what’s happened,’ she said. ‘One of his men will stay here until the police arrive. Stay with . . . Izzy.’

Alistair spoke for the first time, his voice flat.

‘Shouldn’t we take her up to the villa? We could make a stretcher out of something, perhaps put a couple of the—’

I cut him off, my professional instincts kicking in.

‘No,’ I said.

‘We can’t just leave her down here!’

‘They have to preserve all the evidence, and the police will want everything left as it is.’

‘Evidence?’ He sounded confused. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Because . . .’ I hesitated, not wanting to say it, hating myself because I knew I had to. ‘This is a potential crime scene.’

Chapter 71

71

No one could speak.