It was so obvious, why had it not occurred to me before? How could I have been so stupid? Maybe Lucy was reacting to us, to Sean and me, or whatever it was he was doing behind my back. She had sensed something going on beneath the surface of our marriage, just as I had, but she didn’t know how to articulate it. This was her way of acting out: she was confused and upset and felt she couldn’t talk to either her mum or her dad about her fears. Could that be it, or at least part of it? I resolved to talk to her. Not yet, but soon, when I knew a little more.

The children should be our priority, however badly messed-up everything else became.

I stood and went to the window, opening it wide into the air-conditioned bedroom and feeling the oven-like heat of the day wrap itself around me. The view was breathtaking: wide open skies, green fields ready for harvest, little ochre-roofed farmhouses dotted here and there. The leaves of the olive trees below me moved gently in a light breeze, tiny ripples ruffling the surface of the infinity pool.

Daniel was down in the garden below, Sean’s camcorder in hand, skipping along, filming the pool area and the back of the villa.

For the first time since we’d been here I felt a moment of peace, a moment of pure tenderness: my bright, funny boy, so innocent in his love of funny videos and slapstick and silly jokes. So unaware of everything that was going on beneath the surface. He caught sight of me and stopped to wave, his high voice echoing across the quiet garden.

‘Mummy! Hello!’

I waved back and gave him my best smile as he zoomed in on me. After a moment he waved again and then he was off, disappearing around the side of the villa with the camera held out in front of him, chattering as he went.

I felt my smile fade and checked my watch. It was nearly time to go.

Chapter 22

22

The air had a golden quality, the evening light soft and honey-warm as the sun sank towards the hills.

Rowan had driven us into the foothills of the Monts de L’Espinouse, to the little town of Olargues. Perched in the shadow of a ruined medieval castle, our table at Les Amis gave stunning views down into the Jaur valley as it softened into dusk. Below us was the curving stone arch of the Pont du Diable, the Devil’s Bridge which, according to local folklore, had been built by the Devil himself in exchange for the first soul that walked across it.