“This is the whole point of a good picture. To work with the available light and shade. To find definition and meaning in black and white where none seems obvious. And perhaps to illuminate a mystery.”

She made it sound like being a detective.

“Well, aren’t you going to buy me a drink?” she asked.

“In there?”

“Why not?”

“If you’d ever been through the door you’d know the answer to that question. No, let’s go somewhere else.” I dipped my head beside her ear for a second and sniffed loudly, for effect. “That’s Mystikum, and I’d prefer to enjoy it because you’re wearing it, not because it hides the smell of fish.”

“I’m impressed. That you know my perfume.”

“I’m a concierge. It’s my job to know these things. Besides, I saw the bottle in your handbag last night when you showed me your book.”

“You have keen eyes.”

“Not for very much, I’m afraid.”

She nodded. “I won’t argue about going somewhere else. It does smell of fish around here.”

“Good.”

“Where shall we go?”

“This is Villefranche. There are more bars in this town than there are mailboxes. Which probably explains why the post is so slow.”

“I’ve a better idea. Why don’t we go to your house and then you can give me that bridge book?”

“I think I may have misled you, Mrs. French. When I said it was a house what I actually meant was a lobster pot.”

“And you’re the lobster, is that it?”

“Certainly. There’s no room in there for much more than me and a local fisherman’s hand.”

“All right. Why don’t you go home, fetch the book, and then bring it to my house? Avenue des Hespérides, number eight. We can have a drink there if you like. There’s quite a substantial wine cellar I’ve hardly touched since I rented the place.”

“Didn’t the Garden of the Hesperides have some golden apples that were guarded by a never-sleeping, hundred-headed dragon named Ladon?”

“We had a guard dog, but he died. I do have a cat. His name is Robbie. I don’t think that you need to worry about him. But if you’d rather not—”