She suddenly explodes and starts to threaten me. I offer to call a doctor or take her to the hospital.

“There’s something not right with you, Vinca. But together we can find a solution to whatever the problem is.”

I try to calm her. I use all my powers of persuasion, but I have no hold over her. She is like a woman possessed, capable of anything. Between racking sobs, she lets out a bitter laugh. Then, out of the blue, she takes a pregnancy test from her pocket.

“Your darling husband did this!”

For the first time since I can remember, I am shaken. I feel a fault line opening up inside me, a terrifying private earthquake I don’t know how to stop. I see my whole life going up in flames. My life, and my family’s. I cannot simply stand here and do nothing. I cannot let our lives be reduced to ashes by some nineteen-year-old pyromaniac. As Vinca continues to taunt me, I look around and see the replica of a Brancusi statue I bought at the Louvre for Thomas and that he immediately gave to her. A red mist descends, blotting out everything. I grab the statue and bring it down hard on Vinca’s skull. She crumples like a rag doll under the force of the blow.

*  *  *

The blackout lasts for a long moment. Time stops. Nothing exists anymore. My mind is frozen, just like the snow outside. When, finally, I come to my senses, I realize that Vinca is dead. The only thing I can do is to play for time. I drag Vinca over to her bed, lay her on her side to hide the wound, and pull a blanket over her.

I trudge back through a landscape as mournful as a ghostly heath to the safe cocoon of my office. Sitting in my chair, I call Francis again and again, but he doesn’t answer. This time, it’s over.

I close my eyes and, despite my agitation, try to think. Life has taught me that most problems can be overcome by the power of thought. The first thing that occurs to me—the most obvious—is that I simply need to get rid of Vinca’s body before she is found. It would be tricky, but possible. I consider a number of scenarios, but each time I come to the same conclusion: If the Rockwell heiress suddenly disappears from the lycée, it will trigger a shock wave. Every possible means will be used to find her. The police will search the school from top to bottom, bring in forensics teams, question students, investigate anyone Vinca has been seeing. There might be witnesses of her affair with Richard. Whoever has taken the photos Vinca showed me will probably try to blackmail us or turn us in to the police. There is no escape.