‘It’s OK, I come in?’ said the first. ‘We speak English?’

Bea didn’t want to lose sight of the other man, when Dan was on his own, and the uniformed cop had a gun. She went towards the back door.

‘Wait, please,’ said the man behind her.

‘I need to translate,’ said Bea. She heard his boots on the floor behind her, and the nylon rustle of his clothes, and his hand landed on her arm.

‘Don’t touch me,’ she said.

‘Wait, please.’

She reached the back door, but it was locked. She turned to go through the sitting room, but he was in her way.

‘Please,’ he said. ‘It’s OK.’

She stood there in her cotton skirt, damp from sex with Dan, hair messy, and the imprint of grass on her elbows, loose blades of grass on her feet. He faced her down calmly.

‘My name is Officer Lecuyer,’ he said.

She could hear men’s voices in the garden. She was trapped.

‘We are here to search in your brother’s room, and my –’ his English dried up. ‘My friend wants Monsieur Durrant, to ask him questions.’

‘Why?’

‘Capitaine Vincent is here soon. It’s OK.’

The voices in the garden died away, then she saw Dan, accompanied by the two other men, walking past the front window. She read the words Gendarmerie Identification Criminelle on the back of the second man’s bomber jacket. She wanted to shout Dan’s name, but stopped herself.

‘Can I speak to him, please?’ she said quietly.

Lecuyer stepped aside in a very gentlemanly way, as if he hadn’t been intimidating her. Perhaps he hadn’t. She had lost her bearings. She didn’t know what was normal or if she was safe. She didn’t know how scared to be. She went to the front door and opened it. Dan was about to get into the squad car, with the two gendarmes, in a hurry, at his side.

‘Call Griff,’ he said.

One of them opened the back door for him, and gestured. It wasn’t as if he was cuffed or being forced. Perhaps she was overreacting.

‘They just want to ask him one or two things,’ said the second TIC man, coming close to her. He was young and overweight and his smooth face was shining with sweat.

‘Call Griff,’ said Dan again.

‘What do they want to know?’ she said to the TIC man.

‘I don’t know.’ He wiped his clammy face with the flat of his hand and hitched up his elasticated dark blue uniform trousers, which were baggy, and silly looking. ‘Nice place,’ he said, looking up at the hotel.

‘Hey.’ The gendarme tapped his watch. ‘In the car,’ he said to Dan.

Dan got in.

‘Bea,’ he said. ‘Fucking call him.’

The gendarme tensed at the word fucking, understood by anybody.

‘No trouble, OK?’