Longingly, Bea watched them, entranced. She wrapped her arms around herself. She imagined making love with Dan and the feeling of life beginning. She knew her friends’ stories of motherhood. They talked as if the thing was mundane, awful even, and moaned about sleeplessness and boredom, but they were keeping heroes’ secrets. They were mothers. They had crossed into a place of mortal danger and beauty. They knew they had, they just didn’t want to boast. When she was a mother, and Dan was a father, how happy they would be. They would give so much love it was terrifying. The French mother across the pool had ordered something from the waiter. She’d saved a life, now she was having a sandwich. The two waiters were setting up a trestle table for afternoon tea, taking great care with the corners of the cloth, but a wind had come up, and whatever they did, the cloth kept blowing, and showing the scarred wood underneath. Bea’s phone buzzed. Griff.

You can get Dan now.

She jumped up and left, apologising to the waiter, and nearly tripping on the steps, then on a sprinkler sticking out of the grass.

Arun was waiting by a long black Mercedes limousine, with Chateau L’Orée des Vignes written in gold on the side. When he saw her, he opened the door and she scrambled into the back seat. The engine was already running.

‘Jolly good,’ he said.

Dan’s legs were shaking as he was escorted out of the gendarmerie. He couldn’t remember anything that had been asked of him, or a word of what he’d answered, it was a blank. He crossed the drill square courtyard, flanked by Dufour and Luis, and saw Arun through the glass, beyond the metal detector, with the desk sergeant. He stopped himself from waving enthusiastically. Even from a distance, behind reflecting toughened glass, Arun looked immaculate and very rich-looking.

‘This way,’ said Dufour. ‘OK, good.’

He saw Dan through into the security lobby, and then he and Luis went back out across the courtyard again. The soldier on the desk released the second door, and Dan went through it, to the public side, the civilian side. Safety.

‘There you are,’ said Arun. He was wearing a perfectly cut lightweight navy-blue suit, pale pink shirt and a silk tie. Even his glasses looked shiny, and his head, as if he’d just polished himself. He held out his hand to shake Dan’s, and his cuffs slipped a perfect inch and showed his large watch. They shook hands.

‘I’m so sorry you’ve been inconvenienced. I’ve been trying to have a chat with the sergeant here, but my French is not all it should be. He took some convincing I’m not from Syria.’