Dan mumbled something, feeling dazed. Two other soldiers, hanging around behind the desk were talking about them, and staring. Arun placed a thick, sealed white envelope on the desk, addressed in ink to Capitaine Christophe Vincent. He said something in French to the soldier on the desk, then opened the door for Dan. When they reached the gate he stood aside again, to let him through first.

‘Ghastly,’ he said.

Dan smiled for the first time. Ghastly. They passed the last of the soldiers, and they were on the pavement.

‘Have you noticed’, said Arun, ‘how even these days, one can’t afford to dress down?’

By one he meant people of colour. Dan had on a pair of old shorts and a T-shirt, and he hadn’t shaved. ‘Where’s your car?’ he said.

‘Just round the corner.’

‘They’ve got a CCTV image of Alex with someone,’ said Dan. ‘It could be anyone, but the cops in there wanted it to be me.’

‘Where was it taken?’

‘I dunno, a gas station somewhere.’

Arun shook his head. ‘Alex was reckless. He was a trusting, tragic character in many ways.’

Dan didn’t care about that. ‘Yeah, but why are they so interested in me?’

‘Don’t concern yourself. Their behaviour towards you is a combination of what we might call their house style and a certain endemic racism. In any case, they’ll certainly hesitate before bothering you again.’

Even in Griff’s absence, Dan felt the sedative power of his wealth.

‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

At the little roundabout they crossed the road.

‘There we are,’ said Arun.

Dan saw a black Mercedes with shaded windows waiting by the kerb.

‘We thought it best not to park too close,’ smiled Arun. ‘It looks rather Russian mafia, don’t you think? Very ostentatious.’

The back door opened and Bea clambered out. She threw herself at him and hugged him.

‘Oh my God. Are you OK?’

‘Just about.’

They all got into the limousine, Arun in the front.

‘Bonjour,’ said the driver, smiling.

‘Hey,’ said Dan.

The car pulled away. Bea, subdued by his reaction to her, sat back into the corner.

‘What did they ask you?’ she said.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t remember. She looked awkward in the big rich car, and the sight of her was complicated. He thought of Dufour, probing him, and how he had defended her, and felt the need to punish her. He remembered her expression as he was taken away, so calm, implacable. He knew he blamed her but his reasons were obscure, even to himself.

‘Did you call Griff?’ he said. ‘When they took me in?’

‘Of course I did.’

The air conditioning made the black leather interior cold and crisp. She had goose pimples on her arms. He leaned back in the deep seat and shut his eyes.