‘Maman and I had tea. She had bought some jam at the market in the port at Stasero, fig and arbutus.’

She gently turned the pot of jam beside the pointy baguette.

Fig and arbutus.

Clotilde put her hand on the table, feeling dizzy.

‘It’s all there, Franck. It’s all there. Just like …’

Franck raised his eyes to the ceiling.

‘Like it was twenty-seven years ago, Clo? How can you remember the flavour of the jam you had for breakfast twenty-seven years ago? The brand of tea? The …’

Clotilde stared at him almost spitefully.

‘What? Those were the last moments I spent with my family! The last meals we ate together. They have haunted my nights ever since then, thousands of nights, and thousands of days, the ghosts of Maman, Papa and Nico sitting beside me, at my breakfast table, every morning when I was alone, when you were away, when you were at work. So yes, Franck, I do remember. Every little detail.’

Franck quickly beat a retreat. A ruse, the better to change his angle of attack.

‘OK, Clo, OK. But it could just be a coincidence, admit it. Tea, coffee, fruit juice, local jam. Nine out of ten families would scoff that lot for breakfast.’

‘And the table? Who set the table?’

‘I have no idea. Perhaps Valou is playing a trick on us. Or on you. Or me? Or it’s just a bad joke. A thoughtful gesture from your friend Cervone, or his devoted servant Hagrid. After all, he seems to worship you.’

Clotilde gave a start at the mention of Orsu’s nickname. She resisted the desire to deliver a kick to the four aluminium legs, to send everything flying in a spray of coffee and melted butter.

Franck’s calm attitude made it even more unbearable.

‘It’s someone who’s trying to make you think about the past, Clo. Don’t play their game. Don’t even try to find out who …’

Clotilde wasn’t even listening to her husband’s arguments. She had noticed a newspaper folded in two on one of the chairs.

Le Monde. Today’s paper.

She looked at it as if it were about to catch fire.

‘And … the paper?’

‘The same thing,’ Franck went on. ‘It’s all staged. I imagine your parents read that paper every morning, like everyone always does on holiday.’

‘No, never!’

‘Then, you see. Our mysterious waiter has made a mistake. Which proves that …’