‘This has nothing to do with any of that. I need you to help me stage an intervention. An intervention that isn’t entirely within the law. It’s potentially dangerous. I need you to get hold of a handful of determined men. Armed.’

He was staring at her now, astonished. Perhaps he was even revising his judgement. That perhaps a little of his blood did flow through the veins of his granddaughter. That she might even be able to dip a toe into the bosom of his clan.

‘Armed? I’m an old man, I have no influence any more. Who do you want me to …’

‘Ta-dah.’ Clotilde held out her mobile to him. ‘I’m sure you only need to make a few calls. I’m sure your Corsicans will be lining up for a mission like this.’

‘That depends on the mission.’

‘To neutralise a bodyguard. Maybe two. A muscular bodyguard, but definitely not armed.’

He closed his eyes and visualised the scene.

‘Where would this happen?’

‘It’ll bring back memories.’ She gazed at the shadows on the beach seven hundred metres below. ‘The Tropi-Kalliste, Oscelluccia beach. I’m not sure you’ll have paid any attention to the posters, but I want to get close to Maria-Chjara Giordano.’

‘That whore?’

Yes, he clearly had paid attention to the posters.

‘Why do you need to talk to her?’

She replied crisply, as if wielding a cleaver.

‘I want to find out the truth. The truth about the death of your son. My father. My mother and my brother. She’s the only one who knows. A truth that even you don’t know.’

This time the shock hit Cassanu head on. He seemed to suffer from a sudden fit of dizziness, his eyes were closed, he wheezed and coughed then slowly slid down the cross, his limbs spread, as if he wanted to die here, his arms in a cross in challenge to the one erected by the Austrians.

Clotilde took his hand and spoke to him: ‘Are you all right, Papé? Are you OK?’ She thought about calling the emergency services, and gave him some water. ‘Gently now, Papé, gently.’ She calmed his quivering legs, she calmed his thumping heart. ‘It’s fine, Papé, you’re OK.’ She gripped his ten fingers in her ten as if his life were a bird ready to fly away, hidden in the hollow of his hand. It took a few minutes before Cassanu was fully conscious again, as if he had analysed all the data in his badly ventilated brain; then slowly his breathing began to return to normal, and he was able to get up and grab his cane.

‘Help me up, Clotilde. It’ll take us at least an hour to descend. Give me your telephone so I can use it on the way. Armed men in balaclavas, yes, I should be able to get hold of some of those.’

45