‘And the people who planted the bomb are right, aren’t they? Corsica is much prettier without all that concrete. If we wait for the end of the legal case, with all the scheming and administration, they’ll have had more than enough time to ruin La Revellata and the rest of the island, don’t you think?’

Aurélia has no opinion on that. Ever.

But this time she did give me an answer.

‘Yes. My father said that to me as well, that Cassanu was right to do it. Even if he wasn’t acting within the law.’

Well, that put me in my place.

I thought about it all day. I even bumped into Papé, who was engrossed in conversation with Basile Spinello at the entrance to the campsite, the two of them looking like conspirators, but not that frightening. There were a few police cars driving around. The explosion was mentioned on the radio. Then everything was settled by the end of the day. No one had seen anything, no one had heard anything. Top secret! Revellata will be returned to the gulls, the goats, the donkeys, the boars.

This evening I spent a long time in the Cave of the Sea-Calves, looking out at the sea and watching the sun go down over Revellata Bay.

It was incredibly beautiful in red and gold.

And I was incredibly proud.

As long as my Papé is here, the bay will stay as it is.

Wild, unspoiled, rebellious.

Like me!

For ever, eh, my future reader? For ever, promise me.

*

*     *

For ever …

The little fool!

He closed the notebook.

10

13 August 2016, 4 p.m.

The bare-chested workmen were suffering from the heat. Motionless, bent over their spades, sitting at the wheel of a stationary bulldozer, or smoking a cigarette in the shade if they were lucky. It seemed as if they were all looking in disbelief at the foundations for the concrete walls set among the rocks, as if this were an insane enterprise, a titanic task. A palace dreamt up by an insane king, impossible to build, or at best to be built in the winter, or at night, not in the midst of this heatwave.

‘That’s going to be a four-star hotel,’ Valou said from the back seat of the Passat, clapping her hands like an excited child.

Franck was driving calmly, concentrating on the road, his eyes narrowed. The sun dazzled him every time he rounded a corner. Clotilde turned towards her daughter.

‘A what?’

‘A four-star hotel. The Roc e Mare marina. It’s an old project that’s been resurrected by Cervone Spinello. It’s a kind of extension to the Euproctes campsite. There are all these plans in reception. It’s supposed to be finished before next summer. Really top class! It’ll have a swimming pool, a spa, a gym, rooms at 300 euros a night with a private balcony and direct access down to the sea.’