He brings his two hands to his face, clamping it like a vice as if to flatten it, except that it stays as perfect as ever, the curves of an appetising round fruit. I love it when his face splits into a smile.

‘Shit. That’s why I asked you. It’s little mermaids like you that I’m trying to attract.’ (Two lychees twinkle above his watermelon smile.) ‘Mermaids who dream of swimming with dolphins. In the open sea.’

I stare in disbelief at my mermaid-fisherman. The hook’s pretty big!

‘Are you joking?’

He nods and bursts out laughing. I’d guessed a moment in advance, thanks to our telepathy.

‘It’s not rubbish at all, though. There are thousands of dolphins in the Mediterranean. And hundreds off the coast of Corsica. The boat-trip guys in Porto, Cargèse and Girolata promise to take you out along the coast of the Scandola nature reserve, but given the number of bathtubs floating around out there, you don’t have even a one-in-a-hundred chance of seeing so much as a fin. Dolphins prefer fishing boats, they like to bite through your nets and steal the fish.’

‘Have you ever seen them?’

He nods as if it were obvious.

‘Like all the fishermen in the Mediterranean. But as a general rule dolphins and fishermen aren’t exactly the best of friends.’

I roll my eyes the way Maman does when she’s haggling in the market.

‘But you are. And now you’re going to tell me you’ve even managed to train them.’

‘It isn’t hard. They’re intelligent animals that can recognise the sound of a boat, the voice of a human being.’

‘And you’ve gained their trust?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t believe you!’

He smiles at me again. I think he likes the way I stand up to him. I also think he’s telling the truth. I think my fisherman is a little child who’s spent his life dreaming about dolphins, all by himself in his room, and who’s ended up finding them, approaching them, loving them, I think that …

‘You’re right, Clotilde. You should never trust people straight away. Nobody.’

Wow, he knows my first name!

‘Your Papé must have taught you that. It takes time to tame someone.’

‘My Papé?’

‘You’re Cassanu’s granddaughter, aren’t you? The Idrissis are well known around here, as you know. And you don’t exactly go unnoticed, with your disguise.’

My disguise? Since he didn’t have hair or a beard, I’d happily pull his eyelashes out. If he didn’t have such beautiful eyes.

My disguise indeed!

This peasant has clearly never seen Beetlejuice. He’s never set foot in a cinema, he’s never opened a book, nothing matters more to him than his fish, his passion. My God, do men like that really exist?

I go on the attack.

‘What about my disguise?’