Madeline looked on in awe as a pair of angular fashion models in white mink coats paraded before a crouching photographer.

‘Don’t be fooled by all of this,’ said Johann. ‘I read that the average resident here has seven bank accounts, but you won’t see any of them around town. They’re up in the hills. This is just a display for tourists.’

But it was obvious to Madeline that Monte Carlo was geared to amusing thin white rich people. As she passed a silver Baby Bentley, its licence plate carrying the blue and white Monaco coat of arms, she felt herself shrinking into insignificance. The policemen looked like male models, and the streets were as clean as expensive restaurants. Down in the bay, elderly couples watched television on gleaming yachts in the world’s most expensive floating trailer park. This was Old Europe at its richest and creepiest, attracting serious wealth while simultaneously fish-eyeing the tourist classes, pocketing money while making you feel like a grateful nonentity.

Ryan had taken to holding their escort’s hand as they walked. Shafts of sunlight slanted between the green cliff peaks, tilting the town even further towards the sea.

‘I don’t think this is my kind of place,’ said Madeline. ‘I don’t feel comfortable here.’

‘I like it.’ Johann pointed up to the lampposts. ‘The cameras? Everything that happens here is filmed by the security system. There is no crime. They see everything.’

‘I suppose that’s a good thing,’ said Madeline doubtfully.

The cameras simultaneously protected and threatened. Johann liked that. They watched for petty crime and bad behaviour, but missed the fact that he had broken the law. It was the beauty of Europe; so many countries with different rules and moral codes, butted up against one another, and none of them communicating. Paradoxically, he felt safer here than anywhere else, knowing that the technology was more efficient than those who operated it.

‘Let’s go back.’ He took up the hands on either side of him and led them back to the underground car park where the shining floors squeaked and the walls played music.

She watched the passing lights through the windscreen as they passed out of town towards Cap-d’Ail. ‘What happened to your other car?’ she asked, touching the polished dashboard of the silver Mercedes.

‘There was a problem with the gearbox.’ He did not take his eyes from the road. Ryan was asleep in the back.

‘Really? It seemed fine to me.’ She knew quite a bit about cars; Jack had always discussed his work with her. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘My brother has a half share in a secondhand-car dealership. He lends me vehicles from time to time.’ The lies came easily. They always had.

‘I thought you said you were an only child, Johann.’

‘I call him brother. Our family adopted him to raise as their own.’

‘Does he live nearby?’

She was asking too many questions. Impatiently, he floored the car and allowed it to glide around the angle of the cliff road. ‘He is in Ventimiglia.’