While he was listening to him, Franck had a vision of Lise the way he’d left her that morning, naked under just a sheet, windows wide open to the winds, alone and defenceless at the top of the hill that was apparently the haunt of poachers and hunters who went there to settle scores (if he had understood correctly). And then there was the roaming dog as well – what if it decided to turn nasty like it did yesterday, to bite, to attack? He slapped a ten-euro note on the counter, retrieved his computer and bag, and left, saying goodbye to the owner, who was rather surprised to see him suddenly in such a rush.

‘Hey! Don’t forget the Post-it … Or you’ll never find it.’

Once outside, he couldn’t remember where he had parked the car. As he looked for it he realised he had completely forgotten to call Liem and Travis. He didn’t want to think about them now and especially not to talk to them. Perhaps keeping them waiting was the best way of dealing with them.

The Audi was now in direct sunlight, no longer protected by the leafless old plane tree. With its dark bodywork, it was like an oven when he got inside. He was immediately soaked in sweat and turned the air conditioning up high. He was wary of the stories about hunting, of animals that might or might not be wandering around. But he had sensed that there was something malevolent about this place from the beginning; even the name Mont d’Orcières sounded ferrous and sharp, and talking about it here had reawakened his suspicions. Even the advert was weird, and the fact that you had to communicate with people who were evasive and strangely cold, but now, after Madame Dauclercq’s welcome and everything he had been told, it seemed that something really wasn’t right.