This went on for five minutes, five minutes of an arduous ascent, five minutes of driving a car that was far too big while listening to its bodywork screeching. The polished metal had been scratched by branches the whole way up, and in the last few metres the slope had become so steep that Lise and Franck had their backs pressed flat against their seats, as if they were in a plane taking off. Then they were driving through shady pines. They approached the summit through rows of tall conifers. Still pinned against their seats, they could see the sun above the tops of the hills and then, suddenly, they found that they were horizontal once more, as though they had finally landed. From the crest of the hill, the surroundings looked like another world.

The panorama that opened out in front of them left them awestruck. At the end of the shady track the landscape jumped out at them. They had a 360-degree view, bathed in evening sunshine. Even Franck was moved by it. The hill stood like an island in the middle of an ocean of green, and from the top, you could see out over swathes of identical hills that seemed to go on forever. They stayed in the car, gazing at the scenery in total amazement. They felt as if they had entered the highest layer of the stratosphere, rising above the everyday reality of the world. They still could not see the house. The track was bordered by a low drystone wall, and the gîte must be at the end of it. They would just have to keep following the crest above the exposed hillside.

But instead of driving on, they stayed where they were, recovering from their journey and absorbed in the view. The landscape was a wilderness of hills and woods that stretched into infinity. Looking eastwards, Franck imagined seeing the area from above like on Google Earth; he imagined the causses, then the Massif Central, then stepping over the Rhone to the Alps, and Eurasia and the Ural Mountains beyond …

‘It must be behind the trees over there.’

‘What?’

‘The house!’