Lise pointed to a grove of various types of tree surrounded by cypresses on their right. There was a eucalyptus in the centre, and next to it an oak tree that was probably a hundred years old. The house must be on the other side of this wooded sanctuary, which offered a solitary patch of shade on the bare hillside. Lise wanted to go for a walk to take in the view, drinking in the fresh air. It was the perfect place for her; she felt so lucky to be there, outside the world. Franck was speechless. He – who would have much preferred to meet friends in Corsica or on a boat, or to spend two weeks in a civilised seaside setting – was struck by the beauty of the place, then immediately overwhelmed by the feeling of absolute isolation emanating from it.

Yet the sun shining on the glossy emerald hills filled him with wonder. Some landscapes are like faces: as soon as you see them, you recognise them. Franck had gone on shoots all around the world for his job, but he had rarely had this feeling that the landscape was welcoming him. It was probably due to tiredness and the desire to rest. They had been on the road for a long time, and they were as exhausted as they were relieved to have made it up the hill after hours of driving in the summer heat. They still had to see the house and find out what it was like. He was expecting a nasty surprise, but at least they would still have this spellbinding view, even if he knew that, for him, the attraction would last no more than a couple of days.

Lise wanted him to take her hand. They had never been alone like this before, never lived in this kind of environment and never been lost in nature, just the two of them. Even when they went to the desert three years ago, they had never left the group, and apart from one night in a tent, they had gone back to the hotel every evening. This time their isolation was much more tangible.