Franck finally came back out of the shed, doubled over and covered in dust. The dog stepped backwards as if an alien had just appeared out of nowhere. Franck had draped an old rope over his shoulder, a thick, coarse lead-rope or tether. Lise leant back so he couldn’t see her. She wanted to carry on watching him. Still, she was relieved that he had found something to do; she had been so worried that he would crack after two days and beg her to spend the rest of the holiday in a hotel or at the beach – anywhere but here. Franck was so used to comfort that she had had trouble picturing him in a remote house in the hills. It had been fine in the end. Nonetheless, she had absolutely no idea what he wanted to do with the rope. She would normally have called out from the balcony, even if it startled him, to ask what he was planning to do with it. But she didn’t want to disturb him or get in the way of whatever it was he was up to. After all, he could do what he pleased with the rope. But a terrible thought crossed her mind: might people have hanged themselves here before? Maybe the reason the house felt so mysterious was because its occupants had killed themselves, leaving behind no successors, no family or children, a bit like herself and Franck. Franck went back into the shed to get another rope that looked quite thick. He threw one over each shoulder like the straps of a big bag. She was intrigued but stopped herself asking him any questions. They had operated like this all the time they had been living together, giving each other space and being careful not to pry. Franck never commented on what she was painting; he only encouraged her. He encouraged her in everything she did but, first and foremost, as an artist; when she attempted to direct a film for instance, or when she told him she wanted to stop acting and devote herself to painting instead. Rather than telling her she was mad and should carry on acting, or making her feel guilty, he simply asked if she preferred oil or gouache.

She had loved him for more than twenty years precisely because of his thoughtfulness. Franck had only ever supported her, just as he did everybody else – scriptwriters, actors, technicians and directors. On principle, he always encouraged them. Perhaps the most important quality in a producer is being able to support and strengthen others, taking the strain off them.

Franck was back in the house. Lise could hear him on the ground floor and the dog was standing ready to make a move, watching Franck as if waiting for him to announce the plan.

‘Lise?’ Franck called up to her.

She answered him, pretending to be surprised.

‘I’m going for a wander.’

‘No problem!’