Watchman

He did not even know if he himself was safe. This part of the Dordogne was isolated enough, but one could never be wholly safe, not in his world. All one could do was enjoy the present, and he was certainly doing that. He sloshed more wine around his mouth, then swallowed luxuriously. Perhaps he could plant some vines in those fields...

‘Miles?’

‘I’m on the terrace.’

Sheila, looking tanned and fit, came around from the side of the house. Her hands were cupped, and she was walking quietly, as though afraid of waking a child.

‘What is it?’ he asked, and she opened her hands to show him. ‘It’s a little beetle,’ he said, impressed.

‘Yes, I just found it in the vegetable garden. Any idea what kind it is?’

‘I haven’t the faintest.’ Sheila transferred the tiny, brightly colored creature to his own open palm. ‘But I can find out. I’ll just go to the study and check.’ And with that he was off, back into the farmhouse, weaving between unopened packing cases, beneath the gaping rafters of the first floor, until he reached his study, which was in fact the bathroom. He kept a few books there beside the toilet. Placing the beetle on the rim of the bath, he settled himself down and opened a page.