before we must return. I am sure Charlot’s temperament will improve.
Next day we rise early, rinse our faces in cold water and dress quickly. There is something Charlot wants to show me.
‘There,’ he says on reaching the ragged shore of a lake below the chateau. Tied to a post in the reeds is a punt, with a strange wooden vee at the front as if for a huge oar. Charlot pulls a key from his pocket with a flourish and leads me to a low hut I’d overlooked, sturdily built and roofed with turf. The hut is in darkness until Charlot finds a catch and the top half of the wall overlooking the lake falls forward with a crash. ‘For the light,’ he says. ‘We’ll put it back.’
An old chair, a decanter, chipped glasses, a boar spear and a hunting dirk, discarded powder flasks and a filthy leather hunting jacket hanging on a hook . . .
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