The final photograph was another shot of Grace, a few years older, standing with an elderly man. Alice creased her brow. He reminded her of someone. She turned the photo slightly, to change the way the light fell on the image.

They were standing in front of an old stone wall. There was something about the pose, as if they didn’t know each other well. From their clothes, it was late spring or summer. Grace was wearing a short-sleeved summer dress, gathered at the waist. Her companion was tall and very in a pale summer suit. His face was obscured by the shadow of his panama hat but his speckled, creased hands gave his age away.

On the wall behind them a French street sign was partially visible. Alice peered at the tiny sign and managed to make out the words Rue des Trois Degres. The caption on the back was in Baillard’s spidery handwriting:

AB e GT.junh 1993, Chartres

Chartres again. Grace and Audric Baillard, it had to be. And 1982, the year her parents had died.

Putting that to one side too, Alice took out the only item left in the box, a small, old-fashioned book. The black leather was cracked and held together with a corroded brass zip and the words holy bible were embossed in gold on the front.

After several attempts, Alice managed to get it open. At first glance, it seemed like any other standard King James edition. It was only when she got three-quarters of the way through that she discovered a hole had been cut through the tissue-thin pages to create a shallow, rectangular hiding place, about four inches by three.

Inside, folded tight, were several sheets of paper, which Alice carefully opened out. A pale stone disc, the size of a one euro piece, fell out and landed in her lap. It was flat and very thin, made of stone, not metal. Surprised, she balanced it between her fingers. There were two letters engraved on it. NS. Compass points? Somebody’s initials? Some kind of currency?

Alice turned the disc over. Engraved on the other side was the labyrinth, identical in every respect to the markings on the underside of the ring and on the wall of the cave.

Common sense told her there would be a perfectly acceptable explanation for the coincidence, although nothing came immediately to mind. She looked with apprehension at the papers that had contained the disc. She was nervous of what she might discover, but she was too curious to leave them unopened.

You can’t stop now.

Alice began to unfold the pages. She had to stop herself sighing with relief. It was only a family tree. The first sheet was headed ARBRE GENEALOGIQUE. The ink was faded and hard to read in places, but certain words stood out. Most names were in black, but on the second line one name, ALAIS PELLETIER-DU MAS (1193-), was written in red ink. Alice couldn’t decipher the name next to it but, on the line below and set slightly to the right, was another name, SAJHE DE SERVIAN, written in green.

Beside both names was a small, delicate motif picked out in gold. Alice reached for the stone disc and laid it next to the symbol on the page, pattern side up. They were identical.

One by one, she turned the sheets over until she got to the last page. There she found an entry for Grace, her date of death added in a different colour ink. Below that and to the side were Alice’s parents.

The final entry was hers, ALICE GRACE (1976-) picked out in red ink. Next to it, the labyrinth symbol.

With her knees drawn up to her chin and her arms hooped around her legs, Alice lost track of how long she sat in the still, abandoned room. Finally, she understood. The past was reaching out to claim her. Whether she wished it or not.

The journey back from Salleles d’Aude to Carcassonne passed in a blur.

When Alice got back, the hotel lobby was crowded with new arrivals, so she retrieved her key herself from its hook, and then went upstairs without anyone noticing.

As she went to unlock the door, she noticed it was ajar.

Alice hesitated. She put the shoebox and books down on the ground, then carefully pushed the door open wide.

“Allo? Hello?”

She cast her eyes around the room. Everything inside looked as she’d left it. Still feeling apprehensive, Alice stepped over the things on the threshold, and took a cautious step inside. She stopped. There was a smell of vanilla and stale tobacco.

There was a movement behind the door. Her heart leaped into her mouth. She spun round, just in time to register a grey jacket and black hair reflected in the glass, before she was shoved hard in the chest and sent flying back. Her head smashed against the mirrored door of the wardrobe, setting the wire coat hangers on the rail inside rattling like marbles on a tin roof.

The room went fuzzy around the edges. Everything dancing, out of focus. Alice blinked. She could hear him running away down the corridor.

Go. Quick.

Alice staggered to her feet and went after him. She hurtled down the stairs and into the lobby, where a large party of Italians were blocking her exit. In panic, she cast her eyes around the busy lobby, just in time to see the man disappearing through the side entrance.

She pushed her way through the forest of people and luggage, clambering over suitcases and luggage, then out after him into the gardens. He was already at the top of the drive. Summoning every last ounce of energy, Alice ran, but he was too fast.

By the time she reached the main road, there was no sign of him. He’d disappeared into the crowds of tourists on their way down from the Cite. Alice put her hands on her knees, trying to get her breath back. Then she straightened up and felt the back of her head with her fingers. Already a bruise was forming.

With a last look at the road, Alice turned and walked back to reception. Apologising, she went straight to the front of the queue.

“Pardon, mais vous I’avez vu?

The girl on duty looked put out. “I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve finished with this gentleman,” she said.

“I’m afraid this can’t wait,” she said. There was someone in my room. He just ran out. A couple of minutes ago.“

“Really, Madame, if you could just wait a moment-”

Alice raised her voice so that everyone could hear. “ll y avait quelqu’un dans ma chambre. Un voleur!

The crowded reception fell silent. The girl’s eyes widened. She slid from her stool and disappeared. Seconds later, the owner of the hotel appeared and steered Alice away from the main area.

“What seems to be the problem, Madame? he said in a low voice.

Alice explained.

“The door’s not been forced,” he said, checking the catch, when he accompanied her back upstairs.

With the proprietor watching from the doorway, Alice checked to see if anything was missing. To her confusion, nothing was. Her passport was still at the bottom of the wardrobe, although it had been moved. The same was true of the contents of her rucksack. Nothing was gone, but it was all in slightly the wrong place. Hardly proof.

Alice checked the bathroom. At last, she’d found something.

“Monsieur,”s’il vous plait,“ she called out. She pointed at the hand basin. ”Regardez.“

There was a strong smell of lavender where her soap had been hacked into pieces. Her toothpaste also had been cut open and the contents squeezed out. “Voila. Comme je vous ai dit.” As I told you.

He looked concerned, but doubtful. Did Madame want him to call the police? He would ask the other guests if they had noticed anything, of course, but since nothing seemed to be missing…? He left the sentence hanging.

The shock suddenly kicked in. This wasn’t a random burglary. Who ever it was had been looking for something specific, something they believed she had.