one

The raindrops crashing against my windshield grew larger and larger. The wipers creaked and shuddered and soon the torrents of water were so great that I instinctively took my foot off the accelerator. It was an almost biblical storm; a car accident was the last thing I needed.

To avoid the Friday-evening traffic on my way back into central Paris, I had decided to take the back roads through the woods that surround the city. Anything to avoid the gridlocked highways and the horror of spending hours at a standstill. I squinted as I tried to make out the road signs ahead through the misted-up windows. And as if the weather and the traffic weren’t enough, all of a sudden, in the middle of the dark wood, my GPS gave up the ghost.

It has to be said, no GPS would ever have survived the journey I’d just made. Or at least not unscathed. I was returning from an uncharted wilderness, the sort of area where “you are here” means “you are nowhere.” And yet . . . out there was a small office park, an unlikely collection of PLCs (Profitless companies, I thought to myself) that my boss must have thought offered enough of a commercial opportunity to justify my trip. Although I had the unpleasant suspicion that ever since he’d agreed I could work a four-day week, he was making me pay for that favor by giving me the jobs no one else wanted. Which explained why I was in this tin can on wheels, navigating the roads on the outskirts of Paris to chase after such small fry . . .

Come on, Camille, stop feeling sorry for yourself and concentrate on the road . . .

Suddenly there was a loud bang. I swerved terrifyingly out of control. My head hit the windshield, and I learned that the story about your life flashing in front of your eyes in a split second wasn’t just a myth.

After a few foggy moments, I came to and tentatively reached up to where I’d hit my forehead . . . nothing sticky, thank goodness, just a large bump. I quickly checked myself all over. No, no other injuries to report. More of a fright than anything else, thank god!

I got out of the car, shielding myself from the rain as best I could with my raincoat, and went to inspect the damage: a burst tire and a dented fender. Once I got over my initial panic, fear gave way to anger. For fuck’s sake! Could today possibly get any worse? With shaking hands, I grabbed my cell phone as if it was a lifeline. No signal, of course. Why was I not surprised?

The minutes ticked by. Nothing—there wasn’t a soul around. I was all alone, stranded in this empty wood.

Don’t just panic, do something! There must be people living round here somewhere . . .

So I abandoned the car—it was no use to me now—and set off along the road, braving the elements in my oh-so-glamorous hi-vis waterproof. Needs must . . .

After an eternity of ten minutes, I came across the iron gates of a large house. I pressed the button on the videophone as urgently as if I were dialing emergency services.

A man replied tersely, in one of those haughty voices that you reserve for unwanted callers.

“Yes? What is it?”

I crossed my fingers: Please let this guy take pity on me!

“Good evening . . . So sorry to bother you, but I’ve crashed my car in the woods behind your house . . . My tire’s burst and I don’t have any cell recep—”

The buzzing sound of the gate being opened made me jump. Was it my bedraggled shipwreck survivor’s appearance that had convinced him to offer me asylum? I didn’t care. I slipped inside without a second thought and found myself confronted by a magnificent mansion, surrounded by a manicured garden. I felt as though I had struck gold.