The young guy who had opened the door in the gate looked at Isaac closely and enquired politely: “Who’s asking for him… and on what business?” “My name is Isaac Leroy and I’m here on a personal matter.” The young guy looked Isaac up and down again, cast a glance at his scooter and opened the door wider. “We-ell, all ri-ight,” he said uncertainly, stretching out the words. “Come in,” he added. He moved aside to let Isaac through. The house itself was not large, and set on a wide, flat plot of ground – a rarity in the Cap d’Ail district. Six massive, dark-red columns, two of which ran down into a beautiful, sky-blue swimming pool. Windows down to the floor, lots of glass, lots of clear light and fresh air. The obligatory pampered palms trees on the grounds and lots of olive trees. A magnificent view of the sea. If someone lived in a villa like this, their life had come together very nicely. Through the glass walls Isaac saw a collection of modern art, both paintings and sculptures.
