Alain drives us to the top of the Salève. It's breathtaking, clear, lots of fun. We drink and wander around the mountain. Alain grabs my arm, jokingly reaching to push me off the side of the embankment.

How did you get to be so strong?” I smile but don't bother answering. It wasn't really a question.

Alain is in the midst of metaphysical crisis - purpose of life, place in the world, not feeling connected to things etcetera and we chat vaguely and my father makes up nonsense poems which Alain takes to be full of meaning and in which - bravo- he takes some comfort. He is relaxed when anxious. He is like a beautiful Irish Setter bounding about the hills and rushing back to take me by the arm, jostle me to one side, invite me to play wrestle. I love Irish Setters. I am awed by their gorgeousness. But they're stupid.

As we wind down the hill to Geneva, Alain becomes progressively sentimental, serious. I am in back seat. My father is in front."Tracey, do you know that when men think of most beautiful thing world they a woman? What do women about?”
“I think these generalizations are idiotic, Alain.” No, I don’t say that. Instead I say: "Sometimes I think of women too.” I'm expecting he will find this mildly amusing and pass over it. I mean it to fly through the car. It's out of my mouth long before I realize this nothing remark has silenced us.

Gee. I wonder if my father knows I'm a lesbian. I never really mentioned it.

Alain: “So wait - your daughter's a homosexual?”

The car accelerates as the road twists. Alain believes that only happy people can drive slowly. Should I step in or wait for an answer? My father doesn't miss a beat.

“Not necessarily...”

Alain, with authority: “Ah, now I see why you need such big muscles.” Irish Setters - beautiful but dumb.