The ochre village of Roussillon features prominently in the next installment of the Penelope Kite mysteries, when death stalks the artistic community of the Luberon.

“All along the road down the hill from St Merlot to Apt, the trees pitched and rolled as if they were a churning green sea.

The main valley road towards Roussillon headed due west into the mistral, and at times she felt the Range Rover, substantial as it was, struggle to make headway. Soon enough, though, the rusty red cliff on which the village sat rose majestically from the valley floor. As the road climbed, the curves and wind-sculpted stacks of red soil emerged from the green pines like a 1950s actress letting a fur slip from her bare shoulders.

Soon the village came into sight. Unsure exactly where the museum was, Penelope drove through the main street slowly, looking out for a sign. The last time she had come, in high summer, it had been thronged with tourists. Now scents of wood smoke hung in the air.”

I love writing authentic settings and landscapes, and I hope that anyone who knows the area already will enjoy some moments of delicious recognition, and that these scenes will provide some vivid armchair travel for every reader.