How I travelled in my head

In April/May of this year, I wrote my new novel, The Missing Monsieur Max, partly to give me an excuse to walk around the streets of St Rémy de Provence during lockdown, when the only way to travel was in my head. 

I don’t know about you, but sometimes, if I can’t sleep, I will let my mind explore the rooms of houses I have lived in to see how much I can remember and so it is, on occasion, with St Rémy. 

It’s a delightful little town about twenty minutes’ drive away from Avignon and is a perfect shape, the centre being what was originally a walled town but is now encircled by tree-shaded boulevards.

Having owned a house there for ten years from around 2004 to 2014, we, as a family, got to know it pretty well and spent time there throughout the year, enjoying its markets, festivals and fêtes and its many bars and restaurants.

Not only that, but it was a great location from which to explore other villages like Gordes, Eygalières and Ménerbes or towns and cities like Arles, Nîmes, Aix en Provence and Marseilles, or the coastline of the Camargue or around Cassis.

It seemed logical then, when I was contemplating writing an homage to the world of Maigret, to think of setting it in St Rémy de Provence. Could I recapture the pleasure of strolling around the town and exploring its environs as well as capture Simenon’s interest in the character and personality of people and places? Whether I succeeded or not, you can judge for yourself, by reading The Missing Monsieur Max, out now on paperback, with the e-book edition to be published soon.