Past graffiti-covered warehouses and wholesale superstores; past railway sidings, public housing blocks and a shanty town. This is a suburban railway journey from central Paris, through the grim outskirts and into the resentful gilets jaunes country of small-town France, neither prosperous nor poor. There are no taxis at the station, so I walk through a litter-strewn wood and across a deserted industrial estate to reach my destination.

Priscillia Ludosky has set our rendezvous for lunch in the unremarkable Bois Sénart shopping centre near her home in Savigny-le-Temple, southeast of Paris. I sense that this is not going to be the sort of Lunch with the FT where film stars and financiers greet us discreetly from across the restaurant while we are attended by a solicitous chef.

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