‘We’ll find out soon enough.’

‘Now they’ve been joined by another officer. He’s wearing a black patch over his eye.’

The fear that filled her stomach as she picked up her book was not for herself. When you reached her age, you did not expect to live for ever any more. It was fear of the alien and the unknown: the impossibility of understanding those foreign voices, their indifferent faces, the logic of their actions so far removed from the life of Bonnemort. And fear for the others, for Ariane, of whom she had become truly fond, for the children, for Micheline and Henri who had looked after the family for decades. She noticed with admiration that Odette really was passing the needle through the canvas, leaving a trail of completed stitches behind it as evidence of her concentration. For herself, she had self-control enough not to go downstairs to ask Ariane what was happening, to hold her book in her hand, but she could not make her action real and read the words she was looking at.

When Ariane opened the door, Marguerite rose at once.

‘My dear, what do they want? What are they going to do?’

‘Sit down, Marguerite, allow Ariane to speak.’

‘This is a security unit,’ Ariane explained. ‘They’re here to deal with gangs and they’ll stay indefinitely.’

‘Here?’

‘Yes, they are going to occupy Bonnemort.’

‘What do they mean by “gangs”?’

‘The Resistance,’ Ariane said briefly. ‘They call them gangs of terrorists. I’ve explained to them who lives here. They’ll check our papers, and I hope we won’t have any problems.’ She drew a hand over her forehead, as if to calm herself. ‘They’re taking over the house. We’ll all move into the tower. The girls will sleep in the dressing room. I thought you wouldn’t mmd taking the second floor. The stairs will be a problem for you, Aunt Odette, I know.’

Marguerite had noticed that as she became accustomed to their presence her fear died and it was harder to maintain her dislike. When they were wearing their soft caps, she could distinguish their features and begin to tell one from another. They were so young.

‘They were so young,’ she said aloud. ‘Only a few years older than Suzie and Sabine. They had skin like babies, or those terrible spots on their necks. Just children, yet they were killing people.’

‘Or old. There were the older men, who used to stay to guard.’

‘Even the officers were young. The major was about thirty, and the lieutenant, the one with the eyepatch, the same.’

‘That poor young man who was killed …’

Theo felt as if he was stalking a butterfly, or a tiger. He had suddenly glimpsed his prey and did not know whether to freeze or to fire. Tell me about my wife’s lover. Who was he?

‘Who was he?’ he asked when it was clear that neither of them was going to elaborate.

‘Sabine, would you like to wash your hands before dinner.’ The child rose meekly and left the room.