He did not move. ‘Do you do this often?’ he asked. She understood at once the importance of the question.

‘Never,’ she said. He had believed her, then.

That Ariane, so erotic, so determined, seemed equally to fit the possibilities of the woman described by Madame Maniotte, and by Micheline.

He looked at his watch. The dusk was drawing in; school would be finishing and it would be a good moment to visit the school master. He must make some arrangement for Sabine before he left, for a few months until he could find a new boarding school. He would stop at Pechagrier on his way home. He took Florence’s bicycle and set off once more for Lepech Perdrissou.

Chapter Eight

In the centre of Lepech Perdrissou was the Place de la Republique. It was a very rural spot, simply a grassy space with a huge oak tree in the centre, supposedly planted for the birth of Louis XIV in 1638. Around its perimeter stood the principal buildings of the commune: the Mairie, the school, the church, the baker’s, the grocer’s, intermingled with cottages, their glass-paned doors opening directly onto the dusty road. The playground was empty and Theo could see no lights in the school itself. He rang the bell of the schoolmaster’s apartment above the classrooms. No reply. He walked into the square and, seeing a passer-by, asked where the teacher was.

‘He’ll be in his office in the Mairie,’ was the reply. So he was the replacement for the old mayor, whom he’d known in the old days. He tried the door of the town hall; it was unlocked and he went in. He rapped on the counter and said, ‘Is anyone there?’

From the office behind came a man Theo thought he recognised. He was of medium height, thin and wiry, with short curly grey hair. The face was younger, narrow and foxy, with grey eyes, as clear and cold as water.

‘Mr Vernhes?’

‘Yes.’ He looked surprised, not welcoming.

‘I’m Colonel de Cazalle from Bonnemort.’

‘Yes?’

‘I’ve come to see you in your capacity as schoolmaster, rather than mayor.’

Vernhes’ expression was not noticeably friendlier.

‘I’m only here for a very brief visit, which is why I’m calling without an appointment. I hope it isn’t an inconvenient moment.’

Four years of dealing with the petty officials of powerful interest groups had taught Theo that an excess of politeness, oiling the raw vanity of such people, which cost him nothing except a slight self-disgust at how easily he did it, was always worth it.

‘Very well. Come into my office. Colonel, you say. The Armistice Army?’ The military of Vichy were despised by the Resistance, as were the mothballed officers who had emerged from retirement in June ’44.

‘Free French,’ Theo said briefly. His provenance would not necessarily make Vernhes more sympathetic. The Resistance bore a grudge against the Gaullists for not supplying them with enough arms, not permitting action until the invasion and for generally not valuing their efforts.