Ariane went at once to the window and looked out at the bare trees in the avenue, only then turning to assess the room. She lifted the corner of a dust cover to see what was hidden underneath. He opened the next set of double doors into their bedroom. To his surprise the bed had been prepared, the square pillows in starched white cases lay on the coverlet. Behind him he heard her footsteps as she followed him into the room. She halted at the sight of the bed.

‘Ariane.’

They stood, apart, looking around the room. His eyes came to rest on the bed, voyeur of their former selves making love, impelled by the threat of war. He glanced at his wife. Her face was set, with no sign of the past understanding, passionate and instinctive, that they used to share. He put his arms around her.

‘Kiss me,’ he said. She shifted her gaze to his face, leaned forward and kissed his cheek, affectionate, absent.

He was trying to evoke the memory of that night in Normandy, the erotic intensity of which had grown in the nostalgia of exile. He took her head in his hands to tilt it up to him. There was no response as his tongue separated her lips. He had been more than willing, that first time in Normandy that she was refusing to remember, when she had led the way. He persevered in his attempt to resuscitate the past.

‘Ariane, forget the Occupation. Write it off. Make love to me now.’

He pulled off her hat, flinging it into a corner of the room, releasing the short curls that now covered her head. He began to unbutton her coat, but halted when he looked from the work of his fingers to her face.

‘Theo, I’m sorry … It’s been horrible. It’s my fault, I should have told you …’

‘No, no. It was my fault. Anyway it doesn’t matter now. That’s the past. Now, kiss me.’

This time she did, throwing off, with an effort, whatever it was that had oppressed her. ‘Yes, yes, yes.’

He was pushing her coat off her shoulders and embracing her at the same time. She pulled at his tie and wrenched at the stud that held his collar in order to open his shirt. The removal of their clothes was a clumsy operation, as if they had never made love before and were unfamiliar and uncertain. Once in bed he yelped at the touch of her icy hands, kissing her to generate heat under the covers that made a tent over the ridgepole of his back as he moved over her, to warm her and remind her of their past.

It still worked. They still worked together, whatever else they could not yet settle, and when Theo pushed off the weight of the blankets, now too hot, and allowed the cold air to chill the sweat on his back, he felt a profound satisfaction of at last achieving the place that he had wanted to be ever since he left. He fell briefly asleep. When he awoke Ariane’s eyes were open and she was watching him. Sleepily he put out a hand to stroke the soft olive skin of her breast and turned to lodge himself the length of her body. His mind reached into the future, occupying and peopling it with Ariane, Sabine, a new family.