He had never before wondered why that was. It was beginning to seem as if he was on the verge of discovering something hitherto unknown to him.

Could it be that … ?

Monsieur Saval could feel himself colouring and he leapt to his feet. It was as if he had heard Madame Sandres say, thirty years earlier, ‘I love you.’

Could that be the case? What was dawning on him was sheer torture. Was it possible that he had not seen, not even guessed? Oh … if only it were true! Imagine if he had been so close to happiness … and just not able to grasp it! I must know, he said to himself. I can’t bear not knowing. I must find out!

He got dressed hurriedly, flinging on his clothes and thinking, I’m sixty-two, she’s fifty-eight. Surely at this stage I can ask her. And he went out. Sandres’ house was on the other side of the street, almost directly opposite his own. He banged on the knocker and the little parlourmaid opened the door. She was astonished to see him there so early.

‘Monsieur Saval! At this time of day! Is anything the matter?’

Saval replied: ‘No, love, nothing. Just go and tell the mistress I’d like a word with her straight away.’

‘I’m afraid Madame’s busy at the stove making her stock of pear jam for the winter. She’s not, like, dressed properly, you know.’

‘Never mind about that – doesn’t matter. Tell her it’s very important.’

With long, nervous strides, but no feeling of embarrassment, Saval began to pace the salon. He would ask her for this information just as he would ask for a recipe. He was sixty-two, for heaven’s sake!

The door opened and she appeared. She was now a plump roly-poly of a woman with round cheeks and a ringing laugh. She walked in, holding her hands well away from her sides. Her bare arms in their rolled-up sleeves were sticky with sugary juice. Concerned, she asked: ‘My dear, what’s the matter? You’re not ill, I hope?’

‘No, my dear friend, not at all,’ he replied, ‘but there’s something which is very important to me that I’d like to ask you. Promise you’ll give me an absolutely honest answer?’

She smiled.

‘I’m always honest. Ask away.’

‘Well, this is the thing. I’ve loved you from the day I first saw you. Did you ever have any idea?’

There was something of the old tone in her voice when she laughingly replied: ‘You great lummock! Of course I did, from the word go!’

Saval began to tremble. He stammered: ‘You knew … So … ?’ He stopped.

‘So … what?’ she asked.

‘Well I mean …,’ he went on, ‘what did you think … what would you have said if … ?’

She laughed even more. Drops of the syrup were dripping off her fingertips on to the parquet floor.