‘I think it’ll be hard, but I think you’ll do the right thing. You always do.’

She tried to pull a suspicious face. ‘What have you done with my brother?’

‘Oh, he’s around here somewhere.’ I stood up. ‘Darling, there’s someone I have to see. I’ll be back for supper. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Not if you’re coming back.’ She smiled at me, and I hugged her fiercely.

‘I promise.’

I made it to The Farm in no time at all, still unsure of what I wanted to say to Sylvie. I climbed the steps and rang the bell with a nervousness in my stomach that reminded me of the first time I’d seen her.

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Noel said when she opened the door to me. ‘She’s feeling a little under the weather.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s the shock, I think.’

I crossed the house to the garden, where Sylvie was sitting in the sunshine, making a garland of flowers. She’d had the table moved from the terrace, as if to take breakfast on the lawn, but an untouched cup of coffee sat by her hand, and a plate of toast, with only a small bite missing. An unopened book was lying at her feet, and underneath the plate, I saw an unfinished letter.

‘Darling,’ I said, kissing her cheek, ‘you need to keep your strength up.’

She lifted her face to the sun, closing her eyes. ‘This is my food now.’

‘You can’t live on sunshine.’

‘I could if I were a flower.’ She opened her eyes again and let them travel around the flowerbeds. Her pupils were dilated. ‘Look at all those colours,’ she said dreamily, ‘they’re so vivid.’

‘Beautiful.’

She turned back to her garland-making, humming. ‘I wonder if it would be peaceful, being a flower.’

‘Depends on the gardener, I suppose.’ I pulled out a chair and sat opposite her, watching her fingers at work. ‘May I have some coffee?’

‘Help yourself. Just be quiet for a little while, will you?’

It was warm. I removed my jacket and hung it on the back of my chair, then stretched out my legs. Birds chattered from a nest in the terrace roof, their songs mingling with the sound of the river washing gently over stones and through reeds. All thoughts of prison cells, and the grey claustrophobia that came with them, seemed ridiculous now. I poured myself some black coffee, took a sip and rested the cup on my stomach, breathing shallowly so as not to spill it.

‘You must have good stomach muscles,’ Sylvie said, not looking up.

‘I suppose I do.’

‘You’re lucky you’ve never had children in there – they change your body.’ She brushed a fallen rose petal from her lap. ‘I used to have such a perfect figure … Never had to do anything with it.’