Sylvie made every day special – she seemed so radiantly happy all the time, playing with her animals, and writing letters to Nolwen and Paola, her daughters. She and Nicolas threw extravagant dinner parties where the guests brought tents and camped in the garden for several days so the party could continue. We never slept over, but occasionally one of them would show up to collect us early at the weekend, and we would have breakfast at their house – bacon and eggs, pastries, fresh orange juice and strong black coffee. Afterwards, we’d go for a walk, taking Samson, who was getting restless confined to the garden, along with us. He was too young at first, his legs tired out after ten minutes and he sat down and cried.

‘What a big baby you are,’ Nicolas said.

Samson mewled pitifully until Nicolas picked him up and we carried him home.

When Freddie wasn’t there we had Sylvie’s full attention. She loved books, and reading to us, everything from Treasure Island to The Turn of the Screw. She would braid Maud’s hair, asking us about our day, or sing for us in her husky voice, accompanying herself on the ukulele.

‘All good daughters of America know how to play one of these,’ she said.

‘What about the bad daughters?’ I asked.

She smiled. ‘They know how to play something else.’

She made me feel as if I was funny, and clever, but also like a favourite nephew, which wasn’t what I wanted at all, and I half-thought about asking Joseph for more of his drinks. And at the same time, I was glad she thought of me like that so she never kept secrets from me. I wanted to know everything about her; I’d never been so fascinated by anyone else, and it was strange and exciting at the same time.

We played cards a lot – pairs and bridge. I always partnered Sylvie, and Nicolas helped Maud, who seemed to lose interest halfway through each game.

‘You’re good, Theo,’ Sylvie said once, after a clean sweep. ‘Nearly as good as Freddie, and that’s saying something.’

I wondered how Nico really felt about Sylvie and Freddie, and how openly she talked about him. He seemed resigned to it, but maybe it was just that he was quieter than all his friends. I liked Nico a lot. I could tell he was an outsider, and I felt as if he was glad I’d come along. He was the only one who always talked to me as if I was an adult. Even so, I understood why Sylvie was drawn more to Freddie.