‘That has nothing to do with me.’

It was a beautiful day, cold, with a scorched-blue sky, and the dark-grey shadows cast by the bare winter branches on the limestone looked as if they’d been sketched on. The streets were busy and crowded. Nicolas bumped into a cafe table, upsetting a cup of coffee, and the clink of the china cup on the table was loud and unending. Nicolas proffered a sloppy apology to the man who was sitting there with his newspaper and pipe.

‘I’ve been betrayed,’ Nicolas said, regaining his balance. ‘They know I stole.’

I ignored him, and stopped to let pass a group of men in work overalls. Nicolas took my elbow. It wasn’t rough; it didn’t hurt, but he wasn’t going to let go until I listened to him. He pulled me into a recessed doorway.

‘I’m going to lose everything,’ he said, ‘and I have nowhere to go. This was my last chance.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. However, I kept my word. I don’t even know where to find the Compagnon house and I’ve said nothing to those men. You must have told someone else. Perhaps you were too drunk to remember.’ I looked out towards the road just as a passing horse stopped to urinate, its piss potent and billowing steam in the cold air.

He stared into my face, trying to focus, and his hot breath reeked. Stubble grew in uneven patches on his pimpled jaw. ‘You’re like one of those girls on the postcards that the paper vendors sell.’

‘What are you talking about?’ I shifted my basket from one elbow to the other, looked from his face to the street and back to his face again. I could taste the smell of horse piss.

Nicolas laughed then. Not a mirthful, belly sound – more of a jab from the back of the throat. He kept his eyes on my face and reached for something in his back pocket, a rectangular piece of card, softened and creased many times over. He unfolded the card and made it smooth by rubbing it with an open palm against his chest, then turned it over to reveal the image. Two naked, creamy women in heeled shoes, one on a bed, the other crouched over her. I pushed the card away.

‘I saw you kiss that lady,’ he said. ‘When I came to finish the handles. I saw you.’

‘You saw nothing,’ I said.

‘I was there, I saw you in the doorway. You and a lady with a purple ribbon on her hat.’

‘You don’t know what you saw.’

‘They’re going to kick me out,’ he said, leaning back against the stone wall of the doorway. ‘I’ve got nothing.’

‘I can’t help you.’

‘What do you think would happen if your sweet Madame knew what kind of girl you really were?’

‘She would never believe you.’

Nicolas took a step towards me, suddenly very sober. ‘Would make a good story though, wouldn’t it? Perfect fodder for that concierge or the girl who takes the laundry. Truth or rumour, makes no difference to them.’