Gini said nothing. She wished Helen had never mentioned war zones in that particular way. She could feel Bosnia very close, just the other side of this restaurant wall; another few minutes and she’d start to hear its sounds; all that desolation and pain would come swooping back to her. This was not normal, she told herself. She had to regain perspective. She forced herself to pay close attention to Helen’s words.

“Even before Marianne was born,” she went on, “there were difficulties. Pascal was away for months at a time. I had to go to parties, dinners, on my own. Of course, I’ve always been very independent, I didn’t really mind…” She gave a small frown.

“Perhaps, if Pascal had earned more money than he did then, it might have been better. We could have had a larger apartment. I could have entertained. It’s awfully easy to get left out, you know, if one’s a woman living alone. I did say to Pascal, he could have earned more—it would have been so easy. Advertising agencies were clamoring to use him. I used to tease him; I’d say, surely you can fit them in, darling, before the next war…”

She laughed, and glanced at Gini.

“I can see. You don’t approve. Maybe you’re more high-minded than I was. I really couldn’t see that it would do the least harm. Anyway, that’s beside the point. On the whole, we managed very well. It was different once Marianne was born.”

She paused, and her face became set.

“I had to manage, Gini, I had to manage entirely alone. Of course, our marriage was a little shaky by then. Even so, if Marianne was ill, if there was any problem at home, small or large, I had to cope with it. Ninety percent of the time Pascal was away. He was on a plane, in an airport, in some damn flea-bitten hotel in the back of beyond, where the switchboard didn’t work half the time, and if it did work, Pascal was never there… I coped. Not always very well. Sometimes, when he got back from Afghanistan, Cambodia, Mozambique, wherever, I’d try to explain. He’d never tell me what he’d been through in those places. He wouldn’t talk about it at all. And I didn’t really want to know. I mean, whatever horror he’d been through—there was nothing I could do. Of course, I knew it wasn’t tactful to start complaining about my little problems. I knew they’d seem petty to him. But I couldn’t stop myself. There’d be scenes, tears, pleas, recriminations, on my part. None of it made the slightest difference. He’d calm me down, then go off and catch the next plane.”

She paused, looking closely at Gini. “After a while it made me angry. Really terribly angry. I felt this fury all the time. If he’d had another woman, I think I could have coped better; at least that would have been commonplace, predictable. But my rival wasn’t a woman, it was his work. From my point of view”—her mouth tightened—“it became unacceptable. An absentee husband is one thing. An absentee father is another. Pascal adored Marianne, of course. When he was actually there, he was wonderful with her. But he simply couldn’t understand that devotion wasn’t enough. Has he changed, would you say?”