The question was sudden. Gini flushed scarlet.

“It’s very hard for him, obviously,” she began. “He’s trying to balance the things that matter most to him. Even in Sarajevo he thought about Marianne all the time. He wrote constantly, he telephoned. When he gets back, he—”

“That wasn’t really what I meant, as I think you know,” Helen said. “I wasn’t thinking of Marianne. I was thinking of you.”

Gini lowered her gaze. “We don’t have children,” she said in a quiet voice. “So it’s different for me.”

“Of course.” Helen looked at her, her expression doubtful. “Anyway, it’s not my business. I don’t want to interfere. Do you know when he’s coming back from Sarajevo?”

“No, not exactly. The situation changes every day. But soon. In a couple of weeks, probably.”

“Well, he’ll be back for Marianne’s birthday in January. That we can count upon,” Helen said, a slight edge in her voice. “There’s a fixed date anyway.”

“He’ll be home before that,” Gini said quickly. “He’ll come back for Christmas, I know.”

Helen said nothing. Looking at her face, Gini could tell she doubted the accuracy of that prediction—and of course, as it turned out, Helen was proved right. Pascal had not returned for Christmas. Indeed, his ex-wife knew him well.

“I’ll get the bill.” Helen had turned to wave at the waiter. “No. My treat. I insist. I’ll hope to see you again soon. Perhaps in Paris, for Marianne’s birthday? I’d like you to meet Ralph. I always think that these things are much simpler if they’re handled openly. There’s no reason why we can’t all be friends now.” She hesitated, and then to Gini’s great surprise reached across the table and pressed her hand.

“I like you, Gini. I didn’t expect to, but I do. I hope you know—Pascal deserves some happiness in his life. God knows he never found it with me. When I last saw him—he did seem so altered, so much better in every way. No bitterness, no anger—I could see how good you’ve been for him, and I was glad. It’s just—”

“What?”

“My dear, you don’t look terribly well, you know.”

“I’m fine. I picked up some bug in Sarajevo. I’m fine now.”

“Good.” Helen smiled. “Well, tell Pascal to take care of you. Don’t let him get too obsessive—after all, you are supposed to be living together now! Crack the whip a little, Gini, the next time he calls. It may not have worked in my case, but I’m sure it would in yours.” She rose. “I must go. I’m catching the four o’clock Paris flight. Ralph is meeting me, so I mustn’t miss it.” She gave Gini a tiny conspiratorial glance. “I have a plane to catch now.”

Gini returned to her apartment. She could not like Helen, and she was unsure if she could trust her, but she had heard very genuine feeling break through her pointed words. For an hour, two hours, Gini paced up and down. The telephone did not ring. Eventually, giving in to temptation, she went into the bathroom and used the pregnancy testing kit she had purchased earlier that day. It was simple enough: if you were pregnant, the strip turned pink; if you were not pregnant, it turned blue.