He brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek, trailing down to the delicate skin of her neck and the ridge of her collarbone. Her breath caught in her throat.

‘I wouldn’t dare.’

She shook the feeling off and removed his hand. ‘Good.’

‘Only it does look a bit like you might need, well…’ He gestured at the mould blossoming across the ceiling cornices, and the broken window through which the smell of sewage was acute. ‘A bit of help.’

‘I have all the help I need.’

‘Those people? Are they your friends?’

‘They’re my…’ Camille trailed off. How could she expect James to understand the battalion? He’d been safe in England while they’d all been through hell. ‘We’re on a job together.’

‘What do you mean, job?’

‘I’ll explain later.’

He hesitated, chewing his lip in a too-familiar gesture. ‘All right. Are you sure you’re okay, Cam?’

‘Perfectly. I’m sorry – it’s been a long day. You surprised me. You can stay here tonight, if you like. You don’t look like you’ve slept in a while.’

‘No. The thought of you drove me on.’

‘Stop that.’

‘Okay, okay, fewer romantic gestures. I hear you.’ He looked around the room again, at the silk wall hangings that had rotted through with damp, the salvaged furniture flaking paint and gold leaf, Ada’s lurching wardrobe with her few, carefully hung dresses. ‘I suppose life isn’t exactly romantic these days. I passed a riot outside a bakery only this morning. I knew things in Paris would have changed since I was last here but, my god, Camille, it’s a nightmare.’

‘I am well aware of the situation.’

‘I’d hoped someone would have taken you in. It’s not right that you’ve been left to fend for yourself. I mean, this isn’t exactly the kind of life you’re used to, is it?’

She bristled. ‘You have no idea what I’ve got used to.’

‘Cam, things are not okay here. You can’t seriously mean to stay. Tell me honestly, is this really what you want?’

‘I chose this life. It may look awful to you but this is a life that’s entirely mine. My choice. I’m not sure you can understand what it means to get to live exactly as you want.’ Involuntarily, the memory of Ada brushing her lips against the skin of her neck up on the roof came into her head. Then a spike of guilt.

James’s expression darkened. Before she could reply he spoke again. ‘If this is the life you’ve chosen … is that your way of telling me you don’t want me in it any more?’