‘True.’ He paused, seemingly about to say something more, but then shook his head. ‘You know I prefer to present a finished work than to have someone observe my progress.’

‘Surely a colleague . . .’

‘If you prefer.’ Some of his reserve had returned. Jane wondered what she had done to cause it, until he answered her unasked question. ‘The invention is yours.’

Was it possible that Vincent was jealous that she had conceived the idea of using glass? Jane considered how long he had been striving to find a way to record a glamour so that it could be moved without effort. And she had leaped past his years of careful notes and theories with a child’s plaything. ‘The invention is ours. Take the time you need.’

Letting him put more time into understanding the glamour could do no harm.

FIFTEEN

Ribbons of White and Red

Jane woke the next morning and had an appetite for the first time since she could remember. Sun streamed into their bedchamber, tiny motes of dust dancing in the light. She stretched, feeling all the effects of good health that she had not realized she had lost. Everything about the day seemed as if it were made for wonder.

Vincent had already arisen, no doubt to make his way to Brussels yet again. She could not find it in herself to resent the trip. Her glamour in glass had worked. What could be more perfect than that? Jane threw off the counterpane, unable to contemplate staying in bed. She felt the urge to find an activity to match her spirits.

The doctor had advised her to take fresh air and to go for gentle walks, so that is how she would spend the morning. A hearty breakfast, and then a stroll into town. Perhaps she would even go so far as the old Roman walls. Dressing herself in her blue high-collared walking suit, Jane marvelled at what it was to be hungry again. It had been so long since the thought of food had not turned her stomach that she had not at first recognised the pricking in her middle as hunger.

Jane hurried downstairs to see if she could persuade the kitchen staff to provide her with an egg and some plum bread for breakfast. These acquired, she took herself to the parlour, hoping to find a cup of coffee. Mme Chastain was retying the sash on Miette’s dress as Jane entered. ‘You seem to be in good spirits this morning.’

They had recorded a glamour in glass. ‘Thank you! I am feeling well for the first time in ages.’ Jane pulled up her chair and took her place at the table.

‘I am glad to hear it. The first is always the worst. You will not mind so much with your second.’ She brushed Miette’s hair out of the little girl’s face, smiling.