Florence was a bit pale, not ‘greenery-yallery’ pale, just pale from not enough sleep the night before, and strain. I was surprised, delighted, that she agreed to come with me. I had a feeling that, after my having blurted out the intensity of my devotion and all that, she might shy away.

But here she was; only not hungry.

‘Would she make an omelette fines herbes? A little salad?’ she said.

‘Oh! Christ, Florence! That’s pushing things. She’d have to break the eggs.’

We sat at a table in a far corner. There was only one other client, and he was spooning his way through a double portion of cassoulet with intense energy.

His truck was parked outside.

We weren’t, perhaps, the most light-hearted pair that had ever been in La Source, but we were surprisingly comfortable with each other, except that it was perfectly clear to me that she did not want me to start up again on my protestations of love. Tact was now essential. I had made my declaration, she had heard it, and she had accepted it. Otherwise she would have refused to join me for this sorry meal. I had assured her, on the telephone, that it was not a conversation about James which I sought but, more urgently at the moment, her advice on the impending arrival of my son.

That had intrigued her greatly; I could see that. And when I pointed out that she was, in fact at least, his aunt, she was doubly intrigued. So I scored a little there.

Madame Yvonne looked anguished when an omelette was asked for and said that she couldn’t do it but Marcel could. Marcel, apparently, made excellent omelettes. So that was all right. I ordered the cod à la grecque, and she wandered off shouting the orders through the plywood door to the kitchen. The door click-clacked.

The truck driver wiped his plate with a piece of bread, and Florence said suddenly, ‘What is cod à la grecque? I mean, apart from being frozen?’ She was making a valiant stab at idle conversation.

‘It’s a piece of cod. Quite square, with two black olives and a sliver of tomato. In a sort of sick-sauce.’

There was a flick of a smile across that calm, sad face. I longed to take it in my hands and kiss it. But refrained. For a time we sat in thoughtful silence.