‘It’ll be cold. What a time to do business.’

‘What a time indeed.’

‘Eugène will have saved it. Hurry.’

I walked back to the dining-room as if I had just had a reprieve. Which, in fact, is exactly what I had. Free! Breathing, alive. I started to whistle on my way back to the dining-room.

Giles and Florence had almost finished eating and were talking, in a halting but perfectly easy manner, as I rejoined the table. He looked across at me with slightly raised eyebrows.

‘Mum. She’s not coming on Saturday. Too much to do or something, and we are too far away from wherever she is.’

‘With Eric.’

‘I know that. Where he lives. She asked if you had found Zoo Monthly.’

‘Yup. I’ve already got it. She doesn’t know.’

Eugène was at my side with the copper pan, serving expertly my unfinished meal. Giles looked at the pan anxiously. Eugène caught his look. ‘It is hot still? The vegetables are fresh? He would take some more?’

Giles nodded, handing up his empty plate.

‘Leave the plate, Giles. You aren’t in school. Eugène will serve you.’

Florence laughed, folded her napkin, and her arms, and leant on the table. ‘I wish I was that age again. Lucky Giles.’

‘You don’t mind, do you, Will?’ It was the first time he had used the name. ‘It’s brilliant. Really good.’

‘You’ll be up all night. Tomorrow we have to go shopping, remember?’

‘Shopping?’ Florence said.

‘Beds. At Futurama. And one or two things. Then we’ll go to Jericho.’ And then I spoke in French so that Giles would not understand. ‘That was my wife, as you probably realize. But what you perhaps don’t realize, as I did not, fully, is that she left me. Gone. Fourteen years wiped out.’

She looked at the table, smoothed the napkin as if she had just ironed it. ‘I’m sorry. Did she just tell you?’

‘I am delighted. God! I’m relieved. We agreed to separate some time ago, but now it’s a permanent break. Another gentleman.’

‘And you are pleased?’

I put my hand on her arm. ‘I just might start singing!’

I finished the last of my meal, which I really didn’t by now want, and set my knife and fork aside. Giles was looking vaguely about the table, his dish full of sauce, knife and fork clutched in his hands, sticking upright in anxiety.

‘What do you want? Not more, Giles!’

He shook his head, grinning, made a spooning movement over his plate. Florence understood instantly.

‘Bread,’ she said. ‘Use some of the bread for the sauce, it’s so good.’

Giles looked a little startled, then looked back at me. ‘Bread? That’s rude, isn’t it? To use bread …’

‘Not here. Wipe it round your plate!’

‘I like France. You can go in the bar, mop up your gravy with bread – great.’