‘I know. But I have a tidy mind. And there is a wife. And a child.’

She looked down at the cornflowers and poppies, fiddled with a spoon.

‘I see. And you think my brother can help you?’

‘Well, he might be able to give me a line. A clue. James destroyed nearly all his papers, but I do know that he knew L’Hermitage, someone called Aronovich and another, Daniel Jacquet. The one with you at the gate, I think? Right?’

‘Right. Dumb but a good worker. He’s a pépiniériste. Nurseryman. He does the trees and so on for my brother.’

She looked away across the crowded bar, pushed her hair vaguely about her head.

‘I don’t know an Aronovich. I learned a long time ago to keep my nose out of some things which don’t concern me. I lost an eye that way.’

‘Would your brother see me? Anywhere, at any time, at his convenience? I have to make some kind of effort. Not for myself – I frankly don’t give a tinker’s gob what happened to James. Or what happens to him. But you can’t just let someone fall off the earth without making a token gesture and trying to find out why and where. He sent me the key to his house here, a note to say don’t try to find me, that he was off to “oblivion”. But I must be certain of one thing.’

‘Which is what? As if I didn’t know.’

‘I must be certain that he’s dead. Or that he’s alive. It’s difficult for things to settle otherwise. Difficult for me, impossible for his wife. That’s reasonable, surely?’

She began to stack the coffee cups slowly. ‘Thus unlamented let me die, steal from the world, and not a stone tell where I lie’. She looked directly at me, a slight smile, head to one side. ‘Pope. I think? Remember it?’

‘If I have heard it, I’ve forgotten. But I’m here to ask a few stones some questions. That’s all.’

She took up the heavy bag, pulled it over her shoulder.

‘Brent said to tell you that he will see you. For a short time. A drink at about six-thirty. When he’s through proof-correcting, you know?’

‘That’s perfect. Will you thank him. When – I mean, what day?’

She got up, brushing her jacket.

‘Saturday. Saturday’s a quietish day. Okay?’

‘Fine, thank you.’

She rummaged about in the shoulder bag for money, pushed a ten-franc piece under the saucer, waved away my fumbling offer to pay.

‘I really wouldn’t thank me, you know? Frankly, I think it would be so much wiser if you stayed away from L’Hermitage-and-all-who-sail-in-her. Leave the stones unquestioned, for God’s sake. Be abashed, Mr Caldicott. Look what happened to me when I intruded into other people’s affairs.’