His fists on the table clench tight but she doesn’t flinch. They stare at each other; he is breathing heavily, the veins in his neck stand out like tight cords. Then he leans back slowly, his eyes narrow. ‘Where do you plan to live?’

She stares at him calmly; there is nothing that will induce her to tell him. She returns to last week’s unexpected phone call; she’s turned it over in her mind since then, like a cache of secret treasure that you know will have the power to change your life.

‘We visited the house last week. I like what you’ve done very much.’ There had been a smile in Jean-Claude’s accented voice. ‘You don’t know us, yet it’s perfect.’

‘You sent me photos of your place in France and I read between the lines; it wasn’t hard,’ she’d replied, gazing at Eve’s garden through the kitchen window, the phone to her ear. The house was quiet; the children were playing in the garden. ‘I’m so glad you like it.’

‘We love it. I am grateful.’

‘You’re welcome.’ I love that house, the project saved me.

It had filled her mind for weeks: the careful refurbishment of the kitchen and the bathrooms, the antique beds, the paints she mixed herself. The exquisite curtains. It had all come together in the end like a work of art.

‘I have bad news and good news,’ Jean-Claude had said, a little hesitantly.

He’s run out of money. He’ll sell the house; someone new will change the colours; knock things down or knock them through.

‘We have decided to remain in France for two more years; my boy has to stay close to the hospital for treatment.’

‘I understand, I’m sorry to hear that.’ And she is, but she’s right, he’ll sell the house.

‘Would you like to live there?’

‘Sorry?’ Had she heard properly? She gripped the phone tightly. ‘Could you repeat what you’ve just—’

‘I’m greedy. I want to keep the house though it will be a long time before we live in it; meanwhile it needs to stay alive. It needs people. You need a house.’

‘How did you know?’ She shouldn’t have said that, she should have laughed it off as a joke, but her heart had begun to beat very fast.

‘I read between the lines.’

They had been on television, all over the internet for weeks. It’s hardly surprising that he knows her situation. What’s more surprising is that he wasn’t put off. The families of criminals become contaminated with the crime, her therapist said; she could be labelled unlucky or dangerous to know. She’s lost clients already.

‘The thing is, it isn’t just me. I have a daughter, and a young Syrian friend will be joining our family, she’s having a baby soon.’