Louise laughed.

“I attend several classes which interest me, monsieur, but as I’m not following a particular course, I’m not thrown together with the same group all the time.” She shrugged. “I have made a few friends, all the same, but sometimes I prefer to be alone. Everything else you said is correct, however, in every detail. I don’t know how you knew all that.”

“Uncle Luc knows everything,” said Robert.

“He thinks he does, anyway,” Édith remarked. She gave Louise a thin smile that might have been friendly, or might, Louise thought, have contained a hint of warning.

“It was an easy guess,” said Luc easily.

Louise turned to Robert.

“You are fortunate that your family owns a restaurant,” she said with a smile.

“It’s my uncle Luc who owns it, really,” he said between mouthfuls. “But he lets my parents run it. He looks after everybody.”

And Louise was just deciding that Luc must be a very nice man when he cut in swiftly.

“My nephew is making me out to be better than I am, mademoiselle. It’s true that I started the bar next door, where Robert’s father is now. And a stroke of luck enabled me to acquire this little restaurant. But my brother and his wife kept them going for me during the war, and after that I didn’t really want to do it.”

“My parents are happy, that’s for sure,” said Robert. Louise liked the way he was determined not to let his uncle escape the credit for his kindness.

“Your mother is happy. She likes to run the restaurant. My brother would rather be out of doors on a building site. But he’s getting a little old for that, and your mother prefers him to be safely at home. He runs the bar very well.”

“And what about you?” Louise asked.

“I have what I want, mademoiselle. I take a share of the profits, I eat here for nothing whenever I wish. And I’m free to engage in a few small businesses that interest me.” He shrugged and smiled. “I don’t like to be tied down.”

He had been watching her more carefully than she realized. Her long, dark hair was quite striking. Her features were regular, but there was something interesting about her face, a muselike quality that was hard to define. Her body was slim. If she cut her hair in the short gamine style, there would be something both feminine and boyish about her. She would photograph well, he thought.

And what kind of girl was she? She had class, that was obvious. Intelligent. Sexually innocent, so far. Lonely. He could tell that she was lonely, but whether that was a passing mood, or something deeper, he’d have to find out.

It crossed his mind that this girl could even be useful to him. She had all kinds of potential. But it would take careful handling. Very careful. Finesse. A challenge.

“Tell me, mademoiselle, have you ever modeled—I mean modeled clothes for a serious couturier?”