“No. I had a friend—he’s not a friend anymore now—but he knew everything there is to know about Paris, from the richest houses to the low life of the streets. He was very helpful to me. But as you know very well, a business like this is as far removed from the poor prostitutes in the rue Saint-Denis as your own house is from a slum.”

“I’ve often seen them. Can’t say I ever felt any attraction.”

“Don’t go near them. But most of those girls are just trying to survive. Put food on the table. They can’t charge much, so to make any money at all they have to do maybe ten tricks a day. To do that you have to turn yourself into a machine, just to survive. And it’s physically dangerous too.” She shrugged. “Paris is the romantic capital of the world. But there’s nothing romantic about the underside of any great city.”

He nodded.

“Funnily enough, you remind me of my stepmother,” he remarked.

“Why?”

“She ran a business, with a lot of imagination. She’s very capable.”

“Stepmothers have an evil reputation.”

“Not this one. I love her. And she makes my father happy.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I have another question. I noticed a picture when I came in. It looked a bit like you.”

“It does, doesn’t it? That’s just a coincidence, though. I bought it from a dealer because it came with two preparatory sketches, which you don’t often find.”

Louise stood up and went to the window. It was an October afternoon. The sky was clear; the sun was still shining over Paris. She loved the autumn season, yet she often felt a strange melancholy on Sunday afternoons.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” she suddenly said.

They walked down the old rue du Renard, crossed the big open space in front of the Hôtel de Ville and then crossed the Seine to the Île de la Cité. The sun was in the west, the light on the Seine was golden, but there was a certain coldness in the air over the water that made her shiver. They paused in front of Notre Dame.

“It’s too early to eat, but I’m hungry,” she said.

They found a bistro nearby. There were only a few tourists there, and the place was quiet. They ate a light meal and talked of all sorts of things. She could see that he was becoming even more intrigued by her than he had been before. Then she said that she wanted to go home, and he insisted on walking her back, as she knew he would.

Their affair began that evening. It was conducted, usually, on a Sunday. Sometimes he would drive her somewhere in the Voisin. Sometimes they would stay in and she would cook for him. They always found things to talk about.

By the end of the year, they had made love in every room in the house.