Mark wasn’t sure why he’d gone that far. Mostly, to needle Guy. There was something unfeeling in the way the man spoke about his own daughter, as if he’d already written her off. Hadn’t Corinne herself confessed to her father’s customary detachment?

But now he saw the look that passed between Guy and Valentina.

‘You see—’ Val started to say but Guy shook his head and she stopped.

It was amazing, Mark briefly observed, how calm and self-possessed Valentina was when her husband wasn’t around, and yet in his presence she became watchful and nervy, looking to him for her cue.

She said something now – a low rattle of words fired across the table under her breath – the first and only instance during the meal when they slipped into their native tongue. Mark caught Abi looking at him – an expression of mild alarm there. She’d felt it too: the wariness that had sprung up, the sense that he had succeeded in peeling back a layer to expose a raw nerve.

Valentina leaned her elbows on the table, touched her fingertips to her closed eyes. When she opened them again, she seemed calm but strained.

‘I am sorry,’ she began tentatively. ‘This is my fault. Guy thought that you should be made aware of the situation from the very start, but … It was my decision not to tell you.’

‘Tell us what?’ Abi asked. She had put down her glass.

‘About Anouk.’

Her voice trembled as she spoke her daughter’s name. Guy had fallen silent, his chin had dropped to his chest and he regarded her with caution and with what looked almost like pity.

‘She’s not at McGill,’ Mark stated.

‘No.’ Valentina’s voice was dry.

‘She is in a hospital near Poitiers,’ Guy explained, his voice and expression soft, almost tender. ‘She had a breakdown, you see. We do not know when – or if – she will recover.’

No one spoke for a moment. Mark felt a wave of guilty regret pass through him. His needling seemed petty and cruel now; he had sought to embarrass them, but he’d never wished to expose real pain.

Abi reached out a hand and placed it on Valentina’s. ‘What happened?’ she asked, and Val took a breath.

‘It was a year ago now. Something changed in her. She had always been such a good child until then. Those things you heard about her were true. She was a good student. She excelled at anything she was interested in – sports, her schoolwork. And she was happy. Both our girls – they were so close. But then, on her gap year, she went away, did some travelling. We encouraged it, didn’t we? We thought it would be good for her.’