“You tell me. Isn’t that the point of all this, to make you figure out the clues yourself?”

Emily wished she knew what the point was, and if Antoine was the real reason she was there.

“Come.” Madeleine stood. “Let me show you what it is I asked you here for.”

They went to the back of the café, climbed a tight, winding stair to reach a cluttered attic space that seemed to be part office, part storeroom. Madeleine began to search through stacks of books, then clambered onto one of the desks and moved aside dusty cardboard boxes from a top shelf.

Emily went over to the window, leant out and looked down to see an internal courtyard where someone sat, reading. Balconies and rooftops of Paris were dotted as far as the eye could see, and if Emily stood on tiptoe she could just about discern the tip of the Eiffel Tower on the horizon.

“Ah, here it is.” Madeleine dropped something onto the desk, then clambered back down, wiping her hands together and sending tiny particles of dust spiraling through the air.

It was a photo album, filled with snapshots of the past. Emily recognized Gigi first of all, pouting at the camera with one foot kicked out behind her while standing on an upturned crate, stacking shelves in the shop next door; then another of her seated in an oversize chair, drawing on a cigarette, all of her concentration on the book in her lap.

There was also one of Charlie, arms thrown wide as she danced in the courtyard, surrounded by fallen leaves and candlelight. Another of a man with hair that reached his shoulders, smiling at the camera with eyes that seemed to see inside your soul.

“Noah?” Emily asked.

“How did you know?”

He had that look about him. Dangerous but alluring.

She turned the page to find a group shot of six people, young and full of hope. They were huddled together outside the front of the café, arms draped through and around one another, no space between them to let the light through.

Emily recognized them now. Her grandmother, front and center, holding Gigi at the waist; Noah on her other side, his arm draped over her shoulder, but with fingers wrapped into those dark curls. Next to him was Charlie, just as tall as he, even in bare feet, who was shouting something at the photographer, brow furrowed, hand waving. No doubt as commanding a presence back then as she was now.

On the other side of the photo was a pair Emily hadn’t ever seen before, a man and a woman who seemed a little detached from the rest of the group. Her head was dipped to the ground, hair falling down either side so that Emily couldn’t make out her face. Next to her was an angelic figure of a man, with delicate features and light blond hair. He was stripped to the waist, wearing tight jeans that flared at the bottom. He had broad shoulders, taut muscles, and a wide, relaxed grin with a gap between his two front teeth. He had to be Antoine.