‘I know we’re not supposed to ask,’ Vidor said, turning away from Babette, ‘but since you know my story… it only seems natural.’ Her eyes grew wary as if she guessed what was coming. ‘What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’ He nearly reached out to pat her hand but stopped himself in time. Since arriving at the clinic, so many of his thoughts and actions seemed out of step, as if in constant struggle with a more enlightened version of himself. Perhaps all this probing into his early life had caused him to regress into a childish state.

She pushed her chair back, her eyes focused elsewhere. ‘I have to go.’

‘Shall we meet up later for a swim?’

Tears leaked from her eyes as she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t…’ She gulped back a sob and bolted from the room.

Poor girl. He hoped he hadn’t stuck his foot in it. The sound of that woman’s monstrous chewing was driving him mad. What he needed was air. More than air. His desperation for a change of scene had reached a fever pitch. If he begged, perhaps Dr Lindstrom would agree to give him a pass to the village. It was the least she could do after thoroughly rebuffing his earlier and desperate plea to arrange for his discharge.

It would be his first outing from the clinic, and he’d been captive here for, what, nearly six weeks? Surely, he had earned the privilege by now. If he had to bring along a minder, so be it. Gessen had left them to their own devices. And while the cat was away, it was a given that the mice in his charge would get up to a little mischief.

37

Gessen emerged from the Métro to a sodden sky and rain-spattered streets. He’d packed his folding umbrella at the bottom of his bag and by the time he dashed across the boulevard to shelter in a doorway, his shoes and jacket were soaked. Madame Chabon was expecting him at two, and he was already late. Not a good start to what would likely be an awkward meeting. Forty years had passed since her brother Vidor disappeared without a trace, but the pain of such a shock never truly went away. The heart yearned for answers, or some sense of closure. But in this case, there was neither.

A tiny, birdlike woman in a dark red wool dress and high-heeled shoes opened the door to the fourth-floor flat. A cloud of fine white hair was swept back from her forehead, and her eyes, bright as pebbles, took his measure before she invited him inside. As he dripped on the parquet in her entry hall, he apologised for his lateness and the state of his clothes, but she waved it away.