‘So, you’re a psychiatrist?’ Madame Chabon tilted her head and fixed him with an inquisitive stare. ‘How interesting.’ Her face was lined and spotted with age, but the dazzling energy of the young girl she once was sparked in her eyes. ‘I once considered training to be a psychologist, but I was a dreamy child and the thought of spending long hours with my nose in a book had little appeal.’ She waved in the direction of the piano. ‘Instead, I studied music and made my living as a piano teacher, like my mother. I suppose I was lucky to recognise my limitations at a young age, so as not to waste time chasing a dream that might never pan out.’

She turned her face to the rain-streaked window. ‘Vida was the scholar in the family. Bright. Ambitious. Fizzing with energy. He was the light of my mother’s life. But look where that got him. Soaring through the sky, too high and too fast. Like that boy in the Greek myth, what was his name?’ She stirred her coffee with a tiny silver spoon. ‘That was our Vida. Always chasing the sun.’

Gessen studied the shifting planes of her face as she talked, the interplay of light and shadow. He sensed she hadn’t spoken of her brother in years. ‘Tell me about him.’

Her lips twitched into a smile as she hesitated, but with little encouragement it all spilled forth. The flight from Budapest. The awful moment when their father turned back at the border. The refugee camp in Austria, and the early years of struggle after they finally settled in Paris. She became a second mother to Vida, while their own mother was away from the flat all day, working two jobs to keep the family afloat. In this household of women, their darling Vida was pampered and fussed over like a beloved pet. As he grew into adolescence, he increasingly resembled the father who’d disappeared from their lives and was never heard from again. Long presumed dead, it was as if the father had returned to life before their eyes. A popular boy, Vida excelled at school and had masses of friends. Not especially athletic, though he enjoyed kicking around a football on the playing fields. Everyone doted on him, and great things were expected of his future.

She paused and turned to the window. ‘He did have his moods, though. Flashes of rage or periods of darkness, when he changed into someone I hardly recognised. I suppose, nowadays, you would call it depression.’ She gave him a questioning glance. ‘An anger turned inward, perhaps, at the father who’d abandoned him to a household of women.’

Gessen held still, afraid to move and break the spell.