All it took was a few minutes of reminiscing for the years to fall away, and they were students once again, with their talk ranging from books and music to politics and travel. It was the type of free-flowing conversation Gessen rarely had time for in his monastic existence in the mountains. But he waited until they’d finished their dinner, a delicious boeuf bourguignon, and were sipping Cointreau on the dark green sofa in the salon before broaching the topic of his mystery boy to Eveline. Such was the pleasure of their reunion, after so many years, it seemed gauche to throw cold water on their lively conversation. But he had little time to waste. Did Eveline remember an international student who’d attended the university in 1968 and ’69, and then disappeared? Darkish hair, grey-green eyes. Rather slight in stature.

She pursed her lips. ‘Possibly, though there weren’t too many of us that year, were there? Forty or forty-five perhaps?’ She smiled. ‘I haven’t thought about my student days in years.’ She set her glass on the table. ‘If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I believe I have some old photos stashed away.’

Only after Eveline had gone to search her office did Gessen remember to ask Bertrand about their children.

‘Fine, fine,’ Bertrand said, topping up Gessen’s glass. ‘Henri is in his final year at Sciences Po and Amélie is doing a two-year graduate course in America.’ He pointed to a row of photos on the credenza. ‘There they are, all grown up.’

Gessen raised his glass, Santé, as the two old friends made the rueful smile of those entering the final third of their lives.

Eveline returned, brandishing a thick photo album above her head. ‘Voila! I knew I had this somewhere.’

Bertrand cocked an eyebrow at Gessen. ‘Lucky for you my wife is sentimental. Not to mention an incorrigible packrat. I chucked all my old stuff years ago.’

‘Touché, mon amour.’ Eveline blew him a kiss. ‘But when we find Anton’s mystery lad, who’ll be laughing then?’ She squeezed in next to Gessen on the sofa and placed the open album on her lap. ‘That’s me,’ she said, pointing to a skinny girl in a purple-and-green knit dress with a black beret set jauntily on her blonde hair. ‘Can you believe the beret? I thought it would make me fit in somehow, but of course no one was wearing them in 1968. Except for old men. I’m sure my fellow students had a massive giggle at my expense.’