‘She’s changed,’ Jeannot said.

‘She’s in love,’ replied Annette as she sat down beside Pierre on his straw bale.

‘In love?’ laughed Jeannot. ‘Is that all?’

‘With an Englishman.’

‘An Englishman!’ Jeannot was horrified. ‘What’s wrong with someone French?’

‘He’s a good man,’ Annette said. ‘He’ll look after her.’

‘What about you two, then?’ asked Jeannot with a grin as he saw Pierre with his arm round Annette’s waist. ‘You look pretty close an’ all.’

‘None of your business!’ retorted Pierre, though he grinned back as he said it.

‘The coachman and the lady’s maid,’ Jeannot said. ‘Sounds like a bar room song to me!’

‘Does it?’ growled Pierre. ‘Well, you can keep such thoughts to yourself, my lad!’

‘All right, all right, keep your hair on. I’m going anyway.’ He stood up and turned to Annette. ‘Nice to meet you, miss. Hope you know what you’re taking on.’ He nodded in Pierre’s direction. ‘Bit of a reprobate this one, yer know!’

‘Who on earth is he?’ demanded Annette when he’d gone, and she settled herself more comfortably against Pierre.

‘He’s a lad who used to work for the St Clairs,’ answered Pierre. ‘Then he and Hélène got trapped in the city during the siege. As you see they both survived, but it made them close despite their different backgrounds. The St Clairs were grateful he’d helped her, but they didn’t want to continue the association, so Hélène sometimes sneaks out here to see him.’

‘And you let her?’

‘I can’t stop her. There was no real harm in it,’ insisted Pierre. ‘I don’t encourage them, but I don’t give them away either.’ He tightened his arm round Annette and added, ‘I can tell you one thing, though, she has nothing to fear from Jeannot. He wouldn’t harm a hair of her head.’

Annette heard voices out in the yard and wriggled free of his arm. ‘I must go in,’ she muttered. ‘That Madame Vernier will be after me.’ And with that she was gone, leaving Pierre wishing he’d kissed her. He hadn’t yet, but found himself increasingly longing to do so. His instinct was to hold back, to take things slowly. She had lost a husband, she’d lost a baby, but the more he saw of her, the better he got to know her, the more he wanted her; he had never wanted anyone more.

When Hélène got back inside, she found her mother standing in the hallway, looking at the post that lay on the table.

Rosalie looked up and smiled. ‘One for you, chérie,’ she said and passed Hélène the envelope.

Hélène took the letter and hurried up to the privacy of her room to open it.

My darling girl,

Hélène smiled. She loved the way he called her his darling girl.

In the first part of the letter he told her about the funeral and the difficult days that followed, preparing her, she thought as she read the rest of the letter, for the disappointing news it also contained.