‘Is that safe?’ Hélène was instantly afraid. ‘He’s not coming here, is he?’

‘No, he’s not. We’re meeting at Les Halles. It is so busy no one will notice us in the crowd.’

‘Supposing he’s followed?’ said Hélène.

‘Who by?’ Annette smiled. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be careful.’

Hélène saw Annette’s joy at the idea of the meeting and said, ‘You love him, don’t you? Does he love you? Will you get married?’

‘One day, I hope, but not until you don’t need me any more.’

‘But doesn’t it frighten you… you know, knowing what you have to do with a man when you’re married? Like Father Thomas?’

‘It won’t be anything like Father Thomas,’ Annette assured her. ‘What Father Thomas did was done with hate and violence. With Pierre I know it will be with love and tenderness.’

Hélène was not convinced and shuddered at the thought of Simon’s hands on her throat, the urgency of his body pressing against hers. ‘I could never let a man touch me again, like that… like Simon.’

‘But if you fell in love with someone else it wouldn’t be like Simon. Not if you loved him; it would be quite different.’

‘Well, I can tell you now, I have absolutely no intention of getting married,’ Hélène asserted, ‘ever! So I shall never find out. I shall never love anyone enough for that.’

Annette often wondered how things would have been if Hélène had married Rupert as planned. Would she have been seized with panic when he tried to kiss her, or would he have understood, and taken his lovemaking slowly? She had little doubt that Simon would dominate any woman he took to bed, and having suffered at the hands of Father Thomas she could quite understand Hélène’s revulsion. If she had married Simon Barnier, Annette thought, he would have forced himself on Hélène and it would have been tantamount to rape. If Hélène was right and she never married, she was still far better off than being married to a man like that.

The next day Annette put on her hat and coat and, leaving Hélène sewing in the apartment, set out for Les Halles. At first she couldn’t see him and thought he hadn’t been able to come, but suddenly he was there, beside her, slipping an arm about her waist, his lips brushing her cheek, making her face flush with becoming colour.

The market was bustling with life as ever, and Pierre took her hand and led her into a side street away from the crowds.

‘Hélène’s afraid you might have been followed,’ she told him once they were clear.

‘I did wonder, myself,’ Pierre said, ‘but I can’t really believe that Barnier would be able to have every member of the St Clair household followed. Anyway, tell her not to worry, I wasn’t, I made sure of that.’

‘I’ll reassure her,’ promised Annette, but even so she found herself glancing over her shoulder, just in case.

Pierre took her hand again. ‘Come on,’ he said, pointing to a small glass door steamed up from within. ‘There’s a café over there and we’ve got lots to talk about.’ The café was busy, but it was warm after the chill of the day outside, and they managed to find a small table at the back. Pierre ordered two cups of coffee and some pastries. While they waited for them to arrive he smiled at her and asked, ‘How have you been? Have you missed me?’