Annette stared at her, aghast. ‘Hélène! Really! You can’t possibly. It would be far too dangerous. Supposing Simon is having the house watched.’

‘I doubt if he is still,’ answered Hélène, ‘even if he was once.’

‘But why take the risk? You’re safe here; we are comfortable in the apartment, and we are both earning money to keep us. We aren’t a burden to Aunt Agathe. Until we hear that Simon is going to marry someone else, we can stay here and he’ll never find us.’

‘I know,’ replied Hélène with a sigh, ‘it’s just that my mother must be worried about me. All I’d do would be to see her and tell her I’m safe. I wouldn’t tell her where we are.’

‘And she’d tell your father and possibly Simon, too.’

‘She might tell them that she’d seen me, but she’d still have no idea where we’re living.’

‘It would be madness,’ said Annette flatly. ‘Really, Hélène, you must put the idea out of your mind. Maybe in a couple of months, but why take the risk now, when you’re safe?’

Hélène didn’t answer and Annette went on, ‘I remember you telling me that Simon would never give up looking for you. What’s changed your mind? He’s still the same Simon.’

‘But whatever happens, I’ll never marry him.’

No, thought Annette bitterly, but what about us? Pierre, Aunt Agathe and me, who helped you escape? She kept these thoughts to herself, but in all their time together, it was the first time Annette resented Hélène’s reliance on them.

That night Hélène lay in bed going over their conversation. Though Annette hadn’t said any more, Hélène had recognised the tension between them. Annette was right, of course; it would be stupid to give Simon any chance of finding her. She would have to wait a while longer before making contact with her mother.

Annette left the next morning, taking the skirts with her to return to the dressmaker. ‘I expect there’ll be some more of these,’ she said as she folded them into a bag. ‘With the summer coming people are going to want some lighter skirts. If there are, I’ll collect them on my way home.’

Hélène had nothing to fill her day. She cleared the breakfast bowls away, thinking with a wry smile that washing up was another thing she’d learned to do since she’d left home. Once that was done, however, she had little enthusiasm for any other housekeeping duties. She looked out of the window. The day was overcast but dry. Should she go out? Take the air? Simply to get out of the apartment? She had nowhere particular to go, but she knew she could not stay alone in the apartment all day.

With sudden decision she put on her coat and hat and, locking the front door behind her, she went quickly down the stairs and out into the street. Pausing on the pavement, she wondered which way to go, but eventually turned right and walked up the narrow road, coming out onto a main thoroughfare. She did not look behind her, entirely unaware of the man who loped along in her wake. She had forgotten how busy the city streets could be, and as she walked she was often pushed and shoved by other pedestrians as they hurried about their business. Dressed as she was in the simple clothes of a working woman, she did not receive the consideration which might have been accorded to her had she been dressed more fashionably. At first she made no conscious decision as to her direction, wandering without purpose, but as she headed further west she realised she was going in the direction of Passy, the direction leading to the Avenue Ste Anne. When at last she saw the church of Our Lady of Sorrows, the church she and her family always attended when they were in Paris, she knew that she was within a stone’s throw of their house. She was nearly home.