Next morning he put the letter in his pocket just in case there was an opportunity to give it to Annette. He had the chaise at the door punctually at nine thirty and it wasn’t long before Emile came out, attaché case in hand. They drove across the city through the morning traffic, and when they reached the architect’s office Emile went in, leaving Pierre to wait in the street. In the office, his secretary, Forquet, had a pile of mail and plenty of questions that needed answers.

‘I’ll just go up to the drawing office first,’ Emile told him, ‘and then I’ll come back and deal with whatever you’ve got.’

The drawing office was busy with the draughtsmen carefully copying plans ready for the builders to take on site. It was several weeks since Emile had taken his design for a house off the Rue St Honoré to show Monsieur Balfour, the man who had commissioned it. Having eventually approved of what he had seen, Monsieur Balfour had decided to proceed and wanted the plans drawn up immediately so the work could begin as soon as the site was cleared. It was a good commission and Emile knew that if it went well it could attract similar design jobs. It would mean that he had to spend some time in Paris, but that did not worry him. Though he insisted that Rosalie and Louise should return to life at Belair, he knew that he himself would be happier away from the village for the foreseeable future.

When he had inspected the work, encouraging the draughtsmen to take exceptional care, he went back down to his office, where Forquet was waiting for him.

‘I see your chaise is waiting in the street,’ he said as Emile came back into the room. ‘Your groom is walking the horse.’

‘Send down to him,’ Emile said. ‘Tell him to come back for me this afternoon. It’s not good for the horse to stand all day. Tell him I shan’t be ready for him until at least three o’clock. I will eat at Le Coutelas. He may find me there.’

Forquet sent an office boy down to Pierre with the message, and Emile saw him drive away before he gave his attention to Forquet and his questions.

Pierre couldn’t believe his good fortune. He had been told earlier that they would be driving round the various sites where Emile had work in progress, and he had relinquished any hope of delivering Rupert’s letter to Annette that day; nor, he’d thought, would there be a chance to discuss its contents. But now Monsieur St Clair was held up in the office and did not want him to return until the afternoon, he had plenty of time. He drove the chaise to Le Coutelas in the next street, where he normally waited for Emile to send for him. He turned in under the sign of the cutlass that hung over the gate and left the horse with its nosebag and the chaise in the care of one of the ostlers. He would be back well before three to drive Emile home after he had eaten.