‘No, she wouldn’t,’ said Agathe. ‘What was she doing in my room, I wonder?’

‘Snooping,’ replied Annette. ‘Anyway, she told me to get out, so I grabbed my things and waited for you out here.’ Suddenly she was serious. ‘What did Madame St Clair say?’

Agathe smiled and, reaching down, pulled the girl to her feet. ‘She said yes! She said that you and I are both to go to this place Belair in St Etienne and work for her there. There is more to it than that, but we’re not going to discuss it here. Let’s get indoors and I’ll tell you all about it – and I need to tell Fleur that I’m moving out.’ She went across to the front door of the apartment and put her key in the lock. Before she could turn it the door was flung open and Fleur stood in the doorway, blocking her entrance. She stared at Agathe with angry eyes.

‘So you do know this vagabond who was sleeping in your bed.’

‘Yes,’ replied Agathe mildly. ‘She’s the daughter of an old friend of mine. She’s fallen on hard times and I—’

‘She’s certainly fallen,’ retorted Fleur, pointing an accusing finger at Annette’s rounded stomach, ‘and I won’t have her here in my home.’

‘You won’t have to after tomorrow,’ Agathe said, ‘but perhaps we should discuss this inside. Better than on the doorstep, don’t you think?’

‘There’s nothing to discuss,’ Fleur snapped. ‘She’s not coming in!’

‘In that case,’ said Agathe, ‘I’m sure she won’t mind standing out here for ten more minutes, just while I pack my things.’

‘Pack your things? Why, where are you going? You can’t just walk out after all I’ve done for you.’

‘I hadn’t planned to,’ agreed Agathe, reasonably. ‘I have come home with some excellent news, but as I said, I’m not going to discuss it standing on the landing. You either let us both in, or I shall simply pack up and leave.’

Fleur flushed red, but faced with this ultimatum, she stood aside and allowed both Annette and Agathe into the apartment.

‘Why don’t we go into the salon and I’ll make some coffee,’ suggested Agathe. ‘Then I can tell you all about it.’

While Agathe boiled water for the coffee, Fleur sat rigidly silent in one of her armchairs. She made no effort to speak to Annette, nor did she offer a chair, so that when Agathe appeared with the tray, she found Annette still standing by the window looking down into the street.

‘Come and sit down, Annette,’ Agathe said, ‘and have some coffee.’

Rather unwillingly Annette sat down, perching on the edge of the chair as if about to take flight. Agathe poured coffee for them all and then sat down herself.

‘Well?’ demanded Fleur.

‘Well,’ replied Agathe placidly. ‘As I said outside, poor Annette is the daughter of an old friend of mine and she has fallen on hard times. She was married last year and is, as you see, expecting her first child, but sadly her husband Marc died in the recent flu epidemic, so she’s been left a widow. Their room went with his job and she’s been turned out by her landlord as she can’t pay the rent. What would you like me to do’ – Agathe’s voice grew harsher – ‘leave her in the gutter to die?’