‘No, of course not,’ muttered Fleur, ‘but I think you might have told me she was here. She gave me the fright of my life, rearing up from the bed like that.’

Agathe didn’t bother to ask what Fleur had been doing in her bedroom, poking through her things. She had a fair idea it wasn’t the first time, but she didn’t want to provoke another quarrel. Indeed, she was simply relieved that Fleur seemed to have accepted the fiction of Annette’s marriage without demur, so she said, ‘Drink your coffee, Fleur, and let me explain.’

Briefly she told her sister of her visit to the Avenue Ste Anne and Rosalie’s offer of employment for them both.

‘But why?’ demanded Fleur. ‘Why did you go to this Madame St Clair? How did you know she would help you?’

‘I knew her some years ago when I looked after her daughter for a while. She remembered and offered to help us now.’

‘But why do you have to go?’ protested Fleur, suddenly realising how much she would miss Agathe if she moved away. She had become used to the company. Loneliness loomed and she spoke sharply. ‘I can see Annette needs work and a place to live, but your place is here… with me.’

‘No, Fleur, it isn’t,’ Agathe replied gently. ‘You have been more than kind and generous in giving me a place to live while I was out of work, but I always told you it was only until I found another job, and now I’ve found one, and it’s time for me to move out.’

‘Huh!’ exclaimed Fleur. ‘You batten on me when you want to and then you’re up and off with no warning at all.’ Her face flushed a dull crimson as her anger took hold. ‘You’ve used me, Agathe—’

‘No more than you’ve used me, Fleur,’ Agathe answered mildly.

‘—and now you’re casting me off!’ Fleur cried, ignoring Agathe’s comment entirely.

‘You used me as an unpaid servant,’ Agathe reminded her, ‘but the arrangement suited both of us. I agree, we have made use of each other!’

Annette listened as the argument escalated, and then very quietly got to her feet and left the room, knowing that she was the cause of the row.

‘You certainly are not,’ Agathe told her when she came back to her room. ‘Fleur and I always have argued. We shall both get over it.’ She smiled reassuringly at Annette. ‘Now, tomorrow we have to get ready to leave.’

Two days later they bought their tickets and were on their way to St Etienne. As they left the apartment they said goodbye to Fleur, who was surprisingly tearful.

‘When am I going to see you again, Agathe?’ she wailed as they carried their bags to the front door. ‘I need you. I’m not well!’

‘Soon,’ soothed Agathe, used to her sister’s hypochondria. ‘As soon as we’re settled and my work allows, I’ll come up and see you.’

As they left the building, she glanced up at the window that overlooked the street and saw her sister standing, pale-faced, watching them leave. Agathe lifted a hand in farewell and turned away, not knowing that her sister had spoken the truth, that she had consumption and that within months she would be dead. Agathe would never see her again.