Halfway along the lane she paused and looked at one of the cottages. It was in better condition than most of the others, its windows clean and glinting in the sun, its front door freshly painted green. The woman glanced about her and then moved swiftly to the green door and knocked. As she waited to be admitted, she glanced round again and her hood slipped sideways, revealing her face. It was then that Rupert recognised her, and he could hardly believe his eyes as he watched the front door open and Hélène St Clair be admitted to the house.

Hélène? What was she doing, creeping down a back lane to visit a house on her own? Surely her mother did not allow her to visit the village alone, with no maid to attend her. No, he thought. She’s not supposed to be there, in that house in that backstreet. She had been trying to conceal her face with the hood of her cloak, and it was only when the hood had fallen back from her hair that he’d been able to recognise her. He decided to wait for her to come out again, and settled down on a chair by his window to keep watch. Then, he thought, when she reappears I shall run downstairs and meet her casually in the street. Would she be pleased to see him? Did he mind the fact that she was out and about on her own? He thought about his sister Fran. She was allowed some licence at home, allowed to ride out over the hills with just a groom for company, a precaution in case she fell. However, she sometimes walked unaccompanied, so perhaps Hélène was allowed to as well. He didn’t know what was customary for young ladies of good families here in France. But Hélène hadn’t simply been walking to take the air; she had come to visit someone in a slightly shabby house in a back lane and she was clearly anxious not to be recognised.

Rupert waited for what seemed an age and was actually considering whether he should go down and knock on the door of the cottage when it was opened by a middle-aged woman who looked quickly up and down the lane before standing aside to let Hélène slip out. Rupert was immediately on his feet, down the stairs and out into the street. Even so, Hélène had disappeared. She was not in the square, and when he followed the lane that led to the church, she wasn’t there either. Where on earth had she gone? Rupert looked round him, bewildered. Where could she be? He’d only taken half a minute to get downstairs and yet he’d missed her. He walked up through the churchyard, wondering if she had gone into the church for some reason, and it was as he reached the hillock on which the church stood that he caught sight of her. She taken the footpath across the fields and was even now hurrying along the line of the hedge as if she did not wish to be seen. Rupert hurried after her, half running, half walking in his effort to catch up with her before she reached the field gate that led into the garden of Belair.