‘How’s your head?’ she asked, holding two Advils in her hand and offering a glass of water.

Taking the painkillers, he leaned against the kitchen counter, looking through the main windows into the south of Paris. It was going to be a fine day, maybe rising to twenty-five, twenty-six degrees.

She slid a plate towards him on which was a warmed pain au chocolat. ‘Eat this before you take the Advils. And we need some milk.’

He chewed as he walked to the coat rack and grabbed his windbreaker.

‘Two minutes,’ he yelled, letting himself out.

At the entrance portico he performed his daily habit—before venturing out he’d take a look through the glass of the main doors to see if anything was out of the ordinary, such as the presence of sous-marins, or subs—vans or cars used as observation vehicles—or pedestrians hanging about with no pretext. If he saw someone who looked off, he’d first clock their shoes, since footwear was the only thing a follower couldn’t change in a filature. De Payns was always looking for a filature—the professional shadowing of another person.

He bought the milk at the neighbourhood épicerie and returned to the apartment. He drank another coffee and Romy fixed him a fresh pain au chocolat. She was friendly but distant, an attitude he accepted because it was similar to his own style. In Romy’s mind she wasn’t finished with the PhD until after the ceremony and dinner with her parents. She would be distracted until it was out of the way.

‘I have a bit to do today—I’m leaving soon,’ said de Payns, glancing at his plain Omega watch. For their first wedding anniversary, Romy had bought him an expensive military watch, but it spent most of its life in the bedside drawer; a shiny adventurer’s watch was too conspicuous for his work.

‘My parents are arriving tomorrow,’ she reminded him. ‘But my graduation is next Saturday, okay?’

De Payns nodded. The silence lasted one second too long.

‘The ceremony starts at six, and I’ve made an eight-thirty booking at La Bohème,’ she said, looking into his eyes.

‘Sounds great,’ said de Payns, standing and draining the remains of his coffee. ‘I’m really looking forward to it.’

‘You’ll be there?’

He realised she wasn’t being arch; she was worried. Hugging her, he nuzzled her hair and whispered in her ear, ‘I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I’m very proud.’