‘Of course. Where is it to take place?’

‘In Arles. I’ve drawn you a map. Memorise it, then burn it.’

‘What am I dropping?’

‘The film you developed.’

‘And who will pick it up?’

‘No need for you to know anything other than it will be a CIA agent pick-up. When you’ve completed the DLD, don’t hang about. Keep walking.’

‘But why would the CIA want that film? Surely they already possess that information.’

He smiled with a small tolerant sigh. ‘Because they need to know exactly which document was copied. They will narrow the field by working out how many on the air base had access to it.’

I nodded. Of course. André took hold of his crutches and swung himself across the room to stand right in front of me.

‘Eloïse.’

He ducked his head to peer at my face more closely with a gentle expression. ‘What’s the matter? Are you nervous?’

‘No,’ I lied.

He took one arm off a crutch, leaving it tucked under his armpit, and rested a hand on my shoulder, the way he used to do with all our gang of followers as children, marking each one of us as his own. Like a brand on a bull calf. I could feel the strength of him through the thin material of my blouse.

‘You’ll complete the DLD with ease,’ he said generously. ‘Take care. Keep your eyes open. Come back home immediately. I’ll be waiting.’ He placed a sheet of paper and a brown envelope in my hands, and patted my shoulder. ‘Don’t let me down, will you?’

‘No.’

‘I’m trusting you.’

I never thought to hear those words again from my brother.

He smiled and shook his mane of hair from his eyes. ‘You are my legs.’

I placed my hand on top of his on my shoulder and for a moment our Caussade bones fused. ‘I won’t let you down, don’t worry.’

He turned and swung himself to the door. He manoeuvred the crutches like an extension of himself now and I could see the muscles of his back bunching under his shirt. At the door he threw me a look that I couldn’t read and issued one final instruction.

‘Take the gun. Just in case.’

*

As soon as André was gone, I inspected the envelope. It was sealed. Plain, brown, and with no writing on the front. It looked like one of Papa’s envelopes from his bureau downstairs.

The sheet of paper he’d handed me was an instruction sheet telling me where and what the drop location was in Arles. I memorised it and then did as André ordered, burned it. In a glass trinket dish that used to belong to my mother.

So far, so obedient.