It made me wonder what visitors André had received down here in his hideaway while I was running around Paris waiting and waiting to hear from him. I rummaged through his shelves and under a stack of Les Ailes aircraft magazines I came across his old copy of Les Misérables that matched mine and under it a Bible. Both well-thumbed. The touch of them triggered the memory of the Île Saint-Louis in Paris and the sound of the calm voice on the end of the telephone in Hôtel d’Emilie telling me to wait where I was.

Talk to me, André.

How can I protect you when I am in the dark?

I looked under his pillow and I felt no shame. If he would not help me help him, I must help him myself. A hymn book. I found a hymn book tucked under the neatly smoothed white cotton pillowcase. It was a dark-blue book with gold trim, its corners soft from years of handling. Years of being loved.

By my brother?

Surely not. André had no time for what he called primitive superstition. Yet here it was, where he could reach for it in the darkest holes of the night, when pain and despair engulfed him, robbing him of the man he believed himself to be, so that he turned to the soft holy hymnal for comfort.

My hand started to shake when I thought about his pain and the small navy-blue book between my fingers blurred. I replaced it where I’d found it and returned downstairs, where I made a thick soup from home-grown potatoes and white onions. I threw in fat garlic cloves and a handful of thyme and when it was ready I carried a bowl of it out to the barn, steam coiling up into the night air.

To my surprise André accepted the soup. ‘Thank you, Eloïse. It’s kind of you.’

So polite. So polite it broke my heart.

‘Go and get some rest in the house, André. I’ll sit here with Goliath.’ I glanced at the black mound. The air felt stiff with the smell of flesh.

‘Thank you for the offer, but no. I’ll remain.’

His politeness and his stubbornness sent a spike of anger through me.

‘What is the point?’ I asked. ‘Whoever did this could return, we both know that. It is dangerous and pointless to sit here all night alone.’

His face was hidden in darkness but I saw his shoulders jerk forward. ‘Have you forgotten what the bulls mean to us, Eloïse? Has Paris turned your head so quickly?’

‘Can you not see? To put yourself in danger for no reason is senseless.’

‘It is my legs that are damaged, not my mind.’

I was not sure about that. ‘Then I will sit here too.’