‘Do you remember that night, André? When I asked you what it was that came between you and Papa and made you leave.’ I breathed noisily on the glass pane of the window. ‘You pinched my nose between your fingers and laughed. You told me to keep out of Papa’s business. I shouted that I was his daughter and had a right to know more, but you just released my nose and sighed from somewhere deep in your boots. “I’m his son,” you muttered, and slurred something about finding a photograph of Papa. That was it. I was no wiser.’

The silence in the room was thick and suffocating.

‘Do you remember?’ I whispered.

‘I remember.’

I spun around. André’s eyes were open and he was watching me, but his eyes were all wrong. The shining amber colour had gone and in its place was a dirty mud shade, tense with pain and exhaustion. I returned to his bedside.

‘André, how are you?’

‘What are you doing here, Eloïse?’

Answer a question with a question. He was good at that.

‘I came because Papa summoned me,’ I said, keeping my voice steady. ‘And because I’ve been so worried about you.’

‘I’m all right. You’ve seen me. Now leave.’

‘Leave?’

‘Yes, go back to Paris. You are not wanted here.’

‘I want to look after you, André, to make sure you—’

‘I don’t need you to look after me. I have Mathilde. So go. Now.’

He closed his eyes, thick sandy lashes on his thin cheeks, shutting me out. I rested my hand on the quilt on top of his arm.

‘Hear me out first, André. Please. Listen to what I have to say.’ I rushed on before he had a chance to say no. ‘First, I am sorry. Desperately sorry. I am to blame for . . .’ I gestured at the bed, ‘for this, but—’

‘Stop. Stop it, Eloïse. I don’t want your sorry.’

I removed my hand from his arm.

‘Second,’ I continued, and sat down on the chair, going nowhere, ‘I am frightened that whoever did this to you will track you down to finish it. You need someone to guard you.’

‘You?’

‘Yes. Day and night. Till you are better. I saw no guards outside. I have your High Standard gun in my bag and can keep you safe. If you don’t wish to see me – which I understand – I will remain downstairs at all times. You won’t know I’m here.’

He made a faint sound. Whether it was disgust or anger, I couldn’t tell. I watched the large tendon in his neck tighten.

‘Third,’ I continued quietly, ‘tell me who these people are who tried to murder you. Why did they do it?’

‘I cannot tell you that.’