Dora was halfway down the corridor when she heard the Jurat’s door open.

‘Miss Simon.’ Dora stopped. Sir Leonard stood in the corridor. ‘One more thing.’

Dora turned, her heart thundering.

‘I gather you paid a visit to La Ferme de l’Anse a while back.’

‘I attended,’ Dora said.

‘Laurent is a most unsavoury character.’ Then his voice softened, became sugary. ‘But you’re here alone, without family. Somebody needs to look out for you, help you find your way.’ He smiled and turned on his heel. ‘Take a little friendly advice. Steer clear of him. Good afternoon.’ He tossed the words over his shoulder.

This was not a man to cross, Dora could sense that. Neither him nor the Jurat. Or trust. There was no explanation for why Moye was casting himself as protector.

‘I can look after myself,’ she said, but he’d already shut the door to the office.

It would be forward to visit Mr Laurent again, although she thought about him all the time. Odd, really, she’d only seen him three times. An unsavoury character? All the more intriguing, like one of those stories in Titbits that she’d read at the dentist. There she was, hoping she’d bump into him again, seeing his reflection in a window and turning to find it a fraud, spotting his head in a crowd only to have it evaporate. Did she dare take him at his word, cycle over on her day off, Hello, is it convenient? It was ridiculous, really. An infatuation. What was the other word the English used? A crush. Did she have a crush on him? A pash? He could be twice her age. Old enough to be her father. Was she looking for a surrogate? If so, he couldn’t be more different. He was bigger than her father, taller, beefier, with hands – she’d noticed those hands – big enough to grab a whole octave as if the spread of the notes was no larger than a paperclip. Did he play the piano? She hadn’t noticed one in his house. Nor many books, either. Her father was a dapper man, tall and slender, cultured, not muscular and rough like Geoffrey. But his eyes were kind, and his smile joyous, and each night Dora lay in bed imagining him, how they’d meet again, and again. If he really liked her, he’d make the first move, wouldn’t he?