“You know I can’t,” Fabia mutters.

Amara pours her more wine. “My friend, I promise you, Felix has no spies here.”

“I suppose so,” Fabia says, knocking back her glass. “Yes, he learned it from his father. It’s what the old master did to Felix’s mother. To Felicula.” The name is like the brush of cold fingers on Amara’s skin. She can remember it, carved into the brothel walls. I fucked Felicula here. “How that silly girl loved the old man,” Fabia says, with a sigh. “Always making pathetic excuses for him. She was a tiny little thing, surprisingly popular with the customers. I could never understand it. Not very sharp.”

“Where did Felix live back then?”

“Wherever his mother was,” Fabia replies. “Always hanging off her, like a squirrel. I know he’s a shit now, but he was the most beautiful child. Those big brown eyes.” She sets down her empty wine glass, and Amara tops it up again. “Even prettier than my Paris at that age, if I’m honest.”

Amara knows that if Fabia starts talking about her son Paris, it will be impossible to get her off the subject. “What happened to Felicula?”

“Is there any more stew?” Fabia looks at Amara and under-standing passes between them. They are not just two old friends meeting up. Everything has its price.

“Of course,” Amara answers. She lifts the lid from the large tureen Martha left them, ladling out a third portion.

“Felix can’t find out that I’ve told you all this,” Fabia says, watching her bowl fill up. “More than my life’s worth.”

“You weren’t followed, were you?”

“No,” Fabia replies. “I always check. Not that anyone really bothers where I go, not some old bag like me.” She pauses the conversation to eat. Amara watches her. Fabia’s hunger is a reminder of what her life could have been if Rufus had not rescued her, the disgrace and destitution of a prostitute once her looks have gone. Helping the old woman is a way of acknowledging her own good fortune, a reminder of the knife-edge they all live on. And of course, if it weren’t for Fabia, she would have no way of knowing what is happening to her friends, or what Felix is up to. Amara is not sure what purpose all this information on her old master will ever serve, but she still feels compelled to gather it.

The last few beans are gone, and Fabia scrapes her spoon around the side, determined not to miss a drop. “That’s so good. Keep me going all week, that will.” She glances up at Amara. “It’s a long time since I’ve thought about Felicula. Why are you so interested in this old stuff anyway?”

Amara shrugs. “So what did happen to her?”