Well, you and I know that you don’t get far by granting wishes. But the way to her heart is a tortuous one, and if I’m not wrong, the returns will be more than worth my while. Meanwhile I let her amuse herself – as a kitten may sharpen its claws on a ball of wool in readiness for its first mouse.

And so our curriculum begins. Lesson One, sympathetic magic.

In other words, dolls.

We make the dolls out of wooden clothes-pegs – it’s far less messy than using clay – and she carries them around with her, two in each pocket, awaiting the moment to test them out.

Peg-doll one: Madame Luzeron. Tall and stiff in a dress made from a stray piece of taffeta tied with rusty ribbon. Hair made out of cotton wool; little black shoes and dusky shawl. Features drawn on in felt pen – Nanou pulling a dreadful face as she concentrates on getting the expression just right – there’s even a cotton-wool replica of her fuzzy little dog, attached to Madame’s belt with a twist of pipe-cleaner. It will do; and a strand of Madame’s hair, carefully picked from the back of her coat, will complete the figure in no time at all.

Peg-doll two is Anouk herself. There is an uncanny accuracy to the small figures she creates: this one has Anouk’s curly hair, and is dressed in a piece of yellow cloth, with Pantoufle in grey wool, perched on her shoulder.

Peg-doll three is Thierry le Tresset, complete with his mobile phone.

Peg-doll four is Vianne Rocher; dressed in a bright-red party frock, rather than her usual black. In fact I’ve only ever seen her wear red on one occasion. But in Anouk’s mind, Mother wears red; the colour of life and love and magic. That’s interesting. I can use that. But later, perhaps, when the time is right.

Meanwhile, I have other work to do. Not least in the chocolaterie; with Christmas approaching in giant strides, it’s time to really build up that clientèle; to find out who has been naughty or nice; to try, test, taste our winter stock – and perhaps add a few special little extras of our own.

Chocolate can act as a medium for many things. Our hand-made truffles – still a favourite – are rolled in a mixture of cocoa powder, icing sugar and a number of additional substances of which my mother would certainly not have approved, but which ensure that our customers are not only satisfied, but refreshed, energized and eager for more. Today we sold thirty-six boxes of the truffles alone, with orders left for a dozen extra. At this rate we could top a hundred a day by Christmas.

Thierry called round at five today to report on the progress of the flat. He seemed slightly bewildered at the unusual level of activity in the shop, and, I would say, not entirely pleased.