‘It’s like a factory in there,’ he remarked, with a nod at the kitchen door, where Vianne was making mendiants du roi – thick slices of candied orange dipped in dark chocolate and scattered with edible gold leaf – so pretty it’s almost a shame to eat them, and perfect for the season, of course. ‘Doesn’t she ever take any time off?’

I smiled. ‘You know. The Christmas rush.’

He grunted. ‘I’ll be glad when it’s all over with. I’ve never been so pushed with a job. Still, it’s going to be worth it – assuming I get it done on time . . .’

I saw Anouk shoot him a look as she sat at the table with Rosette.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘A promise is a promise. It’s going to be the best Christmas ever. Just the four of us, at Rue de la Croix. We can go to midnight Mass at the Sacré-Coeur. Wouldn’t that be great, eh?’

‘Maybe.’ Her voice was expressionless.

I saw him suppress an impatient sigh. Anouk can be very hard work, and her resistance to him is palpable. Perhaps this is because of Roux, still absent, but always in her thoughts. I’ve seen him regularly, of course, a couple of times on the Butte itself, once crossing Place du Tertre, once going down the stairs by the funicular – moving fast and with a knitted cap to cover his hair, as if he’s afraid to be recognized.

I’ve also met up with him at the hostel in which he is staying, to check on his progress, to feed him lies, to cash his cheques and to ensure that he stays docile and obedient. He’s getting understandably impatient by now, and a little hurt that Vianne has not yet asked for him. Plus he’s working all hours for Thierry, of course, beginning at eight in the morning and often finishing late at night, and when he leaves Rue de la Croix he’s sometimes too tired even to eat, but goes back to his hostel and sleeps like the dead.

As for Vianne, I sense her concern – and her disappointment, too. She has not been to Rue de la Croix. Anouk, too, is under strict instructions to stay away. If Roux wants to see them, he’ll come, Vianne says. If not – well. It’s his choice.

Thierry was looking more impatient than ever. He stepped into the kitchen, where Vianne was carefully laying out the finished mendiants on to a sheet of baking paper. I thought there was something furtive in the way he pulled the door half-closed, and I noticed his colours were brighter than usual, edged with jittery reds and purples.