What harm can there be? I ask myself. It’s hardly really magic at all, just a few little charms, a good-luck sign or two; the kind of thing to which my mother would not have given a second thought . . .

But I can’t help feeling uneasy now. Nothing comes entirely free. Like the boy in the tale who sold his shadow for a promise, if I close my eyes to the terms of the sale; if I buy on credit from the world, soon I’ll have to pay the price—

And what is it, Zozie?

What’s your price?

I felt increasingly troubled throughout the rest of the afternoon. Something in the air, perhaps; something in the winter light. I found myself wishing for someone – though who it was I could not say. My mother, perhaps; Armande, Framboise. Someone simple. Someone to trust.

Thierry phoned twice, but I screened his calls. He could not begin to understand. I tried to concentrate on work, but for some reason everything went wrong. I heated the chocolate too much or too little; let milk boil; put pepper instead of cinnamon into a batch of hazelnut rolls. By mid-afternoon my head was aching, and at last I left Zozie in charge and went out for a breath of air.

I walked at random, with nowhere in mind. Certainly not Rue de la Croix; although that was where I found myself less than twenty minutes later. The sky was brittle and china-blue, but the sun was too low to cast any warmth. I was glad of my coat – mud-brown, like my boots – and pulled it tighter around my body as I entered the shadows of the lower Butte.

It was a coincidence, that’s all. I hadn’t thought of Roux all day. But there he was, outside the flat, in workboots and overalls, a black knitted cap to cover his hair. He had his back to me, but I knew him at once – it’s something about the way he moves, deftly, but without great haste, the lean, tough muscles in his back and arms flexing as he throws boxes and crates of builders’ rubbish into the skip that stands on the kerb.

I stepped instinctively behind a parked van. The suddenness of seeing Roux; surprise at finding myself there when Zozie had warned me to stay away; these things conspired to make me cautious, and I watched him now from behind the van, invisible in my drab coat, heart punching like a pinball machine. Should I speak to him? I thought. Did I want to speak to him? What was he doing here, anyway? A man who hates the city; hates noise; despises wealth and prefers the open sky to a roof—

Just then Thierry came out of the house. I sensed tension between them straight away. Thierry looked annoyed; his face was red; he spoke to Roux in a sharp voice and gestured for him to go inside.