‘Just a little bitter,’ he said, helping himself to a sugar lump. ‘So – how about a break this afternoon? A stroll along the Champs-Elysées – coffee, lunch, shopping . . .’

‘Thierry,’ I said. ‘That’s very sweet, but I can’t just close shop for the afternoon.’

‘Really? It looks completely dead.’

Just in time, I stopped the sharp retort. ‘You haven’t finished your chocolate,’ I said.

‘And you haven’t answered my question, Yanne.’ His eyes flicked to my bare hand. ‘I notice you’re not wearing the ring. Does that mean the answer’s no?’

I laughed without meaning to. His directness often makes me laugh, although Thierry himself has no idea why. ‘You surprised me, that’s all.’

He looked at me over his chocolate. His eyes were tired, as if he hadn’t slept, and there were lines bracketing his mouth that I hadn’t noticed before. It was a hint of vulnerability that troubled and surprised me; I’d spent so long telling myself I didn’t need him that it had never occurred to me that he might need me.

‘So,’ he said. ‘Can you spare me an hour?’

‘Give me a minute to change,’ I said.

Thierry’s eyes lit up at once. ‘That’s my girl! I knew you would.’

He was back on form again, the small moment of uncertainty gone. He stood up, cramming his macaroon into his mouth (I noticed he’d left the chocolate). He grinned at Rosette, still playing on the floor.

‘Well, jeune fille, what do you think? We could go to the Luxembourg, play with the toy boats on the lake—’

Rosette looked up, her eyes bright. She loves those boats, and the man who rents them; would stay there all summer if she could . . .

See boat, she signed, emphatically.

‘What did she say?’ said Thierry, frowning.

I smiled at him. ‘She says that sounds like a pretty good plan.’

I was struck by a sudden affection for Thierry, for his enthusiasm, his goodwill. I know he finds Rosette difficult to cope with – her eerie silence, her refusal to smile – and I appreciated the effort he was making.

Upstairs, I discarded my chocolate-smeared apron and put on my red flannel dress. It’s a colour I haven’t worn in years; but I needed something to combat that cold November wind, and besides, I thought, I’d be wearing a coat. I wrestled Rosette into anorak and gloves (a garment which, for some reason, she despises), and then we all took the Métro to the Luxembourg.