In the first moment, before she recognized Bannerman, her eyebrows puckered towards the bridge of her nose, eyes flaring with anger. Then, just as quickly, her forehead unfurrowed and her eyes became once more those dark, placid pools. Mascoulin satisfied himself that there would be no tantrums. ‘I’ll leave you for a moment.’ He closed the door softly and Bannerman stood awkwardly, looking at the child. In the silence he could hear his own breathing, like the scraping of chalk on a blackboard.

The child remained motionless, half-turned in her chair, staring back at him. The seconds dragged interminably. ‘Hello,’ Bannerman said at last, and his voice sounded feeble. Still she made no movement, and he took two or three steps towards her and looked at the drawings spread on the table. Even though he had seen her drawing of the man in the house, he was startled by their brilliance. Seldom had he seen so much expression conveyed in such simple lines. Movement and perspective accurately observed by the merest stroke of her pencil. There were horses and riders, a dog, a bird in flight. ‘They’re beautiful,’ he said, and thought how inadequate that was to express their genius.

She had turned her head around so that she could watch him. What was she thinking? He crouched down suddenly, on an impulse, so that his eyes were on a level with hers, and took one of her hands. For a moment there was something on the tip of his tongue, something he had been going to say. But it vanished as quickly and he lost his grasp of what it was. Everything he felt about her, all the strange emotions she awakened in him, were hopelessly elusive, impossible to define. He was at a loss, foundering in a sea of confusion, and he felt a sudden urge to take her into the protection of his arms. But scared of the reaction it might provoke, he let the moment pass.

He was embarrassed without knowing why, and lowered his head. He sighed and felt the soft warmth of her small fingers in his. How could he explain it to her when he could not explain it to himself? He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe from harm, the way a father would a daughter. An instinct foreign to him, and yet completely natural.

He raised his eyes and saw that she was smiling. A gentle smile that showed in her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. There was a great serenity in her face that made its plainness almost beautiful. He squeezed her hand and stood up, still touched by his embarrassment, but a little easier within himself. ‘I’ll come and see you again.’ But her hand clung obstinately to his and he felt her distress. ‘I must go.’