Still the hand held his. And then suddenly she seemed resigned to his leaving and her hand fell away. He wanted to go, but his feet would not take him. Her face was still turned upwards, looking at him with sadness now. That hint of a smile long gone. He bent over and kissed her gently on the forehead, catching a glimpse of his pale, bruised face in a mirror on the wall opposite. He looked tired, and he turned his eyes away from the reflection. The kiss was a simple thing that seemed to come without thinking. But still it surprised him. ‘I’ll come back,’ he heard himself saying. And then felt the cold of the metal door handle in his hand as he stepped out in the corridor, shutting the door behind him.

Mascoulin emerged from the room next door and looked at him strangely. ‘She has a marvellous talent,’ he said.

Bannerman nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

They walked the length of the corridor together, and on the stairs Mascoulin said, ‘Children have an almost unlimited capacity for love, Monsieur Bannerman. Most autistic children find that kind of connection with others very difficult. It frustrates them, almost as much as it frustrates their loved ones. It’s hard to keep loving someone who cannot love you back.’

Bannerman nodded.

The doctor went on, ‘Every child needs a love to return. Just a little goes such a long way and is returned manyfold. Perhaps little Tania has missed out in that respect.’

Bannerman didn’t doubt it. He looked at the doctor. It was almost as though he had been witness to the events in Tania’s room. Then he remembered the mirror on the wall. He felt momentarily annoyed, spied on. But the anger passed quickly.

‘You were watching,’ he said.

Mascoulin nodded. ‘We like to be able to keep an eye on the children.’ He paused. ‘I must admit that the way she responded to you was quite exceptional. She’s been like an automaton since she arrived. Even with Mademoiselle Robertson.’ He hesitated. ‘How long have you known the child?’

Bannerman shook his head. ‘I hardly know her at all.’

Sally was waiting in the hall. She looked up as she heard them on the stairs. ‘I do hope you will come again,’ Mascoulin said. He shook both their hands and watched them pass through the swing doors, out into the snow. And wondered at the curious scene he had witnessed in the child’s room.

Outside, Bannerman stopped at the foot of the steps, breathing in the cold night air, and turned his face slightly upwards so that the snowflakes cooled the heat of his skin. He felt Sally’s arm slip through his and she guided him slowly towards the car, her feet scuffing in the soft snow. ‘Why did you really come?’ she asked.