They sat eating in silence in front of the fire. The bread and cheese was dry, but the wine was good. He’d heated up more milk for Tania and she was gulping it over after wolfing down several slices of bread. Now Bannerman’s own fatigue was catching up with him. In all his concern for the child, he had forgotten his own weariness, his own desperate need for food and sleep. His bath would have to wait until tomorrow.

When he’d finished eating he drank more wine, watching her over the rim of his glass. She was searching in the pockets of her dressing gown. Finally she drew out a paper handkerchief and stood up to draw it softly across his forehead and mop away the fine beads of perspiration.

He caught her hand. ‘I’ll have to tell them you’re here.’

Almost immediately there was fear in her eyes and she shook her head vigorously.

He said, ‘It’s all right, little one. Just so they can stop searching. It’s only fair. No one’s going to take you away tonight. I won’t let them.’

He did not wait for a reaction, but stood up and crossed to the phone. He began to dial.

‘Police Judiciaire.’ A woman’s voice.

‘Inspecteur du Maurier.’

‘Ne quittez pas.’

A phone lifted. ‘Du Maurier.’

‘You’re still there. I didn’t really expect to get you at this time. Have you no home to go to?’

‘What do you want?’ Du Maurier sounded irritable.

‘The child is here. At the Rue de Commerce. God knows how or why. She was waiting on the landing when I got back.’

Tania watched Bannerman darkly. She would not let anyone take her away again. She wanted to be with Bannerman always. She examined him closely as he spoke. She saw his weariness, the perspiration that had broken out again across his forehead, the lacerations on his face. A hard face, something a little frightening about it. But she knew that behind the façade lay an unexpected gentleness.

‘And next time I want one of your men at the clinic night and day till she leaves,’ she heard him saying, and became aware of her heart pounding.

He hung up and smiled at her. ‘It’s all right,’ he said and he returned to the table. She detected his hesitation. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Sometime tomorrow . . . you’ll have to return to the clinic. It’ll only be for a day or so and then we can go back to Scotland together.’

She had known this would happen. That she couldn’t have him to herself. That they would take her away again. But knowing did not stop the flood of anger and hurt. It was always what they wanted. Never what she wanted.