She paused for a moment, clearly reluctant to talk about something so painful. Some scars never heal, I thought. Of course I was intrigued by this allusion to an apparently tragic passion. In terms of my novel, it was a promising prospect. But she had shown so much spontaneous trust in me that I didn’t want to rush her by asking her to elaborate on that brief mention. She would return to it later. And while I cannot now reveal the things that I learned in the weeks and months that followed, I can certainly say that this intense love affair would form an important part of my story.

For now, let’s stick with René. After their first meeting at the party, they agreed to see each other again soon. A few months later, they were married. And a few years after that, they were parents. Stéphanie was born in 1974, Valérie in 1975. Back then, it was unusual to become a mother in one’s late thirties. Madeleine had delayed the moment mostly for professional reasons. And while she enjoyed motherhood, she struggled with the consequences that it had on her career. She regarded this as an injustice perpetrated against women by a patriarchal society. ‘And my husband started working longer hours, so I was often left alone with the children …’ she said in a voice still tinged with bitterness. But it seemed fairly pointless to blame a dead man.

René probably didn’t realise how frustrated his wife felt. He was proud of his career at the RATP, the Paris public transport company. After starting out as a train driver on the metro, he ended up as one of the RATP’s highest-ranking executives. For him, the company was a second family, and retirement struck him like a guillotine blade. Madeleine found herself alone with a sad, lost man. ‘He couldn’t stand doing nothing,’ she kept repeating, her voice growing quieter each time. He had died twenty years before, but when she spoke about him the emotion still seemed raw. René would get up each morning like a soldier without a war. His wife encouraged him to take evening classes or do volunteer work, but he rejected all her suggestions. In truth, he had been deeply wounded by the way all his former colleagues had gradually turned their backs on him. He came to realise that all these friendships he had developed over years were in fact hollow and meaningless, and everything seemed pointless, absurd. He was diagnosed with colon cancer, which enabled him to find a label for his vague sense of decline. His funeral took place barely a year after his retirement and many of his former colleagues turned up. Madeleine looked at them one by one, without a word. Some of them gave speeches at the ceremony, praising him as a moral, warm-hearted man, but René was no longer there to hear these belated proofs of undying friendship. His wife considered their behaviour pathetic but kept her thoughts to herself. Instead she basked in memories of the tenderness, the peaceful harmony that she and René had shared. They’d accomplished so much together, been through so many joyous and painful experiences, and now it was all over.