It took a few seconds for Laure to appreciate what Petr was saying. ‘You wanted Mrs Kobes to have treatment in Paris?’

He looked away. ‘It was important.’

‘Oh God,’ said Laure. ‘I mean, I’m so sorry.’

Petr sighed. ‘We’ll see how we go. We may still get to Paris for the treatment. It depends on a lot of things. The authorities would have to give permission and I’m talking to them about it.’

Eva’s illness and treatment were not the topics with which to score a political point, but the ironies were certainly not lost on Laure. ‘It does clear things up.’ She glanced at her hands in her lap. ‘The children sense something is wrong. Perhaps it would be a good idea to talk to them?’

‘They miss Paris, which is to be expected.’

‘It’s deeper than that.’

‘Are you sure?’ But she could see he was nonplussed.

This apparent crack in Petr’s customary assurance fuelled the courage to speak. ‘They sense that their mother has withdrawn. Now you’ve told me the reason, I understand you don’t want to alarm them, but I wonder if you should try and explain.’ She added, ‘As soon as possible. Children need reassurance.’

He made a face. ‘I won’t take that as a criticism.’

‘It isn’t a criticism, Mr Kobes.’

He looked at her. ‘We are friends, are we not? We are beginning to know each other quite well. You must call us Eva and Petr.’

‘Petr. The children are unsettled and it’s my duty to tell you.’

He seemed pleased with her intervention. ‘I’ll make it my business to spend more time with them. I could come on one of your afternoon outings.’

Laure didn’t hesitate. ‘They’d like that.’

‘That’s wonderful to hear. I’m so glad you brought the subject up.’

She made for the door. Petr picked up his beer. ‘It’s such a relief having you to talk to,’ he said. ‘A relief. No, it’s more than that, a pleasure.’

She knew that he was willing her back into the room, there to stay to talk and drink a beer with him. He was holding her gaze. Please.

‘I’m glad I can help,’ she said, desperate to be alone in order to think about Tomas. ‘Goodnight.’

The children lit up like Christmas trees when, the following afternoon, their father announced that he would accompany them to Kampa Park and vied to hold his hand as they plunged into the afternoon heat.

The park was on a false island adjacent to the Charles Bridge and sufficiently large for the children to run around. Crucially, said Petr, there would be shade.

In the sun, the river looked flat and burnished. Beyond it, the city shone, its greyness transmuted into pale pastel shades. At the entrance to the park, Petr said, ‘You go ahead, I’ll join you in a moment.’