Laure looked over her shoulder to see he was talking to a balding man in a navy-blue suit. ‘Apologies,’ he said when he re-joined them. ‘A colleague.’ She noticed, however, he was frowning.

‘I hope you don’t have a crisis at work,’ she said, more from politeness than anything else.

Petr frowned. ‘What would you know about it?’

Taken aback, she stammered, ‘I don’t.’

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to be so sharp. But no questions, yes?’

‘Of course.’

If the watchers worried that they were also watched, did that not constitute paranoia? Laure wondered. Whatever the explanation, the goodwill between them had dissipated.

They found a place to sit under the trees. Despite the heat, Jan kicked a ball around. Because it had been so hot, many of the trees had been shedding leaves prematurely and Maria jumped like a puppy in and out of the rustling heaps.

Petr made himself extra agreeable and asked her questions about home and her family. Laure thawed at his obvious efforts and answered in some detail. Every so often, the children called out to their father and to those calls he responded wholeheartedly. ‘They’re so fond of you,’ she said impulsively.

‘Thank you. Do you think they’ll settle?’

‘They miss Paris. Naturally.’ She waited for a moment. ‘They will forget. In part.’

‘Let’s hope so.’ He lit a French cigarette, not a Czech one, which she now recognized as a sign of privilege. ‘I’m hoping I might be able to take Eva back in the autumn.’

‘Excellent.’

‘Her illness is a strange one. The doctors can’t predict exactly what will happen.’ He undid his cuffs and rolled up his shirtsleeves.

Greatly daring, she said, ‘You must be envied for your travelling.’

‘What makes you say that?’

She was provoked by his sharp response into replying, ‘I’ve met some people who can’t travel.’

‘Ah, the guys from Anatomie?’

Too late to bite back the words. ‘Actually, I’m not sure. The language problem… I don’t always understand what’s being said.’

He said in kindly way, ‘Conversation must be a little difficult. What do you manage to talk about?’

‘Not much,’ she said.

His eyebrow flew up but he appeared to take her wriggle at face value. ‘You know that women will hate you for being so friendly with them.’

She tried to not to reveal her elation. ‘But how do you get to travel to France or Italy from here?’

Again, the whiplash reaction. ‘Why?’ Petr ground out his cigarette carefully on the dry ground. ‘Are any of your friends thinking of taking a trip?’

‘I don’t think so.’

She focused on the river, reflecting that it, at least, was free to flow unhindered. ‘It’s seems so strange not to be able to visit Italy, say. Or Germany. Or Austria. That’s all.’