Walking back into the apartment, Laure banged the door shut with a foot and carried Kočka over to the cushion that she had previously occupied and laid her gently down on it.

Kočka blinked, unfurled a trifle and settled. Laure fetched water and a few of the cat biscuits and fed them one by one to her. ‘To the vet with you,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow.’

She sat back on her heels, understanding finally that a transition – and a transaction – had taken place. ‘It looks as though you’ve become mine.’

There was a knock on the door.

It was May, clutching an expensively packaged bouquet. ‘The Rottweiler masquerading as your concierge asked me to give you these. They were delivered earlier. At least, I think that’s what she said. She seems angry.’

Laure inspected the bouquet. Orange roses… orange roses?

The colour was not her favourite. She found it unsettling. ‘Nic gave me a translation of the speech,’ said May. ‘I could see you got them eating out of your hand. One of the women cried, the one with the cropped hair.’

‘Thank you.’ She made no move to invite May in but couldn’t resist the tease. ‘I think you enjoyed it?’

‘It was so smart. Can’t wait to tell the folks back home.’

‘So you do talk to your mother?’

‘Nope. Not Miss Melia.’

Laure was getting to know May and was pretty sure the chippiness in her last comment masked anger. She allowed the extravagant length of black-and-white ribbon that tied up the bouquet to slip through her fingers. ‘It’s not my business but, perhaps, you should. She is your mother.’

May appeared to be fascinated by the flowers. ‘I’ve spent more time thinking about whether or not to cosy up to a mother who hates the sight of me than you would credit.’

‘Is it hate?’ interjected Laure.

‘Well, surely to God, it’s not indifference. And it’s not love. So, it’s hate. It stuck in the craw once, but not any longer. But…’ May’s face darkened. Then she grinned. ‘Other people can listen to me. And they do.’

She continued to hover on the doorstep, metaphorically on tip toe and raring to go. ‘I have questions. Big ones. Serious ones.’

Laure was damned if she did, damned if she didn’t. ‘Five minutes,’ she said and stood aside. ‘You sit down, you get up and you leave. No snooping.’

On entering the room, May gave a small cry. ‘The cat’s back. That’s great.’

Laure placed the bouquet on the coffee table. She had a sense that something, long dug deep into her, was uprooting. Whether it was a natural, or unnatural, process she did not know, only that Kočka had been a trigger.

‘Five minutes,’ she reminded May.