She put down the glass on the table, hoping it would not leave a mark. Stupid to be worrying about such things at this moment. Stupid to have been in the apartment when the family returned. Stupid to have been proved so shabby a spirit, so traitorous.

For the last time, her gaze slid over the room. The chandelier, the plastic chairs, the peeling paint. The beautiful proportions of the room. This was unreal. The sort of story that the marionettes would enact.

A girl is awakened by a handsome prince who carries her off and the wicked witches give chase.

The children had gone quiet. No doubt they were tired and had gone to their rooms. In the passage, Laure hovered outside their doors, wishing very much to kiss them goodbye.

Behind the close bedroom door, Eva cried out and began to sob.

In the hall, the phone rang.

Adrenalin blasted in and she picked up her rucksack.

Within a few seconds, she was down in the courtyard and heading out through the entrance. As she turned into the street, she glanced over her shoulder.

Petr was the window overlooking the courtyard, staring down into it.

She knew he knew she was there.

She couldn’t be sure but, as she turned into the Malá Strana, she could have sworn he waved.

Her hand throbbed in time with her pounding feet.

If he loved her, he might give her a chance. Them a chance. He might hold what he knew.

What she had told him.

After a while, she slackened her pace. First stop: Tomas’s apartment to see about Kočka.

Second stop: the British Embassy.

‘Don’t listen to what anyone might say about me.’

His voice was in her ear.

‘Do you understand?’

‘Promise me?’

But she had… listened …

CHAPTER 28

Paris, today

THE MAISON DE GRASSE LUNCH HAD CREATED RIPPLES in the press and each party regarded the other with satisfaction.

It was all change for the museum: finances, positioning, the sponsorship.

‘The requests for copies of your speech keep coming in,’ Nic informed Laure when she walked into the office a couple of weeks later. ‘And what have you got there?’

Laure set down the cat basket. ‘A cat. No, my cat.’

‘And?’ said Nic.

‘She’s coming to live here. The vet thought it would be better. Not so confined as a flat. More room. When you’ve lived on the streets, you can’t take being cramped.’

‘At weekends?’

‘She’ll come home with me. I’ll probably have to move unless I can strike a deal with the landlord.’

Nic peered into the basket at the scrawny, unglossy little form. ‘She’s no beauty.’

‘Don’t hurt her feelings. Her life has been bad enough.’

Nic watched as Laure unpacked various bits of equipment, including a cushion. ‘There’s no room in here to… er… swing a cat, so where’s that going?’