Milos drew Laure’s hand into the crook of his elbow and, together, they walked along the banks of the canal. ‘I will string Pierrot for you,’ he said. ‘Before I leave.’

CHAPTER 29

IT IS EVENING AND THE TEMPERATURE IS PLUMMETING. ITS colours and vistas subtly altering, Paris is shedding its autumn coating.

Laure makes her rounds of the museum.

In her office, Kočka is ensconced on the ledge above the radiator and Laure puts out her food and cat litter tray for the night. Recently, Kočka has allowed Laure to kiss her and she drops one on Kočka’s newly luxuriant fur.

Laure moves on, closing the shutters as she goes.

The rooms are still and quiet, the heating dying down for the night. In Room 7, Laure adjusts the frame containing the pillowcase and, in Room 3, brushes a coating of dust off a windowsill.

The lights are already switched off in Room 2 and all the objects, except for the bridal veil that glimmers faintly, are shrouded in the falling dusk.

She stands by the window. The lights pool across the rooftops and a couple of pigeons waddle across the roof tiles. A long time ago, she threw bread pellets at the Prague pigeons with Petr and she thinks of him now and of how he chose to pay his dues.

She is grateful.

‘Go back to Alabama,’ she urges May before she leaves with Nic for the evening. ‘Go home soon and sort it out with your mother. You must not leave unfinished business unfinished.’

‘Like you did,’ May says.

‘Like I did.’

This is her house. Her life.

The reverie is broken by a sound. She swings around.

Two stringed marionettes are hanging on the wall, close enough to be touching. The female marionette wears a veil and has a brown plait. The male has a black cap, a Pierrot costume and a freshly painted face.

Often, when the breeze filters in through the window, or an extra number of visitors go through the room, a draught is created and the marionettes sway and clack in response. Sometimes, it looks as though they are holding hands.

She stands in front of them and looks up into their faces. It’s a constant source of astonishment how all-seeing their gaze, how tender and malicious their souls. To care for them is to cherish and to be cherished by them.

She raises a hand and places a finger on Pierrot’s chest, searching for the heartbeat that is Tomas.

It’s there.

So is forgiveness.

Her long path to consolation is traced.

Clack, I loved him.

Clack, he loved me.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS