‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. One of the children must have spat it out.’ She grabbed the handkerchief, wrapped up the sweet in a corner and dabbed at his arm with the rest. ‘There wasn’t any ice cream,’ she said, by way of explanation, which he appeared to understand.

The puppeteers, two men and the girl in black, took their bow. The latter saw Tomas and beckoned. He got to his feet and Laure saw that he was only just taller than she was, and very slight. Fragile even.

Joining the company in front of the stage, he linked hands with them and all four took a bow, with the applause still sounding.

She told herself later that it was purely by chance that he turned his head and caught her eye.

The square in the Malá Strana was dominated by the eighteenth-century church of St Nicholas, built by the Jesuits as part of the fightback against the spread of Protestantism, so said the ‘bible’. Judging by its size, its massive green dome and interior ornamentation, it was a mighty fight-back in glittering gold, pilasters, frescos and sinuous arches.

St Nicholas divided the square that sloped upwards towards the castle. A former palace took up the entire west side, and a series of broad arcades the south side. The Kobes’ apartment was tucked into a galleried courtyard leading in from the street, and took up two storeys of light, airy rooms.

What struck her when she first arrived were the beautiful and elaborate parquet floors, which were speckled and crazed with sun damage. Someone should have protected them. The next thing she noticed were the cracks in some of the walls, which, in one or two places, looked alarming.

In the bedroom she had been assigned under the eaves, the sun had done its worst and the floor beneath the window was bleached white in places. But the view out of her window enchanted her – rooftops, odd bits of the Charles Bridge and, beyond it, the towers and spires of the old town.

Tonight, she and the Kobes were eating supper together, which they did from time to time. They were in the dining room with an alternative view facing up towards the church and the crouching castle above it. They sat in hideous plastic chairs and ate Eva’s pasta off porcelain plates and drank lemonade out of Bohemian glass.

Eva had piled up Laure’s plate and she was finding it hard to get through it. She put down her fork. ‘Is it always so hot in Prague?’

‘No,’ said Eva. Her voice shook in a strange manner.

‘In the summer, yes.’ Petr threw his wife a look.

Laure’s gaze wandered to the peeling plaster cartouche above the double doorway. It must have been an original and showed a stag fighting with a bear. ‘This is a lovely apartment. Do you know who used to live here?’