‘He called me,’ she said. ‘After you emailed him the first time. He called me and said he thought it was you, even though we didn’t recognise your surname. Faul-ken-er, is that right?’ She stumbles over my surname – Patrick’s surname – and I suddenly think how much I now want to change it back, to be Tallis-Millson again, the name my parents gave me.

‘My married name,’ I say, and she nods.

‘But because you asked for Brigitte Mela, we knew it must be you because that’s the name I gave to the hospital back then, when I was petrified of bills and social services and the government.’ She shakes her head, breathes out a long breath. ‘It was the first time we’d spoken about what happened in more than twenty-five years, since we divorced. You can’t imagine how it felt to know you were looking for me. I couldn’t believe it. But Daniel was scared of opening up all that history, of what it would mean for Hedi.’

‘So you won’t tell her now? Now I’ve found you?’

‘I don’t know. Should we?’

She looks at me as though I can solve her dilemma, but I know I can’t. I think of the heartbreak of receiving the DNA test results. The devastation it has wreaked on my life since. It sends shivers through me to think that Hedi still doesn’t know. She’s the other daughter – and right now she’s like me before this all happened. She likely has a boss, possibly a lover, probably friends and colleagues and gym buddies, all of whom help create her sense of self. And there is no reason for her to doubt that self. There’s no reason for her to think that everything she has known is not how it was meant to be.

‘I can’t decide for you,’ I say. ‘But I won’t track her down and tell her, you don’t have to worry about that. I won’t be the one to inflict that pain on her. That’s for you to do, if anyone.’

She nods, takes my hand and smiles though the tears are streaming down her face. ‘Merci,’ she says. ‘Thank you.’

‘Where is she?’ I ask suddenly. ‘Is she here in Switzerland? Or in Germany?’

Anna shakes her head. ‘No,’ she says quietly, anxiety in her expression. ‘She lives in London.’

My stomach leaps. ‘How long?’

‘Five years now. She married an Englishman she met at work in Zurich.’