James looked across at Dan and quirked up an eyebrow.

Dan picked up Victorine’s suitcase. “Let’s find our hotel and then we can sit down and talk about that over a drink,” he said.

Victorine couldn’t help rolling her eyes at the thought of what Amelia might have done now and she thanked God for possibly the thousandth time that her father had finally divorced his wife when James turned sixteen and could look after himself. She followed them to the car and, once they’d driven to the hotel, checked in, unpacked and washed off the journey, they all sat on the terrace and watched the sun take a long and leisurely time to set, while drinking Kir Royales.

“You were right,” Victorine said to Dan as she sipped her drink. “We should have done this years earlier.”

“Do you think we’ll manage to drag ourselves away from here and do any sightseeing?” James asked, glancing up at the majestic autumn sky, tinged pink and gold, at the waiter approaching with fresh Kir Royales, at the ancient but lovely hotel in which they were staying.

“Yes,” Victorine said determinedly. Even on holiday, it was best to keep busy.

“It’s not worth arguing with her,” Dan said lazily. “I’ve lost every fight I’ve ever had with her from the time she could talk. As evidenced by her spending the first years of her life on a battlefield and now having lived in France for longer than she’s lived in America.”

Victorine placed an affectionate hand on Dan’s arm. He hardly ever mentioned the war, or her early years, of which she held memories like fog: opaque but leaden. “You know why I did it though,” she said. “And I don’t love you any the less for mostly not having been in the same country as you.”

“I know. But I do miss you.” He sipped his drink. “You asked about Amelia before. There’s something I probably should have told you a while ago, but…” He sighed. “I guess I’ve become tired of explaining Amelia. Do you want to tell her,” he asked James, “or will I?”

“Let me do it,” James said.

Victorine steeled herself. If it involved Amelia, it wouldn’t be good.

James began to speak. “The day Dad told Amelia he was moving out, on my sixteenth birthday, Amelia shared something with me. She said Dad wasn’t my father; she’d had an affair not long after they were married to make herself feel better about her injuries.”

Dan grimaced and Victorine knew it was because he didn’t believe Amelia’s motivation for one minute; if she’d had an affair, it was for selfish pleasure, not to soothe her soul.

James continued. “I was born early, which Dad had always jokingly said was because I’ve been in a hurry about everything all my life, but it was actually because the date she’d given him wasn’t the right one. Then when Dad told her he was done with her, that I was old enough to be my own person and not be affected by her character, she thought I should be told the truth. I’m sure she told me because she thought I’d hate Dad if he wasn’t my father. But it just made me dislike her all the more.”