She had written to Harry after the photograph of Francis had arrived, because, well, who else was there to ask? He had come up from London the next weekend and she had watched him turn the photograph over in his hand. As Harry had brought the image close to his eyes, she had wanted to ask him so many questions, and to know what questions he was asking himself. He had been the last person to see Francis alive, and couldn’t Harry see now, as she did, that this photograph must have been taken after October 1917? But how could that be possible? It didn’t make sense. When Harry had shaken his head, she had found herself telling him that she needed to know if there was a grave. If Harry was meant to be in France taking photographs of soldiers’ gravestones, why couldn’t he show her a picture of Francis’s grave?

“But there isn’t a grave,” he had said. “You know that. Or, if there is one, his name’s not on it and there are no records. You’ve already made all those enquiries and had that reply. You told me yourself, it’s always the same response.”

“But he can’t be nowhere,” she had said to him. “He hasn’t just disappeared, has he? He needs to be somewhere, either dead or alive.”

“You know he’s not alive,” he had replied softly.

“Do I?”

Harry had gone back to London and promised her that he would do something. He would make calls and write letters again, revisit all the leads to see if something new had surfaced since she had last tried. But then three months have passed without a word from Harry and it’s not enough. Through those weeks all her questions have multiplied, and what does Harry’s silence mean? In the end, she had bought a train ticket, and then a boat ticket, and had sent him a postcard from Arras. Only she is not quite sure what she is meant to do now, and she wishes that Harry were here so that she could ask him.

“Madame?”

She looks up to meet the waitress’s eyes.

“You can leave a photograph here. Si vous le souhaitez. If you wish. People do.” She points to the wall at the back of the café.

Edie swivels in her chair. How had she not seen it when she walked in? “May I?”

“Bien sûr.”