To begin with, he thought the heaviness was inside his head. The restaurant seemed loud: the clattering of the kitchen, the shrill laughter of the girl on the next table, the scraping of metal on china. He and Harry had been having a pleasant meal, but now everything was subtly oppressive. A waiter rushed past their table leaving a tangible sweatiness in his wake. It was enough to put you off your tournedos. Robert wondered if Harry had noticed. No, Harry had other things on his mind.

“It’s due in January. Maud’s busy organizing the nursery. Worrying about French doctors. Searching for an English nanny.”

“That’s nice,” said Robert. “Real nice.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

Then the rain came. It thrummed against the roof and the windows, so loud that it was as if someone was drumming on the inside of Robert’s skull. Hysterical squeals carried in from the street.

“What’s up?” Harry’s voice was reassuringly solid. “Something’s going on with you. What is it?”

Robert fretted that one of those squeals might be Genevieve—that Lulu was dragging her through the streets. Lightning flashed, and the thunder rumbled in his rib cage.

“Robert, old pal?”

Here was the problem. Even if she wasn’t out in the storm, she was always out there to an extent. Because of the things he didn’t know about her. “You once talked to me about a friend of yours,” he said. “A friend I could call on if there was ever something I was…unsure of.”

“His name’s Felperstone,” said Harry. “He’s English, like your wife. He’s expensive, but he’s good.”

“Good at what, exactly?”

Two old men on stools twisted around to stare at the girls as they entered the little bar. Three laughing whores in the far corner fell quiet, nudging each other. A bald barman breathed on a glass and rubbed it with a grubby cloth. All had a dusty look about them, as though they’d been stuck here, unmoving, for many years.

“This place stinks of wet dog,” said Lulu. Sure enough, lying on the straw-covered floor was a matted-looking hound, scratching.

“I’ll have an Armagnac,” said Genevieve. “To warm up.”

“That’s two,” said Lulu to the barman, and led the way to the only empty table.

“Where are we?” Genevieve looked around her. The dog yawned and closed its eyes. “What is this place?”

“Somewhere dry,” said Lulu and sneezed. “But wet in one crucial respect.”

The barman brought their drinks over. Water dripped through the ceiling and plopped into an enamel bowl on the floor.

“It’s your fault we got soaked,” said Genevieve. “I’d never have followed her if it wasn’t for you.”

“Well, I’d never have followed her if you hadn’t slept with that shoemaker,” snapped Lulu.