The woman seemed reluctant, but admitted it.

“And your family name. Fourmentier?”

She nodded without speaking. There was a trace of her sister Isabelle in her manner.

Stephen said, “Do you know who I am?”

She looked up and into his eyes. Her expression was of resigned weariness.

“Yes. I think I do.”

“Do you mind that I stopped you?”

She did not answer. At that moment the barman arrived with Stephen’s cap. Stephen thanked him and gave him money.

When the two of them were alone again, he said, “Could we talk somewhere? There are some things I’d like to ask you.”

“All right. Follow me.”

Stephen followed. There was nothing he wanted to ask her, there was nothing he needed to know. In the moment that he had seen her face and guessed who she was he had had to make a choice, either to ignore her or to acknowledge her. Without time to consider, he had instinctively chosen the latter, with all that it might entail.

Jeanne went into the Place de l’Hôtel de Ville and sat down on a bench. Stephen stood uncertainly in front of her.

“We can’t talk here. I mean, couldn’t we go indoors somewhere?” Jeanne shook her head. “I don’t want to be seen with you in a bar.”

“What about your house? Couldn’t we…?”

“No, we can’t go there. What do you want to ask me?”

Stephen sighed deeply. His exhaled breath made fragile statues in the gaslight. He pulled his coat across his chest.

He said, “Perhaps I should tell you something of what happened.” He saw that Jeanne distrusted him and thought it might allay her fears if he could show that he wished no harm to her or Isabelle. He gave a brief account of his life with Isabelle, though he knew Jeanne would have heard the story before. If he could confirm things she already knew then he could prove his reliability. Jeanne nodded at intervals with a slight, noncommittal movement of her head.

As he talked, it became clear to Stephen what it was that he wanted to know, and he was taken aback by the simplicity of it. He wanted to know if Isabelle still loved him. Looking into the eyes of her elder sister, he saw enough of Isabelle for a sense of her presence to be rekindled in him. With the sense of her came back his curiosity.

“Then I arrived back in France and there has been this war ever since. I have not moved very much, just a few miles up and down the line. The years have passed. Maybe one day it will end.” He felt his account finishing lamely. He didn’t want to give Jeanne too much detail of his life in the war; he presumed that such things would be familiar enough to her from her own family and friends. Nor did he want to appear as though he were trying to win her sympathy, when his own experiences were typical of those of millions.

“And what of you?” he said. “Do you live in Amiens now?” Jeanne nodded. She pushed back the scarf from her head a little, and he saw the shape of her large, brown eyes and the almost translucent whiteness of her skin. Her face was more strongly and simply constructed than Isabelle’s, with none of the contradictory shades of character and colouring, yet in the texture of Jeanne’s skin there was delicacy as well as strength. Her voice was low and soft.

“I have lived here for some time. I came here to… I came when I was asked to come, last November.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Do you live alone?”

“No, I live with… friends.”

It was impossible to say whether her reticence was general or whether there was something specific she wanted to conceal. Stephen’s own monologue had clearly not set her entirely at ease. A shiver ran through him as the wind whipped into the square from the north. He saw Jeanne pull her cape around her. He would have to be more direct.

“I want to know about Isabelle. I want to know if she’s well and if she’s happy. I’ve no wish to make things difficult. I’m aware that you probably think badly of me for breaking up her marriage, and whatever life she has now–I have no wish to disturb it. After six years I just wanted to know if she’s all right.” Jeanne nodded. “All right, Monsieur? Yes, she’s all right. You must understand that what you did caused great suffering, to her husband and particularly to his children. It was a scandal. Of course Isabelle is not absolved from responsibility. Far from it–her life is ruined because people do blame her for what happened. But as for you, there are people in this town who would gladly shoot you for what you did.”

“I understand. I never undertook it lightly, it was always a serious matter for both of us. Do you understand the nature of Isabelle’s marriage to Azaire? Did she talk to you about that?”

“Isabelle has talked to me about everything, Monsieur. I am her only friend and confidante and she has poured into me all the passion, all the details that a normal person would share among numerous others–sisters, friends, and family. I know everything.”

“Good. It’s not that her unhappiness with him exculpates me or her, but Jeanne said, “I don’t blame anyone. I took my position rather as you took yours. Isabelle trusted me and I had no choice but to return her trust. I have been faithful to her in everything. I can’t turn back or qualify that.”

Stephen felt pleased by what Jeanne said. “It’s true,” he said, “that loyalty can’t be partial, it must be complete. I want to assure you that my loyalty is to Isabelle’s happiness, not to my own or anyone else’s. You must trust me.”

“I don’t know you well enough to trust you. I know what my sister has told me of you and that, together with what I have seen for myself, disposes me to believe you. But there are things better left undone or unsaid. I think we should say goodbye now.” Stephen laid his hand briefly on her wrist to restrain her from going. “Tell me, why do you live in Amiens?”

Jeanne looked closely at Stephen before she eventually said, “I came to look after Isabelle.”

“Isabelle lives here? She’s here now? And what do you mean, ‘look after’? Is she sick?”

“I don’t want to tell you too much. I don’t want to lead you on.”

“It’s already far too late,” said Stephen. He could hear his voice echoing in the still square. He swallowed, and tried to lower it. “Tell me, is she in Amiens? And is she unwell? What happened?”

“All right. I’ll tell you, provided you agree to let me go when I’ve finished. I’ll tell you all that you need to know and then I shall go home. You mustn’t follow me or make any attempt to reach me. Is that understood?”

“Yes. I agree.”

Jeanne spoke carefully, as though measuring out the optimum levels of truth that could be told. “Isabelle returned to Rouen, to my parents’ house. It was my suggestion. They were reluctant to take her back, but I insisted. After some months my father made a deal with Azaire, that she would return to him. No, listen. Let me tell you. She had little choice in the matter. My father would otherwise have thrown her out. Azaire promised to make a new beginning, to take her back as though nothing had happened. Grégoire, his son, pleaded with her. I think it was he who persuaded her. She came back to him, to his old house. There were other reasons, which I can’t tell you. In the first year of the war the town was occupied by the Germans, as you probably know. Many men were taken away, including Azaire. Then… well, time passed, things happened. Isabelle stayed. The house in the boulevard du Gange was hit by a shell and the back part of it was destroyed. No one was hurt, but Isabelle moved to an apartment in the rue de Caumartin. Lisette was married and Grégoire was old enough to leave school. He’s going into the army next year. Then last November there was a heavy bombardment, and the house in the rue de Caumartin was hit. Isabelle was injured, but she was lucky. Two people in the street were killed. She wrote to me when she was in hospital and asked if I would look after her, so I came from Rouen. She’s out of hospital now, and she’s quite recovered, though she won’t be quite… fit again. I’m staying with her for a few more weeks.”

“I see.” So strong was the sense of Isabelle evoked by Jeanne that it was almost, Stephen felt, as though she were sitting on the bench between them. Yet clearly something, or perhaps a great deal, was being withheld.

“I want to see her,” he said. The words surprised him. At no moment when he had been encamped in slime and mud had he wished her to be more real to him than the indistinct memory that infrequently visited him; he had not wanted to see her actual skin, flesh, or hair. Something Jeanne had said had altered that indifference. Perhaps it was his anxiety for her well-being that made it important for him to rely on the evidence of what he could see rather than on what he remembered or what was told him by Jeanne.

Jeanne shook her head. “No, that’s not possible. It wouldn’t be wise. Not after all that’s happened.”

“Please.”

Jeanne’s voice became tender in response to Stephen’s. “Think about it. Think of all the disruption and pain that was caused. To go back now, to reopen all those things, would be quite insane.” She rose to go. “Monsieur, I have told you perhaps more than I should, but I felt when I saw you that I could trust you. I also felt that there was some small debt owing to you. When Isabelle left you she gave no explanation, but I think you were honourable in your way. You did not pursue her or make her life more difficult than it was. I think you deserved at least to be told what I have told you. But my loyalty is now with Isabelle and, as you were saying, such things must be complete, they cannot be compromised.”

Stephen stood up next to her. “I understand,” he said. “Thank you for trusting me as much as you have. But let me ask you one thing. Will you at least tell Isabelle that I’m here? Tell her that I would like to see her, merely to wish her well in one short visit. Then she can decide for herself.”

Jeanne pursed her lips in great reluctance and began to shake her head. Stephen cut her off. “That wouldn’t be disloyal. It’s simply allowing her to make up her own mind. It’s still her own life. Isn’t it?”

“All right. It’s against my better judgement, but I’ll tell her we’ve met. Now you must let me go.”

“And how will I know?”

“I’ll meet you in the same bar at nine o’clock tomorrow evening. Now I must get back.”

They shook hands and Stephen watched the tall figure disappear across