'My daughter. I am afraid she has grown into a rather wilful young woman.'

'She has been spoiled.'

The unfamiliar voice belonged to Burnett. Gui glanced over, shocked that the man would speak so openly.

'You have been blessed with three boys, Edouard. Sons are infinitely less trouble than a daughter.' Clermont shifted his bulk in the delicate chair. 'Monsieur Burnett is not only a friend, du Frere. He is my business partner, and in charge of my legal affairs. Do you understand what that means?'

Gui nodded slowly, although he did not, entirely.

'Reputation is everything in this city,' Clermont continued. 'The rich are meticulous about where they place their custom. My establishment cannot be touched by scandal. Monsieur Burnett is right; my daughter has been over-indulged. Now she has behaved in a way that might serve to ruin her prospects. I will be blunt. Do you intend to tell anyone of what transpired yesterday?'

'No, I ... I'd have no one to tell.'

'Do not play us for fools, boy,' Burnett said, though he remained perfectly motionless. Gui felt as though he were being watched by a spider. 'How much will it cost to ensure you do not gossip about what happened? Come now, your sort always know the value of these things.'

Gui could only gape in anger. He surged to his feet, although for what purpose he did not know. Burnett only watched him with disdain.

'Is that what you think of me?' Gui spluttered. 'That I came here looking for money?'

'Well, what do you want?' Monsieur Clermont asked coolly. Both men remained unruffled by his outburst. It made him feel like a child throwing a tantrum. 'I remain mystified as to your motives, du Frere,' Clermont continued. 'If I believed you had come here to take advantage of my daughter, you would be sitting behind bars right now. In which case, I can only a.s.sume that you are looking to turn this situation to your advantage-'

'I don't want your money,' Gui interrupted, his heart beginning to race. 'That isn't why I came.'

'Yes, we established that ...' Clermont said with mock patience.

'I want a job.' The words tumbled out of Gui before he could prepare himself. 'A job,' he forced himself to repeat, 'here, in the ptisserie. I don't care what the work is and I swear, I'll never breathe a word to anyone about what happened yesterday if you agree.'

He tried to hold his chin straight, but couldn't bring himself to look either man in the face. He could feel their astonishment, and for one, dreadful moment he thought that they would start laughing. Finally, Clermont spoke.

'A job,' he said slowly, the hint of a smile twitching his lip. 'I must admit I am surprised, if not wholly shocked. The request may not be quite so absurd as it sounds.'

'If I may-' Burnett protested with a sneer.

'I must interrupt you, Edouard,' said Clermont. 'I know what you will say, that the boy has no experience, little schooling. However, these are modern times. They seem to suit the bold and the young.'

Eyes were turned upon him again.

'This will ensure your permanent discretion?' Clermont asked seriously.

'Yes,' Gui swore. 'I promise.'

'Very well, du Frere. I cannot guarantee that you will succeed in my kitchen, but you shall have your chance.'

He rose gracefully, shook Gui's hand once, firmly, before returning to his seat.

'Monsieur Burnett shall be in touch.'

He knew a dismissal when he heard it. The next thing he knew he was standing alone, outside of the dark doors, in a daze.

'A chance,' he whispered, too shaken up for joy. 'I have a chance ...'

'Indeed you do.' Patrice had appeared from nowhere to take his elbow. 'And now, young du Frere, I'm afraid it is time for you to leave.'

'Did you hear that?' Gui asked, as he was ushered back to the kitchen, in order to change into his own clothes. They had been laundered, but in comparison to the borrowed suit of Patrice's, they looked like rags. He was too elated to care. 'I'm to be a chef.'

'An apprentice chef,' Patrice corrected, folding the garments that Gui had shed, 'and of course I heard. It is my job to hear.'

At the front door, the valet pressed a package into his arms. It contained the suit that he had loaned to Gui, neatly wrapped in brown paper. 'I will not miss it,' he said firmly over Gui's attempts at thanks, 'and I believe you shall need it.'

He caught Gui's shoulder as he left, his face strangely serious.

'Du Frere,' he murmured, 'be careful.'

Outside the floodwaters had begun to subside. It was deep enough still for a small boat, like the one that rocked gently near the doors to the apartments above the ptisserie, a chauffeur squatting in the prow. It no doubt belonged to Monsieur Burnett. Holding the packet of borrowed clothes carefully under his arm, Gui stepped into the water. His entire skin shuddered as the world of hot baths and good food and fine coffee drained away into the cold.

He heard voices from the front of the building.

'... your actions would not be my own,' Burnett was saying.

'My actions are frequently unlike those of other men,' answered Clermont.

'As you like, it is your decision.'

'I am obliged, Edouard. What were your impressions?'

'Of the boy? I would not tolerate him in my business, but I suppose he seems honest enough. Although you should be wary; his kind can be cunning, if not intelligent.'

Gui inched forward. Eavesdroppers never hear well of themselves, his grandfather had always said.

'If taking him on will ensure that there is no gossip about Jeanne, then I shall keep to my side of the bargain.'

Jeanne, Gui felt an odd surge of happiness at the discovery. Her name is Jeanne.

'Let us hope that is the case.' Wood creaked as Burnett climbed into his boat. 'Even so, you should take steps to correct your daughter's waywardness,' he told Clermont, 'before it is too late.'

Gui listened to the boat as it wallowed down the street, aware that on the other side of the wall, Monsieur Clermont was doing the same.

Chapter Seventeen.

April 1988 By the time I run into the entrance hall, it is empty. At the front desk, the librarian eyes me sternly. A concerned gentleman handed my bag in a few minutes ago, she says, after finding it unattended. She chides me for being careless, and tells me how lucky I am that my money has not been stolen.

I fight back tears of frustration. I don't need to look to know what has been taken, but I do anyway. The folder with all of my evidence is gone: the letter, the photograph, my notes. The library book is still there, but that gives little comfort.

Ca.s.s finds me not long afterwards, sitting outside on the steps. She realizes that something is wrong the second she sees my face.

'It was Hall,' I tell her, still trembling with rage.

'What? What happened?'

'Hall, the biographer, he was here.' I stare hopelessly into the bag. 'We talked for a while I thought we'd sorted things out but then I turned around for a minute, and he took it, the letter, the photograph, everything.'

'He can't do that,' she says incredulously. 'They're yours, it's stealing-'

'It's all part of Grandpa Jim's estate.' The words are bitter in my mouth. 'None of it's mine.'

'Even so, can't you call him out? Insist that he gives back the papers? They're still your family's property.'

I shake my head. 'Either of my parents could contradict me, Dad especially. He'll just tell Hall to keep whatever he wants for as long as he wants.'

Ca.s.s sighs in understanding. We sit in silence for a while.

'At least you know some of the facts now?' Ca.s.s tries.

'It's not enough,' I tell her flatly. 'Now I can't challenge Hall, even if I wanted to. I have no proof.'

Ca.s.s looks over at me searchingly. She's a good friend, and doesn't say anything, but I can see the question that is running through her mind, the same one that Alex asked: Is this really about Hall?

For a long time we sit on the stone steps, warmed by the sun. Finally, I summon up the courage to voice a thought that has been plaguing me for weeks now.

'I don't think that photograph was forgotten.'

In the wake of the words I watch the traffic, the pigeons crowding along the grey pavement.

'It was hidden, not lost. The edges were all worn. I think he must have looked at it again and again over the years.'

Ca.s.s considers my words.

'Perhaps it reminded him of better times?'

'No.' I screw my eyes closed. 'I've been such an idiot. I didn't want to know, but it all makes sense.'

I look across at her, swallowing hard.

'Ca.s.s, I think Hall's right. I think my grandpa did something wrong when he was young, something awful, and he regretted it for the rest of his life.'

Chapter Eighteen.

February 1910 Two days later the envelope arrived, bearing his name in fine, curled writing. He weighed the letter in his hand, relishing the feeling. He rarely received correspondence, and never as fine as this.

His fingers left dirty smudges on the thick paper, though he tried his best to wipe them. Only after examining every detail of the front did he turn it over. A foil seal, embossed with 'Burnett & Sons' protected the contents. He broke it and pulled out the page. It was a typewritten letter of employment; his name leaped out at him here and there, amongst the official-looking words.

Gui winced when the foreman threw down the letter after half a glance. 'You best be leaving then,' the big man grunted, extracting a key from his pocket. 'No sense making trouble among the others.'

He thumped a moneybox on top of the letter, adding rust stains to pristine lines of ink. 'Pay to date,' he said tersely, 'no severance for breaking your contract.'

Gui tried to smile as he took the pay packet. The foreman did not.

'I hope you know what you're doing, lad.'

In the dormitory, Gui changed into the suit borrowed from Patrice. Fortunately, it was lunchtime and the place was empty save for him and Nicolas, who stood smoking in the doorway.

'Where are you going to sleep?' his friend asked awkwardly.

'I'm not sure,' Gui said as he shoved his old clothes into the suitcase. 'I hope they will have arranged something.'

'They won't.'

'You don't know that.'

Nicolas only looked down and flicked ash onto the floor.

Things had not been the same since the flood. The night Gui had spent in the Clermonts' apartment had changed him. The work, the quarters, it all looked dirty and old to him now; like a memory already. The grime beneath his nails had begun to disgust him. He picked it away as best he could with a penknife.

It was too cold to wash, but he hunted about for a rag to wipe his neck, before any dirt stained the shirt collar. A flash of cloth near the roof caught his eye and he pulled at it. An object tumbled free. It was the book. Monsieur Carme had survived the weather, old and mildewed and dog-eared though he was. Nicolas watched as Gui smoothed the volume and stowed it reverently in his jacket pocket.

Before the threshold Gui stopped. His friend, his oldest friend, had finished the cigarette and stood, fingers twitching in a dance, squinting out into the grey noon light.

'So long, Nicolas. Tell the others for me.'

'They won't understand.' His friend sighed, and summoned a twist of a smile. Gui gripped his shoulder, pulled him into a tight hug. Nicolas returned it before stepping back, clearing his throat.

'See you then, Gui.'

Gui's eyes stung. He blinked them clear. 'Luck, Nicolas.'

An omnibus was waiting in the Place d'Italie. Thinking of the pay in his pocket, Gui allowed himself the luxury of buying a ticket almost to the door of the ptisserie.

'Coming or going?' the ticket inspector asked, nudging the suitcase at Gui's feet.

'Going. New job over the river.'

'Best of luck with it, sir.'