Cold and hungry, Chloé started to cry. I wished for a boulangerie and a small piece of baguette to offer her till lunchtime, but there was nothing here. We were back among the wide avenues, the long stony driveways, houses set back from the road. My other landscape, my other world. Coming home was never going to be easy. A lunch of soup and salad was laid when Chloé and I returned. We ate quietly; only Chloé chattered away unconcerned, perched on a chair stacked with cushions. Afterwards I put her for a sleep and Saul too went to rest. Molly and I were once more in the kitchen either side of the table. The cat moved into a patch of sunlight, his purring the only sound in the room. ‘How was your walk?’ Molly picked her knitting out of a basket and counted stitches. ‘Long. I went into town.’ ‘Has it changed much?’ ‘A little. I see they’ve done up the Moorhen.’ ‘It was empty for years after the fire.’ ‘I heard there was no insurance – Mike hadn’t paid the premiums.
