For the second time in the day, Lily sits on the terrace at the Mini Palais restaurant. Her ankle fights against its newly applied strapping.
She listens on remote to a polite exchange of words between her mum and Madame Briac. Hardly taking anything in until Madame Briac stands to greet Mademoiselle Chandris. The French women stand in muted conversation before approaching.
‘Forgive me for not introducing you straight away,’ Madame Briac says, with detectable unease. ‘Mademoiselle Chandris can’t stay but I wanted you to meet.’
Mireille Chandris takes off her sunglasses. ‘Thierry is making progress,’ she says. ‘Reading, watching television. We talked about making a schedule for school study as his wounds heal and he is able to concentrate.’
‘Mireille has been a wonderful influence,’ Madame Briac says. ‘And we need her again so Thierry can finish his studies.
‘Bonjour Lily.’ Mireille proffers her hand. ‘We have met before, at school, yes?’
‘Yes.’ Lily notices the teacher’s attentive manner all the more. She lets Mireille’s hand slip away as in turn the teacher greets her mum and Flora.
‘Mireille is an excellent teacher and counsellor of young people,’ Madame Briac explains. ‘After my first husband died she became the link between school and home. Particularly for Thierry.’
‘It’s part of my job,’ Mireille says.
‘She can help you,’ Madame Briac says.
‘Me?’
‘When you need to talk,’ Mireille replies.
‘I want to start by understanding.’
‘I can try my best.’
Lily pauses before asking. ‘Does Thierry know everything about what has happened. Here?’
‘A little of it,’ Mireille replies. ‘We haven’t yet spoken about Raymond Claude. Thierry must tell us everything about the attack, first of all.’
‘Did he speak about my camera . . . about the film or any pictures he’d taken, on the memory card?’
‘No, he didn’t mention it.’
Mireille shares an unsettled glance with Madame Briac before tucking her hair behind her ears.
‘Lily, there weren’t any pictures on the memory card you didn’t know about,’ Mireille says. Her tone is soft. ‘Some events didn’t happen as we imagined.’
The chinking of cutlery being laid on china challenges the silence. Lily’s eyes freeze on the porcelain-textured face of Mireille as the teacher’s lips turn a sympathetic half-smile.
‘Madame Claude told us what she knows about the camera and when she found it,’ Madame Briac says. ‘It backs up what Mireille is saying.’
‘No pictures?’ Lily exclaims. ‘What do you mean?’ She watches Mireille’s controlled expression. ‘Are you convinced Madame Claude didn’t delete anything? If not Madame Claude, maybe someone else?’
‘The police photographer assured me nothing on the camera was touched,’ Madame Briac says.
‘I don’t understand.’ Lily thinks back to the Gare du Nord – Thierry holds her by the wrist and she looks at the cut-throat razor in his jeans belt. He lifts her chin away.
‘You will wait with me,’ he says.
His blue eyes plead.
She believes she comprehends his reaction to the news about Didier being unconscious. She believes she comprehends his behaviour, his fear.
It is real enough.
She can barely hear Madame Briac’s voice. It is background noise to her thoughts.
She is in the Gare du Nord.
Thierry’s grip tightens. ‘But you are part of this. You are involved.’
He stares, all the more searchingly.
‘I switched the memory card . . .’ he says.
Those are his words.
In the next moment she is lost in the descent of the Eiffel Tower.
She feels Claude pulling at her clothes. He cries as she jumps away. ‘C’est la faute de Briac, il est responsable.’ She hears him banging on the steps above her.