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meal was a change. Her name was Alix Delaisse and she lived in an apartment in a street off the Rue St Francois de Paule. She tried to get me to talk, as if knowing that was really the way to help. She seemed irritated about the way I’d come to France to stay with friends and then chosen to go off alone just when they were most needed. What were friends and relations for if they couldn’t be of use now?
    â€œThey could be of use if they could help me to see.”
    â€œBut they can help you to see. That’s just how. Companionship’s a way of seeing, isn’t it? Aren’t we all blind if we haven’t any friends?”
    We argued about it, and I listened to the sound of coffee being poured. The whole thing had suddenly come down off its pinnacle, become matter-of-fact and ordinary again. For the time being at least melodrama was out.
    â€œWithout being personal,” I said, “ you’re hardly the type one expects to find—where you are. Have you been selling “brogues’ for long?”
    â€œOh … nearly two years.”
    â€œAnd before that?”
    â€œBefore that was—the occupation.” She was not encouraging me to inquire into it
    â€œDoes your husband work in Nice?”
    â€œNo. It’s nearly time I went back.”
    â€œYou’re—young to be married.”
    â€œOh, I’m not all that young.”
    â€œWould you do me the favour of moving to this chair? I can see nothing from there and I’d like to make sure.”
    After a minute she laughed in slight embarrassment but she moved over.
    â€œYou are young. Not more than twenty-two.”
    â€œTwenty-three. That can be old. It depends where you have lived.”
    â€œAnd the colour of your hair?” “ Brown.”
    â€œA dark brown like the leather of books?”
    â€œLighter than that. And not made in our own workshops.”
    â€œJust as good as pre-war, I’ve no doubt.”
    Feeling bad swung the other way now, to the other extreme. A sort of reaction. It would have been silly if it hadn’t been natural.
    â€œDid I deceive you coming into the shop; or did you think here’s a silly fellow pretending he’s like other men?”
    â€œYou deceived me.”
    â€œUntil I fell over your foot-rest. Have you ever thought what death-traps those things are for the stiff-necks of the world?”
    â€œI was afraid you had hurt yourself.”
    â€œI did hurt myself.”
    â€œBut badly. You’re so tall. That makes it worse.”
    The slight scent she was using wasn’t exactly a cheap one. I guessed it came from the Schiaparelli or Chanel stable.
    â€œSo you advise me” I said, “to go back home.”
    â€œNow you’re poking fun at me.”
    â€œNo, I’m not.”
    â€œWell, yes. Or return to your friends here. Or make other friends.”
    â€œHow can I make friends with people I can’t see?”
    â€œYou should find it easy.”
    â€œOnly with those who make it easy.”
    We got up to leave.
    I said: “D’you think your husband would mind if I improved on this friendship?”
    There was silence. “I don’t think so,” she said shortly.
    â€œMay I meet him sometime?”
    â€œâ€¦ Perhaps.”
    â€œWill you dine with me to-morrow night?”
    â€œNot to-morrow, I’m afraid.”
    â€œSaturday?”
    â€œThank you.”
    All right, I thought, that’s settled. I’ll stay around till then.

Chapter 5
    That was the way it began. I’ve often thought if I’d picked another shoe-shop not any of the rest would have happened. Or part of it would have happened anyway but I should have had no share in it. By the Saturday I might have, solved all the mysteries by opening a vein in my bath. Instead of that I was giving some thought to the best way of spending the evening out.
    Of course I knew I was most probably running into trouble. In a