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running, along the Seine back towards Notre Dame.

Chapter Four
    1912
    The Marché Monge was packed with shoppers, despite the cool winds and miserable spit of rain. I walked half a step behind Mimi Einsbacher, who made her way around the stalls with a determined sway to her hips and had kept up a constant commentary from the moment we entered the market.
    ‘Oh, you must buy some of these. Édouard does love Spanish peaches. Look, they’re so perfectly ripe.’
    ‘Have you cooked him langoustines? Oh! How that man can eat langoustines …’
    ‘Cabbage? Red onions? Are you sure? Those ingredients are very … rustic. You know, I do believe he might enjoy something a little more sophisticated. He is a great gourmand, Édouard, you know. Why, once we went to Le Petit Fils and he ate the entire
dégustation
menu of fourteen courses. Can you imagine? I thought he was going to burst by the time the
petits fours
arrived. But he was so happy …’ She shook her head, as if lost in a reverie. ‘He is a man of such appetites …’
    I picked up a bunch of carrots, and inspected them closely, trying to look as if I was interested in them. Somewhere at the back of my head a distant thumping pulse had started up and I detected the beginnings of a headache.
    Mimi Einsbacher stopped in front of a stall stacked with meat products. She exchanged a few words with the stallholder before picking up a small jar and holding it up to the light. She gave me a sideways look, from under her hat. ‘Oh, you do not wish to hear such remembrances … Sophia. I must suggest the
foie gras
, though. A lovely treat for Édouard. If you are a little … light on housekeeping, I would be delighted to purchase it as a small gift for him. As an old friend. I know how erratic he can be with these things.’
    ‘We are quite capable of supporting ourselves, thank you.’ I took the jar from her hand and popped it into my basket, handing the stallholder his money. Half of our remaining food budget, I noted, with mute fury.
    She slowed her pace so that I had no choice but to walk alongside her. ‘So … Gagnaire tells me that Édouard has painted nothing for weeks. Rather a pity.’
    Why should you talk to Édouard’s dealer?
I wanted to ask, but I let it pass. ‘We are only just married. He has been … distracted.’
    ‘He is a great talent. He should not lose focus.’
    ‘Édouard says he will paint when he is ready.’
    It was as if she hadn’t heard me. Mimi had headed over to the patisserie stall, and was gazing at a
tarte framboise
. ‘
Framboises!
At this time of year! I cannot imagine what the world is coming to.’
    Please do not offer to buy this for Édouard too, I said silently. I barely have enough money left for bread. But Mimi had other things on her mind. She bought a small baguette, waited while the stallholder wrapped it in paper, then turned halfway towards me, lowering her voice.
    ‘You cannot imagine how surprised we all were to hear he had married. A man like Édouard.’ She placed the baguette carefully through the handle of her basket. ‘So I wondered … are congratulations in order?’
    I looked at her, at her bright, blank smile. And then saw she was gazing pointedly at my waist. ‘No!’
    It took me several minutes to grasp how she had insulted me.
    I wanted to say to her:
Édouard begged me to marry him. It was he who insisted on it. He could not bear the thought of any other man even looking at me. He could not bear the possibility that they would see in me what he saw.
    But I did not want to give her anything of us at all. Faced with her smiling enmity, I wanted to keep every part of Édouard’s and my marriage to myself, where she could not puncture it or skew it or make it resemble something it did not. I felt my face flush with colour.
    She stood, staring at me. ‘Oh you mustn’t be sensitive, Sophia.’
    ‘Sophie. My name is Sophie.’
    She turned away. ‘Of course. Sophie. But my question cannot be entirely