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Saint-Serge de Radonège. I’ll head over there and take a look before we go, and will let you know what I find out.
    See you very soon!
     
    Hélène

    Ashford, 14 August (email)
    Dear Hélène,
    I’ve looked closely at the photo you sent me. Like you, I’m almost certain that the brunette is the same woman as the one in the newspaper cutting. And I have another clue: I believe that the young man dressed like a dandy is Jean Pamiat. His face looks familiar. I’m not absolutely sure, but it would fit with his appearance and his style, and would perhaps explain how our parents met. If your mother, Nathalie, and he were childhood friends and kept in touch as adults, he would certainly have introduced her to his closest friend, my father, at some point. We’ll be seeing Jean in a few days. As I believe I’ve already told you, he is very frail, it’s almost impossible to understand what he is saying, and I don’t know whether he is able to remember anything. But we communicate, a little, through exclamations and hand signs, and if I move my finger slowly over the alphabet, he is able to ‘dictate’ little messages by blinking. We’ll talk to him about Nataliya Zabvina and perhaps that will stimulate his memory.
    In the meantime, I’m busy preparing for our trip, andI too am looking forward to it. I love my trees, but at the moment they are a hindrance. I expect to arrive in Paris on the evening of the 24th, and I’ve made a note of how to get to our meeting place. I have taken the liberty of booking a table at the Épicerie Russe, in Rue Daru – it seemed an appropriate place to celebrate our meeting! Even if the reasons that made us turn detective are no laughing matter, I must confess I’m getting caught up in this adventure and can imagine several scenarios, and events – it’s like putting together a jigsaw puzzle. I probably watch too much TV.
    See you very soon.
     
    Stéphane

    24 August (text message)
    Left five voicemails after you’d set off, but don’t know if you’ve picked them up. Hospital rang: Sylvia has pneumonia again and is in a very bad way. Can’t come to Geneva. Will send news when I can. Hélène.

    24 August (text message)
    I’m so sorry. You are very much in my thoughts. All the best. Stéphane

    24 August (text message)
    Sylvia in critical condition, prognosis not good. Must stay with her. Drive carefully. H.

    24 August (text message)
    Be strong. Thinking of you. Stéphane

5
    The photo was taken outdoors under an arbour, at the end of a meal: a Sunday lunch or special occasion, judging by the fine china and white tablecloth. There are five people sitting at a round table on which all that remains apart from a few napkins, a sugar bowl, teaspoons and wine glasses, one of which is half full, is a copper samovar surrounded by little tea bowls. On the left of the image sits a matronly woman in a black dress, the bottom half of which is partly covered by a paler fabric, most likely an apron. The photographer must have told her to turn her chair in and sit at a slight angle so that he could see her face. She has black hair with white streaks, parted neatly in the middle, almond eyes and high cheekbones flushed from the sun, or from the wine. Her features are softened by plumpness but the bone structure of her face is still firm, and there is a little beauty spot above her top lip. Her hands are neatly folded in her lap. A fat black and white cat lies stretched out at her feet, eyes closed, relishing the coolness of the flagstones against its thick fur.
    Next to the woman is an empty place where thephotographer must have been sitting. In the next chair is Jean Pamiat, dapper as always in a blazer and straw boater, wearing a bow tie and a pale shirt. The waxed tips of his pencil moustache are turned up at the ends, lending him the same old-fashioned air he has in almost every picture. To his left, Nataliya Zabvina is also wearing a hat, a wide-brimmed one that casts a shadow over part of