'I understand, but I'm not sure I agree,' I replied. 'What do you mean, your apprentice? And what's this about getting started? Started on what?'

'Learning how to stay alive, of course.'

'I was managing quite well until I met you. And what if I don't want to be your apprentice?'

'Then you don't come. You go back to your life in the bank, and fill in ledgers for the rest of your life, or whatever you do. I don't care one way or the other. Wilkinson seems to have chosen you. Take it up with him. But don't ask any more explanation of me, because I can't give it.'

He stood up. 'Make up your mind by tomorrow morning. Come, or don't come.'

'Just a minute,' I said, a little tartly.

He looked back at me.

'What about this wretched letter?' I pointed to the envelope on the table that had given me so much grief. 'You can hardly criticise me for carelessness if you are so forgetful yourself.'

He looked, then shrugged. 'It's only an old newspaper,' he said. 'It's not important. You don't think anyone's going to trust you with something important, do you?'

And he walked out, leaving me behind in that den of iniquity, which, now his protection was withdrawn, suddenly began to seem very frightening.

As discreetly as possible – which was not at all – I left as well, feeling dozens of eyes on me as I headed for the door, and the hushing of the chatter as conversations paused so people could look at me. I felt a hot flush spreading up the back of my neck, and it was all I could do to avoid bolting out of that place as fast as my legs would carry me. Pride can be a useful thing. I believe I completely hid my discomfort and my mounting fear, although the experience of the evening made me feel violently sick and my legs were still wobbling from the assault.

The night air, touched with sweet smell of sewage though it was, refreshed me considerably and, once I had leaned against a wall a while, I began to feel much improved. It was almost midnight now and eerily quiet for the centre of a major city. I was some way from my hotel and with no alternative but to walk there. My head ached, I was starving from lack of food and felt thoroughly wretched. I was also afraid that awful man would attack me once again, so could not even concentrate on my sense of having been ill used as I made my way to the bridge to cross over back into civilisation.

CHAPTER 3

It goes without saying that I got no sleep that night, even when I did manage to get back to my hotel. It was already two by then and I realised I would have to be up again early if I was to make my appointment for eight o'clock. It still had not occurred to me to miss it; my anxiety concentrated entirely on not being late, on not making myself out to be a fool once more. The turmoil of the evening and the fear of oversleeping did not drive away my weariness, merely the possibility of doing anything about it, and at six o'clock I found myself tiptoeing down the stairs once more and out into what would eventually be the dawn of a new day.

I took an omnibus to my destination; a sign on the front said it was going to the Gare de l'Est and I believed it, so at least I managed a short slumber in the twenty-five minutes it took to get there. This happy chance, however, meant that I arrived an hour early, and there was nothing to do except tramp the streets to try and keep warm, and sit next to the brazier in the empty waiting room as I grew more and more aware of how empty my stomach was. I was cold, hungry, bored and perplexed all at the same time and still I did not query what I was doing. Not once did I shake myself awake and consider heading straight for the bank and a normal day's work.

I did not follow instructions completely though; rather than waiting in the railway buffet, I positioned myself in a discreet place outside, as I somehow felt it would be subservient to be there first. I wished Lefevre to arrive and worry that I was not going to come, that he had failed to sway me. Then I would go in and greet him.

Alas, he did not turn up either. Slowly more people were filling the station, from trains arriving and for others leaving. I watched every single person who went into the buffet, and as there was only one entrance there was no chance of missing anyone. I was feeling ill. For the first time the full absurdity of the situation swept over me. I was working in a bank, for heaven's sake. What on earth was I doing here? I would have some coffee and some bread, then resume a normal life. Enough of this nonsense. It was going to be hard enough already to explain myself.

I stood at the counter waiting, next to a gentleman similarly consuming a rapid cup of coffee. We ignored each other, as total strangers do, until he had finished and paid.

'Come along then,' he said abruptly. 'Or we'll miss the train. Do you have any luggage?'

I turned to stare at him. A well-dressed man, wearing an expensive cravat and shiny top hat, immaculately brushed shoes, and a heavy grey overcoat. He bowed his head slightly in greeting as I looked. Handsome, clean shaven, about fifty years of age but with an air of strength about him. And a thin scar on his cheek. Despite his years, no one would ever consider him to be old. A faint air of eau-de-cologne hung around him as it does those who spend time and money on their appearance.

'Do you mean to say you didn't recognise me?'

It was Lefevre, now as elegant as he was scruffy before, as well manicured as he had been unshaven, as bourgeois as he had been plebeian. Only the eyes, pale and questing, and the scar seemed to remain from the person I had encountered the previous evening.

I shook my head. 'Oh, my Lord,' he said quietly. 'This is going to be hard work.'

And without any further comment, he turned and walked out onto the station forecourt. I followed, as I supposed I was meant to, getting angrier by the minute. I walked up behind him and grabbed him by the arm. He shook it off and murmured, 'Not here, you idiot!' and continued walking onto platform three, where a train stood, hissing away. Twirling his cane in a nonchalant fashion, he walked up to the first-class carriages and got in. I followed him into an empty compartment and waited while he went out to discuss his baggage with a porter. Then he came back in, shut the door, pulled down the blinds and sat opposite me.

'Don't be so angry,' he said, reverting to English. 'You look as though you are about to explode.'

'For two pins I would get straight off this train and go to work,' I said. 'You are behaving in a most uncivil fashion and . . . and . . .' I knew how childish I sounded even before I had got a few words out.

'So have a good cry,' Lefevre said, equably but unsympathetically. 'I'm no more happy about your presence than you are, I assure you. But it seems that we must work together.'

'Doing what, for heaven's sake?' I cried. 'Just tell me what I am doing here, and why?'

'Do keep your voice down, please,' he said wearily.

There was a sudden bustle on the station, and whistles. The train gave a shudder and, in a cloud of steam and with an abominable squeaking, it lurched forward a few inches, then a few inches more. We were under way – although where to I did not know.

Lefevre ignored me as the train drew out of the dingy, smoky station and into the light of morning. 'I love trains,' he said. 'I always feel safe on them. I've never understood people who find them frightening or dangerous.'

He fell silent, watching the streets of Paris pass slowly by until we came to the outlying fortifications and into the countryside beyond. Then he gave a slight sigh, and turned his attention to me.

'You are feeling indignant and angry, is that it?'

I nodded. 'Wouldn't you be, in my situation?'

'No. At your age I had been fighting in a war for nearly two years. However, as you want all of these unpleasant emotions dissipated, and I need you to be calm and able to concentrate for the next few weeks . . .'