The woman looked relieved. “My husband wanted to tell him but I said there was no sense in making the lad unhappy.”
“I promised to bring the boy a box of violets. Would that be all right?”
She shrugged. “Why not? As long as he cares for them himself. I’m too busy to bother and my husband’s in his cups most of the time.” She smiled tentatively at Catherine. “I’m glad you’ve come to join François. A man needs a wife, even if he thinks he doesn’t.” She cast a sour glance at her husband. “It will be right pleasant to have another woman to talk to.”
Catherine smiled. “I hope we can become friends.” She carefully kept her gaze from straying to the boy across the room. “Very close friends.”
“I want todosomething, François.” Catherine nestled closer to him, her eyes staring blindly into the darkness. “That poor child.”
“We’re doing all we can.”
“I want him away from here. Children are so helpless. First Michel and now Louis Charles. But at least Michel is happy and free. I want Louis Charles to be free too.”
François stroked her hair. “Soon.”
“How soon?”
“I have a few ideas. I need to talk to Jean Marc tomorrow and then go to the Café du Chat. Perhaps before the end of next month we might have him free.”
“Dear God, I hope so.”
“So do I, love.” François closed his eyes. “Now go to sleep.”
“Now?”
His eyes opened again. “You don’t want to go to sleep?”
“I thought we might…I know you weren’t happy last night” She drew a deep breath. “I thought we might try again.”
He lay still, his hand stroking her hair stopped in mid-motion. “You don’t have to do this.”
“It was pleasant I like being close to you.”
He slowly drew her to him. “Then I believe we’ll make a valiant attempt to get very, very close indeed, my love.”
“It’s like a flower releasing its perfume, isn’t it?” Catherine asked dreamily. “This is what you wanted me to feel?”
François chuckled. “Trust you to find a comparison that would bring us back to Vasaro.”
“Is it like that for you too?” She raised herself on one elbow to look down at him. “Is that what you feel?”
“Yes.” He kissed her shoulder, his voice husky. “An entire field of flowers releasing their perfume, sunlight shining and soft rain falling.”
“Is it always like this?”
“No, sometimes it’s only pleasant, a way to ward off the loneliness.”
She stared at him thoughtfully. He must often havebeen lonely in the years when he had lived two lives and never been able to trust anyone. “Did you—” She stopped. She didn’t have the right to question his past, yet she desperately wanted to know about those secret years. She wanted to knowhim. All of him. He had told her once that he was many people and she knew only Danton’s angry François, the François of Vasaro, and François, the lover. Now she wanted to know William Darrell. “Was there someone who helped you to—” She didn’t know exactly how to put the question into words.
He stiffened. “What is it, Catherine?” When she didn’t answer, his gaze intently searched her face. “There’s never been anyone but you since Vasaro. Not like this.”
“But there was someone?”
He nodded. “Someone.”
“Who?”
“Nana Sarpelier.”
