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‘It’s about holding on to the ball,’ she said, ‘symbolically, like.’
‘Ah, right.’ He thought about that for a few seconds. Then, he placed the conker back on her palm and closed her fingers around it. ‘So, we’re moving forwards?’
She heard the warmth in his voice and felt the strength of his hand holding hers.
‘We are,’ she said, with an affirmative nod of her head. ‘Yes, we are.’
* * *
A remarkably lanky policeman handed Ronan a plastic evidence bag that held his wallet. The cards and coins and scrunched receipts that had been its contents were loose in the bottom of the bag. His cash, naturally, was gone.
‘Your bank cards are also missing, monsieur,’ said the lanky policeman, with a look of genuine sympathy.
‘Driver’s licence?’
‘Also gone, I’m afraid. Everything with your name on it was removed.’
‘How did you find me then?’ asked Ronan, holding the bag with both hands.
A rosy blush suffused the young policeman’s cheeks as he failed to contain a broad smile. ‘It was the café loyalty cards. There were two cards, both from the same café.’
‘Beantown,’ said Ronan.
‘Exactly, monsieur. I telephoned and asked if one of their regular customers had mentioned a trip to Paris.’
‘They can’t have known I was in Paris.’ Ronan and Claire exchanged a bemused glance.
‘Well, not exactly. A woman’ – here the policeman referred to his notebook – ‘a Madame Rafferty, who was at the counter and happened to overhear the conversation, was certain it was you, and she had your number in her phone .?.?.’
Claire burst out laughing. ‘You have got to be kidding.’
‘Not in the least, Madame MacNamara. It was a most fortunate coincidence, no?’
‘Most fortunate indeed,’ said Claire, looking straight at Ronan, whose face was crimson. ‘How on earth did Madame Rafferty know you were in Paris, Ro?’
‘Eh, Imighthave mentioned it in class,’ he said, with an embarrassed shrug.
Claire, still puzzled, raised an eyebrow. She and the policeman looked to Ronan expectantly.
‘Aoife Rafferty is in my Sixth Year group,’ he said.
‘Right,’ said Claire, as the penny dropped. ‘And she told her mother. Of course she did.’
‘Alors,’ said the policeman, having heard enough. ‘If you could just sign these papers .?.?.’.
‘Merci,’ said Ronan, gratefully turning his attention to signing the documents laid out on the desk before him.
‘May I ask one or two questions, monsieur?’
‘Of course,’ said Ronan. He sat up straight in his chair.
The policeman introduced himself then, as if getting down to serious business. ‘My name is Clément Cloutier,’ he said, turning his computer screen around so that they could share his view of a map of Paris. ‘Could you show me precisely where you were, sir, when you realised your wallet had been stolen?’
‘In the bakery .?.?. emm .?.?. there.’ Ronan pointed to rue du Cherche-Midi.
‘And precisely where was the last place you knew for certain that the wallet was in your possession?’
‘At the bookshop .?.?. there.’
