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won’t. I have no need to return there.’

The doctor picked up the wet cloth, swabs, and bowl and took them over to the sink. He poured the solution away, dropped the towel in one basket, the bloodstained swabs in another, turned on the hot water tap, and began scrubbing his hands.

Claire looked at Thomas and putting her hands together, as if in prayer, she mouthed Say something, please.

‘Madame Belland was hoping to find information about a woman who might have been in the prison at the same time as her husband. But the only buildings still standing have been gutted and by the look of them set on fire. I guess personnel records, if there were any left after the prison was liberated, perished when the buildings were burned,’ Thomas said. The doctor continued washing his hands and didn’t reply.

‘My husband has been accused of being a traitor, Doctor, of spying on his fellow officers and reporting to a woman who it is thought was also in the prison, and who his superiors believe worked for the Germans. He is now missing. There are men looking for him. Your grandfather saved my husband’s life once,’ Claire cried, ‘he may know something that could save his life again.’

The doctor called the nurse, who straightway bustled into the room. ‘I have to go out, Annette. Anything urgent, telephone me, I shall be at home. Otherwise, ask patients to come back this evening or tomorrow morning.’ He turned to Claire and Thomas. ‘Come with me.’

Thomas picked up his rucksack from the floor, and Claire grabbed her filthy gloves and threw them into the medical waste basket before following the doctor out of the building and into the street.

‘Where are you taking us?’ Claire asked, catching up with the doctor.

‘To see my grandfather,’ he said, without slowing down.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

‘Grandfather, these people would like to speak to you,’ Doctor D’Aramitz said.

Hauling himself out of his armchair, the old man stood up. With the aid of a walking stick he hobbled across the room to meet them.

‘Thomas Durand, sir.’ Thomas offered his hand.

‘I am pleased to meet you,’ the old gentleman said, shaking Thomas’s hand. He turned to Claire.

‘Therese-- Belland--’ Claire faltered. She had lied to the man who saved her husband’s life. She looked into his rheumy eyes. There was a deep sadness there. He smiled kindly and put out his hand. ‘How do you do, Doctor?’

‘How do you do, my dear.’ He took Claire’s hand. ‘I am retired now,’ he said, looking at his grandson with pride. ‘Let us dispense with the title. My name is Lucien, Lucien Puel. What can I do for you?’

Claire snatched her hand away from the old man. The ground shifted beneath her feet. She raised her hand to ward Lucien Puel off, but he smiled and took hold of her hand again. She quickly withdrew it for the second time. ‘I-- we must go,’ she stuttered. ‘I-- Thomas,’ she said, ‘need to get out--’

Thomas took Claire’s arm and walked her to the door. ‘Thank you for your time, sir,’ he said to Lucien Puel.

Doctor D’Aramitz opened the door, but before Thomas and Claire could pass through it, Claire collapsed.

Between them, the two younger men picked Claire up, carried her across the room, and lowered her onto a chaise longue. ‘Give her air,’ Dr D’Aramitz said. Thomas stepped aside and the doctor took Claire’s pulse. ‘She’ll be fine. She has only fainted. I’ll get her a glass of water.’

‘When was the last time she ate?’ Lucien Puel asked Thomas.

He thought for a moment. ‘We haven’t eaten since breakfast.’ He looked at his wristwatch and grimaced. ‘Eight hours ago.’

‘That’s why she fainted. Keep an eye on her, I’ll be back shortly,’ Puel said, leaving the room.

‘Claire?’ Thomas whispered, kneeling down beside her. He shook her gently by the shoulders and said again, ‘Claire?’

She opened her eyes and looked around the room. ‘We need to get out of here before he comes back.’ She pushed herself up into a sitting position but feeling disorientated slumped back against the headrest of the chaise longue. ‘Where is he?’ she hissed. ‘Where’s Puel?’

‘I think he might have gone to get you something to eat. His grandson went for water.’ Thomas looked over his shoulder at the door. ‘They’re taking their time,’ he said, as an afterthought. Focussing his attention on Claire, he said, ‘What was that all about? You looked as if you’d seen a ghost when the old guy told you his name. Who is he?’

‘I don’t know who he is, but he is not Doctor Lucien Puel. Lucien Puel is the Swiss psychiatrist at the Louis Bertrand hospital in Canada who treated Mitch. I don’t believe in coincidences, Thomas. There cannot be two doctors called Lucien Puel, can there?’

‘Yes, Madame Belland, there can, but there is not.’ Claire turned to see Lucien Puel hobbling across the room. He offered Claire a glass of water, which she took without thinking. Then she remembered what Doctor D’Aramitz had said about poisons and didn’t drink. ‘There was once another Lucien Puel--’ A loving smile softened the old man’s features and tears filled his eyes.

‘Grandfather!’ Doctor D’Aramitz had followed his grandfather into the room and now stood next to him. ‘You do not owe these people an explanation,’ he said. ‘You saved Madame Belland’s husband’s life.’ He gave Claire a cold hard stare. ‘Is that not enough for you, Madame?’

Before Claire could answer, the old man said, ‘No my dear, Matthieu, it is not enough.’ Leaning heavily on his walking stick, he walked back to the door and tugged on a maroon bell-rope. ‘If you trust that my housekeeper will not try to poison you, Madame, I would like to invite you and Monsieur Durand to join my grandson and me for refreshments. Then

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