“Yes, I do. We both learned the same summer. Solange kept scoffing that you were far too young to swim at six.”

“She was already that bossy, wasn’t she?”

“Bossy and husbandless, like she is now. Do you ever see her in Paris?”

Mélanie shook her head. “No. I don’t think she sees Father much either, you know. I think they had a falling-out when Grand-père died. Money matters, inheritance stuff. And she doesn’t get on with Régine. She looks after Blanche a lot. Hires the medical team for her, makes sure the apartment is well kept, and all that.”

“She had a soft spot for me in the old days,” said Antoine. “She was always buying me ice cream, taking me for long walks along the beach, holding me by the hand. She even used to come sailing with me, with those boys from the boating club.”

“Robert and Blanche never swam. They would sit up there at that café.”

“They were too old to swim.”

“Antoine!” she scoffed. “This was more than thirty years ago. They were in their sixties.”

He whistled. “You’re right. Younger than Father! They acted so old. Careful about everything. Fussy. Picky.”

“Blanche is still like that,” Mélanie said. “Going to see her has been tough lately.”

“I hardly go anymore,” admitted Antoine. “Last time I went, it was awful. She was in a bad mood, complaining about everything. I didn’t stay long. I couldn’t stand being there. That huge, dark apartment.”

“Never gets the sun,” said Mélanie. “Wrong side of the avenue Henri-Martin. Remember Odette? Shuffling around on those felt slippers to make the floorboards shine. Always telling us to shut up.”

Antoine laughed.

“Her son Gaspard looks so much like her. I’m glad he’s still there, looking after the place. Putting up with those nurses Solange hires. Putting up with Blanche’s temper.”