Night Without Stars by Winston Graham

into the hillside and stood a thousand years. I remembered being in the town once after dark when the few lonely lamps were lit and black shadows stood in the long cobbled streets and cheap music tinkled through the café curtains.
    We got in safely enough and ran for shelter. But Alix’s frock was soaking so after waiting a bit to see if the rain would ease she suggested we should go up to her friends and get coats and perhaps a change of clothing.
    She said a bit doubtfully: “ They are my husband’s relatives and friends, you’ll understand.”
    â€œThere’s no need for me to go along. I can stay here while you nip up.”
    â€œNo,” she said.“ I would like you to come.”
    I followed her along the quay and then up a rising street that ran under an archway and broke into steps. We turned and climbed a few more steps, then over a narrow bridge and along a street which ran parallel with the quay.
    â€œThis is the Rue St. Agel. On the corner is the Café Gambetta, where we are going.”
    It was the quiet part of the afternoon, but there were four men playing cards in a corner of the café as we went in, and a boy of some sort was in charge behind the bar.
    The four men stopped playing. I could tell because the cards no longer moved, and the boy came forward, greeting Alix with a reservation in his voice that was no doubt due to me. Where was Mère Roget? asked Alix. Resting said the boy, it would be worth his life to disturb her till four. She had come with her friend for shelter and dry clothes, said Alix; was Gaston in the kitchen? Yes, Gaston was in the kitchen, and we went through some bead curtains into a sort of inner dining-room and from there into the kitchen.
    Gaston, a middle-aged man with a wooden leg, was rattling pans about, but spoke to Alix warmly enough. He seemed a bit uncertain what to make of me, yet I was pretty sure from his manner that he’d already heard of me. The warmth of the kitchen was welcome after the rain. Alix left me there for a few minutes while she went upstairs, and when she came down I could tell that she’d changed her frock. She also brought me a coat of some alpaca material and made me change.
    â€œIt is Armand’s,” she said. “My brother-in-law. It will be a little short but it will do.”
    We went back into the dining-room and Gaston brought us coffee.
    â€œLet’s drink it out here,” she said, and we moved out on to an open veranda with the rain drumming on the roof. There was a good deal of space all round us, and I didn’t need to be told that we overlooked the bay.
    I said: “I don’t think you can expect your husband’s family to take to me like an old friend, Alix.”
    â€œOh, that’s all right I’m rather glad you are going to meet them.”
    â€œDo they know about Grognard too?”
    â€œOh, yes, of course.”
    I said: “ I ought to tell you. I’ve been going to all day. Pierre came to see me last Friday.”
    She was startled. “ Pierre? Where? At your flat?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat did he want?”
    â€œHe wanted to warn me against the dangers of trespass.”
    â€œTrespass?”
    â€œPoaching and trespass on his property. The property being you.”
    â€œOh.…” She picked up her bag and unzipped it, rustled about inside: “How silly of him. How childish.… He has no right to interfere.”
    â€œThat’s what I thought.” But I should have been happier if she’d sounded more decided.
    â€œWhat did he say?”
    I told her what had gone on.
    â€œAnd you didn’t—ask him about my husband?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou’re very trusting Giles.”
    â€œNot specially so. But I trust you. Why shouldn’t I?”
    â€œI have to tell you,” she said, “ that Jacques, my husband, is dead.”
    The rain was stopping now; the spots overhead were