Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. Michelle bypassed the ordering counter and surfed directly to their table. There was a deep groan, and the sound of a fall within. ’ ‘I think you—’ He broke off abruptly, astonished at what he had been about to say. ‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion. It was a refusal of expediency, he said, and not an absolute refusal. The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved.
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