This was the height of fashion, the favourite adornment of the season, though some people found it somewhat daring. There was something unsubtle about that bird, with its little glass eye and extended wings, Pierre’s mother thought, as she looked at Agnès’s mother, comparing her neighbour’s grey-feathered hat to her own with its decoration of daisies. But Agnès’s mother was from Paris. There were niceties she couldn’t sense, couldn’t understand.

Nevertheless, she seemed very anxious to please. ‘Yes,’ she would say, ‘I do agree’, or ‘That’s what I think as well’. But even her humility did not inspire confidence. Everyone knew that, before her marriage, Gabrielle Florent had been forced to work for a living. She herself admitted that she’d given singing lessons. Anything was possible. A singing teacher might have socialised with actresses. In spite of everything, she was accepted in Saint-Elme, for, as far as her present conduct was concerned, there was nothing to be said. Yet even though she was accepted, people remained on the defensive.

It would have been better for Agnès, for Agnès’s future, if there had been some precise accusation regarding her mother’s past, rather than these vague insinuations, people whispering, nodding or sighing as she passed by. ‘Do they have family in Paris? I think this Madame Florent had a bad reputation when she was young. Her daughter will not find a husband so easily. I can’t see her getting married. Can you?’ Monsieur Florent had died three years before. Everyone was surprised that his widow had remained in Saint-Elme. ‘She must have no family left,’ people said, slightly maliciously; in the eyes of Saint-Elme, the absence of numerous relatives was suspicious. ‘She says she’s lost everyone.’ That was no excuse. A good middle-class family should be large, and hardy enough to stand up to death.

‘The fireworks,’ shouted the children, ‘the fireworks are starting.’

A golden swirl burst forth from behind the sand dunes and spun over the waves. Everyone stood up in curiosity and pleasure. The inhabitants of Wimereux-Plage rarely indulged in entertainments; they played Ludo in the Casino and, sometimes, touring theatre companies came from Paris. They didn’t have to pay to see the fireworks. Sound economic principles reigned supreme here.

‘Come over here, Agnès,’ said Pierre. ‘Come and stand in front of me, so you can see better …’

But when Agnès went over to him, she found him flanked by his mother and fiancée. He held out his hand to help her climb on to the sand dune and Madame Hardelot immediately called out to her husband, ‘Charles, stand behind Agnès. You’re so tall! She can’t see a thing, can you, darling?’

And so, protected on three sides, Pierre was as defended as a fortress. He pushed the women away rather briskly. ‘It’s too hot. I prefer lying in the sand.’

Agnès didn’t dare move.