He told me that the money I had easy access to was a temptation he didn’t want to inflict on me. I asked him if a single penny had disappeared. “No,” he said, but it was inevitable that one day it would, if your lifestyle didn’t change. I warned you, Bella, remember? Every time you bought a new dress or fur coat, every time you left for Paris, I said it over and over again: “Be careful, we live in a small town. People talk. I’ll be accused of stealing.” The director of the factory lives in Moscow. It’s natural that he must be able to trust me, and he can’t trust me. I would have done the same if I were in his shoes. I can’t refuse you anything. I can’t bear it when a woman nags and cries. I’d rather give in; I’d rather people take me for a coward, a thief, a hen-pecked husband, because, in the end, another man might suspect that … Be quiet,’ he shouted suddenly, and his rough, wild voice drowned out what Bella was saying. ‘Be quiet! I know exactly what you’re going to tell me. Yes, I trust you. Don’t say a word! I don’t want to know. You are my wife. My wife, my child, my house … When all is said and done, you’re all I have. Of course I have to take care of you,’ he said softly.

‘But Boris, what are you saying? Do you realise what you’re implying? Boris, my darling …’

‘Be quiet …’

‘I have nothing to hide …’

‘Be quiet!’

‘Ah! You don’t love me any more; you would never have spoken to me like this a few years ago. Remember? I was a Safronov; I could have married anyone I liked. Then you came along. Remember the scandal our marriage caused? All those people saying to me, “You! You marrying that little Jew who came out of nowhere, who wandered around Lord knows where, whose family you don’t even know! You!?” But I loved you, Boris.’

‘You didn’t have a penny and all your other boyfriends wanted a dowry,’ he said bitterly. ‘And I’m the one who feeds your mother and father, and puts a roof over their heads, me, the little Jew who came out of nowhere: I’m the one who pays for all the Safronovs, me, me … To hell with all of you!’

‘But I loved you, Boris, I loved you! I still love you! I’m faithful to you, I …’

‘Enough!’ he said in despair. ‘I don’t want to talk about that. It’s got nothing to do with it. You’re my wife and I have to believe in my wife. Otherwise there would be nothing left that was decent, nothing, nothing at all. Not another word about it, Bella, not another word!’

‘It’s those jealous women, those envious old women all around us who can’t forgive me because I’m happy, because they know that I’m happy! They can’t forgive me for having a husband like you, for being young and attractive! They’re the ones who’ve caused all this trouble!’

‘Perhaps,’ Karol said weakly.

She could tell he was weakening by the tone of his voice and immediately dissolved into floods of tears.

‘I would never have believed you could speak so harshly to me, say such hurtful things to me … I’ll never forgive you, never! I do everything possible to make you happy … You’re the only one I have in the world, after all, and I’m the only one you have!’

‘What’s the point in talking about that?’ Karol said once more, his voice weary and tinged with pain and embarrassment. ‘You know that I love you.’

In spite of the closed door, Hélène could hear every word. But she pretended not to be listening: she was building a fortress for her toy soldiers out of a stack of old books. Her grandmother crossed the room without making a sound; she was sighing and tears ran down her elderly face, but Hélène thought nothing of it: her grandmother was always crying; her eyes were constantly red, her lips trembling. Mademoiselle Rose was sewing in silence; Hélène gave her a mischievous look.

‘They’re shouting … Can you hear? What’s going on?’

Mademoiselle Rose said nothing at first; she pursed her lips and pushed her needle hard through the hem that sat across her knee.