Odette cooked a delicious roast chicken dinner, complete with vegetables and gravy while Pierre had brought home a magnificent gateau for their dessert. Monsieur Rousseau joined them too, and he and Pierre talked a little about the patisserie. Pierre’s father even said he would try to visit the shop for a few hours each day, which Clementine thought was a very good sign.

Meanwhile, Lavender had made herself at home in Hortense’s basket by the range, which had seen the grumpy cat immediately decamp to a hiding spot somewhere else in the house. Lavender had no idea why Hortense didn’t want to be her friend.

After dinner, Monsieur Rousseau vanished upstairs. Jules and Will cleared the table while the girls chatted about what they should all do before bedtime.

‘We could play a game,’ Clementine suggested, swinging her legs under her chair.

‘Or you could do a puzzle,’ Odette said, wiping the table. ‘There’s a lovely one in the attic. It’s of a giant map of Paris.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ Clementine agreed. ‘We could use my map to help us.’

Pierre left the table to help the boys with the washing up and Odette disappeared to make up beds for their guests.

‘We’ll be back in a minute,’ Sophie called as she and Clementine charged upstairs.

Clementine shivered as they entered the room. ‘It’s cold up here.’

‘And Grand-père must have left the light on.’ Sophie led Clementine to the cupboard, where they found a pile of board games as well as the puzzle in its box. ‘Shall we take a game too?’ Sophie asked, shortly before a snuffling sound silenced the pair.

Sophie and Clementine looked at one another.

‘Is that you, Grand-père?’ Sophie asked.

The two girls headed to the other end of the room, where they found the old man sitting in a big armchair, with boxes of photographs scattered at his feet. His eyes were closed and his breathing was punctuated by little grunts.

‘Shhh, he’s asleep,’ Clementine whispered.

‘He can’t stay up here. It’s too cold.’ Sophie looked around for a blanket to cover him with.

Etienne shuddered and the picture he was holding fluttered to the floor. Clementine picked it up and stared at the photograph of a young boy. The girl beside him looked to be about the same age and she was holding a puppet on a string. Clementine took a closer look at it and could see that it was, in fact, a marionette of a pig.

‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ Sophie whispered. ‘I’m going to fetch a blanket from downstairs.’

Clementine was about to put the photograph into one of the boxes when Monsieur Rousseau snorted and his eyes sprang open. She jumped back in fright.

The man smiled at her and straightened up in the chair. ‘Bonjour Clementine. Did I fall asleep again?’

Clementine nodded. ‘You dropped this,’ she said, handing him the photograph.

He yawned and stretched his neck, then focused on the picture. ‘I am getting old,’ he said. ‘I spend too much time up here lately. Since Madame Rousseau…’

‘Is that her?’ Clementine asked, wondering if the man had known his wife when they were children.

‘Oh no, that is my friend Solene,’ he said. ‘She was so clever – always making up stories. She made puppets too.’

‘Really?’ Clementine bit her lip. ‘Did she make that one?’

‘Oui. It was her favourite. A little piggy she called Capucine.’

‘That’s the name of Madame Delacroix’s famous piggy,’ Clementine said.

‘Yes. When I first saw that cochon on television I thought it must have been Solene, but it turned out to be that mad woman who is all hair and lipstick.’ Monsieur Rousseau grimaced. ‘She comes into my patisserie all the time, always wanting things for free.’

‘Why does she want things for free? She is famous all over France,’ Clementine said.

‘I think her riches have dwindled along with her fame. Children have so many entertainments these days,’ the man said.

‘It’s funny that your friend and Madame Delacroix had the same idea about a pig called Capucine,’ Clementine said.

A small smile perched on the man’s lips. ‘We used to put on shows in the village. My father helped us build a little stage on a cart and we would set up in the square and charge people one franc to watch.’

‘I wonder what happened to your friend,’ Clementine said, watching the man’s face as he remembered.

‘Life is a bit like a puzzle, ma chérie, and sometimes the pieces go missing,’ the man said gently.

‘The lady who lives on the other side of the back wall has lots of puppets in her house too,’ Clementine said. ‘I saw them.’

‘The old witch who has let the place go to rack and ruin? I have never in my life set eyes on her, but my wife went to see her once when Pierre lost his football and came home in tears. My wife returned in tears too. That witch is not a nice lady.’

‘I don’t think she’s a witch. I think she’s just sad and lonely,’ Clementine said, remembering how terrified the woman was of Lavender.

Footsteps thudded up the stairs and Sophie reappeared with a blanket in her arms. ‘I brought this up for you, Grand-père,’ she said.

‘Merci, my dear, but I do not think I will stay up here tonight,’ the man said, shifting forward in his seat. ‘It is time to be with my family.’

‘Would you like to help us with the puzzle?’ Clementine asked. ‘Aunt Violet and Uncle Digby sometimes help me with puzzles at home and they like to play games too. Aunt Violet pretends she doesn’t but I know she does.’

‘Why not?’ The man nodded decisively. He smiled at the girls, then stood up and followed them downstairs.

Much to everyone’s delight and surprise, Etienne spent the entire evening helping the children with their puzzle, and when their concentration wavered, he stunned them all with a rowdy game of charades.