Madame smiled, but this time it was a cold smile. She clearly didn’t like that Kingsley knew something she didn’t know. Knowledge was her weapon. Her power.

“What is it? Rumpelstiltskin?” she said.

Again, Kingsley smiled but didn’t answer. He wouldn’t if she’d put a gun to his head.

“Keep your secret,” she said. “If it makes you smile like that to keep it.”

“Worthless secret,” he said, the smile fading. “I haven’t seen him in seven years. I only call him by his name when I dream of him and sometimes not even then, if I wake up before…”

“Before what?”

“Before he kisses me.”

He looked at her once, then looked away. “Let’s talk of something more pleasant,” he said. “Wars. Famine. The Black Plague.”

“Let’s talk of fears then. What are you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid of someone knowing my fears,” Kingsley said.

“Our fears are the bastard children of our longings. You hold one of my children. Let me hold one of yours.”

“I’m afraid of dying,” Kingsley said.

“A very human fear. The nothingness waiting for us on the other side of our last breath.”

“It’s not that so much. Before I was born, I didn’t exist. Not existing doesn’t scare me. I did it for eons. I’m afraid of dying before…”

“Ah,” she said. “Dying before what?”

“Dying before I have children,” Kingsley said.

“And?”

“Dying before I can see him again.”

“You said he taught at your old school in Maine. You could probably find him in two phone calls.”

“I can’t,” Kingsley said.

“Pourquoi pas?” Why not?

“I don’t want to find him. I want him to find me.”

Madame tilted her head to the side and tut-tutted like he was a naughty boy who’d said a very dirty word. “Men,” she said. “You’d rather die fighting than surrender to happiness. You are your own worst enemy.”

“You know what they say,” Kingsley said. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Being my own worst enemy is as close as it gets.”

“What is it, really? What keeps you from finding him?”

“Jealousy,” Kingsley said. “Not a trait I’m proud of.”

“Jealous of what?”

“That he’s moved on. He could have a dozen lovers worshipping at his feet as we speak. He could be married; he could have children. Our first time together… There are still pieces of me there in that forest. I need to believe, you know—”

“You need to believe there are still pieces of him there, too?”

Kingsley only shrugged.

“Poor child,” she said, shaking her head.

“You’re wrong about one thing,” he said. “I can’t find him with two phone calls. Last summer, I had a weak moment. I called our old school to talk to him.”

“And?”

“He’s not there. And he’d left instructions not to give out any information at all about him to anyone. I’m not vain enough to think it’s me he’s hiding from. But still…”

“If he would have answered the phone,” Madame said, “what would you have said to him?”

Jacques yawned against his shoulder, and without thinking Kingsley kissed the top of his small head. “I would have said…” Kingsley swallowed, his eyes burned.

“What, Kingsley? What would you have said if your Marcus had answered the phone?”

“I was in the hospital when I called. I think I would have…I would have said, ‘Please, come get me. I want to go home.’ ”

He met Madame’s eyes. She was looking at him almost in shock, almost as if he’d slapped her across the face instead of simply answering her question. “Like a little boy,” she said, “sick at school, calling his maman.”

She held out her hand as if to touch him, to comfort him, but then seemed to think better of it. She lowered her hand to her side and turned her back to him as she stood at the balcony doors.

Jacques had fallen asleep on his shoulder. As much as he wanted to keep holding him, Kingsley carried the boy to the cradle and gently lay the infant down again on his back. He gazed down at him a long time. Madame came and stood at his side.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said.

“I put Jacques down. Game over.”

“The game is never over. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Do you remember,” he began, “being a small child and falling asleep in the backseat of the car or in the sitting room on your father’s big chair? And a few hours later you would wake up in your own bed? You remember that?”

“Oh yes,” she said, a slight smile flitting across her lips. “I was a picky eater. My mother would make me sit at the table until I finished my dinner. I was a child during the war. We were lucky when we had food at all. But I wouldn’t eat. I’d sit there, stubborn, defiant, until I finally fell asleep at the table.”

“She’d carry you to bed,” Kingsley said. “While you were asleep, your mother or your father would carry you, yes?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember that moment when you woke up and didn’t know where you were? That moment you were confused and afraid and lost? Then you realize you’re in your own bed, and you’re there because someone who loves you has carried you there and tucked you in…”

“A perfect feeling,” Madame said. “The beauty and innocence of childhood in one split second, the moment you wake up lost and confused and then know you’re safe and you’re home. Is that what you were thinking of?”

Kingsley nodded. “I was thinking that’s something I want to feel one more time in my life.” He smiled. “But it’s a stupid dream. That doesn’t happen when you’re grown.”

Kingsley adjusted the blanket over Jacques. He didn’t want it too close to the boy’s face.

“What bed is it?” she asked.

“Hmm?” Kingsley looked at her.

“When you imagine yourself waking up in that bed, what bed is it? Who’s bed?”

Kingsley knew he was expected to answer. And he would. After he took a breath or two, then he could answer. “One night I talked back to him. I did that a lot.”

“What did you say?”

“He was making me suck him off,” Kingsley said.

“Making you?” Madame said.

Kingsley grinned. “And he didn’t like the way I was doing it. I told him if he didn’t like my style he could do it to himself.”

“I’m remembering my marriage.”

“He punished me by making me sleep on the cold hard floor of the old cottage where we’d go to be together. I know I fell asleep on the floor. I remember wishing for a pillow. But when I woke up a couple hours later I was in the cot we shared.” He paused, trying to remember something he’d spent seven years trying to forget.

“My God, how did you survive that boy?”

“I’m not sure I did,” Kingsley said. “You know, it probably didn’t even happen like that. I probably woke up for a few seconds and crawled into bed with him and forgot I did it. I’m sure…I’m sure that’s what happened. He wouldn’t have picked me up…” He met Madame’s eyes. “Would he?”

He didn’t know why he asked her except perhaps he thought only another sadist would know the answer.

“You want me to say ‘no,’ ” she said, “so you can tell yourself he didn’t love you. I’ll say ‘no,’ for your sake. No, of course he didn’t lift you while you were sleeping to put you to bed beside him. No sadist would ever do anything so tender. We’re heartless and cruel and incapable of love.”

“I thought so,” Kingsley said.

Madame leaned close, touched his face gently, the same way he’d touched Jacques. “I told you I liked to lie, too, sometimes,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes and turned his face into her hand.

“You should go back to Polly,” Madame said, lowering her hand. Kingsley was certain he noticed some reluctance on her part when she did. She inclined her head toward the cradle. “In about ten minutes, that one will be screaming for a nappy change.”

“I will leave him in your capable hands,” Kingsley said.

He started for the balcony door.

“Take the hallway,” she reminded him. “It’s warmer.”

He would have objected—grown men didn’t need coddling—except he liked her concern. He went to the hall doorway.

“Goodnight,” he said.

“Sleep well,” she said. It sounded like an order. “I hope you don’t dream of him again.”

“Merci. Moi aussi,” he said, but already knew he wouldn’t dream anymore that night.

He started to open the door when Madame spoke again.

“Thank you for telling me your fears. You’re beautiful when you’re naked.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“I’d like to see you that naked again,” she said.

“I might not like it.”

“Ah,” she said with a smile, rocking in her chair again. “Perhaps you should not have told me your fears then.”