When Agnes opens her eyes it is barely dawn. Her body is fitted close against Henri's, they are a tangle of limbs that fits so perfectly that she cannot tell where she ends and he begins. Her face is against his throat. In the halflight she can see the pulse bumping under his skin. His breath is on her forehead and from the rhythm of it, she can tell he is asleep. She tries not to move. He needs every bit of sleep he can get.

Her right leg crosses his body and his hand is laid over her ankle, as if he wants to stop her running away. Between them, the fractional tesselated space where their bodies meet, is warmth and dampness and the scent of sex. Agnes's back and shoulders are chilly and she contemplates turning, finding the covers, pulling them up. To do so would be to wake him and she cannot bear to do that just yet.

She remembers lying like this, one of her legs between his, her knee hooked around his hip to keep him close, last night - although she doesn't remember falling asleep. This time, he had used some protection - a rubber thing that he applied to himself. Even in the dark she hadn't much liked the look of it. But if it meant he could relax, make love without pulling free at the last moment, leaving her so bereft, then she would accept it. When they had both finished he had gone to the closet and removed it before coming back to bed and wrapping himself around her again.

'One day when the War is over we will have no need of it,' he said. 'But I cannot bear to think of you, sad, while I am not there to comfort you. Or worse, having a child by yourself.'

Agnes summoned up her courage to ask: 'Do you want to have children one day, Henri?'

He was stroking her hair. 'Of course, of course I do. With you. Do you?'

'Yes,' she said. Certain of it, surprising herself.

'But I want to be with you, when it happens,' he said. 'I want us to be together, so that when you tell me one day that you are expecting our child, I can hold you and kiss you and celebrate our happiness. And I want to lie with you every night and watch as your body changes, as our child grows. I don't want to miss a moment of that.'

She laughed: 'You want to see me getting all fat and tired out?'

Eyes closed, he had smiled at her. 'You will be even more beautiful with our child inside you. I know this.'

Outside, Agnes can hear shouts in French: deliveries being made, people beginning to go to work. She tries to lift her head and realises that Henri's arm is resting on her hair. The movement has woken him. She looks at his sleep-crumpled face, the smile that spreads across it as he sees her and remembers. Then his arms tighten around her body. 'My Agnes,' he says. 'I was dreaming of you, and you are here.'

'I need to get up,' she says. 'I have things to do today. Appointments.'

He chuckles, 'Yes, since you are determined to keep Harry Selfridge happy…'

'You can always come with me,' she says, hopeful. Henri's opinion of the fashions and fabrics will be invaluable. It's not that she does not trust her own judgment - but working together, they were a formidable team. Besides, it has been a long time since she was in Paris and it has changed so much. She is wary of finding her way around on her own. Also, she's not quite ready to let him out of her sight.