Rachel was feeling out of sorts. She had slept badly and reruns of her experiences with Ross played in her head. If only… Of course things were better this way – but why didn't they feel better? Because they should, they had settled it. That question plagued her all day, along with a feeling of loneliness and loss, which would not be rationalised away.

The events of the day didn't help. There was her experience with the Metro. She had had no trouble before, mainly because she had been able to get what she wanted without speaking to anyone. Today, she had needed to speak to someone about her ticket, and what Stuart had warned her about had come true. She had been misunderstood, and she had felt it was deliberate, and when she'd lost her temper, all she had seen was a superior Gallic smile. His supervisor had come along to sort things out, speaking what Rachel considered to be far worse English than was her French. He had seemed to think that communication would be assisted if he also shouted.

Rachel had only been rescued when an English woman in her early twenties intervened. The woman had asked her one question: what was wrong, and then had a short rapid exchange in French which seemed to solve all difficulties.

'There you are,' the woman said, 'That's you all sorted out. They can be so awful.' That had sounded so like Emily, that Rachel stared back in shock, omitting to thank her or acknowledge her in any way. The woman's eyes had narrowed in annoyance and she muttered, 'Don't know why I bothered, you've got no bloody manners,' disappearing into the crowd before Rachel could collect herself.

What a terrible start to the day, she ruminated, as she finally boarded her train. She needed the kindness of strangers and she felt guilty about the episode. The incident had made her late for the office, attracting the silent stares of everyone and her supervisor, Jacqueline greeted her with 'bon soir,' which was grossly unfair.

Worse was to come. Jacqueline, called her into her office and destroyed her work, figuratively speaking. It was unsubtle, it was crude, it might work in the US but a Parisienne, a Frenchwoman, even an average European woman would not respond to such ideas. Rachel burned with embarrassment. She also wanted to demand to know where Jacqueline got off, saying these things to her, about Americans, and about her style. But Jacqueline was her boss, this was Rachel's big break, and she slunk back to her office feeling every bit as gauche as she'd been accused of being.

How did they do it, she wondered, as she looked across her desk. Marie was wearing the same dress she'd worn the day before yesterday, as though that was okay – yet it seemed that it was, because it was a well chosen dress. Not the best dress in the world, but a very good choice for her. They all dressed that way, fashionably, but each with a touch of individuality, each looking as though she was wearing clothes as though they had been designed only for her. They hadn't bought what was in the shops because it was new, but because whatever it was complemented them perfectly.

They were all so thin too. Rachel felt fat when she looked in the mirror, and when she was standing next to Monica, but when she was around most people – except these people – she felt okay. To her dismay, Marie lighted up a cigarette. Monique, slinking past the desk, had a cigarette in her hand.

Renee, who had come to talk to her about samples, was fortunately not smoking.

'You know, you should be careful of Monique,' Renee said, in a low voice.

'Why's that?' Rachel felt alarmed. She had responded at once to Monique, simply because her name was similar to Monica's. There was only one Monica of course, but she felt drawn to Monique, nonetheless.

'She is one big backstabber that one. Nice to your face,' Renee said, while Rachel remembered how nice she had been, 'Then mimic you to your back.' To make things worse, Renee said that in what she knew to be in a parody of Rachel's own accent. 'It is so unfair, of course,' Renee said in her normal voice. Feeling unnerved, Rachel tried to remember everything that she had ever said to Monique, wondering whether any of it could be used against her.

She had just settled down to work again when Monique stamped past. As Rachel looked up, she found that Monique was glaring at her. She recoiled in shock. She hadn't done anything that could upset her, nothing. She saw a lot of profiles and turned backs in the office and no-one seemed to want to speak to her. She worked in silence until lunchtime.

She caught up with Marie and asked her what was going on.

'You shouldn't have spoken to Renee,' she explained.

'But I had to, it's my job, she had to talk to me about the samples.' Marie shrugged.

'I know, but Monique and Renee are fighting. If you are friendly with one, you are the enemy of the other, it is all very simple.'

'I'm not friendly or unfriendly,' Rachel protested. 'It's got nothing to do with me, I don't want to take sides.'

'Rachel, you have to take sides,' Marie said, 'If you don't they will both treat you like an enemy.'

'That's not fair.'

'Only babies cry about what is fair and what is not fair. How it is, is how it is,' Marie said coldly, and to her amazement, she walked away from Rachel, leaving her standing in confusion.

In the afternoon, she braved Jacqueline's office. It was going to be hell on earth in a place like this if she didn't sort something out.

'Oh you've got the job Marie wanted,' Jacqueline said coolly. 'Only they decided to get an American. To be different.' Her tone made it clear that she had thought that this was an unnecessary and radical thing to do.

'So she hates me because she thinks I've got her job.' Oh brilliant, Rachel thought.

'You have got her job,' Jacqueline said. Rachel was on the verge of saying that it wasn't fair when Marie's words came back to her. She then wondered if she should ask Jacqueline whether she resented Rachel as well, but thought better of it. She had to find a way to make it in this horrible place.

She met Stuart on the way into the courtyard.

'Oh boy, you weren't wrong about the language problem,' she said as soon as she saw him. Really, she should have kept away from him, knowing who he was married to, but she couldn't help it. He was the only really friendly person around – apart from the woman in the metro and she wouldn't be friendly again – and she had liked talking to him, so far. There was no way he could know who he was.

'Rough day?'

'You could say that,' Rachel said.

'Let's sit out here for a while,' Stuart said. Rachel glanced up at the balcony – wasn't he in a hurry to get home to Emily? And then, what if she looked out and saw them? Seeing her look, Stuart said, 'Oh, she's out, she's got a doctor's appointment this evening – just a routine check up.'

'That's good.' Rachel sat on one of the garden seats. There was a nice arrangement of flowers in the middle of the courtyard.

'Tell me about it,' Stuart said, taking one of the other seats, and Rachel told him, ending with,

'…And I don't know what to do.'

They heard the gate open and Stuart looked around.

'Here she is,' he said, smiling. Emily came through the gate with the typical ponderous gait of late pregnancy. Her face, for an instant placid suddenly took on an expression of horror, as she noticed Rachel. With a tone filled with loathing she said,

'You!'