Irma rang this morning. ‘Eiko, Liebling, Agnes has been taken to hospital, the one close to you – what is it called, St Marie’s. She's well looked after by the Chinese Quakers, but it would be good if you could drop in to see her,’ she said.

Alarmed, I rushed to the hospital, tracing the mottled shadows on the pavement cast by the plane trees along Route Pere Robert. The heat and humidity had already risen although it was only mid-morning. The ceiling fans weren't working in the hospital lobby, teaming with humanity, from little babies to the very old. Everything looked shabbier from the last time I was there – when I found out that I was pregnant with Taka.

Agnes was in a private room, a little island of peacefulness, propped up against her pillows. A Chinese gentleman, Dr Tang, who I’d met at the Leighs, was by her side. ‘Agnes's bronchitis has gone to her lungs, and it is not very easy for her to talk,’ he said, as Agnes cast me an apologetic smile. Although frail, she still looked elegant, her fine features framed by her soft silver hair.

‘Before leaving her house, Agnes collected some things for Irma. Mrs Kishimoto, would you be so kind as to deliver them to her at the Friends Centre on Museum Road?’ Dr Tang asked. ‘As my university is in the other direction, I have little occasion to go into town.’

‘I would be more than happy to,’ I said, pleased to be given an actual task.

‘Thank you. And please tell Irma that Agnes is doing very well. The doctors have managed to secure antibiotics, still very rare, and say that, with rest, she will be better soon.’

I felt uplifted on the way home: from relief that Agnes was on the mend; or that I’d be seeing Irma soon? Yes, but there was something else that I couldn't immediately pinpoint. Then it dawned on me that going to the Friends’ Centre would put me in the vicinity of the Holy Trinity Cathedral, its tall spire etched in my mind ever since meeting Mr Ikemoto.