The restaurant to which I was headed was off the main square and in a similar vein, although we seemed to have moved seamlessly from Italy to France. I pushed through the revolving glass door into a long, bustling bistro. Its white walls were crowded with black and white photographs, and pedestal lamps were suspended from the ceiling. Shiny brass railings and wooden compartments sectioned off little areas of leather banquette seating and white linen-clad tables. The acoustics were presumably intentionally dreadful to give the place instant atmosphere, which it certainly did. It was mostly full of young, thrusting executives having noisy lunches as even younger waiters wove amongst them in long, crisp aprons, expertly balancing seafood platters on one hand above their heads. Oysters on a huge tray of ice swept past my nose. I mean for heaven's sake, what did Truro think it was? Oh, OK. Bang next to a fishing port.

The maitre d’ was already leading me efficiently across the wooden floor, but I saw her before he did. My hand shot up in delighted recognition as she simultaneously saw me and got to her feet, waving both hands above her head in wonderful abandonment. She looked even more glamorous than I remembered. She was wearing a silky blue wrap dress and heels, whippet thin as ever, and her hair was neatly tied back in a velvet bow. We held out our arms dramatically. Grinning from ear to ear, we hugged each other tight. The maitre d’ smiled and left us to it as we failed to unclench.

“Too long," said Shona finally, as we eventually released one another. "Far too long."

“My fault," I told her truthfully as we both dabbed at our eyes with our napkins, mine properly streaming, which made us laugh.

"Yes, all your fault, you're a hopeless correspondent. I'd have been better off with a carrier pigeon."

"But all your fault for moving about the country so much. Liverpool, Manchester — what the heck!”

"Yes, OK, but when I did come to London, you weren't there!"

"I never usually go away. I could have cried. Knew there was a reason why I didn't. What was I thinking?"

“Who knows. I mean, Paris in the springtime — who needs it?"

Shona swore quite a lot and, sheep that I was, I always joined in as if it was something I routinely did. I found it funny and relaxing and sank into it contentedly now, along with our mutual past and the palest of pink wines which she had already ordered.

"Peter needed the break after his exams. And we only went for three days. But give me more warning next time, there's a doll?"