The gate at the campsite entrance was hanging off at a drunken angle to one side, a weather-beaten ‘Fermé’ sign pinned to the top bar. The first thing to put on her to-do list. Belinda forced herself to drive slowly, zigzagging the car up the potholed driveway that seemed to go on forever. The second thing to go on her to-do list. Finally, she pulled up in front of two tired-looking wooden buildings. One had the word ‘Shop’ above its doorway and sun-faded posters advertising bread, drinks and ice creams. The other had a shallow flight of steps leading to the door and the words ‘Reception – Accueil’ in faded paint across the top of the door.

Her heart thumping, Belinda parked the car alongside an ancient mud-splattered 2CV, picked up her laptop bag from the passenger seat, got out, promised BB she’d let him out again soon, slammed the door and looked around.

What on earth had Nigel and Molly been thinking about? The photos they’d shown her hadn’t looked like this. The place was so run-down, it was a joke. Like most campsites in France, Camping dans La Forêt had closed over the winter – if indeed it had even been open last summer. Looking at the sorry state of things, Belinda doubted that there had been many customers even if it had been open. She sighed. Without even having seen the complete site yet, she doubted that June next year was a realistic date, let alone June this year – a mere twelve weeks away.

She opened the laptop bag and pulled out the folder Nigel had given her with the details, plans and a few out-of-focus pictures that she’d slipped inside. With no website to study, the folder contained minimal information. Alain Salvin, would be there to greet her when she arrived Nigel had said and he would give her all the information and help she needed.

Presumably the old 2CV was his car and the light was on in reception. Surely he must have heard her arrive? Why hadn’t he appeared to greet her? It wasn’t as if there were hordes of cars or people descending on the place. It would have been good manners for him to come out and greet her. They were, after all, going to be working together. It was hardly the most promising of starts and Alain Salvin had lost a number of brownie points, as far as she was concerned.

Belinda took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, pulled her five foot three inch body up to its full height and climbed the steps to the reception. She didn’t bother to knock before she opened the door and walked in. ‘Bonjour.’