After supper, they settled in for a couple of companionable hours together in the sitting room. Whether by accident or design on both their parts, the ongoing work on the campsite was rarely mentioned. The evenings were getting warmer and they were able to open the French doors onto the little terrace. Sometimes they watched TV, but mostly they read. Belinda a book and Alain one of his endless car magazines. Conversation was limited but friendly and the silences were becoming those that happen between people who were becoming comfortable with each other.

Alain went out every evening at about ten o’clock to check all was well on the campsite and Belinda usually said goodnight then and went to bed before he returned.

One particularly lovely evening, she stood up with him.

‘Mind if I join you tonight? It’s such a lovely evening, I fancy a walk.’

‘Bring a jacket, it’s always a bit cooler down by the river at this time of day,’ Alain said.

A couple sitting outside their camper van with a glass of wine called out ‘Bon nuit’ as they walked past. The other two nearby vans had their lights on and curtains drawn, the muted tones of TV programmes could be heard. Bernie was sitting outside of his cabin, Ging curled up on his lap. Belinda stood and smiled at him as Alain had a brief conversation with him, before they moved on down towards the river.

Belinda gave a happy sigh. ‘I love this part of the site. The noise of the upstream river weir, the ducks, watching the herons. I can’t wait to show it all to Chloe and the twins when they arrive. I’m so pleased she’s coming for a holiday.’

Alain, staring out over the river, nodded. ‘My son used to love it here.’

Belinda turned to look at him. ‘He doesn’t come here any more?’

‘No. He’s thirty this year and lives in Canada now, so he’s got all the wide-open spaces he needs. I rarely see him these days.’

‘That must be hard,’ Belinda said quietly.

‘I am used to it. He lived with his mother after the divorce and seeing ’im has always been difficult. Especially when I lived in Africa. His mother refused to let ’im travel there.’

‘What were you doing in Africa?’

‘I oversaw several charitable projects building schools for the local children,’ Alain said briefly, keeping his gaze on the river.

‘Sounds like a rewarding thing to have done.’ So, not a mercenary then. Working for a charity was more in tune with the kind of man Alain was turning out to be, Belinda realised.

Alain nodded at her words.

‘Did you come home because of your parents? To help them?’