‘If Anouk tells you something upsetting tonight, peut-être you drink more than is good. This way, I make sure you get home safely.’ Once Belinda was sitting in the passenger seat, Alain slammed the door closed and walked around to get into the driving seat.

‘I had a car like this once,’ Belinda said quietly. ‘The year we left France, Dad was teaching me to drive.’ She didn’t tell him that it had been another four years before she finally learnt to drive.

‘You like to drive?’

‘I do now, yes. Especially here in Brittany where the roads are quieter.’

The rest of the short journey to the auberge passed in silence.

Anouk and Scott were out in the garden when Fern let them in. Alain handed her the bottle of wine they’d stopped to buy in the village shop.

‘Thank you. You really didn’t have to. Come on through and meet Anouk and Scott.’

Introductions were made quickly and Scott poured everyone their wine of choice before disappearing to help Fern with something in the kitchen.

Anouk looked at Alain. ‘How are your parents? Fern tells me you’re running their old campsite now. I remember some good times there years ago, before they owned it of course. I’m talking about back in the sixties.’

Belinda glanced at her. The late sixties were when her father had brought her and her mum to France to live. Maybe Anouk would be able to tell her something about her parents after all. As Scott returned, Belinda excused herself and went to talk to Fern in the kitchen.

‘The smells coming from this kitchen are, as always, delicious,’ Belinda said. ‘How are you really about Scott leaving?’

Fern, concentrating on pouring a sauce into a jug, pulled a face. ‘I’m fine. It’s not as if we’re in the throes of a mad passionate relationship. We haven’t passed more than the friendship stage really.’ She turned to face Belinda. ‘I’ve always known he would have to return to his life in New York. I’ve always known too that long-distance relationships rarely survive.’ Fern hesitated. ‘Which is why I’ve struggled to keep things on a friendship basis, even though I really like him.’

‘My mum had a favourite song from her teenage years, she was always humming it or singing the words out loud. It used to irritate me like hell,’ Belinda said. ‘But now I understand her need to keep saying it. Que sera sera. What will be will be.’

Fern nodded. ‘I remember that song too. And you’re right… it is an irritating phrase.’