It didn’t take long and by ten o’clock she was in the kitchen, making her morning coffee and writing a list for her planned visit to the supermarché, fifteen kilometres away. Since Laurent’s death she’d taken to shopping at the LeClerc at Gourin as she rarely saw anyone she knew there and in those early, strangely, detached-from-reality months, she couldn’t face the kind platitudes people expressed. It was easier to shop amongst strangers. Now it was a habit. A habit that included walking Lady in the nearby park of Tronjoly before heading for the supermarché.

Half an hour later, Fern pulled into the car park attached to the Chateau Tronjoly. Getting out of the car, she walked to the back to lift the hatchback door for Lady to jump out. Before she could clip the lead on, Lady ran towards the only car parked nearby. A tall, distinguished-looking man who reminded Fern of someone she couldn’t quite put a name to was standing next to a 4 x 4, looking around him.

‘Viens ici, Lady,’ Fern called out quickly.

The man glanced across at Fern before bending down to pet Lady. ‘Pas de problème.’

‘Désolé,’ Fern said, quickly clipping the lead on Lady.

‘N’est-ce pas un bel endroit?’

Fern nodded. His accent was different and she guessed French wasn’t his native language.

‘Yes, it is very beautiful,’ she answered in English. ‘Are you American? Your accent is…’

The man laughed. ‘That bad? That’s not good. Yep, I’m American. Scott Kergoëts.’ He held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am.’

‘Fern LeRoy.’ She shook his hand, surprised by how firm his shake was.

‘Now that’s a French surname,’ Scott said, looking at her. ‘But you’re not French, are you?’

She smiled. ‘No, I’m English. I married a Frenchman.’

‘And who’s this?’ Scott asked, crouching down to stroke Lady again, who immediately sat and looked at him.

‘Lady. Whom I’m about to walk around the park.’

Fern sensed his hesitation before he asked. ‘Maybe I could walk with you? I sure could do with some company.’

‘Why not. I usually go this way,’ and Fern set off down the path that led past the chateau and around the lake. This was a public place and there were other people around and although this man was a random stranger, she didn’t think for one moment that he was a threat to her. She’d learnt to sum people up at a glance and to be a good judge of character running the auberge and had been known to turn people away that she instinctively didn’t trust. ‘How long are you here for?’ she asked.

Scott shrugged. ‘For as long as I want really. My ticket is open-ended. I retired a few months ago and there’s nothing urgent back home waiting for my attention.’

‘Where is home?’