Fern froze. She hadn’t been expecting that. She should have remembered how hospitable some Americans were. She shook her head. She had to get away. Scott was a nice man and she didn’t want to upset him by bursting into tears because he’d unwittingly mentioned her husband.

‘Not possible, I’m afraid. Laurent, my husband, died in an accident eighteen months ago.’ She stared out over the dashboard of the car rather than look at him as she spoke. She switched the car engine on and prepared to drive away.

‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,’ Scott said, instantly contrite. ‘You take care – have a nice day.’ To Fern’s relief, he closed the car door and moved back.

Driving out of the car park, Fern glanced in her rear-view mirror to see him standing there watching her leave. At least she’d managed to keep the tears that were now coursing down her cheeks at bay in front of him. Tears were never very far away when she had to share her story with strangers, even after all these months.

She stayed in the car for several moments once she reached the supermarché, taking deep breaths and generally calming down. She managed to repair her make-up, add another slick of lipstick, comb her hair and give herself a quick squirt of perfume.

And berate herself for being so frightened at the thought of having dinner with a man on her own.

That evening, as she and Belinda enjoyed the poached salmon, new potatoes and early tender asparagus she’d cooked, Fern looked at Belinda as she handed her the hollandaise sauce. Could she tell Belinda about her reaction to Scott’s invitation? Having a girlfriend she could talk to in her own language and know she would understand was something that Fern had missed in the last few years. Both she and Laurent had made new French friends here in Brittany but she’d slowly lost contact with her old friends in the UK. After Laurent died she’d started to avoid their mutual friends, wanting to spare them the embarrassment of facing a grieving widow. She and Belinda might have only met recently, but she sensed that they were going to be good friends.

‘I met an American today, Scott Kergoëts, while I was walking Lady.’

‘And?’ Belinda looked at her. ‘Was he a nice American?’

‘I got the feeling that he was a real gentleman. Obviously well educated. Easy to talk to.’ Fern picked up her wine glass and took a sip before saying quietly, ‘He asked if “my husband and I” would have dinner with him one evening.’ She glanced at Belinda. ‘I told him Laurent was dead and then basically ran away, fast. I feel so stupid. I’m fifty-four years old, my kids behave more grown-up than I do.’ Fern gave a heavy sigh.