As she stepped into the dining room, Theresa staggered a little. She felt pleasantly exhausted. She was looking forward to sitting down, maybe taking a little bite.

Zoe was seated at a table for two. Theresa took the seat opposite her.

‘Oh, hello, darling. I was just telling these two how you and Sally are partners. Odile was sharing with us all the details of her new disco-bar in St-Trop. The Cockatoo.’

‘Non, non. Les Cacatoès.’

‘No need to show off, Odile, dear. We all understand French.’ Zoe leaned forward and, inclining her head in the direction of Odile and Phoebe Taylor, whispered to Theresa, ‘This conversation is classic. Wish I had a pen.’

‘As I always say,’ Phoebe blotted her lips with her linen napkin, ‘there is no gathering which cannot be uplifted by a cock or two.’

Theresa blinked in disbelief as, deadpan, Phoebe Taylor ladled another forkful of food into her mouth. ‘Tell you what I miss over here. You never see it in restaurants any more. But when I was in France at finishing school, it was everywhere. And that is coq au vin. No other way to travel.’ She pushed her plate away and spluttered with laughter.

Theresa giggled.

Benjamin oozed forward, bearing dessert menus. ‘Terminez, mesdames?’

Odile nodded and waved at the plates as though she desired them to vanish instantly.

Benjamin laid down the menus, swiped up the plates, took the orders and briskly minced away.

‘So, yes, Theresa,’ Odile leaned across the aisle between their tables, bracelets clinking, ‘as you all know, in the hospitality trade, things have been a little tricky for the last couple of years. Takings down everywhere after the . . . event. But it will get better. At least the Italians are back.’

‘Much good that is for us,’ said Zoe. ‘Italians only eat at Italian restaurants, preferably those owned by Italians. This place is Anglo-Provençal.’

‘True. But as I was saying, I’m opening Les Cacatoès next week. Then I’m putting my feelers out for somewhere new along the coast. A little nearer to Nice and the airport.’ She looked around at La Mosaïque’s dining room. ‘Somewhere smaller. Cosier. More intime.’

Under the table, Zoe kicked Theresa’s ankle.

‘Ouch!’ Theresa tried to cover her exclamation with a serene smile.

The wiry man in the corner put a hand in the air. When he failed to catch Benjamin’s eye, he said aloud, ‘L’addition, s’il vous plaît!’

Benjamin turned briefly to acknowledge him before vanishing into the kitchen.

‘I’m also fond of sausage.’ Phoebe blinked and looked up as though resuming a continuing conversation. ‘Aren’t you? Not bothered whether it’s German, English or Italian. I like it fat, long and spicy.’

Theresa started to laugh aloud, and could not stop herself.

Benjamin rushed from the kitchen bearing dessert plates. He plonked them down and made a goggle-eyed face at Theresa.