‘Lucky we did that so efficiently. We’ve got a good long time to go home and get into our glad rags. It’s all jackets and ties, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ll scrub up nicely. You always did.’

Inside the trailer Sally dialled Jean-Philippe again. No reply. This was horrible. She flicked through her address book. The only people she could come up with were Cyril or Marcel, but as they had little English, that wouldn’t work at all.

If only the drinks were scheduled for tomorrow – the weekly day off at La Mosaïque – then she could have asked Theresa. Theresa was always reliable and oozed good manners. And she had been with her on that tragic night, so at least she would have someone with her who knew exactly …

During the drive back to Bellevue-sur-Mer, Eggy and Sally made arrangements about how they would get there, and eventually agreed they would go in Sally’s car. At least that left her in control. And at the end of the evening she would be the one who would decide when they left.

It also meant she would have an excuse to have only one drink, which suited her fine.

Back home she alternated taking pieces of clothing from her wardrobe and phoning Jean-Philippe with no luck.

She squeezed herself into her black cocktail dress.

The front door opened. Marianne was home.

Again Sally toyed briefly with the idea of asking her, then imagined the conversation. She really could not have her daughter hearing all the spiteful things Phoo might come up with.

‘Mum?’ Marianne called up.

Clutching her mobile phone, Sally came down.

‘Look!’ Marianne displayed the screen of her phone. ‘I’ve made the papers. Five lines on page thirteen but it does mean I was right to run here and lie low.’

Sally squinted at the article. ‘You made a record loss. Isn’t that the whole game of money? Like they say so quickly at the end of adverts, “Your investment may go down as well as up.”’

‘This time it just went down rather faster than usual.’ She pointed at Sally’s dress. ‘Where are you going, all dolled up?’

‘It’s an actor thing. You know. Just the kind of thing you hate.’

‘Somewhere posh, by the look of that dress.’

‘Negresco.’

‘No! I don’t believe it. That’s where I’m going.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve met this rather dishy English bloke at the café. He’s looking for financial advice.’

‘In the light of what has just happened, Marianne, are you sure that you’re the right person to be giving it?’

‘Oh, Mum. To quote yourself, “Investment may go down as well as up.” I’m only helping him consolidate his assets after a very nasty divorce. And, anyway, look, I only cocked up once.’