Theresa pulled a face in Zoe’s direction.

‘Why are you rolling your eyes like that, Theresa?’ asked Zoe, all innocence. ‘You’re not a slot machine.’

‘Will Neil be pageboy?’ asked Theresa, anxious to change the subject.

Neil squirmed. ‘That would be just too weird,’ he said.

Lola edged up to Sally. ‘There was a picture of your daughter on the walls there too.’

Theresa was aghast. Not the whole Marcel saga over again, but this time with Sally’s daughter.

‘Frances told me it was a picture of Marianne,’ Lola confided. ‘But it didn’t look a bit like her. And she is the cymbal of France. But I play cymbal in percussion band and frankly the painter made a mistake because there was no cymbal.’

‘Come along!’ William was already at the door, ushering everyone out.

The gaggle continued to talk among themselves as they climbed the hill to the notary’s office.

Sally, lagging behind with Theresa, noticed Eggy and Phoo coming down the stairs of their flat, carrying their suitcases.

Marianne, who had been keeping her eyes on the English newspapers, had shown Sally the photos of Phoo in this morning’s edition. She wondered if the Markhams had seen them? Maybe by the time they got home to London the storm would have blown over, and, to use the old term, become today’s fish and chip wrapper.

‘That’s us off home to Blighty,’ called Eggy.

Phoo stepped forward to speak to Sally. ‘Edgar tells me you saved his life last night. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I really don’t know how I could go on without him. He’s my best friend, you know.’ Phoo dropped her suitcase into the boot of the BMW and took Sally by the hand. ‘And I realise I’ve been cruel and insensitive towards you. You were a sweet kid, really. Still are.’

She climbed into the passenger seat, then wound down the window and called back to Sally: ‘Enjoy the rest of your holiday!’

As Eggy pulled open the driver’s door, he turned and gave Sally a wink. ‘We’re going to take the drive very slowly. Stay in some little French hotels en route. In a week or so I’ll be in front of the telly with a nice cup of tea.’

Eggy had been so desperate to get home that Sally knew that he must have seen the news about his wife and was not going to let her get back to London until the storm in a teacup had calmed down.

With a feeling of melancholy Sally watched the car speed off up the hill, tooting as it passed the straggling gang from La Mosaïque, both past and future.

‘We mustn’t fall out again, darling,’ said Sally to Theresa. ‘We’ve been through so much recently, both together and apart. And there are some things which only we two understand.’