That determined her.

She crossed the road and took a seat on his terrace.

‘Un verre de Côtes de Provence, s’il vous plaît, Marcel,’ she said. ‘Un grand!’

‘That bad?’ he asked.

She nodded and sighed. They spoke in French. Theresa’s was faltering, but at least it was getting better all the time. She seemed to be able to understand much better than she could speak. And she knew her accent was pretty terrible.

‘Thank God for you, Marcel. How are things going here?’ she asked.

‘The usual,’ Marcel shrugged. ‘Some days busy but, like today, with idiots; other days very quiet with no one here but our regulars.’

‘Are you cutting back on the suppliers?’ she asked. ‘We’re not sure where to turn. Your advice would be very valuable to me. You’ve always been very generous with us, Marcel.’

‘It’s different for us, with a brasserie.’ Marcel sat down at her table. ‘We make a great deal of money on people who come here to sit and read a paper with a coffee or a glass of wine. If we had to rely only on our food, I think we’d also be in pretty bad trouble.’

‘We’re trying to consolidate,’ said Theresa. ‘And then sell up. Voilà!’

‘Désolé.’ As Marcel said this – so sorry – he really did look desolate.

‘Ah well, that’s life.’ Theresa smiled. ‘It was fun while it lasted. And when it’s all over I will be free to do as I please with my time, which is not such a bad thing.’

She couldn’t help but notice a slight twinkle appear in Marcel’s eye. His enterprise might be a bar-brasserie, but perhaps, when there was no competing restaurant along the way, his mealtime covers would increase.

‘You were very brave to open when you did. The timing was bad luck,’ he said. ‘Who could know . . .’ He left the subject dangling. No one liked to talk about what had happened in Nice a few years back. ‘What will you do next? You’re not leaving Bellevue-sur-Mer?’

‘How could I leave you?’ Theresa pointed to the surroundings – the sea, the town, the sky. ‘I was thinking about maybe setting up in a small van and doing stalls at festivals and marketplaces.’

Marcel pulled a typically Gallic face which indicated lack of faith in the idea.

Theresa knew that he was right. There was no point in doing anything when you were only doing it as a stopgap. Unless you were full of enthusiasm for a project, how could you expect it to succeed?

‘Well, Theresa, I wish you all the luck in the world.’ Marcel started to move away to deal with a customer in the corner.

‘You’re adorable to give me your time.’ She raised her glass to him as he went. ‘Thank you, Marcel.’

After the drink Theresa went home. She sat for half an hour staring out of the window, watching the sea, feeling depressed and rather scared. She was still four years away from getting her pension. Now that La Mosaïque was so deeply in debt, even once they sold up she would be no better off. She was going to have to find some way of staying afloat and supporting herself.