Cyril’s van pulled away.

In the dining room of La Mosaïque, William was on the phone to Zoe. Even from as far as the kitchen doorway, she could hear Zoe’s excited ‘yes’.

Theresa had barely settled in the kitchen when her mobile phone rang. She glanced down to see that it was Imogen on the line.

She knew she shouldn’t when she was already running late, but she decided to take the call. Squeezing the phone between her neck and cheek, she started to scrub some new potatoes.

‘Hello, darling. How lovely to hear from—’

But Imogen immediately cut her off.

‘She’s gone. I don’t know what to do. I can’t stay away from work. But someone has to be here in case she comes home.’

‘I’m sorry, darling, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Chloe. Chloe has gone missing.’

A chill ran though Theresa.

‘Since when?’

‘We don’t know. She wasn’t here this morning when I went to get them all up.’

‘Did the others see anything?’

‘No. They last saw her when they all went to bed. So she could have gone at any time between nine last night and now.’

Theresa looked at the wall clock. Eleven-thirty.

‘She’s not at school?’

‘No.’

‘Have you called the police?’

‘Of course I have, Mother. I’m not a fool.’

‘Might she be with friends?’

‘No.’ Imogen let out a sob. ‘I’ve phoned all her friends. They’re all at school.’

‘Her father?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s off travelling somewhere with that bloody au pair of his.’

In the ensuing silence, Theresa’s mind raced through possibilities.

Imogen sobbed again and said, ‘I’m at my wits’ end.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I know it’s hard for you . . .’ Imogen’s voice was feeble with crying. ‘But could you come home, Mum? Please?’

Theresa panicked. She knew she should be doing something, but what?

‘I’m at work now – at school,’ continued Imogen. ‘But really I should be at home. Or in both places at once, but I can’t.’

Theresa knew she must go back to London.

But how could she break it to the others at La Mosaïque? How could she leave them all now, when everything here was at such a crisis point?

But for Theresa there was no choice.

While preparing the lunch, she made a quick check on flights to London. There was one with an available seat, which flew out of Nice in three hours. With security, and check-in, that meant she would have to leave here within the hour.

She ordered a cab to come to the restaurant in forty minutes and take her straight to the airport.

Throwing herself round the kitchen, slamming dishes into the oven, preparing rows of desserts and putting them into the fridge, Theresa tried to think of ways she could prime the others before her departure. She would try to do as much as she could now, working on the basis of the covers for an average lunch service.