Sally bumped into Marcel coming out of the little boulangerie up the hill.

‘Thanks for last night,’ she said without a smile.

‘Why do you not look pleased?’ Marcel seemed puzzled. ‘I thought it would help you. All those extra covers.’

‘All those rude people who wanted only junk food, you mean?’

All innocence, Marcel replied, ‘But as they were English, I thought you would know better how to handle them.’

Sally realised that this subject was trickier than she was prepared for. She scrutinised his face. Either Marcel was a first-class liar, or he really did think that those people would be happy eating the type of food they served in La Mosaïque.

‘They were time-wasters, Marcel. They really just wanted somewhere to sit while they waited for their boat to take them away. I believe the cruise-ship’s tender had broken down. If I’d known what they’d be like, I’d have rowed them out there myself, one by one.’

Marcel laughed.

‘I’m sorry, Sally.’

‘The result is that tonight William is in the kitchen.’

Marcel pulled a shocked face so extreme that he looked almost like a clown.

‘Ooh lor lor! And when will Theresa return?’

Sally shrugged a ‘don’t know’.

‘I see.’

‘But for the future, Marcel, when you are recommending us to your cast-offs, I should tell you that we’re looking a little more in the area of the BCBG clientele. Those last night were, let’s see, I don’t think we have a phrase in French for it. In England we’d say . . .’ And Sally reverted to English to say: ‘“End of the pier”. Which, Marcel, literally translates as: Fin de la jetée.’

‘So that you could throw them off!’ replied Marcel, leaving Sally realising that some things really did have no translation.

Once loaded with baguettes she staggered down the hill to the restaurant and dropped them by the kitchen door. William and Benjamin were standing silently at separate counters, chopping and peeling.

It appeared that serenity ruled.

Rather than disturb the peace, Sally turned and swiftly moved through into the dining room. She spent the next hour putting on the tablecloths and laying up. She glanced quickly in the bookings ledger and saw that there were two tables reserved for dinner tonight. Both with French surnames.

As she put the ledger back under the counter, she remembered that Theresa wanted her to post her photo album through the front door.

She went through into the kitchen.

Benjamin turned and smiled serenely. As she passed him, William also looked up from the blender and grinned. This was spooky. It felt like something out of The Stepford Wives. She sidled past them and stooped to find the photo album. She pulled out the menu book. Then the order book. After that the accounts book. She scraped her hand to the back of the shelf. Nothing else there.