‘Well, if you have a little think, conflab with Neil, then name the day and pop over to Bellevue-sur-Mer and I’ll cook you some of your favourite things.’

‘Can we have tiffin, Grandma? I’ve told Neil about it.’

Theresa heard a low voice in the background. Could this be Neil or was it the father?

‘I have to go now, Grandma. Love you!’

And she was gone.

Theresa thought about redialling but decided against it. She put the phone back into her pocket.

The dilemma now was how much to tell Imogen? If she didn’t tell her daughter that Chloe had phoned and then Imogen found out, all hell would break loose. But Theresa did feel that she had Chloe tentatively hooked. They were joined each end of a thread, even if that thread was made of the most fragile silk. One false move and Chloe could truly disappear. But if she kept hold she might be able to reel her in.

Theresa moved through to the kitchen, to check the answering machine, as that is what she had come to do.

Almost immediately the landline phone rang. It was going to be William summoning her back to the restaurant.

‘Hello?’

Silence.

‘Hello?’

She could hear someone breathing, but nothing more.

‘Anyone there? No? All right then. Goodbye.’

She replaced the receiver and looked at the handset screen for the call log.

Number Withheld.

As she scrolled back she noticed that over the last few days there had been quite a few Number Withheld calls.

No doubt it was some awful marketing robot. She poured a quick glass of water and knocked it back. She needed to get to the restaurant to complete lunch, but still felt so divided by the feeling she should be doing something more active to find Chloe.

‘I’ve got a lovely bedroom, so it’s all fine,’ Chloe had said. So did that mean that Neil’s father had a property out here on the Côte d’Azur? Chloe’s sentence didn’t sound as though they were staying in multiple hotels as Theresa had been imagining. When people stayed in hotels they rarely called them bedrooms – just rooms.

Perhaps Roger Muffett had bought some chateau in the country, or a large city flat, and they drove out each day for lunch in various places.

Though, to be serious, that didn’t sound right, either.

It might be that Mr Muffett was house-hunting. That would certainly explain them bobbing around from town to town. Maybe he had rented a place to stay, probably in or near Nice, then they ranged out every day to various towns and villages along the coast on his property search.

She moved towards the front door but the landline phone rang once more.

Theresa answered but this time said nothing.

After a moment or so’s silence at the other end, a female voice said, ‘Mum? Are you there?’

Imogen!