‘Who prefers the first?’ Two hands went up. ‘And the second?’ Everyone else raised theirs. ‘That was our St Savarin Classique 2016. You have good taste, as that was chosen by the prestigious Hachette Guide. Let’s move on to the whites.’

This time there were three wines to sample.

Ronnie continued draining each glass.

‘For God’s sake, Mum!’ Nicky firmly placed a plate of snacks next to her. ‘Eat something, or you’ll pass out.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous! I haven’t even started.’

This time there was a division between the drinkers. ‘As the vigneron, or winegrower,’ Liam announced, ‘my personal favourite is the St Savarin Sauvignon, but please take your time to choose. This is the wine your guests will consume the most, so do try as often as you like to make your decision. I would say the bride’s choice is final. And now, the pièce de résistance –’ Jo noted how French he sounded – ‘our newest wine and our first fizz. The Crémant de St Savarin: Cuvée Nicola!’

He produced an elegant bottle with a silver foil cap and its own special label proclaiming the Christian name of the bride.

‘How amazing!’ Nicky looked as if she’d woken up in heaven. ‘My very own wine. How cool is that?’

‘She really loved the label,’ Jo said quietly to Liam as he finished the presentation. ‘It’s a brilliant stroke.’

‘Thank you. Maybe we could blend one for you, Jo,’ he repeated softly. ‘Is that short for Joanna or Josephine?’

‘Joanna.’

‘I’ll have to see what I can do.’

The Bratenac Ladies’ Luncheon Club was, for once, having supper instead of their customary lunch at the Café de la Paix.

‘I don’t like the evenings,’ complained Shirley.

‘That’s because you want to be at home cooking a three-course dinner for hubby,’ Jackie observed tartly.

‘Why is it all men?’ Shirley looked round at the crowded tables.

‘After work drinks that end up in dinner. God, I miss those,’ Janine sighed. ‘It was the best thing about working.’ She glanced round the crowded cafe. ‘I expect the women are all at home cooking three-course dinners for their hubbies like you, Shirley.’

‘That’s a rather old-fashioned attitude,’ Jackie observed.

‘France is old-fashioned,’ replied Janine. ‘Round here anyway. We can’t all be bossy old boots like you!’ Her affectionate smile undercut the insult. ‘Speaking of old boots, where’s Suzi?’

‘You were the one keeping an eye on her,’ Jackie pointed out. ‘What’s she been up to?’ She glanced round the cafe, as though Suzi might pop out from behind a potted palm.

‘Nothing. Not even going out. I wondered if she was pining.’

‘Suzi? Pining? She doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Are you sure there isn’t anyone in there with her? David Adams, for example?’