‘Alors, c’est super!’ Philippe had received a formal letter from the mayor’s office, not only approving the food festival but announcing that they would take care of the necessary licences and help with all the arrangements. ‘Putain!’ Philippe swore, laughing at the same time. ‘That wily old fox, the mayor, has somehow got me on the morning show for Radio Sud-Ouest to talk about it!’

Radio Sud-Ouest was the most listened to show in the region.

‘I thought you despised Radio Sud-Ouest?’ enquired Jean-Christophe, poker-faced. ‘Pap aimed at middle-of-the-road morons, you said.’

‘I don’t mind addressing a few middle-of-the-road morons if they come to our food festival!’ flashed back Philippe, laughing. ‘We’d better start signing up some contributors.’

‘What, like Fromages de Savarin, the baker on the corner, Foie Gras of Bratenac?’

‘Exactly,’ confirmed Philippe.

‘Done already.’ Jean-Christophe grinned. ‘Every time I’ve been into town since you mentioned the festival idea, I’ve had a word.’

‘Formidable! You really are my son!’ He began chopping an onion with such amazing skill and speed that it almost seemed a magic trick.

‘You should do that at the festival, you know. A demonstration of knife skills would go down really well.’

Philippe laughed.

‘Tell them that thing you told me,’ Jean-Christophe insisted. ‘The sharper the knife, the less you cry! Anyway. When’s the interview?’

‘Next week.’

‘Then isn’t it about time you went up to the château and asked if we can use that bit of their land?’ Although he was trying to keep a straight face, laughter lit up Jean-Christophe’s eyes.

‘Petit con,’ responded his father rudely. ‘Perhaps I will go this very afternoon.’

‘Meredith?’ Sophie always knocked before entering the amazing boudoir Meredith had created, adapting some of Margot’s fixtures with new things of her own. The ten-foot gilded mirrors remained, plus the elaborate chandeliers and wall lights, magnificent swagged curtains and canopied bed, on its own platform so that the occupant had a view of the river in the distance. In the bathroom she had added some art deco panels and Japanese prints of ladies in kimonos under cherry trees laden with blossom, which looked exactly right.

The only questionable touch was sitting bang in the middle of the pale green silk-covered four-poster, smiling at Sophie in a decidedly superior manner.

‘I thought dogs weren’t allowed on the furniture,’ Sophie said mildly.

‘Nelly’s not a dog,’ Meredith replied. ‘She’s a reincarnated wise woman. Look at those eyes!’

Nelly turned her face obligingly towards them. Her eyes were round, large and almost black in colour. ‘Can’t you see the wisdom of ages in that look of hers?’

‘I can see a very clever dog who’s wrapped you right round her not-so-little paw.’

Nelly’s eyes took on a distinctly wounded expression.

‘I must admit,’ Sophie conceded, ‘she does seem almost human.’

‘Superior to human,’ corrected Meredith.