‘Anyway, I’m not disturbing you just to argue over human versus dog evolution. Philippe from the restaurant is downstairs wanting to talk to you.’

At the mention of Philippe, Nelly jumped off the bed and bounded towards the door.

‘I rest my case,’ Meredith laughed and followed her downstairs.

Philippe waited by the fountain in the courtyard in a shady spot looking out towards the horizon, where the sun was beginning to set, bathing the whole landscape in the soft light of evening.

Nelly rushed straight over and threw herself at his feet. Meredith followed, holding a tray with two glasses of the palest pink rosé. ‘Before you admonish me for not drinking local, try my discovery,’ she said by way of greeting. ‘As pale as the palest Provençal and yet produced just beyond the Savarin River. Try.’

She waited, expecting the inevitable put-down. She watched him run the wine round in his mouth. As usual his jaw was covered in days’ worth of stubble, giving him the look of a slightly untidy gangster.

‘Delicious,’ he pronounced to her amazement. ‘Expensive?’

‘Eight euro,’ she grinned.

‘Keep it yourself and buy as much as you can.’ He was being so nice; clearly he wanted something. ‘I apologize –’ he even managed a faint look of embarrassment – ‘I did not come dressed for an apéro.’ He indicated his work clothing.

‘No, I see you didn’t,’ Meredith agreed. His sartorial shortcomings didn’t seem to worry Nelly, who still lay adoringly at his feet.

‘It’s amazing how that dog has taken to you.’

‘I’d like to say it was mutual, but I do prefer elegant greyhounds to bulldogs, even charming ones.’

‘Shhh! She’ll hear you! Besides,’ Meredith raised an appraising eyebrow at his ensemble, ‘I’d have thought you were the type to see through the vanity of appearance.’

‘And why is that?’ he asked with a challenging glint in his eye.

She cast an appreciative eye at his two-day stubble. ‘You concentrate so very little on your own that you set the rest of us an example.’

‘Ouch. So, Mademoiselle Meredith Harding, the ice-cold money manager, can get out her claws! If this were a romantic novel, I would stride over and take you in my arms at such provocation.’

‘Nah,’ commented Meredith scathingly, wrinkling her nose, ‘you’re not the romantic type. Which is just as well, because I’d have to slap you.’

‘As it happens, I didn’t come to trade verbal insults – or even physical ones – enjoyable though that may be.’ He looked straight into her eyes, and once again she knew he was laughing at her, though perhaps this time it was with her.

‘What did you come for, then?’

‘To put a business proposition to you. I am organizing a Bratenac Food Festival to showcase local producers, from winegrowers to cheesemakers, plus a few local establishments like the cafe, who wish to broaden their appeal.’