‘Is that why you haven’t tried it yourself then, Meredith?’ teased Sophie.

‘Clever brat!’ She ruffled Sophie’s hair. ‘And how do you know I’m not still considering it?’

Nelly was waiting impatiently at her feet, beginning to whine mournfully. ‘You have to learn,’ Meredith told her firmly, ‘humans first, dogs after. OK?’

‘You’re bonkers if you think she buys that,’ laughed Sophie. ‘Nelly knows perfectly well it’s the other way round, don’t you, Nell?’

‘Go on, cast off now!’ Philippe instructed patiently. The last two attempts had either got stuck in the branches overhead or been a long way short of the mark.

Jean-Christophe repeated the gesture for the third time. The hook and bait landed in the perfect spot. ‘Don’t forget, Papa, it was me who landed the big fish last time.’

‘Ah oui, c’est vrai,’ Philippe acknowledged generously, ‘with just a little bit of help from me.’ He sat down on his low-slung canvas seat and placed his hands behind his head to relax. It was a glorious morning. Not as early as last time, so no mists evaporating in the tree-tops along the riverbank; just a brilliantly clear blue sky decorated with a few fluffy white clouds that served to point up the intensity of the blue without threatening any change of weather. In the distance he could see a figure with a dog. He sat up, bracing himself for another incident where the fish was frightened away.

As the animal got closer he saw, to his surprise, that it was indeed Nelly. But this time she was firmly on a lead and walking in a dignified manner, as if the last thing on earth she would dream of was indulging in feverish barking, running along the bank, jumping up and down or frightening the fish into instant departure.

‘Bonjour, Meredith,’ he greeted her with a smile. ‘Bonjour, Nelly.’

Meredith began to giggle helplessly.

‘Why are you laughing?’ Philippe enquired, mystified. ‘Have I said something funny?’

‘It’s your pronunciation of my name. Nelly sounds just like Nelly. But Meredith is Mey-rey-dites!’

‘Eh bien oui!’ Philippe agreed, joining in her laughter. ‘Meredith is a difficult word for French people to say. But we have a Nélie in French. One my favourite museums in Paris was started by the painter Nélie Jacquemart!’

‘There you are, Nelly, you’ve upstaged me already.’

‘Ah,’ Philippe bowed politely. ‘But when it comes to beauty . . .’

‘I should bloody well hope so,’ Meredith replied in mock outrage. ‘Since you said Nelly was the ugliest dog you’d ever encountered!’

‘Excuse me, mes enfants,’ Jean-Christophe announced sternly, ‘but all this juvenile behaviour is frightening the fish!’

‘We will take ourselves away from the serious fisherman,’ Philippe announced. ‘I am sure we would both hate to disrupt his sport.’

He clasped Meredith’s elbow and led her away.

‘How’s your food festival progressing?’ she enquired.

‘Amazingly! We are running out of space!’