‘I’m really pleased for you, and for Bratenac. It’s a delightful place and deserves much more publicity. Though I suppose this means you may be too busy to spare an evening for dinner, with your commitments to the restaurant as well.’ She looked away modestly, bringing another smile to Philippe’s lips.

‘I would always find time to have dinner with so lovely a woman.’

‘Right.’ She looked him straight in the eye. ‘You can cut all the crap about how gorgeous I am, and just message me some dates!’

This time it was his turn to laugh helplessly. ‘I love British women. So direct. In France, flattery is considered an art form.’

‘I prefer my art in galleries.’

‘I’ll try and remember that.’

‘Good. Come on, Nelly, time to go home.’

Philippe watched her turn and walk to the nearest bend in the river before he returned to his smirking son. ‘Don’t say a thing,’ Philippe counselled. ‘You don’t want to frighten the fish.’

Just round the corner, safely out of sight, Meredith dipped down to her knees to fondle Nelly. ‘Not bad, eh? We achieved what we wanted, didn’t we?’

Nelly fixed a mournful dark brown eye on Meredith. Her eyebrow, such as it was, seemed to be raised questioningly. The message was clear: ‘I wouldn’t count my poulets if I were you.’

Philippe looked round the studio at Radio Sud-Ouest. It was surprisingly small and crowded for a programme with such big audiences.

Françoise Gilbert, extremely glamorous and exceptionally thin, sat behind a microphone with a comical foam cover that made it look as if it were auditioning for Red Nose Day. There were three other microphones set up, each with identical red foam covers. A huge bottle of water stood beside each. Françoise and her guests also wore huge black headphones. She read out her introductions from a large laptop on the table in front of her. In another, separate glass box, the producer controlled the running order of items from another laptop.

Philippe had done a little radio and television in Paris, so he didn’t feel at all nervous, just rather fascinated at this intense, nervy, concentrated world.

‘My next guest,’ Françoise said with her wide, warm, welcoming smile, ‘is now a local, living in Bratenac, right in the heart of the Savarin region. But not so long ago he was a Parisian running a highly successful restaurant with not one, not two, but three Michelin stars. We are honoured, mes amis, to welcome Philippe Latignac to our humble programme!’