Back at the château, Meredith, Jo and Sophie all pretended to be busy at different tasks while tuning in to the radio. So did Margot in her Lego house. In the Café de la Paix Guillaume had placed his radio on the bar and the entire Ladies’ Luncheon Club, except for Suzi, sat in a row attentively. At Fleur-de-Lis, Jean-Christophe and Marcelline stopped chopping vegetables for dinner and listened too.

The first thing anyone heard of Philippe was his very engaging laugh. ‘Come now, Françoise,’ he responded merrily. ‘You are the famous one, not me!’

‘Well, now,’ she contradicted, her voice full of answering laughter, ‘to run your own restaurant in Paris and get three stars makes you pretty special in my book. Why did you give it up? Don’t you miss Paris?’

‘Those are very different questions. I am the third generation of chefs in my family, but the biggest influence on me was my father, who taught me everything I know. Now my father needs someone to look after him, so I came home and opened a small restaurant on the banks of the Savarin – tout simplement.’

‘Lucky father, to have you!’ Françoise commented.

‘She is flirting with him!’ declared Margot to no one in particular.

‘He comes over well, doesn’t he?’ Sophie commented, not looking at Meredith. ‘He’s a natural.’

‘And as for missing Paris,’ Philippe continued, ‘how could I live in the most beautiful region of France and go to work on the banks of the Savarin River, and not be grateful for every single day of my life? Besides,’ he added confidentially, as though they were simply chatting, ‘I love to fish. Two weeks ago my son Jean-Christophe, who is also a wonderful chef, caught the biggest fish in the river for years!’

‘Congratulations to your son. I have to tell you, ladies, since this is radio, that Philippe is a very attractive man. Does your son look like you, Philippe?’

‘A much handsomer version.’

‘What do you think, ladies – don’t you agree with me that when Philippe and his even handsomer son go fishing, the poor fishes stand no chance? They will come to you and surrender!’

‘This is outrageous!’ Margot declared, listening even more attentively.

‘But enough about me,’ Philippe deftly turned the subject. ‘It’s the Bratenac Food Festival I am sure people will be far more interested in. Three weeks from now. Come and try all our wonderful foods and wines. We will give you all a proper Savarin welcome!’

‘If you ever need a job,’ Françoise Gilbert confided once the interview was over and some music was being played, ‘forget all this cooking nonsense. You’d be a brilliant broadcaster. If we didn’t have an hour more of this programme to run, I’d invite you to lunch.’

Philippe smiled, relieved nevertheless to escape the overwhelming personality of the south-west’s leading radio star and get back to Bratenac.