Jo shrugged. ‘OK, Margot it is. I’ll hop over and see her this afternoon. God, it’s beginning to get hot!’ She blotted her brow with a tissue. ‘Pity the château doesn’t run to a pool. Maybe if things go well we should put one in.’

‘Let’s walk before we can run!’ Meredith grinned. ‘I agree a luxury venue needs a pool, but Steph told me (a) it was the pool that almost bankrupted them and (b) as the host you can never use the pool yourself – which must be mega-irritating. It looks unprofessional, apparently.’

‘That must be torture when it gets really hot,’ Jo replied.

‘Which it does,’ Sophie supplied. ‘I’ve just been Googling, and in August it can get to forty degrees. Last year they had a canicule, a heatwave, and it got to fifty!’

‘I think I’ll also ask Margot where you can swim in the river,’ Jo laughed.

‘Swim?’ Margot demanded. ‘In the river?’

She sounded as horrified as if Jo had suggested she ride naked through Bratenac like a French Lady Godiva without the long hair.

‘Ma chère Joanna, the river is no doubt full of algae, and pesticides from the greedy farmers, not to mention overflow from the toilettes of the whole region. You would be mad to swim in it. Voila, c’est tout.’

Fortunately, she was more helpful with the question about lawyers, providing a list of three so that Jo didn’t have to head back completely empty-handed. As it happened, there was no chance of that anyway.

‘You must request some grapes from your own hothouse!’ Margot insisted, smiling wickedly. By the time Jo had worked out what she was up to, she was dialling her phone.

‘The vigneron will have them ready in five minutes. You have met the vigneron, I believe?’ she asked in a voice laced with irony. ‘His name is Liam.’ She paused and produced an even more outrageous smile before shooing Jo off towards the vineyards.

The expression on Liam’s face as he walked towards her with the grapes was one of barely concealed irritation. He had clearly been in the middle of something important when Margot called.

‘I’m sorry,’ she greeted him as he came towards her, bearing a large bunch of grapes. ‘I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than go grape-picking for me.’

His irritation seemed to melt away at the sight of her. ‘It isn’t you. It’s the duchess ordering me about. I don’t work for her any longer – I work for you!’

There was something in his tone Jo found highly revealing. So that was part of the problem! It hadn’t been anything to do with the Happy Rabbit, or not being attracted to her. He found the idea of getting involved with someone who was technically his boss difficult. And so he should, Jo realized.