A silence fell between them. Should she broach their professional relationship head-on? She had a feeling that wasn’t the best method. Instead she completely changed the subject. ‘There was one thing I was going to ask you, though. Do you happen to know if there’s any kind of beach or swimming spot in this reach of river?’

Liam laughed. ‘Tell you what, if you can wait five minutes while I get my stuff, I won’t tell you, I’ll show you!’

A few moments later, Liam was leading her down a narrow path between the vines and a high stone wall that marked the end of the property. The river dazzled and sparkled ahead in the bright sunshine, looking cool and inviting.

‘I can’t swim right now, I’m afraid,’ Jo apologized.

Liam instantly understood. ‘No cozzie? Wear your shreddies. I won’t look!’

‘Shreddies?’ laughed Jo. ‘We have them for breakfast back home.’

Liam fell about with laughter. ‘That’s Kiwi for underpants!’

‘Look at the river, then,’ Jo instructed. ‘It’s beautiful today.’

‘I prefer the view a bit nearer,’ Liam laughed.

Jo found a convenient shrub and ducked behind it to strip down to bra and pants. Thank heavens they were matching. Taking a deep breath so that her stomach flattened, she emerged and headed for the water, but Liam caught her arm. ‘Hey! With that pale skin you’ll burn in five minutes. We Kiwis learn to take the sun seriously.’

Before she had time to reply, his hands were on her shoulders, rubbing in sun cream in firm but gentle strokes. Relieved that she was facing away from him, Jo closed her eyes. The physical shock of his touch rooted her to the spot with the realization that she hadn’t felt a man’s hands on her body for longer than she could remember.

‘Félicitations, Philippe!’ congratulated a message waiting from the mayor of Bratenac. Apparently appearing on Françoise Gilbert’s programme had led to a slew of applications for stalls at the food festival, and it was rapidly turning into the big attraction of the summer.

The mayor had attached all the new messages.

‘At this rate,’ Philippe announced to his son, ‘we will definitely need to rent that extra bit of land that adjoins the car park.’

He glanced through the messages, stopping at one from an organization called Street Taste applying for a stall. There was something about the name that was faintly familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Maybe it would come to him.

‘You were really good,’ Jean-Christophe congratulated. ‘I thought that woman was going to ask you to marry her, she seemed so keen! Grand-père listened to it with Marcelline and he said marriage wasn’t what the host lady had in mind.’