‘I can’t bear all that Stalinism in the kitchen,’ Philippe persisted. ‘Some of the famous chefs in Paris actually demand silence. They run their kitchens like military operations. I believe cooking should be enjoyable.’

As he spoke, a strand of hair started to fall over one eye and he lifted his arm to tuck it behind his ear, revealing as he did a neat criss-cross of fresh burns.

‘From the oven,’ he laughed. ‘You never seem to learn!’

At the sight of the red weals in the tender flesh, Meredith dipped down and without even realizing she was doing it, touched them with her lips.

As she sat up he reached for her arm and copied the exact gesture. She tried not to register the electrical volt that ran right through her and simply return the pressure of his hand.

‘A very memorable evening,’ Philippe said softly as they finished their coffee. ‘A pity it has to end here.’

‘Does it?’ replied Meredith evenly, remembering in the same moment that she no longer lived on her own but in a château with two others. She could invite Philippe back, of course, but her instinct for privacy prevented her.

Philippe read her thoughts. ‘Sadly I share a home with my father, and you and I are a little old for shenanigans in the car.’

‘It would probably put my back out,’ conceded Meredith.

‘Next time we will have to think ahead,’ he grinned.

‘I’ll live for the moment,’ she replied, regretting that the words sounded arch and flirtatious when she’d never been more serious in her life.

Next morning, Meredith sat staring at her laptop. She was supposed to be producing an analysis of all the costs of hiring the other châteaux in the area, but all she could think of was last night. How could she, Meredith, the least touchy-feely person she knew, have suddenly kissed his scars? And then – just like some suburban sixteen-year-old – suggested they spend the night together?

And she wasn’t sorry!

‘Are you OK, Meredith?’ Jo’s voice penetrated her reverie. ‘Have you got a moment for a coffee? I’ll go and make some if so.’

‘Do I look like I need a coffee?’ Meredith grinned. ‘Actually, I’d love one. Come on; I’ll come to the kitchen with you and we can chat on the way.’

It was actually quite a squash with them both squeezed into the small room that passed for a kitchen in the apartment. Given the grandeur of the rest of their accommodation, it had surprised Meredith at first. Then she realized that any entertaining Margot did would have been provided by caterers. Like Meredith, Margot was not a cook.

‘Ooh, those biscuits look nice,’ she commented, helping herself to one as soon as Jo laid them out.

Jo glanced at her in surprise. Meredith never ate biscuits.

‘What did you want to talk about?’