He was the one at fault. He had felt a failure at home and sought the solace of the offered embraces without putting up a fight. He had wanted to feel wanted. But it had been as much an illusion for him as it was for her.

Now he just had to break the news that he was moving out.

Philippe sat surrounded by lists in the small kitchen, making sure the produce orders were done for the restaurant while at the same time keeping an eye on the progress of the food festival, now due to open in two weeks’ time. Thank God for the help from the mayor’s office. They had been absolutely brilliant as backup, taking on all the dull and official aspects of the event, sorting out all the licences, indemnities and parking challenges that French bureaucracy loved to impose. He was already thinking about how he might thank them at the end – a meal here, perhaps, for the whole department?

But mostly, his nimble brain was preoccupied with deciding where to invite Meredith for their next dinner. He had come across a romantic-looking restaurant with rooms in the adjoining valley, which seemed more appropriate than a hotel with all the assumptions that would entail. They might both like to spend the night together but Meredith, he suspected, would find it insulting if it were assumed to be a foregone conclusion. Whereas he wouldn’t mind at all, he grinned to himself; in fact, the sooner the better!

He would message her now, before he lost his nerve. But should he mention about the rooms so that she could come prepared to stay? Meredith might seem casually groomed, but his experience of women told him that they liked to bring their stuff.

Success belonged to the brave. He would simply be open about the possibility of staying. He laughed as he poured himself a coffee. It wasn’t what Humphrey Bogart would have done. But Bogey didn’t live in the tricky twenty-first century!

Twenty-One

‘I’ll pick up Ronnie,’ Jo offered bravely.

‘Are you sure?’ Meredith looked up, feeling pleased with herself that the approval had finally come through for licences for all their ninety-three fire extinguishers. ‘Isn’t it amazing, Dad?’ she’d asked her father silently. ‘We own a château that needs ninety-three fire extinguishers!’ She knew it was crazy, but in her mind he owned it too, and the thought gave her immense delight. ‘We could easily order her a taxi.’

‘Mum’s trying to get away,’ Sophie grinned, ‘in case Suzi comes in and tells her the hire company she’s using for Nicky’s wedding is crap and chairs with little skirts on are so last decade.’

‘Thanks for that, Soph,’ her mother replied. ‘I was actually trying to be helpful. And anyway, Suzi would be more likely to criticize me for not having little skirts on the chairs!’