‘Come on, Suzi, see sense!’ he protested. ‘No bag could be worth that much! I’m not going to say think of the starving millions, but you must be able to see what a stupid symbol of the capitalist system it is! Brands are bad enough. But brands that charge people that kind of money are outrageous!’

Suzi looked at him, bewildered. He just didn’t get it. ‘But David,’ she explained patiently, ‘it’s a Birkin bag made by Hermès. Even Victoria Beckham has one!’

‘Stop humming, we all know you had a highly satisfactory encounter with Philippe,’ commented Jo drily. ‘Any minute now you’ll break into dance. Have you looked at those figures for the different florists yet?’

‘Do you mind,’ protested Meredith. ‘It was romantic! He brought me a cup of tea in bed!’

‘A chambermaid could have done that. I hope you got more than PG Tips?’

‘Stop fishing. It’s creepy.’

‘Nonsense,’ Jo grinned. ‘You can practise sixty-nine hanging from the chandeliers as far as I’m concerned, as long as you look at the floristry figures!’

‘Mum!’ Sophie made a face. ‘Too much information! Honestly, your generation . . .’

‘. . . had a lot of fun!’ Jo completed her sentence.

‘And ruined the planet. And bought all the cheap housing. And refuse to accept you’re getting old and should move over because it’s our turn,’ Sophie announced.

‘And your generation pretends to be liberal and all-accepting but is actually quite judgemental!’ retorted Jo, piqued.

‘Now, now, people. Peace in our time!’ Meredith started opening the post. ‘Oh, look, isn’t that sweet?’ She held up a card of a bridal couple with the message: Marriage is finding someone who loves you – even though they know you!

‘She wants to remind us that it’s only two months till the wedding. And that she’s really excited. God, is that right? That really is quite soon!’ marvelled Jo.

‘It’s only what I’ve been putting on the charts you both laugh at so much for weeks now,’ Sophie pointed out with a trace of exasperation.

‘I’m sorry, darling,’ Jo apologized. ‘Here, come and have a hug!’

‘Mum,’ Sophie reminded her. ‘We’re at work, remember?’ And then, remembering her mother’s jibe at her generation’s narrowness: ‘Come on then, just a quick one.’

‘And don’t forget tomorrow, girls, it’s the launch of the food festival,’ Meredith said. ‘And I’m cutting the ribbon, hilariously! There’ll be lots of opportunities for us to mingle and promote the château.’

‘And avoid bumping into Margot,’ Sophie reminded naughtily. ‘I bet she was the empress of opening things!’

‘Yes,’ Meredith grinned back. ‘But we all have to retire from ribbon-cutting at some point.’

‘OK, Nelly,’ Meredith enquired of her faithful friend the next morning. ‘What do you wear to open a food festival when you are the grand lady who owns the château? Country or chic?’