Jackie, only a few feet away behind the stall, was watching Meredith’s face. Behind the confident exterior, fear flickered momentarily in her eyes. She was clearly wondering why his wife had made a sudden reappearance, and what it would mean for her new relationship with Philippe.

Expecting to feel smug satisfaction, Jackie instead found herself experiencing a pang of sympathy. This Lucille might be doing it for a good cause but there was something stagey and fake about the way she had arrived, unannounced, and waited for such a dramatic moment to reveal herself.

Bitch, thought Jackie. No, in fact, something far more lethal: a genuine femme fatale, combining extraordinary luminous beauty with complete self-absorption. Not like poor Suzi undoing her top button – this woman was a genuine threat. Why hadn’t she even noticed her own son? She must have known Philippe was organizing today and planned the whole thing. She’d probably heard him on that radio show and decided to stage a comeback. And of course, rumour had it he’d made a pile when he’d sold up in Paris, and that would have certainly added to his attraction.

Meredith made herself approach one of the smiling stallholders and request a taste of their wares, glancing at Philippe’s face as she passed. To her immense relief, bewilderment tinged with slight discomfort seemed the emotions most in evidence, rather than barely suppressed delight.

‘Where have you been living? What are you up to?’ he finally blurted, rather incoherently. ‘Obviously you run a charity, as you’ve just told me.’

‘I live in Bordeaux. I teach mature students French literature, specializing in Baudelaire. Street Taste is just what I do as a sideline.’

‘That’s amazing! Congratulations.’

‘Yes, I thought you’d be surprised.’ Again, that challenging smile.

Meredith pretended not to listen, but she was taking in every nuance. Philippe’s wife might have left many years ago, but it was clear that she still wanted his approval.

‘Have you seen Jean-Christophe?’ asked Philippe. ‘He’s running a mobile outlet of our restaurant.’

‘So he became a chef. Like his father.’

‘Except that he’s nothing like his father, thank God.’ He could have sounded as fake as she did, but there was genuine humility in his tone.

‘I hear you gave up the life in Paris?’

‘Yes. I realized what it had cost.’

‘A pity you didn’t learn that a little earlier.’ Whatever bitterness she still felt was cleverly disguised behind a slightly arch friendliness.

Meredith decided on a little subtle intervention of her own.

‘It’s a really impressive idea,’ she broke into the conversation. ‘To celebrate different cuisines by helping new arrivals use their skills like this. Congratulations.’

Lucille turned a frosty stare on her. ‘And you are?’

‘Lucille –’ Philippe seemed boyishly shy in her presence – ‘this is Meredith Harding. Meredith has just bought the Château de St Savarin.’

Lucille’s glance turned from chill to permafrost.