‘It will be. And the weather’s gorgeous. This is always a lovely time of year here, before it gets summer-hot.’

‘I’ll let you know the details as soon as I’ve booked. Byeee!’

Steph was still smiling delightedly when David came back into the room, so she didn’t notice his slightly guilty demeanour. But Meredith did, and wondered what he’d been up to. Maybe she’d better speak to that nice young chef soon about an idea she’d had.

‘Jo’s coming!’ Steph blurted delightedly.

‘Well, that should cheer you up,’ smiled David. ‘The Meads Girls are back in town.’

‘And she even wants to help a bit.’

‘Well, there you are. You boarding-school girls are brought up to help other people, I know. Except husbands,’ he added with a grin.

‘Come here, you.’ And Steph gave him a kiss to silence any more complaints he could think up.

Jo could hardly control her excitement the next day as she booked her flight and started packing. What would she need? Some old jeans in case she really did do some cleaning. Her trusty white capri pants and some pretty blouses, plus two or three smart dresses. Sandals! She looked out of the window at the driving rain. How wonderful to need sandals! Finally her make-up, sponge bag and a hopeful swimsuit. Would she need suntan lotion? She delved into the bathroom cupboard in case, pushing aside a can of mosquito spray.

Jo picked it up and laughed. Last time she’d spent any length of time in France she’d been a student, grape-picking near Carcassonne during her long summer holiday. It had been the fashionable student thing to do then, even considered rather daring in Basingstoke, her home town. She sat down on the bed for a moment. Where had all the time gone between then and now? She’d been so hopeful and optimistic, full of excitement at having life ahead of her.

Her daughter was right. She had been hiding herself away. It was time she broke out of her cocoon and tried to be a butterfly!

She got up to go and join Liz and heard the faint sound of an insect batting against the window. Probably an early fly or bee. In fact, it was a large moth. As she watched it, it opened its wings and revealed shades of delicate celadon green, patterned with zig-zag lines like Venetian paper. Jo smiled as she let it out. Even moths were beautiful, she told herself, feeling suddenly light-hearted and hopeful for the first time in months as she went next door to join her friend.

A powerful whiff of patchouli assaulted her nostrils as Liz showed her in. The Sixties were still very much alive where her friend and neighbour was concerned. Jo hadn’t even taken off her coat when Liz handed her what looked like a shoebox wrapped in stripy paper and adorned with a large green bow.