Jo toyed with telling them about the Happy Rabbit, but was still too embarrassed to describe its true function. Maybe after a few glasses of wine. Fortunately, she’d left it safely at home, terrified she might have had her bag opened by some diligent customs official. She could just imagine some uniformed jobsworth holding the object up and demanding, ‘And what, pray, madam, is this for?’ in front of a giggling hall of travellers. She found herself blushing at the mere thought.

‘We’re taking you back to Steph’s to dump your bag, or unpack, whichever you prefer,’ Meredith explained as they headed for the car park, ‘and then we’ll go on to a lovely lunch at the cafe in Bratenac – that’s Steph’s local town. And then this afternoon, there’s a bit of a surprise.’

‘Sounds blissful. Actually, I would quite like to unpack.’ Jo always found she slept better in a strange room if her things were neatly hung up and her make-up bag stowed safely in the bathroom.

Steph had managed, by rejigging a couple of guests who hadn’t arrived yet, to give Jo a lovely room on the top floor. The only drawback was that it was next to the ghastly LeBruns.

‘Here’s Jo, David,’ she announced as they arrived back.

A harassed-looking David turned round. ‘Hello, Jo – welcome to Fleur-de-Lis.’

‘A bit flowery, I know,’ Steph explained, ‘but the fleur-de-lis is a royal symbol of France. The mason who built the house was probably getting a bit above his station when he named the place.’ She pointed to where the name was beautifully carved into the huge chimney piece and then, noticing her husband’s harassed demeanour, demanded: ‘Have those bloody Belgians been driving you mad?’

‘The little one’s got diarrhoea.’

‘And they say it’s only the Brits who get the shits,’ Steph grinned. ‘The French think we’re obsessed with our bowels,’ she enlightened the others. ‘They can talk. You should see inside a French bathroom cabinet. More drugs than the NHS. I hope it’s not all over my new sheets,’ she added unsympathetically.

‘They’ve taken him to the doctor and left the other five here.’

‘Oh God, poor you.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’m afraid we’ve got to go. Lunch at the cafe at twelve thirty.’

‘Couldn’t we go a bit later and help David out . . .?’ suggested Jo.

‘No,’ replied Steph firmly. ‘This is our special Girl Time. David will cope, won’t you, dear? I’ll just show you where your room is, Jo.’