‘He’s marrying Amanda, a brainless floozy who calls herself a sales executive. Bet she couldn’t sell beer to a thirsty Belgian.’ Jo smiled impishly and raised her glass. ‘Not that I’m bitter, you understand.’

Steph and Meredith raised their glasses in support. ‘Here’s to your exciting new life!’

‘Absolutely,’ Jo agreed. ‘Once it bloody well starts!’

The meal, when it was brought out, was absolutely delicious. After their main course, an array of cheeses arrived. Jo chose a local goat’s cheese rolled in herbs, peppercorns and the crushed walnuts that seemed to feature in so many local dishes round here.

‘You’ll have to come over for the walnut harvest,’ Steph told her. ‘Everyone in the entire place, from ninety-year-olds to tiny children, joins in shaking the walnut trees onto cloths on the ground, and the père, the parish priest, comes and blesses the crop afterwards.’

This sounded idyllic to Jo, who drove to work every day on the M25 with belching trucks and white van drivers opening their windows to give her the benefit of their accumulated wisdom.

As they finished their desserts of îles flottantes, islands of meringue floating in vanilla custard, followed by tiny coffees, Jo looked at her watch. ‘We’ve been in here nearly two hours,’ she marvelled, looking round at the still packed restaurant. ‘Don’t people have to get back to work?’

‘They will soon,’ Steph reassured. ‘You have to remember, lunch is a religion here. To rush it is heretical.’

‘Back to poor old St Joan. What time are we due there?’

Meredith started to get up. ‘In half an hour. Plenty of time. I’ll get this.’

Steph smiled at Jo and shrugged. Meredith seemed to be in such a different financial stratosphere that they might as well let her, and enjoy it.

They walked out past the other tables, finally beginning to empty, and politely saluted Jackie and her friends.

Jackie watched them, smiling smugly, and waited till they’d passed before commenting: ‘Well, if that stuck-up bitch does buy the château, I hope she knows the old duke and duchess have bought a house right at the bottom of the driveway. Margot de Savarin will haunt that place like the Ghost of Christmas Past, only twice as interfering – heh heh! It’ll all be highly entertaining. I almost hope she does buy it, silly cow.’

‘But Jackie,’ Shirley, always the gentlest member of the club, commented, ‘don’t you think you ought to warn her?’

‘Not on your nelly!’ announced Jackie. ‘And you’re not to breathe a word either, Shirley Harrison. On pain of being drummed out of our little lunch club! Understood?’

‘Let’s walk along the riverbank,’ Meredith suggested. ‘I want to get the full-on memory, if that’s OK with you girls?’

The others nodded. It was a glorious day and walking would be a pleasure.