It only took ten minutes to arrive at the once-rickety bridge of Meredith’s memory. Jo looked down into the green depths of the river, watching a fish rise, creating ripples for a second and then disappearing, while Meredith stood transfixed, her eyes on the château ahead.

‘Isn’t it the most amazing place?’ she asked Jo.

‘Hang on,’ Jo replied. ‘I think I can see Cinderella waving from the battlements. Or is it the Sleeping Beauty?’

Their appointment at the château was for three p.m. and to Jo’s amazement they were to be shown round by the duke himself. Meredith clearly expected nothing less. His secretary met them at the entrance and informed them that his grace le duc would join them soon.

In fact, it was only a moment before the duke made a true Hollywood entrance, suddenly addressing them from the minstrel’s gallery above their heads in the Great Hall.

‘Bonjour, mesdames,’ he greeted them, leaning out precipitously. ‘If I were a troubadour like the famed Jospin de Bratenac, who lived here back in 1483, I would sing you a song praising your beauty. Sadly, it is the twenty-first century, so I will simply welcome you to our home!’

They found themselves looking up at a dapper and sprightly man, probably in his eighties though apparently still full of youthful vigour, wearing a jacket of English tweed with a dotted silk cravat and matching handkerchief.

‘You have entered through the donjon – I think keep is the English word – which is from the twelfth century. You will have noticed the crenellations for firing weapons.’

‘So that’s what crenellations are for,’ whispered Jo. ‘You always hear about crenellated castles, but I never knew they had a purpose.’

‘There are also loopholes for the archers,’ continued the duke. ‘It was a very warlike time.’ He began to descend the staircase, still talking non-stop. ‘By the eighteenth century the de Savarins had become more civilized.’ He gestured around him at the painted ceilings, the elaborate plasterwork and vast chandeliers, each of which looked as if it would have been lit with a hundred candles, as well as the faded Aubusson carpets.

He had finally reached the bottom of the staircase. Jo realized that he was actually quite a small man. Perhaps that was why he liked to make his entrance from above.

‘Come –’ he favoured them with a smile as twinkly as any chandelier – ‘the salon is more comfortable.’

He led them into a dazzlingly elegant room with walls painted in pale green decorated with gold, and vast gilded mirrors that wouldn’t have looked out of place at Versailles. Spindly velvet sofas and marble-topped side tables with lion’s-paw feet dotted the room.

Steph found her gaze fixing on a large painting of three fat cherubs, crowned in flowers, swimming face down in a turquoise sea, their chubby bottoms the focus of the picture.