‘Bonjour, mesdames,’ a sleek middle-aged man greeted them. ‘Please have a seat.’ He held out a chair with the old-fashioned courtesy that seemed to be a watchword of the place. Jo couldn’t imagine him ruthlessly pushing the authorities to hurry the process up, as Meredith had said she wanted.

‘Bonjour, Monsieur Martel,’ Meredith replied with her usual crisp efficiency. ‘How are we doing?’

‘We have made a lot of progress, but you must understand you cannot purchase a six-hundred-year-old château overnight. You must remember you have to deal with—’

‘I know, French bureaucracy,’ Meredith interrupted waspishly. ‘So everyone tells me. How long do you think it is going to take?’

‘At least six months, madame, to be realistic.’

‘Too long.’

‘Foreigners do not understand our system . . .’ He looked out of the window at the rooftops, struck by a sudden thought. ‘Perhaps that is what put the American gentleman off.’

Jo noticed Meredith instantly sit up. ‘What American gentleman?’

‘Did the duchess not mention him?’

‘She certainly did not.’

Monsieur Martel grinned. ‘Perhaps because he left her at the altar. Margot was thunderously annoyed.’

‘By that you mean the negotiation was very far advanced?’ asked Meredith.

‘Ready to sign. But he telephoned to the château and cried off. His wife had apparently changed her mind. It cost them quite a lot of money. Americans –’ he shrugged – ‘they think they can behave the way they want.’ He expected Meredith to be devastated, but instead she appeared to be thrilled.

‘Do you know the name of this American gentleman?’ she demanded eagerly.

He tapped his computer screen, searching for an email. ‘Samuel Andrews. I understand he is quite well known in financial circles.’

‘And is his wife Brazilian, called Elena – rather fancies herself as a decorator? I think I’ve met them and everyone’s heard of him, of course. They call him the Sibyl of St Louis because he’s so good at predicting the stock market. I may even have his card somewhere. I wonder what made him change his mind? It could give me some useful ammunition.’

‘Maybe his wife saw the ghost,’ grinned Jo.

‘Bien, mesdames.’ Monsieur Martel stood up and bowed again. ‘You will talk to Monsieur Andrews, and we will push as hard as we can to move things along.’

Even Meredith with her expert contacts wasn’t going to be able to dislodge the ancient edifice of French officialdom.

‘I’m surprised Jackie didn’t know all about that too,’ grinned Jo as they walked back to the main square.

‘Margot probably kept it a deep, dark secret,’ Meredith replied. ‘But I’m really keen to find out more.’

Most people would have been cast down to discover that a famous businessman had changed his mind about the château at the last moment, but not Meredith. As long as, of course, he hadn’t discovered something disastrous.