By the war memorial, next to the boules pitch where the old men played faithfully all day in the shade of the poplar trees, she caught sight of that hideous bulldog. It was sitting on a chair again, wearing a ridiculous coat in the colours of the French flag. No doubt it was drooling as well. What was it called – Polly? Smelly? That would be appropriate, if unlikely. Nelly, that was it.

She paid the very modest bill, then set off across the square.

As she approached Janine the dog-walker, Nelly jumped off the chair and bounded towards her. The animal didn’t even seem to be on a lead. She jumped up enthusiastically and placed her paws firmly on Meredith’s thighs, stopping Meredith in her tracks. It was the strangest thing, though. If a dog could smile, Nelly was smiling at her, as if Meredith were her chosen goddess and Nelly a devoted worshipper.

‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Janine shook her head. ‘The way that dog’s taken to you. I just wish people weren’t so narrow-minded. Because Nelly looks fierce they shy away yet, I kid you not, she is as gentle as a lamb, with the sweetest nature imaginable.’

A thought struck Meredith and she began to laugh. ‘So I got you wrong too, Nelly!’ And she began to fondle her ears. A look of total bliss settled on the animal’s wrinkled features.

A sudden inspiration came to Janine. She looked hard at Meredith, trying to get the measure of her. ‘The thing is, Nelly belongs to an old French lady who can’t cope with a dog any more and the local charity can’t house her either. It might be the end of the road for Nelly. Unless . . .’ She paused, taken aback at her own temerity. ‘You might consider having her? She’s had all her jabs, and now that it sounds as if you might be staying here . . .’

Meredith considered her new canine friend. ‘Should I lose my mind and take you on?’ Nelly smiled back engagingly. ‘You could be a permanent reminder that I shouldn’t make snap judgements about people.’

‘Nelly could guard you up at the château,’ suggested Janine, sensing a breach in Meredith’s armour. ‘Three ladies, living alone. A guard dog would be ideal!’

This time Meredith did laugh. ‘She’d probably lick a burglar’s hand!’ She stroked the dog’s ears again. ‘Who’s the old softie? Me or you? Meredith Harding, have you lost your marbles?’ And Meredith, who had never wanted responsibility for anyone or anything, shrugged and accepted what had rapidly become the inevitable. ‘All right. I will adopt Nelly. She’s the only thing I’m likely to adopt, after all.’