‘But I’m probably boring you with too much detail. The short answer is yes, we get very busy from now on right up to the harvest.’

‘Which I remember only too well. I didn’t get stung by all those vine bugs without it being imprinted on my memory!’

A moment of silence fell between them and he seemed to be studying her. This could be the moment she dreaded: when he asked her how long ago it was that she’d been grape-picking she’d have to admit to being older than she looked – and probably quite a lot older than he was.

But he surprised her by turning away and looking round him. ‘I love this time of year, when the vines are suddenly green. I like the neatness of the rows.’

She considered him for a moment. How old was he? She reckoned mid-fifties. Not gigolo material, at least. She must have been smiling to herself without even knowing it.

‘Feel like sharing the joke? Have I said something embarrassing and colonial?’

Jo almost panicked. ‘I was just thinking about John Cleese taking the piss out of your birthplace. You know he comes from Weston-super-Mare, which for some reason I always find incredibly funny!’

And suddenly, ridiculously, they were both laughing unstoppably.

Her friends had only been gone a few days and were anyway just around the corner when they could have gone home to the UK, but Steph found she was missing them incredibly. As she took out the tray of croissants that had been warming in the oven, the thought struck her with horrible force that she was actually rather lonely. How ridiculous! How could she be lonely when she had a house full of people, and a husband she not only loved but worked with?

She burned her hand without even noticing as she realized why. It was because of the husband she loved that she felt lonely.

Something had definitely changed.

‘For God’s sake, Steph!’ David’s voice cut through her panic. ‘Put the bloody dish down. You’ve burned your wrist!’

Two things struck her: that he sounded really concerned, and that her wrist hurt like hell.

She put down the dish while David turned on the cold tap and held her hand under it until it felt numb.

‘Madame!’ Marcelline burst in. ‘Where are the croissants? That new lady who arrived last night is complaining about the service here!’

Marcelline, used to everything working like clockwork, clearly took this personally.

‘She is also asking for the menu for dinner tonight.’

At least Steph could provide this. Jean-Christophe had dropped one in and told her he would, if she was agreeable, bring his own supplies for the moment and then they could work out the best way of doing it in the future.