She spent the rest of the lecture planning what she would say to Molly – ‘I’m going to return to my room and read a little Proust.’ That would shut Molly up for a good ten seconds. Would that be time enough for Thea to leg it down the road, up an alley and into a little café? It might be, she decided, but later she would have to buy a copy of Proust and be able to explain to Molly her sudden passion for culture. She could, of course, just admit she was tired because she couldn’t sleep and only wanted to sit outside a bar in the sun, but that would be unkind. Besides, Molly probably wouldn’t believe she snored. She and Derek had separate bedrooms, but Thea have been given the impression it was because of Derek’s bodily functions rather than Molly’s.

By the time the lecture had finished Thea still hadn’t come up with a story she thought Molly would wear. When she saw her edging along the seats towards her, Molly was already saying, ‘we won’t have lunch as such, just coffee later …’

What wasn’t immediately obvious was that Molly wasn’t talking to Thea, but the woman behind her, who Thea remembered was a rather nice person from the Home Counties. She was nearer both in budget and age to Molly, and now it seemed Joan wanted someone to shop with.

‘Are you set, Thea? I was just saying, we’ll skip lunch and have coffee and a cake later.’

‘Actually, Molly, would you mind frightfully if I didn’t join you? I’d like to take some more photographs and I’ve got postcards to write.’

Molly took this almost without protest. ‘Are you sure? Well, that’s fine. Joan and I will have a lovely time.’

Thea felt like skipping as she waved goodbye to Molly, and set off on her own. Molly, at close quarters twenty-four hours a day, made her long for solitude.

She found an enchanting place, with an intimate little fountain and a charming-looking café with outside tables. She collapsed into a seat, ordered a beer and a salade niçoise, and took her book out of her bag.

‘May I join you? I don’t speak a word of French and I’ve a thirst on me which makes… my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.’

Thea looked up to see the beautiful, boring lecturer. He looked so much less boring close up that she smiled. ‘You couldn’t ask for a beer, could you? I don’t speak much French either.’