Thea regarded Molly and all her previous indecisiveness fell away. She no longer felt like a sleepy sheep, following dozily along, obedient to every instruction to look up, or look down. Her way ahead seemed clear. It was obvious what she should do. ‘Actually, Molly, I’m not going back. I’ve changed my mind. I’m not returning to a trashed house and a broken-down washing machine – the lodgers can sort it out for themselves. I’m going to extend my holiday a bit.’

‘What?’ Molly was stunned. ‘But how can you do that? How can you know your house is in a state and not do anything about it? Besides, you can’t let Petal live in a house without a washing machine. I’m not sure it’s even hygienic’

‘They can die of salmonella for all I care. It’s their fault; they had the party. It’s their gatecrashers who vomited up the stairs, they can fork out the two hundred quid for the professional cleaners. Why the hell should I do it?’

Molly gawped.

‘Look, I know Cyril’s going to Stansted, I’ll go with him. You tell Petal to organise the cleaners, or do it herself. You can also tell her she can either ring up the repair man herself, or learn to use the launderette!’

Regretting only the paper carrier filled with dried lavender she’d bought in the market, which she gave to Molly, Thea picked up her other bags and ran after the elderly veteran of ten Tiger Tours. She reached him just as he disappeared through some sliding doors. She glanced back to see that Derek had now arrived, and that Molly was pointing in her direction, open-mouthed and horrified. ‘Cyril! Hello. It’s me. Thea? Are you going to Stansted? Can I come with you?’

At the airport, having left Cyril’s comforting company, Thea was forced to face up to her impetuousness. Certain that she would live to regret it, she went to find out about flights. There was no point in ringing Rory until she knew she could actually get there.

It was surprisingly easy. By some fluke she had reached the airport a couple of hours before the flight was due. There was a ticket available and she could get there in daylight. It must be meant, she told herself. I must be meant to run away from my wrecked house and my responsibilities. It’s written in the stars that I should have a wild affair.

She rang Rory with a dry mouth. It might not be written in his stars. ‘It’s Thea, we met in France?’

‘Oh, Thea, yes. Nice to hear you.’

At least he sounded as if he remembered her. ‘You invited me to stay?’ She must be mad! Rushing across the Irish Sea to stay with someone she’d only known a couple of hours.

‘And you’ve changed your mind? You’re coming?’