I waved my hand. “No, no. You must go and see your family. It’s not your fault our summer au pair fell through at the last moment.” She’d very unprofessionally cancelled her contract three days before arriving. “The American agency will have someone else, I’m sure of it. They’ve always come through for us in the past.”

She gave a brief nod. “D’accord,” she said, looking unconvinced.

If it wasn’t for knowing that Martine’s sister had been diagnosed with cancer, I’d insist she stay until I had someone else lined up. But Martine disliked coming on the boat, always butting heads with our chef, and I wanted us to head out on my yacht for at least a month. It was time we did something together, Dauphine and I, that didn’t involve rattling around this big old house with all its memories. If I wasn’t working on one of the biggest deals of my business life, I’d suggest we go overseas somewhere and reset.

“J’arrive!” Dauphine spun out the door. Her lanky ten-year old body was dressed in a t-shirt and denim shorts, her hair unbrushed.

“And I’m leaving,” responded Martine and pulled her into a tight hug. Then she set her at arm’s length. “You be good for your papa, you hear? I will see you in two months. Try not to get sunburned, brush your hair and teeth, and don’t forget to keep up with your reading. Less YouTube, more words. Okay?”

I stood and gave Martine a kiss on each cheek. She’d been a Godsend after Arriette died two years ago, filling as much of a motherly role as she could in our household. Not that my late wife had been an exceptional mother, I hated to admit, but Martine was a female presence at least when my mother couldn’t be around.

Dauphine and I sat and ate the Pain Bagnat sandwiches and drank our sparkling drinks. Orangina for her and Perrier for me.

“Do you have more work again, Papa?” Dauphine asked when she’d exhausted all her topics of chatter.

“Mon chou, I always have work. I’m the boss. My work is never done.”

She folded her arms. “I’m bored.”

“Only boring people get bored.” I shrugged.

She slitted her eyes. “I’m not boring!”

“I know.”

“Hmm,” she griped. “So what should I do? I’m bored of swimming, and you won’t let me be on a screen. You know I could learn something on a screen.”

“Like what?”

She gnawed her lip. “Like … baking?”

I inwardly cringed, knowing that would lead to her wanting to cook something, and with no Martine here to supervise, that was an impossibility.

“How about drawing?”

“That’s boring.”

I raised my eyebrows, unwilling to be pulled into a disagreement over that particular hobby. She loved to draw. “What about coding your own video game?”