‘Ah, the man who feeds them all. Well,’ she says, ‘maybe if they’re no longer getting fed here, they’ll move on somewhere else and leave our town alone,’ she says, with a tight smile. ‘This area could certainly do with redeveloping. Something for the townspeople. I’ll speak to the mayor. And chase up that CCTV he’s been promising us. These people aren’t from around here. They don’t belong here. We need to look out for each other.’

My cheeks are flaming as I watch Cora turn and totter away on her kitten heels over the riverside path. I try to find the words to call after her, but am totally tongue-tied. We’re the ones who don’t belong, who moved in, I think furiously.

I look at Stephanie, whose lips are tight, and see the fury in her eyes.

‘Show me to the kitchen!’ I say, determination rising inside me and a voice to match coming out of my mouth that I’ve never heard before.

‘I’ll go with Henri,’ says Rhi. ‘Fabien, you can come with me, can’t you?’ she says, and he nods. We just need to get Henri off. At that, Fabien looks at me as if to check I’m okay with it – but okay with what? Not going to the hospital with Henri, going instead to the restaurant to cook, or him going with Rhi in the ambulance? But the sirens are starting to wail. Rhi steps in, followed by Fabien who gives me one final look, as if he’s about to say something, but the paramedic is ready to shut the other door, and I watch as Fabien dips his dark curly head and steps in. The doors are shut. And we all stand, including Alain and the group around him, and watch as the ambulance pulls away, sirens blaring, lights flashing, all of us praying that Henri will live.

‘Come on, Stephanie,’ I say, the steel still in my voice. ‘We have people to feed. Grab the recipe book from Le Petit Mas and meet me at the bistro. You too,’ I say to JB and to Lou, who is busy cancelling taxis and flights. ‘We have people who need us right now.’

THIRTY-NINE

I look around the smart but small kitchen, not having an idea where to start. It’s all very well cooking shortbread, tuiles and lavender macarons, but this is a whole different affair. I wonder if Henri has written down the plat du jour he intended for today. But there’s nothing.

I open the fridge and look at the contents.

Cora’s words are ringing in my ears. And Henri’s ashen face is haunting my thoughts.

‘What can we do? Where can we start?’ Lou asks, as everyone piles into the kitchen. ‘I can peel potatoes,’ she suggests.

‘I can … Tell me what you need me to do too,’ says JB, looking lost.