‘Le Petit Mas de la Lavande n’est pas à vendre,’ I say, in my pidgin French. ‘I’m going to live here. Stay here.’ I don’t need to look for somewhere else to live. Ollie has agreed that I can have the house. It’s mine to do with as I choose, and I’m choosing to stay in it.

‘Well, really!’ says the woman, and Ralph barks, as if to endorse my decision. I look at Fabien, who is patting Ralph’s head, and Carine nods, making me feel I’ve done the right thing for me.

‘We have plenty more houses for you to see,’ she tells her clients.

‘But I want this one. Offer her more,’ says the woman.

‘This house is already sold. It has a new life and a new owner,’ says Carine, firmly.

That’s me!

Ralph barks more as the woman stalks towards the car behind Keef. My dog can contain himself no longer and throws himself at her. She’s flapping her hands at him and he’s delighted she wants to play: he covers her white jeans with dusty orange paw marks.

‘Oh, my God!’ she shrieks, and runs to Carine’s tiny car, slamming the door as Keef squeezes himself into the front passenger seat.

‘Welcome,’ says Carine. ‘I like your style. You know what you want … and what you don’t want. A woman after my own heart,’ she says, and I explain that that couldn’t be further from the truth. I have no idea what I’m doing here. ‘Bonne chance,’ she says. ‘Maybe we could have coffee when you’re in town next.’

‘I’d like that,’ I say. ‘Sorry about the waste of time – and the white trousers.’

Carine waves a hand, dismissing it all. ‘It’s no problem. I have a feeling, though, that they may be regular customers, the sort that come out here for the good life, then sell up and move home six months later.’

That was exactly who we were. Were.

‘Only the ones who love it stay.’ She smiles. ‘Au revoir. À la prochaine,’ she says, folding herself into the car, next to a red-faced Keef. She starts the engine and disappears down the drive. I swear she hits every pothole as she goes.

Fabien is still standing there. His little Jack Russell sticks her head out of the cab’s window to see what’s going on. Ralph looks up at her. ‘If I let her out, she’ll disappear,’ Fabien says. The Jack Russell barks and again Ralph sits and pants.

‘This is for you,’ says Fabien, taking something from the front seat of the truck. He holds out the silk dressing-gown to me.

‘Oh, no, really. I have to watch my money, now I’m going to be staying.’

‘It’s for you.’

I take the dressing-gown, but it’s heavier than I’m expecting. It’s wrapped around something.

‘Open it.’