He looks at me, his eyes teasing, then breaks into a smile. I breathe a huge sigh of relief. ‘These are really good.’ He has another bite. ‘You have used just the right amount of lavender. Too much and it overpowers. Lavender was used as a herb, like rosemary, a flavouring in food for a long time, but sadly seems to be dying out. Maybe people used too much and went off it. They see it as a flower nowadays, not as a herb. These are perfect.’

I’m feeling happier than I have in a long time. I’m sitting here in the sunshine, enjoying a glass of rosé, and have taken a tiny step to show I want to be part of this community. I look at Fabien, and feel a tiny fizz of excitement about my new life in France and what the future may hold.

Just then Fabien calls to someone and raises a hand. It’s Carine. I wave too. She crosses the road and comes into the courtyard and the shade of the olive tree where we’re sitting.

‘Well, this looks wonderful,’ she says. ‘Bonjour, Del.’ She kisses me, then turns to Fabien. ‘Bonjour, chéri.’ She kisses his cheeks with her bright red lipstick. He slips his arm around her waist and kisses her back.

‘Here, I got a glass ready,’ he says as she sits down, and I realize Carine and Fabien must be an item. Which is fine! They’re the right age for each other. They make a lovely couple. Of course they do. Someone in their late twenties or even early thirties isn’t going to look twice at me, ten years older. I hope she doesn’t think I’m some desperate, newly single, practically middle-aged woman preying on her man. He’s handsome, with those amazing green eyes, and he has a way of making you feel good about yourself. He’s a lovely man, and Carine is a lucky lady. Thank goodness love and happiness are still out there for some, even if it’s not what I want right now. In fact, a man is the very last thing I want in my life. Now I can relax, knowing that Fabien is with Carine and we can be friends.

Carine lights a cigarette and blows the smoke into the sky. Fabien tuts.

‘I know, I know,’ she says, wafting away the smoke. ‘I keep promising him I’ll give up!’ she tells me. Then, with her free hand, she reaches for a tuile. ‘What are these?’

‘Oh, just something I made … I haven’t cooked in years …’ I hope she won’t think I was making a play for her boyfriend with them.

‘A thank-you present to me, for a book I gave her and for helping her settle in,’ Fabien fills in.

‘To prove,’ I say boldly, ‘that I’m here to live and be part of life here.’

‘Of course!’ He grins.