The walk from town along the riverbank took us about twenty minutes, what with carrying Stephanie’s bags, Tomas stopping to examine irises and draping wisteria, chasing butterflies and the gently flowing river without toppling in. We passed the clearing where a few people were gathered, a couple playing chess, and I saw that a new settee had been installed under the wide-reaching arms of the big pine tree. They acknowledged us with ‘Bon après-midi.’ Stephanie, I noticed, put her head down and speeded up, almost embarrassed, slowing once we’d passed and letting Tomas walk on his own. I let Ralph off the lead too. The two sniffed flowers and chased each other, Ralph always on the side of the water, not letting Tomas near it. And, just for a while, I thought I was doing the right thing.

‘Maman!’ Tomas shouted, pointing at a fast-moving lizard, and I watched Stephanie enjoy his delight as she seemed to relax. We reached the end of the riverbank and headed up the hill to the entrance of Le Petit Mas de la Lavande.

Stephanie looked at the house in what seemed like awe as we walked up the drive, Ralph leading the way. Tomas followed him, tottering, tumbling, giggling, getting up and doing it all again, not letting the bumps in the road put him off the joy to be had in being there.

I led them up the few stone steps to the front of the house, where I’d stood on the day of the mistral and decided not to leave. I pulled out the big key and put it into the lock.

‘Wait!’ said Stephanie, and I turned back to her.

‘I don’t understand. Why am I here?’ Suddenly she looked like a terrified child again and I wanted to give her a hug, but I knew she’d never allow that.

‘You’re only here if you want to be, Stephanie. I have the house, the room. I now have work, too. I need help baking and getting this house fixed. In return you and Tomas can live here, for as long as you want, and help me.’

‘But I cannot cook!’ she said, dismayed.

‘You’re French – of course you can cook!’ I said lightly.