On some other wonderful evenings he used to take his fishing rod out of the corner and raise a circumflex eyebrow at me. I would jump up and follow him along the track and down between the willow trees to the khaki-coloured river. He taught me how to fix the bait to the hook, smiling when I recoiled from the maggots in their nest of meal. He put his arms round me from behind and guided my wrists as he tried to teach me to cast, but I was hopeless at it. How could I concentrate, when I could feel his laughing breath warm on my neck and his heart beating against my spine? I preferred the safer option of sitting beside him while he fished, watching the water as the twilight gently thickened around us. I can’t remember whether we ever caught a fish, but I can see the lines of his profile and smell the French tobacco on his clean breath.

I didn’t hear from Ted, but Madame assured me, with Philippe’s help, that he was occupied with his business and all would be well. And because I was happy with the Leserts I accepted what I was told and didn’t try to speculate any further. Life in the fields seemed so timeless that I half believed nothing could change and that I would stay here for ever.

But it did change, of course. The jasmine harvest ended and I was no longer woken by the pre-dawn voices calling outside my window. Philippe worked long hours among the bushes, pruning and tying back the new growth. A letter came with an English stamp and, after she and Philippe had conferred over it, Madame called me and said that in one week’s time my father would be waiting for me at home.

I felt a leap of joy and relief, and at the same time sadness at the thought of leaving the Leserts. ‘Can I come back and visit you again?’ I begged.

‘Bien sûr, chérie,’ Madame said.

Exactly a week later Philippe took me and my suitcase to the station. It was an affectionate but unemotional parting from both my friends. They were secure in their routines among the flowers and the summer had been ordinary for them except for the presence of an English girl who had, in the event, fitted in quite well. I don’t think they ever guessed how momentous it had all been for me. I didn’t expect letters from them and there were none. I knew they weren’t the letter-writing kind.

When I finally reached Dorset Avenue again, Ted was at home. I put my suitcase down, feeling almost shy at seeing him.