‘Where I am. From today until we leave on Sunday afternoon. I’ve got yours, so we are in touch. Mummy is thrilled to have Annie, Annie likes being with her, and you –’ she prodded Giles so hard that he almost stumbled off balance – ‘and you wanted to see Daddy and Daddy you’ve got. That right?’

Giles looked up at me uncertainly. I smiled inanely, but I hoped I looked encouraging. He just nodded, and Ron arrived breathlessly.

‘You did say all tartan and a white cross of camera tape? Okay?’

‘Yes. Christ! Don’t say you’ve lost them?’

‘I haven’t lost them!’ Ron was indignant. ‘I just asked. They are only starting to come off now.’ He pushed away again.

‘This is the drag of travelling. God, I hate it.’

‘You’ve only just started, Helen.’

‘Take the gleam of triumph out of your voice.’

‘No gleam. Observation, that’s all.’

‘Look! Ron’s waving at us. He’s got them. Come on.’

She grabbed Giles and I followed them through people with autograph books, photographers, banners, laughing holiday-makers and movie buffs. There was an immense ‘Welcome to the Film Festival’ in the form of a plastic Mickey Mouse and a Snow White tower in the centre of the concourse, starred with flashing lights, revolving slowly.

‘Have we got a car? I mean you and me?’ said Giles.

‘’Course. I have borrowed one. From the Mayor.’

‘Wow! The Mayor of Cannes?’

‘No. Idiot. The Mayor of the village.’

‘Oh.’

Helen, who had sorted out her baggage with Ron, waved to us to come down to the Customs and the exit. Nice is an odd airport. I looked at the Harrods bag in Giles’s hand and vaguely thought how easy it would be to smuggle in a pound of coke instead of Cheddar. No one would be any the wiser – we would not be leaving through the Customs area. French logic.

Outside in the heat of the sun, under the palms, among a milling crowd, Ron started to cross the road. Helen shouted to him to wait. He turned and came back, his face flushed with irritation.

‘What’s up?’

‘Well, how far is your car? My husband isn’t coming with us. He’s got his own.’

‘First floor down. I’ll wait then.’

‘Look, call me, or I’ll call you if you’d rather, this evening? About six? We ought to have a talk. It’s been over a month now? Saturday?’

‘I can make Saturday. Yes. Would you come over to us?’

‘Well, if I can get there. How far is it?’

‘About an hour on the autoroute, a bit longer. An hour and a half.’

‘Oh Christ! Can you send a taxi?’

‘Easier if you get one. I’ll pay, naturally.’

‘That is kind. Goodness. Don’t call me. I’ll call you. At six sharp.’

‘Unless you’d prefer me to come and get you? I could?’