‘I’ve wanted to meet you ever since I saw what you did in my friend’s flat in Chelsea. I hoped you might work the same magic on our house.’

‘I loved the images you sent me, have you any others?’

He reached into the briefcase by his feet and drew out a bulging envelope, fanning the contents on the tablecloth between the plates of cucumber sandwiches and slices of fruit cake. The photos were of a Georgian house in faded brick, wide, empty rooms, exquisite windows, a long green view.

‘I am trusting you with the whole restoration project, to do with the house as you please.’

Melissa looked up, startled. The dark eyes were sombre.

‘My son is ill; the family is in France. We will be in Paris for a year at least, while he recovers.’

He doesn’t elaborate, he didn’t need to, she understood. She would drop everything to be with Izzy if she was ill, nothing else would count.

‘I’m so sorry.’

Jean-Claude nodded, acknowledging her sympathy. ‘The house has been empty a long time.’ The brown eyes studied her closely. ‘It’s in good shape structurally but it needs fresh air and light, heat, colour, curtains, rugs, furniture; colour most of all. I love the choices you made for my friend. Please, take the key.’ He passed a large iron key across the starched white tablecloth. It felt heavy in her hand, like an expensive gift. Her heart beat fast with excitement.

‘I’ll visit next week,’ she had promised. ‘I can’t wait to get started.’