‘ ’Fraid not. It’s sold. Oh, you didn’t know?’

‘Why? Who sold it?’

‘Julian, I suppose. I don’t know. Boris Vladykin, your new neighbour, bought it. And me. For six months anyway. I don’t think it’s his kind of boat. He will want something way more like a floating hotel soon.’

She wants to protest that it is Harry’s boat, her boat, and that Harry loves the annual classic boat regatta at the port; he hasn’t missed the Voiles d’Antibes for forty years, but she sees that this is not the moment. It’s pretty obvious that nobody really thinks of her as part of the family. Anyway, it may be a family boat, owned by the trustees.

‘No, nobody told me, but then why would they?’

‘I can think of plenty of good reasons.’

‘Actually, so can I.’

‘Shit happens.’

‘You’re a philosopher. I hadn’t realised.’

He laughs.

Bryce is that rare thing, a happy person. It’s not fashionable to be unconditionally happy. You have to have suffered and then to have got your life back on track, in this way enjoying a certain amount of self-admiration, which passes for happiness. But Bryce is genuinely happy: everything he does from sailing boats to eating a bourride – which now arrives in deep earthenware bowls – makes him happy. The bourride is fiercely red with tomatoes and in this unctuous redness two small local rock fish are half submerged along with some mussels and langoustines; crab limbs break the surface. Jean-Loup places a smaller bowl of aïoli on the table and a basket of sliced baguette. The French always cut baguettes in exactly the same way and place the slices in exactly the same little baskets. Jean-Loup says there is some turbot in the depths. He speaks conspiratorially: turbot is reserved for the best customers, he seems to be suggesting.

‘Un peu de vin, Monsieur, Madame?’

‘Let’s have a bottle of your Goats do Roam.’

‘Côtes du Rhône, bon choix, Monsieur Bryce.’

Bon choix. Fleur wonders if it’s possible to make good choices. Sure, a bottle of wine or a bourride, they are easy, but on what basis do you really decide you want to spend your life mucking about in boats or speaking other people’s words? Or marrying Harry. She would like to ask Bryce but he is sucking enthusiastically on a small langoustine. Could she have made other choices? In theory, she could have. But when her mother sent her to stage school and when Artair came along and when Harry began to pursue her, nearly smothering her with flowers, the die was already cast. Where does Morné fit into this pattern? It’s too early to tell, but it’s sure that having an affair with a personal trainer is utterly predictable and will appear pathetic with hindsight.