‘You have to help me choose a dress to get married in. One that will show off my breasts,’ she added with relish.

‘What’s that?’ said Jem, coming into the garden through the double doors. ‘Look, breakfast; just out of the oven.’ He spilled white rolls, still warm, onto the white tablecloth. ‘I’ll get the honey, shall I?’

He reappeared an instant later with a jar of honey and a pat of pale butter on a plate.

‘Honey from the village,’ said Juliet.

Irene took a roll and broke it in half. Inside it was piping hot, melting the butter. She trailed a teaspoon of runny honey over the top and took a bite. The warm doughy roll and the sweet liquid honey were so immensely comforting that she closed her eyes for a moment, to savour it.

‘I was saying that Irene had to help me choose a dress,’ said Juliet.

‘Good idea,’ said Jem, beaming at them. ‘And then we’ve got the party to prepare as well. You and me mostly. Juliet’s going in to work until Thursday.’

‘Are you still working then?’

‘Of course.’ Juliet was a medical researcher, and she had come to Montpellier hospital to join a team that was conducting a survey into population ageing. ‘Though I’m only going in for a couple of days this week. We’re at an important stage just now, collating the first batch of information.’

‘Where’s the party going to be?’

‘Here.’ Jem waved an arm at the garden. ‘We just wanted to have friends and family and nothing grand.’

‘It’s lovely here,’ said Irene, looking down the sloping, unkempt garden, sniffing in the lavender.

‘Isn’t it?’ said Juliet. ‘I won’t want to leave when the study is all done and dusted. Maybe they’ll offer me something permanent, then we can buy this house and settle down. Hey!’ she rounded on Jem. ‘Don’t look so bloody tragic. It’s just a lump. I can make plans, can’t I? Or are you planning my funeral as well as my wedding?’

‘Of course. I mean, of course not. You can make plans.’

‘OK.’ She turned back to Irene. ‘Here are the short-term plans, anyway, just so you know what you’ve let yourself in for. We’re going to get married at four on Friday afternoon. Just a few people will come to that, mostly the people who’ve travelled a long way to be here – French civil weddings are dead boring anyway. Except you have to be there, because you’re one of our witnesses. Then at seven in the evening people will come here for the party.’

‘How many?’

‘About fifty or sixty, we think. We’re not really sure. It’s been rather rushed.’

‘Are most of them from round here?’