But up in the mountains, that’s reversed. The large variety of fir trees extend for acre after acre, interspersed with small swathes of deciduous oak trees that are simply swallowed up. The mass of green has a bluey tinge and even as a distant backdrop from the château, I keep finding myself striving to catch a glimpse at every opportunity.

‘As we climb it gives you a real feel for the terrain.’ Nico inclines his head in my direction. I find myself staring at his hands as he lovingly grips the steering wheel. To me it’s just an old Citroën, but it’s clear he loves this car.

‘You’ve had this car a long time?’ I ask, and that raises a little smile.

‘Cette vieille dame? This Citroën GS came with the property and belonged to my grandmother in the day, way back in 1978 when she had her from new.’

‘That accounts for the colour then,’ I reply without thinking, and his head tilts back as he begins to laugh rather softly.

‘After the psychedelic 60s, the colours of autumn were the symbol of the next decade, apparently. They called it burnt orange. Anyway, lots of manufacturers offer this colour now, so it’s back in vogue.’

In vogue. I doubt that would ever worry Nico – he’s a man who loves vibrant colours, anyway.

‘I’m not a car enthusiast, but I’m pretty sure she counts as a classic now – if I can keep her going, of course. The local garage has replaced just about every working part on her over the years.’

He reaches out, placing his hand on the dashboard and patting it affectionately.

As the journey continues, I can’t help marvelling at the scenery. Nico winds down the window a little, letting in a gentle breeze and the air is filled with the smell of the fragrant pine needles and cones. The floor of the forest is carpeted with them and they’re nature’s own, very abundant air freshener.

The road winds rather dramatically and even amongst the towering trees it’s easy to catch the odd glimpse of a number of beautiful villas set back from the road. A kilometre or two further on and we’re passing a large cultivated area: row upon row of grapevines indicating there will be a cluster of buildings somewhere close by. And then I see the sign for the vineyard.

‘I recognise that name. You serve this wine back at the retreat. I love their rosé.’

‘Yes. I’ve known the owner for quite a long time. The soil here is good and it reflects in the quality of the grapes. And, of course, Provence is famed for its wonderful olives and oil, apricots and the lavender fields. But you’re no stranger to France.’