It’s raining when I finally pull into the car park in front of the château. As I glance up at the windows my heart begins to pound inside my chest. The anger that was my companion for most of my journey seems to have disappeared and now I feel… vulnerable. It’s hard to make out anything as the windscreen wipers can’t cope with the torrent of water. It’s the sort of rain that falls like steely rods, relentless and seemingly never-ending. It matches my mood as the last part of the journey has given me a headache from the constant swoosh, swoosh of rubber against glass.

Well, I’m here now and as nervous as I feel, it’s time to right a wrong. But what also became clear to me with every passing mile of the journey is that I need to stand, facing Nico and feel nothing. Then I’ll know I’m right and this was never meant to be. As I reach back to grab my jacket off the back seat, suddenly the passenger door is flung open. Ceana stands there, shielding me from the slanting rain with one of the retreat’s colourful umbrellas.

‘Well, this is a surprise. What on earth are you doing in this part of the world? Oh, I can’t believe it!’

She looks overjoyed as I squeeze into my waterproof and ease myself out of the seat to join her, trying my best to stay under cover.

‘Mind the puddles,’ she points out, staring down at my trainers. It wasn’t raining when I left Dijon this morning. With each passing kilometre, my anxiety levels continued to rise and now I feel slightly nauseous.

We link arms as we dodge the little dips where the water congregates and my mood begins to lighten.

‘Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?’ she asks, giving me a quizzical look.

‘It’s a short visit. I rang Isabel yesterday to check that Nico was here and not at the gallery, or at a function. She wasn’t around but her assistant confirmed Nico wasn’t there.’

‘Isabel?’ Ceana gives me a curious look as she steers me towards the day room.

Once inside we hang up our coats to dry and head into the kitchen, where Ceana pops the kettle on.

‘I assumed they spend a fair bit of time here these days. I couldn’t imagine Nico wanting to be away for prolonged periods.’

Ceana’s back is towards me as she grabs two mugs from the cupboard. Talking at me over her shoulder, her answer isn’t quite what I expected.

‘To my knowledge, she’s only seen Nico twice since you left. Once when he took a trip to the gallery for some big exhibition she’d arranged. And she came here to check up on him, I think it was late July last year.’