‘Hélène,’ he said, smiling. ‘I trust I see you well on such a beautiful morning.’

‘Very well, thank you, monsieur,’ she replied. ‘Allow me to let my mother know that you have called.’

‘Perhaps, in a while, but it is you that I have come to see.’

Surprised, and uncomfortable, she fell back on the requirements of hospitality, and with an anxious glance at the door, she said, ‘May I offer you some refreshment? Some coffee? A glass of wine?’ She moved towards the bell, about to summon Didier, but Simon put a hand on her arm to stay her.

‘I require nothing, thank you,’ he said. ‘Just a moment of your time. Indeed, I’m delighted to find you alone for a moment or two this morning, as I have something particular that I wanted to say to you.’

‘Really, monsieur,’ she began, taking a step backwards, ‘I can’t think what it can be.’

‘Can’t you? Well, I shan’t detain you long; I trust you can spare me just a little while.’

‘Of course, monsieur,’ Hélène replied uneasily. ‘We are old enough friends, I’m sure.’

‘Indeed we are,’ he agreed with a smile. She had given him the way to introduce his proposal. ‘Hélène, my dearest girl…’

Hélène seemed to freeze. ‘I’m not your dearest girl,’ she murmured.

‘Perhaps not. Not yet. But I want you to be. I want to be more to you than an old friend. All marriages should be founded on friendship, don’t you think?’

‘Marriage!’ Hélène’s voice was almost a squeak. ‘Why are you talking of marriage, monsieur?’

‘Because that is what I have come to ask you,’ replied Simon. ‘You must know that I have admired you from afar for some time, and now I want to be closer. These last few weeks I have come to know you as I never knew you before. You are beautiful and gentle and kind, and I have fallen in love with you, my dearest girl. I want to marry you if you will have me.’

As she stared at him in astonishment Simon dropped on one knee before her and, reaching for her hand, said, ‘My dearest Hélène, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife? I love you dearly and hope you will come to love me in return. Will you marry me, Hélène? Will you be my wife?’

Hélène was stunned. With Rupert’s desertion she had already decided that she would never marry, and now here was Simon Barnier, whom she’d known most of her life, on his knee before her asking for her hand. She was at a loss for words.

‘Monsieur…’ she tried.

‘Simon,’ he corrected.

‘Simon, I don’t know what to say.’

‘You could say yes,’ he suggested hopefully, her hand still held in his.

‘It isn’t for me to say,’ she said, her brain racing as she tried to escape his proposal. ‘You must first apply to my father.’ She pulled her hand free and turned away.

‘Of course,’ replied Simon, getting to his feet. ‘But I already have. Your father gave me permission to address you some weeks ago.’