D’Arcy leapt out of bed and threw herself into the shower. She had work to do. Sleeping in until nine o’clock was taking the wallowing too far. She threw on a black 1950s sundress, a find from a vintage store; it had spaghetti straps, a fitted bodice and a full skirt made bell-shaped by polka-dot crinoline petticoats that peeped out at the hem.

Célie, who either had an intuition as to when her guests woke up, or simply heard the clanging of the water pipes, knocked and brought in the same delicious breakfast tray as yesterday.

“I really should just grab the croissant and the coffee and go downstairs and start work,” D’Arcy said regretfully.

Célie shook her head. “Breakfast is meant to be enjoyed. Here is the paper. Sit outside and relax. You look tired. And Josh hasn’t started work yet.”

It wasn’t hard to be convinced. Once outside, she realized it was a warm day already, the sky clear blue and untroubled. It was the perfect day, in fact, to sit on the balcony of a chateau in France and sip coffee and read newspapers and do very little. But of course she wasn’t on holiday.

She stared at her phone and thought again about calling her mother but the time difference wouldn’t be right. Then she heard the low hum of voices and saw Josh and an elderly woman strolling back up from the canal.

The woman held on to Josh’s arm and he walked slowly, keeping pace with her. She was tall, even though her shoulders were rounded a little with age, and her face was shielded by large Bardot-esque sunglasses. Her silver hair was cut into an elegant and classic bob, waving gently at the ends. She wore white trousers and a fun but modish update on the striped Breton top, with gauzy sleeves and a raw hem.

D’Arcy realized she was holding her breath, as if she thought that simply inhaling would make them realize she could see this woman who must be the photographer. Then the woman looked up at D’Arcy’s balcony and smiled. D’Arcy froze, unable to smile or wave or do anything other than stare, stupidly, as the woman and Josh walked closer to the house where she could no longer see them.

After several long moments, D’Arcy roused herself, her mind whirling. Why had the photographer let D’Arcy see her? What was going on? And did it have anything to do with what she and Josh had found the night before?

Josh. D’Arcy remembered their kiss. What would he be like today? Embarrassed? Professional? Would he kiss her again? She shook her head. Josh was probably one distraction too many at the moment.

But she still found herself looking for him when she stepped into the salon de grisailles. He was already there, talking on the phone. She thought maybe his eyes flickered with something like gladness when he saw her so she risked a smile, picked up her tools and went out to the terrace to work where she wouldn’t disturb him.