‘I think that’s a brilliant idea. Oh, I love you so much.’ She leant across the table to kiss him and at that moment the waiter arrived with their food: duck confit, served on a little wooden board, for Andy, carpaccio for Bella, with a bowl of frites and a green salad to share.

‘Oh, pardon, pardon.’ Bella grinned up at the waiter as she sat back down.

‘Non, non, you are in Paris.’ He smiled back at her. ‘Enjoy!’ Why did they always have to reply in English when you were trying to do your best French?

‘God, I love French food,’ said Bella, after the waiter had gone. ‘Not terribly original, I know, but I just do!’

‘Sweet, enthusiastic thing you are,’ said Andy, thinking of the cycling holidays he and Alison had taken in Brittany, when she’d had a habit of complaining about pretty much everything.

They finished their lunch, and the ice-cold bottle of Sancerre, at a leisurely pace, then wandered hand-in-hand down to the Jardin du Luxembourg. The trees that lined the graceful paths were just starting to turn golden, and elegant Parisians were sitting on chairs and benches in shirtsleeves and shift dresses, soaking up the sun.

‘So different to London,’ said Bella. ‘In Hyde Park, people would be lying on the grass in bikinis, showing off their horrible pink and white bodies.’

‘Vive la difference!’ said Andy, and Bella laughed.

They walked on through the park, past the beautiful Medici fountain, with its deep rectangular basin lined with spectacular bronze-and-marble Italianate statues. They walked along the neat gravel pathways, past colourful formal gardens that reflected the French love of order and harmony; past the magnificent Palais du Luxembourg with its Tricolore waving proudly in the light breeze; past games of boules and exquisite sculptures and the octagonal lake teeming with toy sailing boats – all overlooked by those beautiful green and golden trees.

‘Did you know that Hemingway used to shoot pigeons here, when he was a starving writer in the twenties?’ said Bella. ‘He used to hide their poor, dead bodies in a pram.’

‘What a fantastic story. Where on earth did you hear it?’

‘I think Mum told me and Max, when we came here as kids.’

‘Should have guessed,’ Andy said affectionately, kissing the top of her head. ‘You and your absurdly spoilt childhood …’

‘We weren’t spoilt.’ Bella’s tone was mock-cross. ‘Half the time, Mum was trying to make up for the fact that Dad wasn’t there. We stayed in a really horrible pension near Montmartre, and I can still remember being woken up in the middle of the night by a cockroach climbing over my face …’

‘Oh, my poor love.’ Andy knew how squeamish Bella could be about certain things. She was fine with mice, for example, or even snakes, but insects gave her the heebie-jeebies. ‘How did you react?’

‘I tried to get the revolting creature off, of course, but it was clinging onto my eyelashes, so I screamed.’