‘Any exciting plans for today?’ I asked Grace and Peter the next morning, as they lingered over breakfast.

‘Grace wants to visit a château, but I fancy touring a vineyard,’ Peter said.

‘Ah, decisions, decisions. The joys of married life.’

‘Rupert told us you’re getting married soon, Emmy. To a handsome accountant?’

‘Guilty on all counts, only my wedding won’t be a quiet affair like yours. My mother won’t allow it.’

Grace patted my hand. ‘It’ll be wonderful, I’m sure.’

‘Yeah, me too. Well, if the château wins between you two today, I can recommend Chenonceau – magnificent, but a long drive. Or Montreuil-Bellay – much nearer, in a picturesque little town, but smaller. Then there’s Ussé, which inspired Sleeping Beauty. And then …’

Peter gave me a pleading look to stop.

I smiled. ‘You did bring her to the Loire, Peter. What did you expect? As for vineyards, Rupert’s your man for that kind of info.’

Rupert came into the kitchen. ‘What kind of info?’

While Peter explained their dilemma, I left them to it to make a start on chores. I loved having guests like those two – sweet, lively, interested, interesting.

‘That was quite a night,’ Rupert commented as we grabbed a quick coffee mid-morning. ‘Do you think Henderson’s got it out of his system, or do you think we’ll have to baby him all the way through his stay?’

‘I’m hoping he’s got it out of his system. I could do without any more hugs from him, for one thing.’

‘He’s only being smarmy, Emmy.’

I shook my head. ‘Not smarmy. Letchy.’

Rupert immediately sat up straight. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Gavin’s hugs. They’re letchy.’

‘In what way?’

‘He slides his arms around you in a certain way.’ I puffed out an embarrassed breath. ‘He brushes my breasts on the way round.’

Rupert spluttered coffee. ‘For God’s sake! Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘The first time, I thought it was my imagination, or unfortunate. The next couple of times? It’s a clever technique, Rupert. Subtle. Nothing you can put your finger on, if you’ll pardon the pun. It’s not an aimed grope. The grope comes across as an accidental casualty of the hug.’

‘Accidental, my arse.’

‘Yes, well, I know that now.’

Rupert’s expression was livid, something I found touching. It was like having my very own knight in shining armour.

‘Don’t worry, Emmy. Gavin and I will be having words.’

I laid a hand on his arm. ‘No, don’t. Too heavy-handed. Now I know it’s deliberate, I’ll avoid any more hugs. And if I do land up in one, I’ll say something.’

‘I want to know if that doesn’t work out. Promise?’

‘I promise. So, do you reckon he’s genuinely cut up about Anita leaving him because he loves and misses her?’

‘Nah. I’d say she was a trophy wife – she has class, knows what to wear, what to say. I never got any real sense of affection between those two. Did you, last year?’

‘No. He seems more upset that she’s run off with someone socially beneath them. He spoke about that builder like he’s a lesser life form!’

My mother rang when I had my head in the far corner of a king-sized duvet cover, battling to get the duvet in.

‘Hi. Mum. What can I do for you?’

‘I don’t even get a “How are you”?’

‘I only e-mailed you yesterday.’

‘Anything could’ve happened since then. I could have broken my leg, your dad could have the flu …’

‘Okay. How are you?’

‘Fine, thank you.’

I couldn’t help but smile. ‘Now we’ve established that you’re both fine, what’s up?’

‘There was something I forgot to talk to you about when we were over there.’

Really? I thought we’d covered all bases.

‘We didn’t discuss the photographer,’ she said.

I pulled my head out of the duvet cover, frowning. ‘No, but we spoke about him the previous time you were over, and nothing’s changed.’

An audible sigh at her end. Clearly she was hoping something had changed. Like my mind.

‘Emmy, I know this Bob person is a friend of yours, but are you sure he’s up to the job? You said he takes pictures of houses for Ellie, for goodness’ sake.’

I bit back a tart response. She’d picked on the least artistic aspect of Bob’s work.

‘Mum, I told you, he’s a brilliant landscape photographer. And he runs residential photography courses. I’ll e-mail you the link to his website, so you can see for yourself.’

‘He won’t be taking landscapes on your wedding day, though, will he?’

Still smarting over her haranguing Kate about the dress and texting Sophie about make-up trials, I had to make an effort to rein in my irritation.

‘No, but he has a good eye, and neither Alain nor I want formal wedding photos. We want casual shots, and Bob’s really good at those.’ When there was silence at the other end of the phone, I sent a mental apology to Bob. ‘I’ll arrange for you to meet him before the wedding, if you like.’

I knew I should have done that sooner, but I’d worried Mum wouldn’t approve of Bob’s casual style and way of going about things. My mother wasn’t narrow-minded – she was perfectly tolerant to alternative lifestyles – but someone who spent more money on his beloved motorbike than he did on himself wouldn’t be the first person she’d trust with capturing those precious, once-in-a-lifetime moments of her daughter’s wedding.

‘That would be good, Emmy. Although it will be too late by then to find an alternative.’

Yep. That’s the general idea.

‘Did you rearrange the appointment at the château?’

‘Yes. Tonight at eight o’clock.’

‘Make sure you double-check the …’

But I tuned out. I had the list imprinted on my brain already. ‘Okay, Mum. Anything else?’

‘I’ll let you know if I think of something.’

I’m sure you will.

Clicking off the phone, I flopped across the half-made bed. Heaven knew what my dad was going through, listening to this kind of thing, night after night. Good job he was still head over heels in love with her. It takes all sorts.

The conversation was still preying on my mind when I went round to Alain’s that evening. Since he’d texted to say he was delayed at work, I made a start on supper so we wouldn’t be late for our appointment.

‘Sorry I’m late.’ He came into the kitchen and nuzzled my neck, then peered dubiously into the pan I was stirring. ‘What’s that?’

‘It’s a noodle thing. It had to be something quick.’

Alain dipped a finger into the substance and tasted, screwing up his eyes and nose against possible disaster. ‘It’s okay, actually.’

‘Good, ’cause it’s all you’re getting.’

As we drove to the château after dinner – if you could call it that – I told him about my mother’s phone call.

‘So now you’re subjecting Bob to an interview with your mother?’

‘I didn’t have much choice. She disapproves of his lack of “qualifications” with regard to wedding photography.’

‘Hmm. I’m not so sure that’s all there is to it, you know.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The photographs are practically the only thing your mother hasn’t been in charge of, because you insisted from the start that we wanted Bob to do them.’

‘You’re saying she’s sulking?’

‘It’s a possibility.’

‘You may be right. But that won’t improve when she meets him, will it? First impressions-wise, I mean.’

‘Bob’s an intelligent bloke and a damned good photographer. All you have to do is agree a strategy with him beforehand. He knows his stuff and he’s personable. Between you, you’ll win her over.’ When I only chewed my lip, he said, ‘Emmy, your mum’s been brilliant organising this wedding. We could never have done it without her help – not with everything else that’s going on. But it is your big day, and you have the right to some input. There’ll be times when you need to stand up to her. This is one of them. By the sound of it, you did. Good for you.’

Our appointment at the hotel was as anticipated – a courtesy, to confirm everything, hand over the seating plan, thrash out any problems and ask any as-yet-unasked questions (basically none, with my mother at the helm).

But I was glad we went, all the same, because the visit reminded me why we’d chosen this place above all the others. The building was so handsome and photogenic, the grounds gorgeous. Bob would have no shortage of locations for his shots, that was for sure, and I reminded myself that La Cour des Roses simply wouldn’t have worked.

Back at Alain’s, I e-mailed my mother to update her.

Heaven forbid that something should be ticked off the list without tagging another one on.

She texted back, Don’t forget your make-up session with Sophie tomorrow night.

I frowned, knowing I hadn’t told her the specifics about that. Had she been in touch with Sophie yet again? It was bad enough that she was on my back, let alone harassing my friends night and day.

The following morning proved to be my chance to deal with Gavin as I’d promised Rupert I would.

I hadn’t had the time or energy to come up with a strategy yet – but since I was still stewing over my mother doubting Bob and bothering Sophie, I was already up for a fight.

Rupert had gone to visit Jonathan, and the other guests had pottered off, so I was alone in the kitchen by the time Gavin came down late for breakfast.

‘Emmy. I didn’t manage to catch you on your own yesterday.’

I hid a grimace. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of him catching me on my own.

‘I wanted to apologise for the other night,’ he went on. ‘I’d had too much to drink. Didn’t mean to pour out all my troubles like that.’

‘We all need to get things off our chest from time to time,’ I said chirpily. ‘Tea or coffee?’

‘Tea, please. I only hope you can forgive me.’

‘Of course.’

‘You’re a good egg, Emmy. Thank you.’

Before I could blink, he moved in for a thank-you hug. Clearly, the threat of a tall, fit accountant hadn’t done the trick.

It occurred to me that if Rupert were here, after what I’d told him yesterday, he might have been inclined to swing a punch or two. Good job he was out.

I moved like lightning, gripping Gavin’s wrists tight. ‘I don’t think so.’

He put on a startled expression. ‘What?’

‘You know what. I wasn’t born yesterday – and you certainly weren’t. Touch me again, and I’ll pack your stuff and throw you out.’

He barked out a strangled laugh. ‘You’ll do what? You’re only a manager here, Emmy. Rupert knows who his valued guests are.’

I stared him down. ‘If you want to test where Rupert’s loyalty lies, go right ahead. And if I can’t break your arm, maybe Rupert or my fiancé can have a crack at it. What do you think?’

Shock warred with defiance. ‘I don’t …’

I folded my arms across my chest and softened my tone. ‘Gavin, neither Rupert nor I want to lose your custom. We know you like it here, and we like having you here.’ Like hell. ‘You’ve been through a hard time. But that technique of yours has to go.’

He stood his ground for a moment, then gave a helpless shrug. ‘Okay. I’m sorry.’

‘Apology accepted. Milk in your tea?’ Along with a dose of political correctness, perhaps?

‘Please.’

And that, thank goodness, was an end to the matter.

Seeing Ryan out in the garden, I took him an espresso.

‘Thanks.’ He sipped appreciatively.

‘It’s a sweetener for a favour,’ I admitted.

He laughed. ‘What can I do for the best espresso-maker in France?’

I explained about the lavender for my bouquets. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start – which to cut, how to cut it. All that green-fingered stuff.’

‘Don’t worry, Emmy. I’ll deal with it – cut it and deliver it to the florist the day before.’

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’ His lips twitched as he stared at what I’d hoped to pass off as a messy up-do but was probably just a mess. ‘You look hot and bothered. Still chocka with guests?’

‘Yup. But that’s not why I’m hot and bothered.’

‘Oh?’

‘The hateful Mr Henderson is here for his annual visit – on his own. His wife left him.’

‘Is he better company solo?’

‘No. He’s turned into a letch, actually.’

He frowned. ‘With you? I hope you put him straight.’

‘I threatened him with a tall accountant and a loyal guesthouse owner.’

Ryan lifted his arm to show off his impressive biceps. ‘You can add a muscled gardener to the gang if you need to.’

I laughed. ‘Appreciated.’

That afternoon, I visited Madame Dupont at her daughter’s in a village a couple of miles beyond town; a small house that opened onto the street and was a little run-down. Through our many conversations over the months, I knew that Madame Dupont’s daughter’s job wasn’t well-paid and her son-in-law was often off work with a bad back.

‘Emie, it is so kind of you to come.’

I held out a bunch of flowers I’d brought from the garden. ‘For your room.’

‘Thank you.’ She kissed my cheek. ‘It is nice to have something from La Cour des Roses. I will put them in water and make you tea. Come.’

I followed her into a small lounge-diner-kitchen, where her son-in-law was in an armchair, watching television.

‘This is Jean-Claude, my son-in-law.’

He nodded politely. ‘I’m sorry I can’t get up. My back, you see.’

‘Please don’t worry.’

‘I’m making tea,’ she told him. ‘Would you like some?’

‘No, thank you, Renee.’

His use of her first name startled me. To me, she had always been Madame Dupont, and I was amazed to realise that I hadn’t known her name until now.

She put the kettle on and reached for mugs from a cupboard.

‘How are you?’

‘I am well, Emie, thank you. Under the circumstances.’

I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t be a platitude of some kind. ‘What’s happening with your chickens?’

‘Monsieur Girard will feed and check on them, for now.’ While she waited for the kettle, she found a squat plastic vase for the flowers.

‘That’s good of him. And he brought you some things?’

‘Yes. His wife picked out some clothes for me. Everything smelled of smoke, so she had to wash them several times.’

‘That was good of her.’ I glanced at her garish floral dress and wondered how many decades ago she’d bought it. It must be made of sturdy stuff, to last all this time.

‘Yes. And they will fetch me tomorrow, so I can go through the rest, to see what can be salvaged. They will box up what I don’t need for now and store it in their barn.’

I thought about how busy a farmer must be at this time of year, and how kind Madame Dupont’s neighbours were.

‘Come, Emie, we can go to my room. Let’s leave Jean-Claude to his favourite programme.’

She handed me my tea, and with hers in one hand and the flowers in the other, she ushered me into the hall and up the stairs.

Her temporary accommodation was small and neat with a single bed, a chest of drawers and a rail for clothes. Madame Dupont’s bag was on the floor in a corner.

She saw me glance at it and shrugged as she placed the flowers on the drawers.

‘No point in unpacking. This is my granddaughter’s room. She’ll be back from her holiday tomorrow, so I will go to my niece’s. Then to my sister’s over the weekend. Then back to my niece, I hope.’

‘Why don’t you stay at your sister’s for longer?’

‘I need to be near my house to sort things out. My sister is too far away, and her flat is too small. It is okay for a night or two, but not longer.’ She gave me a sly smile. ‘And we would drive each other mad.’

‘I’m so sorry we can’t put you up at La Cour des Roses.’

‘You are full, Emie. It is good that you are busy.’ Her face fell. ‘But I am sorry I cannot clean for you. I would like to, but I have no transport, you see.’

‘You already have enough to worry about.’

‘But how will you manage the gîte changeovers on Saturday?’

Good question. ‘Maybe Rupert could get someone from town.’

She sipped her tea, her wrinkled brow furrowed, and then her eyes lit up. ‘No, Emie. Perhaps you could come for me at my niece’s and drive me to La Cour des Roses for our Saturday work? And afterwards, you could drive me into Pierre-la-Fontaine for the bus to my sister’s?’

‘I could, but I’m not sure you should be working yet.’

‘I would like to come,’ she said decisively. ‘I will enjoy your company. Please let me do it. Especially as I cannot help during the week.’

‘If you’re sure.’

She smiled, happy that I’d capitulated, but then a sad expression took its place. ‘Emie, there is something I need to tell you about.’

‘Oh?’

‘The embroidered squares for your wedding favours.’ She spread her hands out, palms up, in apology. ‘They are all gone. They were in the kitchen, you see, and the fire … The crockery, too. I am so sorry.’

I hadn’t even thought about that. My heart sank. ‘I’m sorry, too, but only because you spent so much time embroidering them.’ I took her wrinkled hand. ‘All those evenings …’

She managed a stoical shrug. ‘It kept me occupied. Will you apologise to your mother and aunt for me?’

‘No.’ When she looked startled, I explained, ‘I’ll tell them, but I won’t apologise for something out of your control.’ I kissed her cheek. ‘Please don’t worry. My aunt and mother are resourceful creatures.’

I phoned my mother as soon as I got home.

‘Oh? But, Emmy! That means we’ll need to find an alternative, and there’s only just over two weeks to the wedding, well, only ten days till we come out there …’

‘Mum! Madame Dupont spent evening after evening on those silk squares, and now they’ve gone up in flames. As has her house.’

That silenced her for a moment. ‘Yes. Of course. I’m sorry, Emmy. That poor lady. Do tell her she mustn’t worry about the wedding favours. Jeanie and I will come up with something else. There’s still time. Please pass on my sincere sympathies to Madame Dupont. Such a shame.’

Alain came to La Cour des Roses for supper that night, and Rupert left me in charge of it (only fresh vegetable soup – what harm could I do?) while they walked along the lane to see the damage to Madame Dupont’s cottage.

A heavy rain began soon after they returned and looked like it had no intention of giving up till morning, forcing us to eat in the kitchen, so Rupert decided to liven up the atmosphere by regaling Alain with the tale of Gavin’s wandering hands.

And liven things up, it did. Alain’s expression went from livid at the idea of someone daring to touch me right through to a victory punch in the air as I described my solution.

‘Good for you, Emmy. Although I’d have beaten him to a pulp, if necessary.’

‘As would I,’ Rupert chipped in.

I laughed. ‘Lovely though it is to know that I have such valiant protectors, I was trying to make sure it wasn’t necessary.’

A few minutes later, Gavin poked his head round the door. He’d kept a low profile all day, so I was amazed that he dared put in an appearance.

‘Sorry to interrupt.’ He shot me a sheepish look. ‘My light bulb’s given up the ghost. Any spares?’

‘I’ll sort it out.’ Rupert stood. ‘Gavin, this is Alain – Emmy’s husband-to-be.’

‘Oh. Er. Pleased to meet you.’

Alain stood, towering over him as Gavin reached out a hand which Alain politely shook, although I could tell he put more grip into it than was strictly necessary.

Gavin winced, and as Rupert followed him out into the hall, we heard him mutter, ‘I say, that chap of Emmy’s is tall, isn’t he?’

I burst out laughing and Alain joined in, but when we’d subsided, he gave me a serious look.

‘Emmy. Let me or Rupert know if he misbehaves again. I mean it.’

‘Okay, but I don’t think he will.’

‘Any follow-up from your mother about the photographs?’

‘No, thank goodness.’

He reached across to kiss me. ‘See? All you have to do is stand up to her a bit more.’

‘Not talking about Emmy’s mother, are we?’ Rupert commented as he came back in, defunct light bulb in hand. ‘Standing up to Flo is like trying to stand up to that storm out there. The woman’s an unstoppable force of nature!’

Alain shot him a look that said his comment was unhelpful, but it made me smile.

We relaxed over a glass of wine. Or the boys tried to, until I brought up the wedding speeches.

‘Have you written them yet?’ I asked, sounding too much like my mother for my liking.

‘Written them?’ Rupert looked bewildered. ‘Why do we have to write them? Isn’t the clue in the word “speech”?’

‘According to my mother, you should write it out, rehearse it, then have crib cards in case you get flustered on the day.’

Alain and Rupert exchanged glances.

‘I’ll be keeping mine short,’ Alain declared. ‘There’s nothing worse than speeches that go on forever, with somebody trying to be funny but it falls flat, and everyone shuffling in their chairs.’

‘What he said,’ Rupert hastily chipped in.

I smiled, but felt obliged to make one more attempt. ‘But Mum …’

‘Emmy.’ Alain cut me off. ‘I promise we’ll think about what we want to say, go over it in our heads beforehand. But if the speeches are short, that should suffice. Writing it out, rehearsing it? It’ll sound stilted, when what we want is for our words to come across as genuine and heartfelt.’

Well! Mum couldn’t argue that my fiancé hadn’t put any thought into his speech, even if it might not be the kind of thought she had in mind.

Rupert looked at me questioningly, awaiting my verdict.

I jerked my thumb at Alain. ‘What he said.’

Rupert laughed. ‘You know, Alain, they say you should take a long hard look at your prospective mother-in-law before you propose to her daughter.’

Alain blew out a breath. ‘Hmm. I have a nasty feeling I might regret missing out that step.’

I slapped his arm, but I couldn’t help laughing.

Depressed by the rain, we retired early to my room, where Alain suggested television in bed to take our mind off the storm and my mother. Apart from my habit of leaving it on in the background sometimes in order to absorb French by osmosis, I barely watched it – and I can’t say I missed it. But this was cosy, snuggling up with my man under the covers.

Besides, I wanted to leave any bouncing around until Rupert might be asleep. Ridiculous, I knew, but somehow it still felt a little clandestine, having Alain stay overnight – like a naughty teenager defying her parents.

I flicked through the channels, ignoring news and sport and secretly hoping for a schmaltzy rom-com.

‘How about this?’ Alain asked as spooky music and opening credits filled the screen.

‘A vampire movie? Very romantic.’

‘It could be. It’s an oldie, so it won’t be too gory. And if you get scared, you can leap into my arms, and I can help calm you down.’

Hmmm. I could see the merits in that.

Cuddled together with the lights out and only the eerie glow from the telly, we got caught up in the movie. It ticked all the boxes – not too gruesome, amusing due to the dated special effects, but engrossing all the same. There were plenty of jump-out-of-your-skin moments (each leading to a reassuring hug from Alain), not least when we heard a tapping on the window.

And I don’t mean the vampire in the film, who was at that very moment tapping and scratching on a window to be invited in by his next idiot victim, who should learn to close her curtains before she went to bed. I mean tapping on our window.

I nearly had a heart attack. Alain jumped, too – something that seriously unnerved me.

I swallowed. ‘Was that on the telly, or was it …?’

‘I think it was real life,’ he asserted dubiously.

‘The rain?’

He shook his head.

We both looked towards the window, the light cotton curtains allowing a glimpse of a shadowy form behind them. I wished I’d closed the shutters. And that I kept garlic in the room. And that I wasn’t an atheist and therefore lacking a sizeable crucifix.

Clambering out of bed, we crept to the window. Taking a deep breath, I pulled the curtains aside. The form was gone.

‘What the hell was that?’ I whispered.

Alain looked a little pale. ‘Kids?’

‘All the way out here?’

‘An animal?’

‘How tall do you think the field mice are around here, Alain? I’d rather encounter a vampire!’

‘I know it wasn’t that.’

I looked doubtful.

‘Come on, Emmy, it’s only our imaginations.’ He switched the telly off, then turned on the bedside lamp, flooding the room with a comforting glow. ‘That’s enough of that for one night.’ He pulled me down onto the bed beside him. ‘I’ve decided we need to switch roles.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m a bit shaken up. I need comfort and reassurance.’

I hit him with a pillow. ‘You big baby. It was you that chose the movie!’

The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘Can we sleep with the light on?’

‘I thought you needed comfort and reassurance. Who said anything about sleep?’ My mouth came down to meet his as I rolled onto him, the solid wall of his chest a comforting presence beneath me as he wrapped his arms around my waist, then broke the kiss to nuzzle at my neck – and nip at it with his teeth.

‘Not funny, Alain,’ I warned.

He spun me so that I was pinned beneath him. ‘I’m not aiming to make you laugh. You can moan a little, if you like, though.’