Rupert was childishly delighted by the Gavin and Kathleen story when he got back from town.

Neither of us was delighted when I answered the phone.

‘Emmy? Gloria here.’

Oh, joy. ‘Gloria!’

Rupert waved his hands madly, indicating he didn’t want to speak to her, and shot off into the garden. Getting that dog had made him a darned sight fitter – he moved pretty fast for a sixty-year-old.

Gloria usually phoned Rupert on his mobile, so I hadn’t spoken to her for nearly a year. Indeed, the last time we spoke, she tried to tell me that my boyfriend had slept with her. It wasn’t true, but it caused an awful lot of trouble and almost ruined Rupert and Alain’s friendship for good. I wasn’t ready to forgive her for that.

Staring at the magnetic strip of chefs’ knives across the kitchen – a subconscious choice? – I mustered up some courtesy, but I had to dig deep.

‘How are you, Gloria?’ Not that I care.

‘Is Rupert around?’ Polite chit-chat wasn’t on Gloria’s agenda either, then. ‘I’ve been trying his mobile, but he’s not answering.’

Then he probably doesn’t want to talk to you, and who could blame him? ‘He’s round at Jonathan’s’ was what came out of my mouth, to buy him some time.

‘That old coot’s still going strong, is he?’

Bitch. ‘Indeed he is, and we all love him dearly. I’ll tell Rupert you phoned.’

‘Do that, Emmy. It’s important.’

‘I’m sure it is.’ All your demands are important to you. The rest of us live a life that doesn’t involve seeing how much we can squeeze out of others.

I would have choked out a goodbye, but Gloria wasn’t interested in pleasantries. She’d already gone.

Rupert was down at the chicken run, inspecting the fence. The dog was splayed out in the shade with one eye on what her master was doing, although it looked like sleep would get the better of her any minute now.

‘Little buggers tried to escape this morning,’ he explained. ‘One of ’em was almost out.’

‘Gloria says it’s important. She’s been trying your mobile.’

‘Ah. Yes. I have had several missed calls. Couldn’t face them today. Sorry you had to talk to her.’

‘No problem,’ I lied. ‘I told her you were at Jonathan’s, so you have time to steel yourself.’

‘Thanks, Emmy. I’ll fix this, then get it over with.’

Ten minutes later, I heard raised voices and went to the patio doors to see Rupert pacing the garden, throwing his arms about in agitation as he spoke.

When he came back in, I had a cup of tea waiting for him.

‘Need something stronger than tea,’ he grumbled.

‘What does she want?’

‘What doesn’t she want?’

‘Shouldn’t the solicitors deal with that?’

‘Hmm. That trip of mine to London couldn’t be done by them, though, could it? That went okay. Lulled me into a false sense of security. But these phone calls? They tire me out.’

‘There’s no need for all this,’ I said sternly. ‘If there’s nothing more to do in person, you should tell her you’ll only negotiate via your solicitor.’

‘I’m worried that’ll make her sulk and lead to more demands.’

‘Surely there’s a limit to what else she can demand?’ Although as far as I could see, there were few limits – or depths – to anything with Gloria. ‘Why don’t you e-mail her? Tell her you don’t think personal contact is good for either of you, and you’d prefer to go through the proper channels?’

He puffed out a breath. ‘I’ll think about it. Oh, by the way, I phoned Juliette about cleaning for us.’

My eyes lit up – the extra cleaning was taking its toll. ‘Can she help?’

‘Yes. She can start tomorrow, but she wants a pay rise and she can only do two mornings a week to suit her.’

‘Oh. Well. Better than nothing. Thanks.’

The next day was Juliette’s first cleaning shift, and she was, as Rupert suggested, lacking in humour. A stout woman in her late thirties, she greeted me curtly, listened politely to what I wanted her to cover in her two shifts a week and got on with it.

‘See what I mean, Emmy?’ Rupert muttered out of earshot. ‘That woman is hard work.’

‘As long as she does some hard work. We’d be worse off with someone who spent the whole morning chattering.’

But when I took an espresso out to Ryan in the garden, he also had an unfavourable opinion.

‘I see the crabby bag that Rupert had helping out last year is back. Went into the kitchen for a glass of water and she frightened me to death, demanding to know what I was doing in there. Didn’t dare ask for a coffee.’

‘She’ll be here twice a week.’

‘Hmmph. Might start bringing my own water bottle with me,’ he muttered. ‘Makes you appreciate Madame Dupont all the more, doesn’t it?’

‘It certainly does.’

When I got back to La Cour des Roses after running errands that afternoon, I found Jonathan ensconced in a chair in the garden, an iced tea at his elbow and the dog stretched across his feet. He bent to absentmindedly fondle her ears from time to time, and they both seemed content with the arrangement.

‘Hi, Jonathan. A special occasion? Or are you just soaking up the grandeur of the garden?’

Rupert sometimes brought Jonathan over for that sole purpose, but usually when we weren’t so busy.

‘I asked Rupert to fetch me. I want to talk to you both.’

‘Oh?’

He waited until Rupert came from the kitchen with iced tea for me, too.

‘Now then,’ Jonathan said, ‘What about poor Madame Dupont? Is there anyone who can take her in long term yet?’

‘Her niece says she’s welcome, but she has small children, and the baby cries in the night. It can’t be helped.’

‘You’re worried about her?’

‘I’m worried that all this upheaval is a bit much at her age.’

He nodded. ‘I’ve been thinking. She can come to me. I have a spare room. I’m in town, so she has access to anything she needs, and she can stay as long as it takes to get her house sorted.’

Rupert and I exchanged a surprised look.

‘That’s kind of you, Jonathan, but you don’t know each other well,’ Rupert said cautiously.

‘I’ve had a few chats with her here at La Cour des Roses over the years. We’re a similar age. It might be nice for me to have someone around, now I can’t get about as much. And due to my sexual persuasion, she can rest assured that her virtue will remain safe.’ He winked at me. ‘What do you reckon?’

‘It sounds like a great idea, but …’

‘Will you speak to her about it?’ Jonathan pushed.

‘I could take you round to see her now, Jonathan, if you like,’ Rupert offered.

I leaned over to kiss Jonathan’s papery cheek. ‘Thank you.’

Since we had a guest meal that night, I would have no opportunity to tell Alain about Jonathan’s offer, so I phoned him when I could grab a break from the kitchen.

‘I’d never have thought of it,’ he admitted. ‘But it’s better than her being huddled with family when they haven’t got room for her. Hope they get on alright. It’s not like they know each other too well, is it?’

‘No, but it’s a mutual arrangement. Madame Dupont needs somewhere to stay, and Jonathan needs the company and some help.’

‘I’m glad.’ He hesitated. ‘Mum phoned again.’

‘Oh?’ I wasn’t sure which of us would win the competition for whose mother was bothering them most at the moment. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Not sure. They’ve got the kids staying with them.’

‘Again?’

‘Yep. Last minute, too. Sabine brought them from Rouen yesterday, and she’s gone back to her parents on her own. Mum thinks that’s odd.’

‘Your mother thinks everything’s odd at the moment.’

‘I know, but it is, isn’t it?’

‘Adrien had a weekend on his own, remember. Maybe Sabine feels she deserves a little me-time, too. It is strange, though. I mean, Sabine and Adrien already had a child-free week together, didn’t they?’ I shrugged. ‘But your mother adores having them, so it’s a bonus for her, isn’t it?’

When my mother phoned the following afternoon, I was so not in the mood. I’d just had a text from Kate telling me she’d finally found all her accessories – a relief, after daily reminders from my mother, apparently. I was not happy that my mother had continued to harangue Kate even after she found her dress. That she’d gone through Sophie directly about the make-up trial. And I was still cross with her for phoning me on Saturday evening, when she knew I would be tired and busy. For making me have that awkward conversation over the wedding cake on Monday. More than once recently, I’d told myself I only had to get through the wedding, and then this would all be over. And then I’d realised what a sad state of affairs that was, to be thinking that way.

So no, I wasn’t in the mood for more of the same.

The topic for discussion this time? The night before the wedding. It had already been decided upon, but my mother wasn’t ready to let go. It felt like every conversation we had lately was about her having one last shot at something I’d already put my foot down over.

Well, she was messing with the wrong woman on the wrong day.

‘I don’t understand your thinking, Emmy.’

I looked through the kitchen window at the afternoon sun glinting off the gravel and took a deep breath to catch a waft of calming lavender.

‘And I don’t understand yours. Why do you want a big group of people going out for a restaurant meal the night before the wedding? It’ll detract from the specialness of the reception if we’ve already seen practically everybody the night before.’

‘I’m not talking about everybody, Emmy,’ she snapped. ‘Only close family – the people staying at La Cour des Roses. Rupert. Your bridesmaids.’

‘That’s over a dozen people! We’d never get anywhere booked now.’

‘If you’d pulled your finger out …’

I remembered what Alain had said about putting my foot down.

‘I don’t want to pull my finger out. Rupert has kindly offered supper at La Cour des Roses, and that suits me.’

‘But that leaves out anyone staying at the château.’

I took a deep breath. ‘That’s the whole point of the wedding, surely – to see everyone at the reception?’

Although pardon me for thinking that the whole point of the wedding is to get me and Alain hitched.

Mum huffed. ‘If you’re sure that’s what you want.’

‘I’m positive. It would be too late a night for Gabriel and Chloe, and I don’t want a gutful of rich food before the wedding.’

‘There’s no need to be snippy, Emmy.’

There’s every need.

‘And another thing,’ Mum went on. ‘You never phoned me back about the wedding favours on Sunday.’

No, because my fiancé confiscated my phone so you couldn’t drive me mad. And we had a fabulous day and made fabulous love on the dining table instead.

‘I’m sorry. I was busy and I forgot.’ When she tutted, I went a step further. ‘I’m really busy, Mum. It’s August. We’re booked up here. My own business is busy, too. I’m up to my eyes.’

‘Oh, and I’m not? Coordinating the guests and answering everyone’s queries and giving out directions and heaven knows what?’

I took a deep breath and quelled the feeling that I was thirteen again, my mother and me in a battle of wills that neither of us was going to win.

‘I appreciate that. And I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you. What did you need to talk about?’

‘It doesn’t matter now. Aunt Jeanie and I dealt with it.’

Then why make such a fuss? ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. But bear in mind that we only have just over a week to the wedding, Emmy, so a swifter response time on your part wouldn’t go amiss. I’ll see you on Sunday.’

She clicked off, leaving me with a bad taste in my mouth. Disagreements between my mother and me were certainly not unheard of, and it wasn’t unknown for one or the other of us to take our bat and ball home occasionally – but I could do without it, the week before the wedding.

‘Well, he did it, Emmy,’ Rupert commented the next morning as we waved Gavin off for another year.

The dog sat calmly by Rupert’s legs, watching as the car disappeared. I think she was glad to see Gavin go, too.

‘Did what?’

‘He said, “It won’t be hard to get myself another woman.” Remember? And he was right.’

‘How do you know, though? Just because he and Kathleen slept together doesn’t mean it’s serious.’

‘They were making plans to meet up once the ladies get back to England. Seems he’s swapping one trophy wife for another. Or trophy girlfriend. Kathleen has class, independent means thanks to her loaded ex-husband, no kids and a decent figure. She only lives fifty miles away. And she’s a few years younger than him. I imagine he’ll be keen to show her off at the golf club. Deborah doesn’t look too happy about it, mind you.’

‘She’s got a warm-hearted butcher and three teenagers to go back to. What’s she got to complain about?’

I went back indoors to supervise Juliette for another shift, but she was as hard work as last time. She was a grafter – and I appreciated that – but not much of a social animal.

By the time we’d finished, I was relieved to get away for my afternoon appointment for highlights and a final cut at Sophie’s salon. I never really enjoyed going to the hairdresser back in the UK, not quite knowing what they would do to me and always fearing the worst. But I’d struck gold with Sophie. I immediately relaxed, knowing she would do a perfect job.

‘So, Emmy. Catch me up on the latest gossip,’ she said as she arranged her dishes of highlighting goo and brushes and foil squares.

‘La Cour des Roses is running smoothly,’ I told her brightly. Always start with a positive.

‘You have done a great job there, Emmy. Rupert must be very pleased.’

‘Rupert is very busy. I don’t know about pleased.’

Sophie laughed. ‘And your business is doing well?’

‘I’ve had problems to deal with, and there’s no chance of becoming a millionaire, but by the end of this year I’ll have paid myself back the money I borrowed from that inheritance from my grandmother, and a little more besides. I’m satisfied.’

‘You should be. You have done so much in just one year!’ She held my gaze in the mirror. ‘And?’

I frowned. ‘And what?’

‘I get the feeling there is something that is not going quite so well, Emmy. What is it?’

I toyed with denial, but I knew Sophie would never allow me to get away with that. Shrugging, I admitted, ‘Weddings. Mothers. Urgh.’

‘Ha! That is expected.’

‘Yeah, but it’s getting worse, Sophie. I know we all laugh about it, but she’s really starting to get my goat now.’

‘What is this goat?’

‘Er. She’s getting on my tits,’ I rephrased.

Her eyes lit up. ‘Ah, yes, this I understand. In what way?’

‘Pushing for things I don’t want and never did. Not seeing my point of view.’

‘You should stand up to her. This is your wedding, not hers.’

‘That’s what Alain says. I’m trying, but it’s not easy when she’s done the bulk of the hard work. She’s put so much time and energy into this.’ I sighed. ‘But I could do without fighting these battles so close to the wedding. I’m worried we’ll fall out properly, and it’ll ruin the day.’

Sophie gave me a stern glare. ‘You should not have to do something you do not want to, not at your age.’

‘That’s partly the trouble. On the phone yesterday, I felt like I was back in my teens.’

‘But your mother has always been like this, n’est-ce pas? Surely you have found a way to handle her by now?’

‘I wish I could say yes, but I can’t. When I was little, I soon learned that fighting her was hard work – it was easier to do what I was told. And to be fair, Dad would always step in if he thought she was being unreasonable – beyond her usual unreasonableness, that is. In my teens, I rebelled, and it was exhausting for both of us. I suppose we’ve found a halfway house over the past few years, but we go through patches of good and bad. Right now, we’re heading rapidly into a bad patch, and the timing isn’t ideal.’

‘It will be alright, Emmy.’ Sophie shook her head. ‘Poor you. Working so hard, arguing with your mother, worrying about Madame Dupont, running two businesses.’

‘I know. How I’m still sane, I don’t know.’

Sophie laughed. ‘Who said you are sane?’

When she’d finished, I looked in the mirror. My hair was a fabulous golden blonde, and the soft waves I would have on my wedding day were a new look that I wanted to adopt forever but I knew could never be practical. I didn’t have that amount of time on a morning.

‘It’s good to have Marcus and James back, isn’t it?’ Rupert said that evening as he placed flatfish fillets on parchment, slathered them with his special seafood sauce, then loosely wrapped the paper into a parcel. It was one of my favourites, and my mouth watered with anticipation.

I smiled. Marcus and James had stayed last year and said they would be back. This year, they could only manage a long weekend, but I loved that aspect of La Cour des Roses – that magic that made people want to return. I could faff about on social media till I was blue in the face, advertise, send newsletters, update the website, all to attract new customers. It worked well and gave me satisfaction. But it was nothing like knowing you’d hooked someone in for ongoing visits.

When Marcus and James came down for dinner, I greeted them like old friends.

‘See, Emmy? We told you that wild horses wouldn’t keep us from coming back every year!’ Marcus reminded me.

‘Indeed, you did. It’s lovely to see you both again.’

We exchanged kisses, and I got that lovely glow I always got at times like this, reminding me why I loved this place, and why Rupert had been determined to hang onto it when Gloria would have had him walk away from it. Rupert was a gregarious man who enjoyed others’ company. This way, he got plenty. If he didn’t like someone, it wasn’t long before they left, but if he did, there was every chance he’d see them again in the future. Perfect.

The only exception to the rule was Gavin Henderson, whom nobody liked but who kept coming back year after year like a bad penny.

By Friday evening, Rupert was already on a high after getting Madame Dupont settled in with Jonathan, so when Ellie rolled up in her open-top saloon with possible good news about his Mallorcan property, he thought all his Christmases had come at once.

‘You may have a buyer, Rupert,’ Ellie told him the minute she got out of the car. ‘I spoke to Luiza at the end of play today. She wants to talk to you tomorrow, so I arranged to call her from my office. Can you be there at eleven?’

‘Anything to offload that place.’ Rupert pecked her on the cheek, then turned to me. ‘Still time for you to enjoy your honeymoon there, though.’ He fetched wine and three glasses. ‘We’ll wait for bubbly till it’s signed and sealed, but I don’t see why we shouldn’t have something grape-based now, do you?’

I enjoyed a glass of wine with them, but since the conversation was bound to be dominated by details of the offer, I excused myself and went to my room.

Alain had an evening meeting with a client, so I worked late, too, catching up with e-mails, bookings, queries, a review trawl, and beginning to formulate plans for next year – possible changes to the website for Nick to sink his teeth into and publicity for next year’s holiday season.

And for some of the time, I simply stared through the window at the dark orchard, moonlight casting a glow so the tree trunks stood dark against the rest, enjoying the peace.

I was closing down the laptop when I got an e-mail from Mum. I don’t know why I panicked. Just because it was after eleven and she should be in bed and Dad might be seriously ill … I should know better by now. My mother liked to offload her thoughts as soon as they entered her head. That way, it made room for more thoughts. Heaven help us all.

I wondered if the fact that she’d signed off as Mum rather than her usual Love, Mum meant that she was still fed up that I hadn’t phoned her back over this when I should have. But the tone of the rest of the e-mail was upbeat, so maybe she’d cooled off and I was in the clear.

I admired the photos of lilac netting bags of dried lavender for the ladies, tied with ribbon and nestled in antique china tea cups and saucers, and white sugared almonds in white netting for the gents. They looked lovely, even if my dad was having transport kittens because of the china.

Then I fired off an effusive thank you e-mail to Mum, the same to Aunt Jeanie, and breathed a sigh of relief. Another wedding item ticked off, and without much hassle on my part, although my heart sank when I thought of all Madame Dupont’s hard work, gone up in flames.

Waving off Kathleen and Deborah the next morning, I wondered if Kathleen really would take up with Gavin Henderson once they got back home. What I did know was that the two sisters had not been getting on as well as when they first arrived. Since I doubted Deborah was jealous – Gavin was a cold fish in comparison with her kind butcher, by the sound of it – I could only presume she resented coming on holiday for quality sister-time, only for Kathleen’s attention to be directed elsewhere.

When they’d gone, I drove off to fetch Madame Dupont from Jonathan’s.

‘How are you managing with Juliette?’ she asked.

‘She’s competent, and I’m grateful for the help. But it’s not like having you around.’

This pleased her enormously. As we got to work in the first gîte, I asked how she was finding her new temporary home.

‘It is good, Emie, thank you. Monsieur Jonathan is a kind gentleman and my room is nice. He likes my cooking. He had not been eating properly before. And I made him tell that useless once-a-week-I-might-dust-if-I-can-be-bothered cleaner that she is no longer needed.’

Her nose went up in the air, making me smile. It seemed that both she and Jonathan were suited with the arrangement.

‘Do you spend much time together?’ I asked her curiously, unable to imagine how two old people, who had each spent years living on their own, would get along in a small house with an open-plan downstairs.

‘I am content to read in my room and listen to the radio, to give Monsieur Jonathan his own space. I do not want to take over his house. Sometimes we watch television together, if there is a film. He often sits in his little yard, and I can go into town if I want a walk.’

‘What will you do in the long term?’

‘We will see. When you get to my age, Emie, the long term is quite short, n’est-ce pas?’ She patted my arm. ‘But I do not want to impose on Monsieur Jonathan for too long. I will stay a while, since he has been so kind, but then I will go back to staying with family.’

I frowned at that. ‘I’m sure Jonathan is happy for you to stay for as long as your house takes, Madame Dupont.’

A shake of her head. ‘I do not want to outstay my welcome. And I might be wise not to let myself get too comfortable. I am spoiled there. It is easy to walk into town to get what I need, any day of the week. The bus to my sister’s. The market every Monday.’ She sighed. ‘The longer I spend away from my house, the more I realise it was becoming too hard for me. I loved my cottage, Emie. It was my home. But it is a chapter of my life – a long book, really – that feels closed now.’

‘Once they’ve repaired it, could you sell it? Buy something in town?’

She cackled. ‘That place will not be worth much, even when it is fixed. Who wants a small place like that in the middle of nowhere? Much of it will still need modernising. And places in town are expensive. It is unlikely I could afford it.’

I suspected she was right. ‘Could you move nearer your sister?’

‘I have lived in Pierre-la-Fontaine all my life, Emie. All my friends are here. My children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews. I do not want to live anywhere else now.’

‘I still don’t think you should move out of Jonathan’s.’

‘I won’t for a while. But then we will see.’ Her face was set.