Nick looked knackered when he arrived. Blond, handsome in a rakish way, he wore cotton slacks and a short-sleeved shirt that needed ironing.

I hugged him tight, and he and Alain shook hands.

‘Do you want anything?’ I asked him.

‘All I want is a bed,’ Nick said apologetically. ‘I was working all weekend as well as today. Needed to finish something for a client. Do you mind? I haven’t got it in me to be sociable tonight.’

‘No problem.’

While Alain put the kettle on, I led him upstairs, and Nick complimented the room as he hoisted his bags onto the bed.

‘You’ll be pleased to know that Mum and Dad are next door,’ I told him.

‘Great. Thanks for that, Emmy.’

‘Ha! Tea or a nightcap?’

‘I’d kill for a tea.’

‘Chamomile?’

He shuddered. ‘No, thanks. Tastes like gnats’ piss.’

Smiling, I went downstairs to deliver his order to Alain.

Rupert came into the kitchen. ‘Nick arrived? Sorry I wasn’t here to say hi.’

‘Don’t worry. He looks tired out. Better to save the pleasantries till the morning. Are Mum and Dad back yet?’

‘No. The food might be fantastic at that place, but it’s notoriously slow service.’

I took Nick’s tea up, placed it on a crocheted mat on the antique satin walnut dressing table, and closed the door.

‘Nick, did you know about Mum and Dad retiring and selling the house and possibly moving to France?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I was under pain of death not to. Mum didn’t want you distracted from getting your arse in gear with the wedding.’ A pause. ‘You sound upset about it.’

‘Not upset, as such. But don’t you think it’s a bit drastic?’

‘Emmy, you’ve said yourself that you wished he’d retire.’

‘I don’t mean that. I mean about buying a house over here.’

‘It’s your fault they’re tempted by the paradise that is France.’ He gave me a knowing look. ‘Worried they’re going to cramp your style?’

‘No. Yes.’ I sighed. ‘A bit. But I don’t want them to rush into anything.’

He ruffled my hair. ‘Don’t worry. Dad’s level-headed. They’re only talking about spending a few weeks or months a year over here. It’s not like they’re emigrating to Australia. It’s what they want. Let them have their adventure.’

I heard the front door open and Mum, Dad and Jeanie pile in. Nick heard, too, judging by his expression.

I left him to crash out – if Mum and Dad would let him. But as I went back downstairs, I felt both childish and churlish. Mum and Dad did have the right to do whatever they wanted. They’d put in their time.

Saying hi to them but leaving them to bother Nick, I snuck off to my room to make up and make love with Alain. But when I got there and sank into the mattress with Alain by my side, my eyes were closing before either of us could make a move, and I soon drifted into a much-needed deep sleep.

‘Emmy, I’m sorry I upset you last night,’ Alain said the next morning when we woke, the early sunlight reaching across the bed. ‘I only want you to have the best day on Friday. I want it to be special for you.’

‘It will be, because I’m marrying you. But you’re supposed to enjoy it, too, you know?’ I kissed his shoulder. ‘Perhaps we could lock Mum up for the day?’

He chuckled. ‘Chance would be a fine thing. And I know your mum means well.’

I glanced at the bedside clock. ‘I should shower and get going.’

Letting the warm spray slide over my skin, I thought that despite our words this morning, we were both still a little bruised by our frankness the night before, and as I towelled myself dry, I vowed that I would at least be resolute with my mother this week.

God give me strength.

Alain threw on shorts and a T-shirt and we went round to the kitchen for him to retrieve the dog and go for his morning run before work, and me to get an early caffeine fix.

Looking through the patio doors, I saw Nick wandering aimlessly in the garden. Since he wasn’t remotely enthusiastic about horticulture, I assumed he couldn’t sleep or was worrying about something, or both.

Kissing Alain goodbye, I made a couple of coffees and took them down the garden, the dew-damp grass tickling my feet, the morning still fresh before the heat began to build.

I loved this time of day. It was even nicer to have the time to enjoy it without worrying about getting a perfect breakfast ready for guests and pandering to their whims and requests. It was more relaxed when it was family.

Nick took the coffee gratefully, sipped and smiled. ‘How come coffee tastes so much better over here?’

‘It’s psychological,’ I assured him. ‘It’s bound to taste better in a glorious French garden in the morning sunshine than in your poky flat in drizzly London.’

‘Then why did I spend two hundred and fifty quid on a fancy espresso machine?’

I laughed. ‘Because you hate instant coffee and like gadgets?’

‘Hmmph.’

I steered him to a bench and we sat, Nick distractedly sipping at his coffee. He’d always been monosyllabic of a morning, but even so.

‘Is everything alright?’ I ventured.

He scratched the back of his head. ‘Yeah. It’s kinda weird, you getting married.’

‘You’ve known that for months.’

‘But it’s imminent now, isn’t it? Don’t you think it’s a bit scary?’

‘Nick, I’m the bride. I’m not supposed to find it scary.’ I studied his face. ‘Why do you think it’s scary?’

He stared out across the lawn, but he wasn’t focusing. ‘This being in love lark. I don’t get it.’

‘That’s because you’ve never tried it.’

‘But even if I did – even if I wanted to – how do you know if it’s the real thing?’

‘I thought I was in love with Nathan, remember? We were together five years! It wasn’t till after he left that I realised I’d only assumed I was in love with him. And once Alain and I got together, I knew that what I’d had with Nathan was nothing like what I have with Alain.’

Nick smiled warmly. ‘I can see that for you. The difference.’

‘What’s all this about? Have you found someone?’

‘Nah. But I’ve got to the point where I’ve had enough of casual relationships. I’m thirty, you and Alain are getting married, and … I think I want something more for myself now.’

‘You’re quite a catch. Handsome, high earner, flat of your own in London – teensy though it may be.’

Nick grinned. ‘Thanks, Emmy. You’re the best.’

He wrapped his arms around me, his affection for me so clear that it warmed me from my head to my toes. I loved my little brother.

The first test of my resolve regarding my mother came over breakfast.

Fired up by her conversation with Bob, she wanted – no, needed – to go back to the château to refamiliarise herself with the grounds and plan some of those group photos she still hoped for. Oh, and to deliver the wedding favours.

I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do less, for so many reasons. Kate was arriving later, and I wanted to spend the evening with her. Before then, I needed to catch up with e-mails and bookings for La Cour des Roses and my own business, and I needed a handover meeting with Rupert.

I explained all this to Mum, but she was having none of it.

‘You work all hours here, Emmy. I’m sure Rupert won’t mind if you slack off a bit to come to the hotel with me. You are getting married on Friday, after all. It’s only three days away, now.’

Ha! She was finally cracking under pressure – she’d called it the hotel and not the château! Alain owed me ten euros.

‘Rupert’s been extremely kind about my workload lately, Mum, but I am deserting him for a fortnight soon. We both need to be up-to-date. And it’s not only La Cour des Roses. There’s my own business, too.’

Aunt Jeanie turned to her sister-in-law. ‘Flo, you don’t want Emmy stressed for the wedding, do you?’

Dad placed a hand decisively over my mother’s. ‘Jeanie and I will go with you to the hotel. There’s no need for Emmy to come.’

‘I suppose.’ Mum’s tone was decidedly disgruntled, but I took it as a victory, kissed her cheek, shot a grateful smile at Dad and Aunt Jeanie, and legged it to the den.

With everyone out of my hair, I got a ton of work done and felt pretty good about it.

I wasn’t sure Rupert felt the same way.

‘I’d forgotten how much crap you deal with,’ he admitted. ‘A fortnight on my own will remind me why I employed you in the first place. Make me appreciate you more.’

‘Always good to hear. But you’ll be fine. And at least I’ll be back in time for the residential courses.’

‘I’ll be busy enough, thanks to you touting us as the ideal place to stay for the jazz festival.’

I smiled. Custom for that through Julia Cooper’s family gathering was accidental last year, but I hadn’t left it to chance this year. ‘I got us bookings, didn’t I?’

‘And you’re buggering off to sunny Spain and leaving me to it.’

‘You didn’t make all this fuss when I left you over Christmas and New Year.’

He grunted. ‘Far fewer guests then.’

‘And you ran this place perfectly well before I came on the scene – and that was with your ex-wife gumming up the works.’

At least I could leave La Cour des Roses in Rupert’s hands. As for my own business, I’d have to check e-mails while I was away, although I promised myself I’d keep it to a minimum. And I was leaving spare keys to all the properties with Rupert in case of emergency.

As though thinking about it had conjured up trouble, my mobile rang.

‘Ms Jamieson? This is Margaret Saunders.’

The name rang a bell, but between my own business and La Cour des Roses, I dealt with an awful lot of names.

‘Hello, Mrs Saunders. Can I help?’

‘I sincerely hope so. This property isn’t up to scratch, and I’d like to know what you intend to do about it.’

‘I – er – I’m sorry to hear that. Which property?’

She huffed, as though I should be expected to have a mental list of every single occupant of every single property at any given moment, but told me.

‘Really?’ That property was beautiful, one of a group of buildings developed by Jerry Barnes, one of the first clients to list with me. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘The staircase is unmanageable, the kitchen’s smaller than advertised, the bathroom hasn’t been properly cleaned, and the gardens are bare.’

What?

‘Under the circumstances, I believe we’re entitled to compensation, don’t you?’

No, I bloody well don’t. ‘Mrs Saunders, I can’t see how—’

‘Are you saying you won’t take my word?’

That made my mind up. I glanced at my watch, trying to calculate how much I still had to do and guess when my parents would be back.

‘Mrs Saunders, I’m afraid I can’t speak to you right now. Could I phone you back in, say, half an hour?’

‘If that’s the best you can do. I’ll be waiting.’ She clicked off.

Honestly, some people.

‘Sorry, Rupert, but I have to go out.’

‘Problem?’

I filled him in. ‘I want to go round there in person. I can’t imagine what she’s complaining about.’

‘Be careful, Emmy. I know how fastidious you are with the properties you list, so if she’s got bugger all to complain about, don’t let her bully you. Some people don’t half try it on. I’ve had it here, over the years – people finding spurious things to complain about and demanding I knock something off the bill.’

‘And did you?’

‘If I thought their complaint had grounds and they might be a returning customer if I played ball, then occasionally, yes. If I thought they were trying it on to get a cheaper holiday, then definitely not.’

‘Wasn’t that awkward?’

‘Yes. But since they probably had no intention of coming back, and I didn’t want them back, I stood my ground. It’s up to you to judge.’

‘Urgh.’ I grabbed my laptop and hurried to the car.

As I drove to Margaret Saunders’ holiday accommodation, I cursed the time this was costing me. Rupert and I had more or less finished up, but there were plenty of other things I’d have liked to complete so I could relax on the final run-up to the wedding.

At that thought, I rolled my eyes at myself in the driver’s mirror. Relax? With my mother breathing down my neck about blessings and vows? With the possibility of her living nearby for several months a year? With Alain and his grand ideas of solving our thirty-two-year mother–daughter relationship just before the big day? Hardly!

As I took the turning to the complex, I looked around. Jerry Barnes had known what he was doing when he bought this run-down piece of land. He’d tastefully converted the old barns and outbuildings, and landscaped the grounds so each property had its own little garden and patio with hedges for privacy – although those were still a work in progress. You couldn’t hurry nature.

Margaret Saunders was unnerved when I introduced myself, and her husband looked equally uncomfortable. Both were perhaps in their late fifties, grey-haired and steely-eyed, and their wary expressions suggested that Rupert’s instinct was right on the button.

We shook hands briefly as I stepped inside and looked around the lovely space with original beams, plenty of glass to let the light in, pale wood furniture.

‘I didn’t expect you to come all the way out here.’ Margaret Saunders glanced at her husband. ‘A phone call would have sufficed.’

‘I want my customers to be happy, Mrs Saunders, so I thought I’d better come right over. Shall we go through the issues?’

‘Well … It isn’t what we expected from your website.’

‘I take care to ensure all details and photographs are accurate.’

She walked me over to the spiral staircase at the far end of the spacious lounge. ‘This is totally unsuitable.’

‘The website states that there’s a spiral staircase.’

‘But it’s tighter than we expected, and steeper.’

‘There is a photo of it. And we do suggest it’s unsuitable for the infirm.’

Her eyes flashed fire. ‘I wouldn’t consider us infirm. Merely cautious.’

I pretended to muse. ‘If I was cautious, I wouldn’t like it, either. But then, I wouldn’t book somewhere with a spiral staircase.’ I moved swiftly on. ‘The kitchen?’

‘You can’t swing a cat in there.’ She led me to the long, narrow room.

‘It’s described as a galley kitchen, Mrs Saunders.’

‘It looks bigger on your photo.’

I feigned concern. ‘Really?’ I opened my laptop to show her. Bob knew I preferred accurate photos, and he hadn’t used any clever angle techniques.

Mr Saunders shuffled.

‘The bathroom isn’t clean, you said? I’d better go and see.’

At this, Margaret Saunders looked stricken. Rupert was so right in his evaluation of these two. If I’d warned her I was coming, no doubt she would have deliberately covered the bathroom in spit toothpaste or dirty soap.

As I expected, the bathroom was relatively pristine, allowing for a couple of days’ use, but I made a show of inspecting every last corner. ‘It looks more than good enough to me.’

Mrs Saunders stood with her arms folded. ‘It’s not up to my standards.’

‘Gosh, your own home must be amazing, Mrs Saunders. Anything else before we go outside?’

She opened her mouth, but her husband shot her a glare, and she closed it again. Outside, she swept a hand at the small lawn, the patio with its shiny barbeque and table and chairs, and the flowerbeds with young but growing shrubs. ‘It’s too bare.’

‘It states on the website that these are newly converted properties. You can’t expect lush gardens at somewhere less than a year old. The photographs reflect that.’ I showed her my screen. ‘In fact, it looks much better than when these photos were taken.’

‘So you’re not prepared to do anything for us?’

I arranged a puzzled expression on my face. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘We’re not satisfied. I think a substantial discount is in order.’

I couldn’t believe she wasn’t backing down. Time to call her bluff.

‘As far as I’m concerned, you have everything as described, but since you’re unhappy, I could move you to another property.’

‘We’ve unpacked and settled in. We have no intention of moving.’

‘Then I take it you’re fine here, after all. I’m so glad we’ve settled the matter.’

She wagged a finger at me. ‘Your company’s new, isn’t it? You have a lot to learn. I’ve been in business all my life, and we were taught that the customer is always right.’

‘And I’ve been in business all my career, Mrs Saunders. It may not be as long-spanning as yours, but I was taught to look at things fairly. You don’t have any complaints that justify a discount.’

She fixed me with a steely look. ‘When we’ve had occasion to complain in the past, we’ve usually received satisfaction.’

And that confirmed exactly who I was dealing with. No doubt they did this wherever they went – a phone call (which was all she’d originally intended, until I turned up) and a little unpleasantness were worth the trouble if they received their ‘substantial discount’.

‘Do you regularly complain about your accommodation?’

She hesitated, realising she’d said too much. ‘If a place isn’t up to scratch, yes.’ One last gambit. ‘We’re prepared to take this further, Miss Jamieson.’

Unbelievable. ‘If you mean legally, you don’t have a leg to stand on.’

‘And what’s to stop us posting poor reviews?’

‘Er – common decency?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘If you leave a poor review, it will be a drop in the ocean. Every other holidaymaker who stayed here loved it. I’ll leave that to your conscience.’

Leaving her gaping at my effrontery, I stalked out to my car, climbed in and drove out of the grounds onto the main road, where there was a wide verge for me to pull over and wait till the adrenaline dropped away and I stopped shaking.

As I put the car back into gear and pulled back onto the road, I was proud of myself for standing up to such a formidable character. Alain’s words from yesterday evening came to mind. If I could stand up to someone like Margaret Saunders, why couldn’t I stand up to my mother? Not the usual skirting-round-the-houses, but a straight-shooting session, once and for all, to get off this … this merry-go-round?

Maybe. But this week was not the time.