Dressed, primped and made up, my bridesmaids and I indulged in a group hug, then went out to the limo in the courtyard. Everyone else had already set off.

At least we wouldn’t have to pile into Rupert’s estate car, which probably smelled of the mountains of poached salmon he’d ferried from the château earlier. Luckily, our limo smelled only of the roses and lavender in our bouquets.

‘How on earth did these survive overnight?’ I fingered the petals.

‘Your mother emptied the gîtes’ fridges and put them in there,’ Ellie explained. ‘You’re not meant to, but needs must, and as long as there are no fruit and vegetables nearby to emit decomposing something-or-others, you can get away with it.’

I laughed. ‘Internet?’

‘Internet,’ Ellie confirmed.

‘You learn something new every day.’

We were driven out of the courtyard and down the lane to join the main road, where I stared in surprise at a long line of cars – guests from La Cour des Roses and the château – patiently waiting to join our procession.

As we made our way into town, a long snake of shining metal, the traditional tooting of horns had people on the streets stopping and smiling, knowing a wedding was in the offing.

The main square bustled with smartly dressed people from the previous ceremony, taking photos and heading back to their cars. By the time we added to the throng, there was plenty of illegal parking going on, but nobody seemed to worry.

Alain was waiting on the steps of the mairie, handsome in a dark grey suit tailored to his tall, lean frame. The sight of him still made my stomach flip after all these months. I was certain it would do the same for many years to come.

Rupert stood by his side, also handsome, his silver hair combed and waving over the collar of his suit. By his side, Gloria sat patiently, her black coat glossy, a new, smart red collar around her neck with three white helium balloons tied to it, floating high above her head. How they’d managed that without her popping any, I had no idea.

Bob stood to one side, camera at the ready. He was in jeans but wearing a shirt and jacket – although he’d drawn the line at a tie and had plumped for one of those shoelace things instead. He’d trimmed his beard, too. I felt ridiculously honoured. I suspected my mother merely felt relieved.

‘Emmy. You look so beautiful,’ Alain said with something like awe in his voice.

I allowed myself a moment of smugness for choosing the right dress, and we entered the building. I doubted dogs were allowed in, but Gloria looked such a treat, you’d have to be a total misery to make a fuss. Nobody did.

Alain, Rupert and the dog went ahead, while my bridesmaids got Gabriel and Chloe organised. The children were a picture, Gabriel solemn in his shirt and tie, and Chloe scrumptious in her frilly dress, holding her basket of white and purple flowers as though they were the crown jewels.

She carefully fingered my dress. ‘You look like a princess, Aunt Emmy.’

‘I feel like one.’ I kissed her cheek, and Gabriel laughed at the lipstick mark I left there, scrubbing it off for his sister with spit on his fingers. Sweet.

Once everyone had gone in ahead of us, with my bridesmaids in position, we entered the salle de mariage.

Nerves took me by surprise. Since ceremonies were open to the public, I’d attended a couple earlier in the year for the express purpose of avoiding nerves. I wasn’t fazed by my surroundings, or by Patrice looking so official in a dark suit with his red, white and blue striped sash across his chest. It was more the realisation that this was actually happening. After the last couple of days, I was beginning to think it never would.

I looked around. Sophie held her bouquet self-consciously in front of her belly. Gabriel was subdued, but Ellie bent and whispered something to him, making him giggle. Sabine couldn’t take her eyes off her children, as though they might vanish at any moment. Adrien looked pale and ill. My heart went out to him. Sitting next to Jonathan, Madame Dupont already had her handkerchief out. When she caught my eye, she gave me a wave and a smile. Mum and Dad were tightly holding hands, Nick beside them.

The short ceremony passed in a blur. I don’t remember what was said. Patrice had once asked if we wanted an interpreter, but since I was – in theory – capable of understanding, and the ceremony consisted mainly of reading out marriage-related parts of the civil code (yawn), Alain and I had decided against it, thinking it would hold up proceedings and not be of any real interest to our guests.

I let it wash over me. All I cared about was that these lovely people at the mairie had fit us in at all.

I remember signing the register with our witnesses. And when the official part was over, Patrice read a French poem about love, then invited Alain to kiss his bride. I remembered that, along with the claps and cheers from our spectators, Patrice included, as Alain put every feeling he had for me into it.

Presented with our Livret de Famille (family record book), we filed out of the town hall, where Bob took a few group photos to pacify my mother, then we piled into cars and went back to La Cour des Roses, where the orchard and garden that I knew and loved served as a backdrop to what would be my wedding album.

Alain and me holding hands under the apple tree where he proposed last year, the sunlight dappling through the leaves. Alain shaking hands with Rupert. The bridesmaids comparing dresses on the patio. Chloe and Gabriel looking cute. Jonathan and Madame Dupont in a regal pose under an arbour of late-blooming roses. Sophie by a weeping pear, Ryan standing behind her, his sleeves already rolled up, tanned arms curling possessively around her waist, his hands resting lightly on her belly. Gloria proudly sporting her balloons, ridiculously appealing.

The young man and woman that the château had spared us as wait staff arrived to join Juliette – who was actually smiling – and they set to, ensuring everyone had a drink while we milled around, and Bob weaved his way casually around the garden, catching the photos I’d really hoped for.

Aunt Jeanie reaching up to straighten Nick’s tie. My parents gazing into each other’s eyes while nobody – except Bob’s camera – was watching, my father’s hand resting on my mother’s cheek, still so much in love. Ellie lifting Chloe high above her head – and that was a long way for a small child to go – and making her giggle, her curls flopping forwards. Ellie and Rupert in an off-guard moment, sharing a kiss amongst the trees, with Gloria nudging at their legs in jealousy. And Bob himself, taken by Rupert, determined to capture his friend in formal(ish) wear.

As Alain and I watched the moment, I whispered the news that I’d been bursting with all day – about Rupert and Ellie.

His eyes lit up. ‘I thought there was something there last year at Rupert’s party, but like you said, it all seemed to fizzle out.’

‘They were trying to ignore it themselves, but it got the better of them.’

He smiled. ‘I’m glad. For both of them.’

‘Me, too. But you’d better play it down, because … Shhh. Here he comes.’

‘I assume you’re talking about my sex life?’ Rupert said with comic exasperation.

‘Oh. Er. Ah,’ Alain managed.

‘You said I could tell Alain,’ I reminded him.

‘I said I knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. There’s a difference.’

Alain laughed. ‘I’m happy for you, my friend, and I promise not to blab.’

‘Thank you. Although I think you’ll find there’s no need for any such promise. Ellie told Sophie and Kate, so …’ He spread his hands wide.

Jonathan came shuffling up to us, one hand on his stick. ‘Emmy and Alain. Can I borrow you for a moment?’

He led us over to a table set at the side of the house, laden with beautifully wrapped gifts to be opened at leisure later.

‘I know you can’t start opening all these now,’ he said hesitantly. ‘But I wondered if you wouldn’t mind opening mine. It’s delicate, and I couldn’t wrap it very well. I’m worried the sun will damage it if it’s out here too long.’

I smiled. ‘We’d love to. Which one?’

He reached for a large, flat parcel, wrapped in brown paper, with a silver bow on the front.

Together, Alain and I tore off the paper to reveal a painting of the market square in Pierre-la-Fontaine, the stone fountain instantly recognisable with its base smothered in flowers, the façade of the mairie with its flags fluttering, and indistinct figures sitting outside the café opposite.

I recognised this picture. Painted by his much-missed late partner, it usually hung in Jonathan’s lounge.

‘But this is one of Matthew’s!’ I said, drinking in the colours and detail.

‘I know how much you love it, Emmy. I thought you and Alain might like to have it.’

‘Oh, Jonathan, you know we would,’ Alain reassured. He glanced at me. ‘But I’m not sure we feel we can take it.’

Jonathan placed a knobbly hand over Alain’s, his knuckles swollen, blue veins straining against thin, mottled skin, then transferred it to mine. ‘I have Matthew’s art all over my house. He would have been proud for you to have it.’

Fighting fiercely to hold back tears, I said, ‘Then thank you. With all my heart. We’ll treasure it. Alain, could you take it inside straight away, so it won’t get damaged?’

‘Treasure what?’ Rupert ambled over, curious. Alain showed him, and Rupert patted Jonathan’s shoulder. ‘That’s a wonderful wedding present, old friend. Well chosen.’

Jonathan nodded, pleased, as Alain carefully carried the painting indoors. ‘I don’t want to dominate your time, Emmy, but since Rupert’s here too, there’s something else.’ He looked around, located Madame Dupont and gestured for her to come over.

‘I want you all to know that I’ve asked Renee to stay,’ he announced as Alain rejoined us.

Renee, now? If Jonathan wasn’t gay, I’d think they were becoming quite the couple.

Rupert smiled. ‘I’m glad you managed to persuade her.’

Knowing she wouldn’t understand our English, I added, ‘It’ll be such a weight off her mind to know she’s welcome until her house is fixed.’

‘No, you don’t understand,’ Jonathan said. ‘I asked her to stay indefinitely. And she’s agreed. She doesn’t want to go back to her house. She wants to live out her old age in town. And I would like her to do that with me at my house, so we’re suited.’

‘Oh, Jonathan. That’s lovely!’ I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him tight.

‘That is enough of that, Emie,’ Madame Dupont tutted at me. ‘He is an old man. If you squeeze too tight, he cannot breathe.’ But she smiled at my delight.

I switched to French. ‘I’m so happy for you.’ And I threw my arms round her neck and squeezed her tight, too.

‘There is no need to be so emotional,’ Madame Dupont scolded. ‘We are just two old people who happen to need what the other can help with. I need a place to live, a house to clean and be proud of, someone to cook for. Jonathan needs someone to do those things.’

‘But what will happen when your own house is fixed? Will you sell it?’

‘Yes. My nephew is getting married next year and he needs a house. A cheap one.’ She cackled. ‘Mine will be cheap, alright.’ She spotted Jonathan’s empty wine glass. ‘If you are determined to drink, Jonathan, you should not dehydrate. I will fetch you some water.’ And off she went.

Jonathan waited until she was out of earshot. ‘You should all know that I’m going to change my will,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I’m older than her, and that pneumonia last year taught me that you can never count your chickens. I want her to be able to stay in my house after I’m gone. For as long as she needs or wants to. Then, what I have – such as it is – will go to a cancer charity. What do you think?’

Jonathan had been with Matthew for only ten years before he died of cancer, and even though Matthew had been gone for over a decade now, Jonathan still missed him. Such a charity would be important to him. But knowing that he would have Madame Dupont’s company, that she would care for him, and in return he could offer her a home in town for as long as she needed it, was an outcome beyond what any of us could have hoped for.

‘I think that’s a brilliant idea,’ Alain told him. ‘If you’re sure.’

‘I’m sure.’

Madame Dupont came back and placed a glass of water in his hand. ‘Drink that before you have anything else.’

Rupert laughed. ‘Better do as you’re told, old chum. Madame Dupont is not a woman to mess with.’

Even though Rupert had said it in English, she shook her head. ‘You are all good friends, and it is time you called me Renee. Times change. No need for such formalities any more.’

Well. That was most certainly an honour.

‘That couldn’t have worked out any better, could it?’ Rupert rubbed his hands together in old-fashioned glee as they both tottered off. ‘I can’t blame him for leaving his house to charity. Not after his family disowned him the way they did. But if it is going to charity, it doesn’t matter when they get it, does it? By doing this, he knows he’s paying Madame Dupont back in advance for the way she might have to care for him if he becomes frailer.’ He shook his head. ‘Renee, eh? I can’t believe you earned that honour after only a year, Emmy, and it’s taken me seven!’

The wait staff began to transfer food and wine to the trestle tables. Rickety they might be, but with the flower arrangements and the wedding favours Mum and Jeanie had spent so long over, they looked cheery enough.

Now that food was on the scene, Gloria was firmly shut away in Rupert’s lounge with the sulkiest expression I have ever seen on a dog.

That meant the cake could be transferred carefully to an unrickety side table set with a white cloth. Everyone oohed and aahed at the pâtisserie’s masterful fusion of two nations’ customs as they passed by to settle themselves at the tables.

There was some hilarity as guests tried to be elegant about clambering onto the bench seats. The gents kindly helped the ladies and the elderly, and everyone got there in the end – with the occasional flash of underwear unavoidable.

The ‘top table’ – two trestles pushed together, with throws spread over the benches in deference to our delicate dresses – caused momentary confusion. The order we were supposed to sit in had been planned along with everything else, but it didn’t seem important any more. Mireille smiled at Mum, gave a Gallic shrug, and breaking with tradition, they sat in couples on either side of Alain and me. Rupert sat with Ellie at one end, sliding a hand down the soft satin of her dress as he ‘helped’ her (she had to hitch it rather high, causing a few raised eyebrows) and Kate and Sophie settled in a giggling pair at the other end.

Alain took my hand and kissed it. ‘Happy?’

I nodded. ‘Happy. You?’

A long gaze from sugar-brown eyes that made my heart giddy-up. ‘You know I am. I’m also hungry. Let’s eat.’

Country pâté was perfect to start, with fresh bread that Rupert had got the local boulangerie to deliver.

The garden was filled with the sound of happy chatter and the clatter of cutlery. I heard Gabriel ask whether he could have some champagne later. Alain smiled at his audacity and caught his eye across the tables, holding up a thumb and forefinger in a gesture indicating that he would be allowed no more than a quarter inch. Adrien smiled back.

As the starters were cleared away, Dad leaned behind me to hold a hurried discussion with Alain, then went over to speak to the wait staff, who nodded their agreement to whatever he was plotting. He went to Mireille and had words with her, too.

When the tables were free of debris, Dad tapped a spoon against his glass until everyone quietened and looked his way.

‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.’

Gabriel and Chloe giggled at the grown-up address.

‘The groom and I have decided that since the order of the day has already veered so far from our original plans, we can do what the heck we like now, so we’ve decided to limit the boredom – or stretch it out, depending how you look at it – with a speech between each course. Since so many of us don’t speak French – typical Brits – and a few of you don’t speak English, I’d like to introduce your interpreter – Alain’s mother, Mireille Granger.’

I glanced at Alain, and he shrugged. It seemed so obvious now, but it had never occurred to either of us to worry about the speeches.

There was polite applause as Mireille stood and repeated in French what my father had said.

Dad cleared his throat and began, stopping after each sentence for Mireille to relay.

‘I’ll keep this short and sweet, since everyone is still hungry. Besides, those of you who know me will know that I’m not used to getting much of a word in edgeways.’

He looked fondly down at my mother, making everyone laugh.

‘I confess that when Emmy said she was jacking in her job and everything she’d ever known to start a new life here in France, I was worried she was making a mistake.’

That was the first I’d known about it. All he’d ever shown was wholehearted support.

‘But Emmy’s mother is made of sterner stuff than I am. Flo told me to stop worrying and admire my daughter for the brave thing she was doing. Well, I already secretly did. More than that – I was jealous that she had such guts.’ He smiled. ‘But whether she was brave or foolish doesn’t matter now, does it? We’re all here today because she made the right choice’ – he swept his arm around the grounds and across the array of smiling faces – ‘in location, in job, in friends. And, of course, in her choice of husband.’

He turned to Alain and me. Alain linked his fingers in mine.

‘Alain and Emmy. If you achieve one iota of the happiness and love that Flo and I have enjoyed over the years, you’ll have a wonderful life together.’

Mireille relayed his words with a choke in her voice.

Dad had promised ‘short and sweet’. He lifted his glass. ‘To Emmy and Alain.’

Glasses lifted and the echo came back, ‘To Emmy and Alain.’

Alain used the toast as an excuse to kiss me again. I wasn’t complaining.

There were murmurs of approval as the next course was brought – platters of cold poached salmon, dishes of green beans cleverly transformed into a salad with slices of orange in a vinaigrette dressing, asparagus with cold hollandaise sauce (surprisingly good) and new potatoes with sliced shallots in a reduced white wine stock that tasted as good cold as it would have warm. The château had done a fabulous job for us, converting everything like this.

I looked out across my friends and family, the beautiful gardens, delicious food – and said a silent thank you. The months of planning and preparation had not been lost. Far from it. I was in the dress of my dreams, married to the man I loved, sharing a celebration with the people I loved. Only the menu and venue had changed. And that venue was the place I loved and where I belonged. I couldn’t have been happier.

‘What are you smiling about?’ Mum asked.

I almost answered without thinking, but stopped myself. Mum had invested such time and energy in the reception at the château – and Dad had invested deep recesses of his wallet.

‘I’m pleased that we could do this, after all – you know, before everyone goes home.’

Mum nodded knowingly, her X-ray specs boring into the furthest corners of my thoughts. ‘This is lovely, Emmy. It all worked out very well.’

As the main course was cleared away, Alain became fidgety. Guessing he was nervous about making his speech, I squeezed his hand for support and he squeezed back before standing.

‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ He waited for quiet, and when his mother hesitated – perhaps thinking that as her son was bilingual, he could do her job himself – he indicated that she should stand. I suspected he wanted to concentrate on what to say, rather than how to say it.

‘First, I’d like to thank Dennis for his words earlier. For a man who doesn’t often get a word in edgeways, that was quite a speech.’

Mum proudly kissed Dad on the cheek.

‘Naturally, I would like to thank everyone for coming today,’ Alain went on. ‘For taking in your stride the change of date and venue, and for all your help and understanding with yesterday’s … excitement.’

I smiled, knowing he’d worded it carefully so as not to make Gabriel feel uncomfortable.

‘It’s at times like these when you realise how important your friends and family are, and I couldn’t wish to have a nicer bunch of people in my life.’

Alain hesitated, as though he was deciding whether to go ahead. A slight nod told me he’d made up his mind.

‘As for Emmy and me? I’ve never been down a road that felt so right from the start. From almost the first moment I met her, I knew there could be something special between us.’

I glanced over at Sabine, thinking she might be upset – no doubt why Alain had hesitated – but she was smiling, a little sadly perhaps, Chloe cuddled on her lap and Gabriel at her side.

‘Of course, I owe my best man Rupert an enormous debt of gratitude for his tenacity in ensuring that we got together, whether we liked it or not.’

Laughter from our guests, and a modest smile from Rupert.

‘And to Emmy’s family, for being so supportive of her move to France. Now, it’s tradition for the bridegroom to thank the bridesmaids. So thank you to Kate, Ellie and Sophie – you all look très belle today. Thank you also for taking care of Emmy over these past weeks and months. I’m sure your influence has kept her sane – or as sane as she’s ever going to be.’

A snort of laughter from Kate.

‘And last but not least, thank you to Chloe and Gabriel, our delightful flower girl and page boy, for behaving so well and putting up with all this grown-up stuff.’

Giggles from the children.

‘After dessert, and with some trepidation on my part, you will hear from my best man.’

Rupert grinned wolfishly.

‘But for now, a toast – and if you can get this in the same order as me, you haven’t had enough to drink – to Kate, Sophie, Ellie, Chloe and Gabriel.’

His toast echoed back in varying formats, accompanied by laughter.

When the desserts were brought out, Dad admired his. ‘We made the right choice here, ladies,’ he said to Mum and me, making us both smile.

During lengthy discussions over the menu at the château, we couldn’t choose, and the catering manager had suggested plates of tiny samples – half a dozen bites of heaven in the form of slivers of tarts and pastries. Our indecision had been a good decision, after all.

Our guests felt the same way, from the comments I overheard. When I looked across at Adrien’s table, Chloe and Gabriel were busy bargaining with their parents, swapping the mouthfuls they didn’t like the look of for the ones that appealed more.

The wait staff swooped in to clear away again, and I wondered what on earth they were doing with all the dirty crockery. Rupert’s dishwasher wasn’t up to this volume.

Rupert stood and ‘Ahem’ed until everyone looked his way, while Juliette, the waiter and waitress began to do the rounds with the bubbly – and Gabriel got his quarter inch. Well, it was nearer an inch, but don’t tell anyone. Chloe took one sniff of her mother’s, turned her nose up and demanded lemonade.

‘This is a turn-up for the books, isn’t it?’ Rupert began. ‘I’ve never been described as a best man in any shape or form, so this is a new one for me.’

Laughter rippled around the tables, accompanied by an unladylike snort from Ellie that made everyone laugh more.

‘It’s a time-honoured tradition at weddings for the best man to reveal embarrassing details about the groom’s youthful – and not so youthful – indiscretions. But I’m pleased to say that as I’ve only known Alain for seven years, I’m woefully unsupplied with such anecdotes and can therefore abrogate all responsibility for passing them on.’

An exaggerated sigh of relief from Alain and more laughter from the audience.

‘As for the seven years I have known him?’ Rupert glanced down at Alain. ‘I’m afraid I’ve rarely known Alain to be anything other than an upright citizen. He is the town accountant, after all. But that doesn’t make him boring. He’s warm and funny and kind and generous and loyal. And I’m reliably informed that he’s breathtakingly handsome, although I suspect my source was biased.’

He winked at me, and everyone laughed – including Mireille, as she relayed what he’d said.

‘For those of you who require at least some lesser-known details: Alain plays saxophone but doesn’t like anyone to know about it, so don’t tell him I told you. His omelettes always come out better than mine, for some reason. And he holds his drink pretty well – which is, let’s face it, a prerequisite of any close friend of mine.’

A cheer from Jonathan, Bob and Ellie.

‘But in all seriousness, I couldn’t ask for a better friend, and I couldn’t be raising my glass to a lovelier couple. And I get to be the one who toasts with champagne. So, once more, to the bride and groom!’

It echoed through the garden, and Rupert sat down, patted on the back by my dad.

A small cheese selection made its way to the tables – after all, we were in France, where it’s unofficially against the law not to include cheese somewhere in a meal.

But before everyone could get stuck in, I made my decision and shakily stood, causing a murmur of interest amongst the guests and a puzzled look from Alain and my parents.