Alain was complimentary about the chicken stew – who wouldn’t be? – and after dinner, we went for a stroll. This was another Sunday habit I enjoyed, at a time of day I loved, when the heat had subsided and the streets were quiet. We walked beyond the residential area where he lived, onto a short country lane and back – just far enough to work off a few calories.

Alain lapsed into French, something I was long used to. He knew I didn’t get enough practice at La Cour des Roses, other than with Madame Dupont, and although my French had improved substantially over the past year, it was by no means perfect. Alain wanted me to be comfortable with the language of the country I now called home, and I’d learned to get over my embarrassment and accept this as an inevitable part of our dates. Besides, I still found it surprisingly sexy, hearing him speak it.

As we walked, he held my hand, absentmindedly stroking his thumb across my engagement ring. With all the chores I did around La Cour des Roses, I’d wanted something practical, so we’d chosen a simple white gold band inset with alternating blue topaz and diamonds, one diamond in the centre slightly larger and slightly raised. I loved the fact that it went with the necklace Rupert bought me last year as a thank-you present, a white gold pendant in the shape of the head of a rose with a small diamond in the centre. Both were symbols of my new life here in France.

Enjoying the evening breeze, I allowed contentment to permeate my senses, my stresses fading with each step and each stroke of Alain’s long fingers … until my never-silent and ever-annoying brain reminded me that my parents were due next weekend.

I loved my parents, truly I did. My dad was ever patient and equable, with an enviable calming influence that went some small way to offset my mother’s strident manner (and that was putting it kindly). My mother was best taken in small doses.

You’d have thought my moving to France was the perfect solution, and indeed it was – until I told them about Alain’s proposal last September. My mother had been like an inexorable steamship of wedding organisation ever since. This had its upside – the more she did, the less Alain and I had to do – but at times it could try the patience. Even my dad’s forbearance was wearing thin, and that was saying something.

Alain took it all in his stride. Perhaps he was still shell-shocked from getting to know her over the past few months.

I smiled as I remembered the first time they’d met, the weekend after I’d announced our sudden engagement, when my parents had stormed over to France.

I’d booked a restaurant as neutral territory. Alain had looked calm, but I knew his little quirks by then. He was petrified. You wouldn’t think a businessman well in his thirties who’d been married before should be anxious about meeting his girlfriend’s parents, but my mother’s reputation preceded her.

He needn’t have worried. I wasn’t sure whether it was his handsome face or tall build or polite manner or that teensy hint of a French accent that did it, but my mother became quite coquettish and allowed herself to be easily won over. Her approval of my engagement ring sealed it.

After the meal, when Mum popped off to the loo, Dad let out a loud laugh. ‘You got off lightly there, Alain. I wish I had your looks and charm.’

Alain grinned. ‘You must have, otherwise she’d never have married you!’

On the drive home, Mum had given her verdict.

‘Lovely man, Emmy. Don’t let this one go running off with somebody else’s wife, though, will you?’ she said, making Nathan running off with Gloria sound like I’d carelessly misplaced my handbag. Just as Nathan carelessly misplaced Gloria a few weeks later. Shame.

‘What are you smirking about?’ Alain asked me now, squeezing my hand.

Risking raising his blood pressure, I casually said, ‘Don’t forget my parents are coming next weekend.’

‘How could I forget?’ He gave a mock shudder, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

I thumped him lightly on the arm. ‘You know my dad loves you. You’re kindred spirits.’ I’d switched back to English, mainly because I didn’t know how to say ‘kindred spirits’ in French.

‘Hmmph. I think your mother still believes I’m defective because I’m divorced.’

‘Not now she knows you better and knows why. Your wife running off with your brother was dramatic enough a story for her to sympathise. You charm her. In fact, I believe you put that French accent on stronger especially for her.’

‘That’s not charm tactics. It’s nerves. She interrogates me about something every time we meet. I’ve told her things I wouldn’t tell a psychiatrist!’

‘She interrogates everybody. Don’t take it personally. I warned you that she’s an acquired taste.’

Alain laughed. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘It stems from good intentions. Mum only wants what’s best for us. And of course, she always knows what that is.’

‘Can I contract a tropical disease between now and Friday? Please?’

‘No.’

‘Will your mother want to talk about the wedding? Again?’ His resigned expression made me smile.

‘Very probably, but that’s only to be expected, and I can’t think of a way to deflect her. I can’t see Nick tying the knot any time soon.’

‘In that, at least, your brother shows a great deal of sense.’

That earned him another thump on the arm. ‘You were the one who proposed, Alain Granger. Didn’t you think that might involve a wedding?’

He took my chin in his fingers, gazing deep into my eyes. Cue melting limbs and belly-flips.

‘I thought it might involve getting married. I had no idea it would involve daily phone calls and e-mails from your mother about … I don’t know what. I try to blank it all out in the spirit of self-preservation.’

‘You’re a wise man.’ I sighed. ‘She called me the other day. She’ll be sending an updated spreadsheet of the guest list on a weekly basis.’

Alain shook his head. ‘As an accountant, I love my spreadsheets, but that seems like a misuse of them, somehow.’

That guest list had been a bone of contention from the start. Mum wanted to invite everybody and his aunt and their dog, but Alain and I wanted a smaller affair. I’d rather spend my wedding day with people I know and care about, not some distant cousin I haven’t seen since I was nine. We finally settled on around sixty, at which point my dad’s bank balance let out a huge sigh of relief.

Rupert had initially offered to hold the reception at La Cour des Roses, but despite my secret hankering to go for it, we all agreed it wouldn’t be practical. Rupert and I had hosted a large anniversary party there last year, but that was for thirty-odd people, not sixty-odd. And although my close family and Alain’s would stay at La Cour des Roses, we needed somewhere with rooms for other guests travelling from the UK or elsewhere in France.

Cue several weekends inspecting some incredible venues until we found a hotel that we all agreed we liked best. The pale stone building was elegant, the entrance festooned with flowers, the public rooms inside spacious and classy in creams and golds, the staff attentive and polite in black and white uniforms. And the grounds … How could I even begin to describe the neatly mown lawns, the carefully tended flowerbeds, the shrubbery shaped to within an inch of its life?

I sulked privately for a while over not holding it at La Cour des Roses, because I hadn’t wanted something so formal at first, but Mum talked me round. The fact was, I couldn’t ask for a lovelier place to have my reception. And when people were travelling so far for my wedding, staying somewhere so glorious offered some compensation.

Of course, Mum had been telling everyone that her daughter was getting married at a château ever since. It sounded so pretentious, but she’d done it for so long now, she’d got us all doing it. To be fair to her, the hotel had been a small family château a long time ago, and it did still have that air of grandeur in the building and the grounds, but even so.

Alain must have read my mind. ‘I bet you ten euros that your mother never uses the word “hotel” all weekend.’

I laughed. ‘Why on earth would I take a bet like that?’

‘Okay. Ten euros that she doesn’t slip even once between now and the wedding day.’

I considered. Surely she’d slip just once? ‘You’re on. And while she was on the phone …’

Alain groaned.

‘She gave me an updated list of things that are all imperative, apparently, so we can discuss it before she arrives – and preferably action some of it.’

‘Okay. We’ll look at it when we get back to the house.’

‘No need. I have it all up here.’ I jabbed at the side of my head. ‘We need to make an appointment at the château to confirm final numbers, menus, seating plan and all that. I need to confirm the cake with the pâtisserie.’

‘I thought you and your mother sorted the cake out months ago?’

‘We did. But Mum doesn’t like things that have been sorted months ago being left to chance, and she wants them double-checking. I can kind of see her point.’

‘Yeah. Me, too. Continue.’

‘I have to confirm the flowers with the florist, but I can’t do that till all the bridesmaids have dresses, and Kate hasn’t found hers yet. The final fitting for mine’s booked, so Mum can’t have a go about that. We need to sort out the rings.’

‘We already chose the rings.’

‘Yes, but we’re supposed to have a final fitting a few weeks before, remember? This is a few weeks before. Five weeks, to be precise.’

‘Okay. Fair enough.’

‘I need to check the status of the wedding gift list. You need to confirm the limo and the other cars. And you need to double-check that the jazz band still have us in the diary.’

‘Just because they’re musicians doesn’t mean they’re organisationally flaky, Emmy. Don’t worry. They’ll be there.’

I gave him a long look, inherited from my mother and designed to quell any disobedience.

‘But of course, it would be sensible to make sure,’ Alain hastily agreed.

‘You should think about your speech. Maybe you could confer with Rupert, since he has to make his best man speech?’

Alain made a face. ‘Why does your mother need to worry about that? Is she going to correct and grade the bloody thing?’

‘I’m merely relaying her list.’

‘How long is this list?’

‘And Mum will want to discuss the seating chart at the weekend.’

His shoulders slumped. ‘It’s exhausting just thinking about it.’

I chuckled. ‘Yes, it is, but Mum’s point is that we should be doing, not just thinking.’ I squeezed his hand tight. ‘In a few weeks, we’ll be on our honeymoon. A whole fortnight to ourselves.’

‘Thank God.’

‘And thank Rupert,’ I reminded him.

When Rupert had offered us the use of his house on Mallorca, I hadn’t thought twice. After a busy season and all the wedding preparations, the idea of two weeks alone with my new husband was nothing other than bliss.

‘It’ll be empty of tenants, waiting for a sale,’ Rupert had told me. ‘I’m selling it furnished, so it’ll have everything you need.’

‘What if it sells before then?’

‘Not looking likely. And I can ensure it gets delayed, if necessary. Count it as my wedding present, if you like. If you’d rather choose somewhere yourselves, I understand. But this won’t cost you anything, it has a pool, a view of the sea on one side and mountains on the other, and very few neighbours. Utter seclusion.’

As I thought about it now, I realised there was another incentive that Rupert hadn’t pointed out – Alain and I were knackered. Sorting out a honeymoon on top of everything else could have been fun, but then again, it could have been a time-consuming pain. This had been handed to us on a plate, with nothing to do other than book flights and a hire car.

‘Rupert does have his good points,’ Alain agreed.

I snuggled against him. ‘And then we can settle down a bit.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’

His lips met mine in a long kiss.

‘Mmm. Don’t worry about the wedding,’ I murmured. ‘I know it seems like a palaver now, but it’ll be a great day.’

Alain broke the kiss when he started laughing. ‘I don’t doubt it.’

I gave him a puzzled look. ‘You don’t?’

‘Your mother will make sure of it.’ He grinned. ‘And she’ll ruthlessly crush anything that gets in the way of it being perfect.’

When I laughed, he reapplied himself to the kiss we’d been in the middle of, his hands moving to my ribcage, his thumbs brushing my breasts. ‘If we only have a few more weeks, we ought to get some practice in.’

I frowned. ‘Practice for what?’

‘Married life.’

‘Ha! We’ve been practising for months already.’

‘I know, but I don’t think we’ve quite perfected it yet.’

‘Oh, you don’t?’ I let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘Well, if we must …’

Monday meant market day in Pierre-la-Fontaine, followed by coffee with Jonathan.

Town was summer-busy with tourists cluttering the square and taking forever to choose from the stalls, but I couldn’t blame them for taking their time. Pierre-la-Fontaine was the perfect example of a small French town with its cream and white buildings, handsome town hall and cobbled streets leading off the main square, where the stone fountain stood festooned with flowers and cafés did a roaring trade in the summer sunshine.

Rupert’s favourite haunt was more out of the way, beyond the top of the square near the food stalls, and frequented by locals.

My arm muscles were stronger nowadays, and I hefted the bags of fresh produce – cheeses, sausages, bright red tomatoes, juicy white nectarines, fragrant melons – without complaint as we staggered out of the sunshine and into the dark interior.

Jonathan was already leaning against the wood-panelled bar, his walking stick at his side. His tall frame was leaner since pneumonia nearly finished him off last year, something that worried me. He was chatting away to the bartender, who listened patiently with an occasional puzzled expression. Jonathan had lived in France for a quarter of a century and his French was good, but his pronunciation still left something to be desired.

‘Emmy.’ A hug for me. ‘Rupert.’ The same for Rupert.

We ordered coffee and chose a table away from the large television above the bar.

‘Bob’s not coming,’ Jonathan said. ‘I think his trip to London with you has driven him into hermit mode.’

‘Not bloody surprised,’ Rupert grumbled and proceeded to fill Jonathan in, while I sipped at the best coffee in the Loire valley.

‘Sounds like it could have been worse,’ Jonathan gave his verdict. His opinion of Gloria was as low as mine. ‘Looking forward to the wedding, Emmy? Won’t be long now.’

I thought about my conversation with Alain the previous evening and smiled. ‘Well, there’s still plenty to do, and Mum enjoys cracking the whip, but yes, we’re both looking forward to it. Very much so.’

‘Still up to the gills at La Cour des Roses?’

‘We certainly are,’ Rupert confirmed. ‘Miss Marketing here has made sure of that. Never a minute’s peace.’

‘Isn’t that why you hired her?’

Rupert only grunted.

‘And how’s your own business coming along, Emmy? Making a living yet?’

My online holiday agency for quality self-catering properties in the area was building steadily. It hadn’t been easy, persuading property owners to sign up to a small company, but between the incentive of no upfront fees, the incredible job my brother Nick did on the website and Bob’s fantastic photos, word was getting around. I might not have had a vast number of properties listed, but that was the idea – quality, not quantity.

‘I’m pleased with it,’ I told him. ‘I don’t know about making a living – I couldn’t manage without my salary from Rupert – but I’ve had a good number of bookings, so an acceptable level of commission, and I’m hoping it’ll grow.’

‘That’s good going for your first year,’ Rupert said. ‘I know it’s been time-consuming setting it all up and visiting properties, but that should calm down once you have a solid base.’

I blew hair out of my eyes. ‘Hope so. I’ve got an appointment tomorrow afternoon with someone who wants to list with me, but I have an iffy feeling about it.’

‘What kind of iffy?’

‘Not sure kind of iffy.’

‘Ah. The Emmy kind of iffy.’ Rupert turned to Jonathan. ‘A woman’s instinct is a worrying and puzzlesome thing.’

I glanced at my watch. ‘Can I leave you here for half an hour or so, Rupert? I have to meet Alain at the jeweller’s, then pop into Cuisine et Décors.’

‘Of course. I’m happy to lurk, if it means avoiding wedding errands.’

I left the café and walked down a side street to the jeweller’s, where Alain was already waiting for me. A quick kiss, and I would have entered the store – but Alain held me back.

‘This is pretty momentous, finalising the rings, don’t you think?’ he said, gazing into my eyes, the soft brown of his making my heart melt.

With the list of things I had on my mind that all led up to our big day, I hadn’t attached any particular importance to this one thing – but I was inordinately pleased that Alain had.

I leaned in for a much longer kiss. ‘Mmm. Rings mean that in just over a month, you’ll be mine for keeps.’

‘Sounds good to me.’

We entered the store arm in arm, and the jeweller brought out our rings, mine a plain white gold band to nestle unostentatiously beside my engagement ring, and Alain’s a wider platinum band. Both rings still fit us, so they were boxed and handed over to us with hearty congratulations by the elderly man behind the counter.

‘One thing ticked off the list, two thousand to go,’ Alain quipped as we left.

‘And not at all painful.’ I indicated the small bag in his hand. ‘Don’t lose them, whatever you do.’

We parted with a kiss, and I walked down to the bottom of the square to Cuisine et Décors, my favourite shop in town. I often perused the windows like a kid at a sweet shop, so when Mum had gone on about gift registration lists and the like – one for a store in the UK and one for a store in France, to suit all our guests – I hadn’t hesitated.

I wasn’t sure we needed a load of household stuff, but Alain wanted us to put our new, united mark on his house, and since I would practically kill for half the items in the store, I didn’t take much persuading. I’d subsequently spent many a happy hour in there with Alain, picking out our list from the tasteful wares they displayed with such class.

Madame Bernard rushed to greet me, and despite my wondering why my mother actually needed an update as to which items had already been claimed – what was she going to do, call up and chastise the people who hadn’t registered yet? – Madame Bernard was happy to oblige.

As I made my way back up to the café to fetch Rupert, I was more than satisfied with my morning. Two items ticked off Mum’s list, rings that fitted, and the knowledge that we wouldn’t be the unhappy recipients of three mismatching toasters and a set of mauve flannelette bedsheets seemed like a job well done to me.