The fire engine’s siren cut through the night. At first, I thought I was dreaming, but when the dog howled in Rupert’s quarters, I shot out of bed.

Deciding this was an emergency that warranted an invasion of privacy, I let myself through into Rupert’s lounge, where he was already telling the dog to hush.

We listened intently as the noise faded a little.

‘They’ve gone past the end of our lane,’ Rupert muttered. Then the sirens stopped, and he paled. ‘It’s nearby, Emmy. Chuck some clothes on. We should go and see.’

I threw on jeans and a T-shirt and met him at his car. At the end of the lane leading away from La Cour des Roses, my heart stuttered as he turned left onto the lane that led to Madame Dupont’s house.

Please, don’t let it be hers.

My entreaty was in vain. A couple of bends on, the fire engine was stationary where black smoke reached into the airless summer night sky.

Thank God Madame Dupont was away at her sister’s.

Rupert pulled over and we got out, standing well back so we weren’t in the way of the fire team, watching flames lick at the kitchen end of the house. We were approached by Monsieur Girard, the farmer whose land bordered on Madame Dupont’s cottage and the one entrusted with feeding her chickens when she was away.

‘I called them as soon as I could,’ he told us, agitated. ‘But we were asleep. It was only when the smell crept through our bedroom window that we realised.’

I grabbed his arm. ‘Are we sure she isn’t in there?’

‘I drove her into Pierre-la-Fontaine for the bus this afternoon. And when I shut the chickens away this evening, there was no sign of her. The firemen have checked. Don’t worry.’

Above the noise of the hoses and the men calling to each other, the racket from the yard impinged. ‘What about the chickens?’

‘They’re safe in their shed,’ Monsieur Girard assured me. ‘There’s no wind, so the smoke’s going straight up. I daren’t let them out.’

‘Emmy, take the car and go back to the guesthouse,’ Rupert said. ‘There’s nothing you can do here. One of us should be there to reassure the guests.’

He was right. I smiled shakily at Monsieur Girard, turned Rupert’s car around and drove back.

He’d made the right call. Kerry and Malcolm were in the kitchen, making a cup of tea.

‘Want one?’ Malcolm asked.

‘Please. I’m so sorry we left you all. We needed to see what was happening.’

‘Of course,’ Kerry said kindly. ‘Where’s the fire?’

‘Half a mile away. A friend’s house.’ My voice hitched. ‘Our cleaner, Madame Dupont.’

‘That old dear? How awful. Is she alright?’

‘Yes. She’s away tonight.’

‘That’s a mercy.’

‘Yes.’ I sipped gratefully at my tea and tried hard to remember my responsibilities. ‘Are the other guests okay, do you know?’

‘Don’t worry, Emmy. We all heard the sirens and got out of bed to look, but they sounded far enough away, so everyone else went back to bed. The people in the middle gîte came out, but I told them we’d let them know if it was important.’

‘Thank you for your help.’

‘These things happen. I hope your friend will be alright. Such a shock to come back to.’

I allowed the full impact of that statement to sink in. Poor Madame Dupont, fast asleep in bed at her sister’s, with no idea that the house she’d lived in all her married life had gone up in flames.

It was almost light when Rupert came back. I was in the kitchen with the laptop, trying to do something useful, a large mug of tea at my side.

‘Emmy. You should have gone to bed.’

‘You know I couldn’t.’

He sat wearily. I pushed my tea towards him, and he took a grateful gulp.

‘Throat’s dry,’ he said, running a hand over his beard. ‘All that smoke. Is Gloria alright?’

‘Yes. She heard me come back and started whining, but I shushed her back to sleep.’

‘Thanks, love.’

‘What about the cottage? Could they save it?’

Rupert closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Depends what you mean by “save”. It wasn’t up to much before, was it? The kitchen’s ruined. Otherwise, it’s mainly smoke damage, but of course that permeates everything. And it’s such an old property, there could be any number of unforeseen problems.’

‘So it started in the kitchen? Did Madame Dupont leave something on the stove?’

‘No. They think it was an electrical fire. The wiring was ancient.’

‘She’ll have insurance, won’t she?’

‘Yes. But her policy might be outdated or limited. Especially with the state of the electrics. They’ll need to rewire, fit a new kitchen, make good the smoke damage. It’ll take weeks, if not months, to make it liveable again.’

‘So what happens next?’

‘Monsieur Girard will phone her to tell her what’s happened. I’ll drive over to her sister’s to fetch her. We can hardly expect her to get the bus back.’

‘But where will she stay? We’re full here.’

‘Don’t worry, Emmy. She has a large family. She’ll be alright.’

As soon as it was a reasonable time, I phoned Alain. He was as saddened by the news of the fire as we were.

‘Do you need me to do anything?’

I knew he had a ton of work to catch up on, after having the children last week. ‘No, thanks. But I don’t know what time I’ll get to yours. I should be around for Madame Dupont when Rupert brings her from her sister’s.’

‘Do whatever you need to do, Emmy. And if you need me, let me know.’

Just a few of the reasons I loved him so much – immediate understanding, kindness and compassion.

Madame Dupont stared, disbelieving, at the blackened walls of her little cottage, the home in which she began her married life so long ago, the home in which she brought up her children. The home in which her husband died. Decades of memories.

I reached out to gently wipe away the tears that had begun to fall down her wrinkled cheeks, but they soon became a silent river, unstoppable, so I pulled her to me and hugged her tight, feeling her bony shoulders shake with grief.

Monsieur Girard’s wife had walked across the fields and she took the other side, so we were like two columns holding her upright.

Rupert shuffled his feet, helpless. He’d tried to prepare her on the drive back, but the reality was so much worse.

‘Where will you go?’ I asked her. ‘Do you need Rupert to drive you back to your sister’s?’

She straightened her spine. ‘No, Emie, it is too far away. I phoned one of my daughters. She can take me in for a few days. Then we will see.’

‘My husband will gather some of your belongings if they tell him it’s safe to go in,’ Madame Girard said kindly. ‘He will bring them to you.’

Madame Dupont lifted her chin. ‘Thank you. That is very kind.’

I walked the lanes back to La Cour des Roses with a heavy heart. Not wanting to interrupt Alain from his work, I tried to distract myself by working too, but I didn’t like missing Sunday with my man, even though I’d seen more of him during the week than usual.

When my phoned pinged with a text from Ellie, I jumped.

Everything okay or did you forget about the dress because you’re having Sunday afternoon sex with the best-looking accountant in town?

I cursed. With everything that had happened, I’d forgotten all about picking up the bridesmaid dresses.

So sorry. Long story. On my way now.

Ellie was sympathetic and concerned when I got there and told her about the fire. ‘No wonder you forgot about the dresses. Least of your worries! Poor Madame Dupont.’

Sophie was equally moved. ‘Oh, Emmy, I am so sorry for that poor old woman,’ she said as she handed over her dress. ‘Go to Alain’s. Do something that will take your mind off it for a little while.’

Damn right.

At Alain’s, I lifted the dresses carefully out of the car, took them in and hung them over the lounge door.

He was in the dining area, his table scattered with papers, but he immediately came to me and held me while I recounted Madame Dupont’s distress.

‘That poor woman.’ He pulled back. ‘You must be exhausted.’

‘Yes.’

Concern showed in his eyes. ‘But if you flop here, you’ll only brood.’ He noticed the bridesmaids’ dresses adorning the door, and shook his head. ‘I won’t ask. So, what would you like to do with what’s left of the day?’

I tried to think of something that would be quick, fun and preferably not involve exerting ourselves too much.

‘Crazy golf,’ I told him decisively.

‘Oh.’ His shoulders sagged.

The first time Alain suggested crazy golf, he was under the illusion that he was bound to thrash me. He was sadly mistaken. I may not be a natural sportswoman, but it turned out that I was a natural at crazy golf. Alain assumed my first win was a fluke, but we’d played numerous times since, and I’d won maybe eighty per cent of the time. It had become an obsession with me. Whenever we were out and I saw a course, I insisted on playing. I absolutely loved it. While I was concentrating on that, I wasn’t thinking about anything else, so I found it really relaxing.

Our nearest mini-golf course was a municipal one on the outskirts of town, where the holes were inventive and well-maintained, and trees around the edges provided a modicum of shade.

But today, my luck was out and Alain’s was in. It was the final hole that did it – a stupid mound with the hole in the side, where the chances of getting your ball in were infinitesimal. It took Alain ten tries. Took me twenty and cost me the game.

‘I did it. I won!’ Alain leaped around like a power-mad six-year-old, jumping up and down and waving his club in the air, to the consternation of the actual six-year olds on the hole behind us.

‘You did. Well done. Now calm down before you have a heart attack.’ I grabbed his club and led him away.

‘I want ice cream to celebrate.’

‘Fine. You can have ice cream.’

We stood in the queue at the kiosk, and Alain laughed. ‘You’re sulking.’

‘Am not.’

‘Yes, you are.’

‘Am not.’ But I ruined the statement by stamping my foot.

Alain pulled me to him and kissed me long and hard, much to the disapproval of the family behind us and what looked like open jealousy on the part of the forty-something female ice cream vendor.

When he pulled away, he tipped my chin up with his finger. ‘I would ask you not to pout, but you know it turns me on.’

Good job we were speaking English, or the French people behind us would have been livid by now.

‘We need to get our ice creams and go, before we get lynched,’ I hissed.

‘Then stop sulking.’

Later – much later, after I’d pouted to my heart’s content and Alain had made the best use of it – we settled in the garden with a glass of wine and a simple risotto which Alain had made. Give me rice to cook, and I’ll give you a blackened, starch-ridden pan back.

For my contribution, I lit a couple of citronella candles to keep hungry insects at bay.

‘How do you feel about this house?’ Alain asked. ‘Are you still okay about moving in after the wedding?’

‘Of course. We agreed – it’s sensible to live here for a while, settle into our new routine, then decide whether to move.’

‘I know, but it’s months since we discussed it. I thought you might have changed your mind.’

‘Are you changing your mind?’

‘No. I’m comfortable here. I have a lot of happy memories, especially since you’ve been around so much. It’ll be convenient while you to get used to working at La Cour des Roses but not living there. But a lot’s changed since we last spoke about it, and after we talked about a family the other day, it made me wonder whether this house will be suitable.’

‘You’re right. Things have changed since we last discussed it. Back then, I still had half the mortgage to pay on that flat of mine and Nathan’s, and I was worried whether we could keep tenants in there long term. I was too scared to make expensive plans. And I had no idea whether my business would get off the ground. But it has – in a small way, but I can make it grow. I got those bits of freelance work in the winter. Nathan buying me out in Birmingham made a huge difference – not having that debt hanging around my neck.’ I took his hand. ‘As for starting a family? This place has room for a nursery. The garden’s big enough for a toddler to toddle. Maybe when we get on to the second, we should look at somewhere bigger. But one step at a time for now.’

He squeezed my hand. ‘As long as you’re sure. I wouldn’t want you to see it as me taking the easy option.’

‘It is an easy option. But I’m all for easy options at the moment. Life’s complicated enough. Let’s get used to being married first. Start a family. Where we go from there will fall into place, you’ll see.’

‘Know-it-all.’

I gave him a supercilious smile. ‘I am my mother’s daughter, remember.’

A mock shudder. ‘How could I forget?’

Rupert and I weren’t sorry to see Greg and his wife go the next morning.

‘Never thought I’d see the day that I’d deliberately diddle my guests,’ Rupert commented as we waved them off.

‘It was a one-off, and it was justified.’

Ryan pulled up for a gardening stint as we were about to set off for town.

‘I heard about Madame Dupont’s fire,’ he said, his tone sober. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am. She’s staying with relatives?’

Rupert nodded. ‘Her daughter, for now.’

‘If you need me to do anything, you’ll let me know?’

‘Yes. Thanks, Ryan.’

‘He’s a good lad,’ Rupert commented as we drove towards Pierre-la-Fontaine.

‘Yes. He is.’

‘Ryan and Sophie. Do you think they’ll …?’

‘I quizzed her about it the other week. They’ve been pretty solid since he came back in the spring.’

‘But?’

‘He’s younger than her, remember. I get the impression she’s worried about making him feel tied down.’

‘I can understand that. But if you’ve got a good thing going, you have.’

‘True.’ I cast him a sidelong glance. ‘What about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘No entanglement in the offing?’

He negotiated a junction on the outskirts of town. ‘You know full well that my entanglement with Gloria was enough to put me off for life, thank you.’

His face was poker-straight, making me laugh, despite wishing he would consider moving on eventually.

When we got to the café, Bob and Jonathan had also heard about the fire through the grapevine.

‘How is Madame Dupont?’ Bob asked.

‘She was distraught yesterday, when she saw it,’ Rupert told them. ‘I spoke to her on the phone this morning, though, and she was calmer.’

‘Where’s she staying?’ This from Jonathan.

‘With her daughter, but they can’t have her for long – only while the granddaughter’s away on holiday.’

‘She stays at her sister’s sometimes, doesn’t she?’

‘Yes, but only for a night or two. It’s too far away, and the flat’s tiny.’

‘There’s nothing you can do?’

‘We’re full for a while yet,’ Rupert explained. ‘If it had happened in the winter, we’d gladly have taken her in for a good long while.’ He manfully refrained from squawking as a woman pushed past him with several bags of shopping and spiked him with a fresh pineapple. ‘Madame Dupont is the stoical kind. She’s always taken whatever life throws at her and done her best. That will see her in good stead now.’

‘Will you visit her?’ Bob asked.

‘Yes, but I’m going to leave it a couple of days,’ I told him. ‘She needs time to come to terms with it, and I don’t want her to think we’re trying to strong-arm her into coming back to work. Even if she felt up to it, she couldn’t get to us unless one of us fetched her. It’s not practical.’

‘Will you get someone else in?’

‘I’m not sure that’s fair yet, even on a temporary basis,’ Rupert said. ‘Emmy and I will manage, for now. Let the dust settle a bit.’

I could have stayed with these kindly men for longer, but I had a florist to see, so I left them to it, retrieved the dresses and a sprig of lavender from the car and made my way across the square, pausing to admire the window display before going in.

No boring containers of flowers here. Madame Pascal had a stylish, imaginative streak, changing her displays with the seasons. At the moment, giant tissue sunflowers filled the windows, interspersed with containers of the real thing at different heights, a fence painted along the entire length of the window, and a miniature metal tractor driven by a scarecrow at one end. Fabulous.

She greeted me when I entered and admired the dresses and the photo of Kate’s, mused a while, then beckoned me over to her laptop. ‘I have already chosen the white roses for you. Small, delicate. The lavender will be a little taller, poking out. We can match this pale lilac.’ She pointed to Sophie’s dress, and found a matching rose on her screen. ‘But this one, I cannot match.’ She indicated Kate’s dress. ‘Perhaps one dark purple rose in the centre of each bouquet, to match this dress’ – she indicated Ellie’s – ‘and to contrast with the pastel colours.’ She searched until she found what she was looking for. ‘Like purple velvet, yes? And a little greenery. What do you think?’

‘That sounds wonderful. Thank you.’

‘You will get the lavender to me the day before?’

‘Yes.’ Hmm. Still need to speak to Ryan about that. ‘I’m sorry we took so long with the dresses.’

‘That does not matter. It is important to get everything right for your special day.’

Was she in league with my mother? Talking of whom …

Leaving the shop, I crossed to the fountain and sat on a bench to e-mail her with details of my latest wedding conquest.

That evening at the guest meal, Gavin drank more than he should, and it put him in a maudlin mood, harping on about unfaithful women and the difficulties of loneliness in your fifties. Since he’d only been single for a week, I wasn’t sure he was fully qualified to pontificate on that subject yet. And it was hardly conducive to a jovial atmosphere, especially with a honeymooning couple in our midst.

To avoid inflicting him on our other guests for any longer than necessary, Rupert made coffee and settled everyone in the lounge, then diplomatically suggested to Gavin (I was still struggling to get to grips with this first-name business) that we three take ours out on the patio – something the other guests were grateful for, judging by their sighs of relief and a smile from Grace as we guided Gavin back through the kitchen.

We settled him in a sturdy chair, ignored his request for a brandy, and Rupert placed a stiff black coffee in front of him. And when I say stiff, put it this way: if he drank it, he would get no sleep tonight.

Gloria came out with us, but she kept a wary distance from our guest, slinking to Rupert’s side and hiding under his chair. A dog of discernment.

‘How did you do it, Rupert, old friend?’ Gavin mumbled, glaring at his coffee in the hope it would change into something alcoholic.

Rupert winced at ‘old friend’. ‘Do what?’

‘How did you cope, when Gloria left you?’

‘Ah, well, I had an Emmy, didn’t I?’

Gavin’s glazed expression sidled my way. ‘I wouldn’t mind an Emmy. Do you have a spare?’

‘Sorry, pal. There’s only one. She’s unique.’

‘Can I borrow her?’

‘She’s needed here. And she’s getting married soon, remember?’

‘Ah. Yes.’ He focused his gaze somewhere near my face. ‘Waste of time, Emmy. They only up and leave you in the end.’

‘I don’t think mine will.’

‘That’s what I thought.’ He sipped his coffee and made a face, but took a second sip anyway. ‘I don’t understand it. Anita had everything she wanted. Clothes, jewellery, four-bedroom detached in a neighbourhood with no riff-raff. What more could she want?’

A husband who isn’t a complete arse, presumably.

‘She must have felt she was lacking something, Gavin,’ I ventured, curious despite myself. Besides, it would be good to let him get it all out of his system while it was just us three. ‘You said she left you for the builder?’

‘That’s what I don’t understand, Emmy. Why would she go off with a bit of rough like that when she had me?’ He waved a hand at his expensive shirt, which had lost its appeal due to the red wine and coffee he’d dripped down it. ‘I can’t get visions of them out of my head.’ His chin wobbled.

‘Did you catch them together?’ Rupert asked cautiously.

‘No, thank God. First I knew about it was when she stormed out of the house with her cases. And there he was at the kerb, the blighter, waiting for her in his white van.’

‘She didn’t tell you why she was going?’ I prodded.

‘No. Only said she needed a change. That she didn’t love me any more. That maybe she never had.’

‘That’s harsh.’

Gavin brushed away a tear. ‘I can’t stand the thought of them together. The idea of his grubby hands on her. Those callouses and dirty fingernails.’ He held out his own hands to inspect his man manicure. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘Then don’t,’ Rupert said sternly. ‘Stop dwelling on it and move on.’

‘How did you do that?’

‘I had this place to distract me,’ Rupert admitted. ‘And the support of some very good friends.’

‘Friends?’ Gavin frowned, as though trying to remember the dictionary definition. ‘Trouble is, most of ours were couples and whatnot. Anita dealt with that side of things. Can’t imagine seeing them on my own. No doubt she’ll hijack them, anyway.’

I felt genuinely sorry for him. I couldn’t contemplate where I would have been without my friends through the years – and I knew damned well that I would never have found the courage to start a new life in France without their support.

‘Then you need to get out and make new ones,’ I told him briskly.

‘Too hard,’ he murmured. ‘Too old for that crap.’

To my alarm, his shoulders began to shake. I sent Rupert a despairing look, but he only gave me a You’re a woman, you deal with this look back.

Patting Gavin’s back in a there there shushing manner more suited to a toddler who’d hurt his knee, I remembered once telling Rupert that it was okay for men to cry – that it was an idiotic and outdated tradition that suggested they shouldn’t – and I realised that my distaste in this case wasn’t that a man was crying, but a man I didn’t like.

‘You came here on your own,’ I reminded him. ‘That’s a start. You have to do the same when you get back home.’

He composed himself. ‘You’re right, Emmy. Need to pull myself together. I’m not too far on the wrong side of fifty. Got plenty of dosh, even if Anita nabs some of it. It won’t be hard to get myself another woman, surely?’

‘That wasn’t quite what I had in mind.’

But he was nodding to himself, his mind made up. Good friends, as opposed to superficial acquaintances, were obviously unfamiliar to him – and you could, it seemed, simply swap one life partner for another as easily as buying a new sweater.

He stood shakily, draining his coffee. ‘Right. Bed. Thank you both for listening. And to you, Emmy, for your advice. You’ve been a comfort.’

We stood, too. Before I could anticipate it, he’d leaned in for one of his hugs, and all I had time to do was close my nostrils to the aftershave assault.

That man was heading for a knee in the crotch.