After persuading Storm to visit Josh’s sister Serena – the thought of her moping about all day is unbearable – I head into the village because there’s something else to sort out. Our mysterious visitor had a strange effect on Jennifer yesterday and I want to check she’s OK.

I’m also eaten up with curiosity and imagining all kinds of unlikely Jennifer-Jacques scenarios. But mostly I’m feeling a tad responsible for the upset seeing as Jacques is staying with us. The last thing I want is to introduce problems and instability to this wonderful village that’s given me a new life.

Jennifer glances up when the bell above her shop door pings but goes back to arranging magazines on the shelf above the newspapers.

‘The delivery van got stuck in a traffic jam on the A30 so it was late again this morning. Flaming emmets! They turn Cornwall into a car park every summer.’

‘They also buy an indecent amount of ice cream from your shop so it’s not all bad.’

‘Huh,’ harrumphs Jennifer, popping Cornwall Life in pride of place at the front of the shelf. She slowly gets up off her knees and stretches out her back. ‘You’re on your own then.’

‘Yeah, just me. Josh is teaching summer school, Storm’s in Trecaldwith with Serena and our B&B guest is probably still having his breakfast. Emily’s force-feeding him a full English.’

‘How nice,’ mumbles Jennifer who’s looking more soignée than usual for a Tuesday morning. She’s swapped her trademark M&S skirt and blouse combo for a flattering mink-coloured dress, and her blonde, viciously backcombed hair is held in place with a diamante clip. Curiouser and curiouser.

Now, I could beat about the bush and get to the point via lots of small talk but, to be honest, I can’t be bothered. And if there’s one thing coming to Salt Bay has taught me it’s that secrets are best shared. So I go straight for the jugular.

‘What’s going on between you and Jacques?’

‘I have no idea what you mean,’ says Jennifer. She turns her back on me and makes a great show of tidying up the chocolate selection that’s already pretty tidy.

‘You know exactly what I mean.’ Pulling up Jennifer’s stool, I plonk myself on it and fold my arms. ‘Look, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to but is it going to be a problem if Jacques stays with us for a few more days?’

A wave of emotion flits across Jennifer’s face and her fingers tighten around the tube of Munchies she’s clutching. ‘I suppose everyone in the village is talking about me? It’s a shame they haven’t anything better to do.’

‘Don’t worry, I haven’t said anything to anyone and I don’t think Roger would have either.’

Jennifer thinks for a moment while the Munchies get ever-more squidged. ‘No, he probably wouldn’t. Did Monsieur Bouton tell you anything?’ When I shake my head, she leans against the counter and folds her arms beneath her generous bosom. ‘Monsieur Bouton – Jacques – and I know each other.’

‘I’d gathered that much.’

‘You’re very nosey, aren’t you,’ tuts Jennifer, the nosiest woman in Salt Bay. Then she gives a little sigh as though she’s come to a decision. ‘I knew Jacques a long time ago when I was studying in France as a young woman. Have I told you that I studied music in Paris?’

Only like a million times. I bite my lip to help me keep a straight face. ‘You have mentioned it in passing, yes.’

‘Well, that’s when I first met Jacques. His business was taking off, I got a part-time job in one of his pâtisseries and we had a—’ She stops and nods at me, willing me to end her sentence. What does she expect me to say – a friendship, a laugh, a shag?

‘A relationship?’ I venture.

‘Yes, absolutely, a relationship. It was very intense – my first love affair after a sheltered and often unhappy upbringing in Cornwall.’ She gazes into the distance for a moment. ‘But he was—’ She stops again and looks at me, opening her eyes wide.

‘Older?’

‘Yes.’ She nods her head impatiently. ‘And—’

This really isn’t any fun. I hold out my hands, palms to the ceiling, and shrug.

‘And married,’ she says crossly. ‘Obviously.’

Blimey! Jennifer, who calls local Laura a hussy for having it away with a married fisherman from Perrigan Bay, had a torrid affair with a sexy French bloke who was married at the time.

‘There, so now you know.’ Bright pink spots are flaring in Jennifer’s cheeks. ‘Are you disappointed in me?’

‘Of course not, this isn’t the 1850s, Jennifer. I’m just surprised.’

‘Me too because I’m a different person now. The years have changed me. You’re different as well.’

‘Me? Different in what way?’

‘Different from the brittle person you were when you first arrived in Salt Bay. Experiences change us. They either chip away at our defences or build them up. You’ve softened whereas I’ve got harder.’

She waves her hand when I go to protest and the Munchies clatter onto the counter. ‘No, it’s true. What happened in Paris made me a different person but that’s fine. I like who I am now.’ She gives a short laugh. ‘Mostly.’

‘The affair didn’t last then?’

‘Obviously not,’ says Jennifer sharply, then she sighs. ‘It was the usual story – he kept promising to leave his wife and I was naïve and foolish enough to believe him until—’

She bites her lip as I shift uncomfortably on my stool feeling like a voyeur into long-buried pain.

‘It’s OK, Jennifer. I shouldn’t have been so nosey, and you don’t have to tell me anything else.’

‘It’s strange but I really want to tell you. I haven’t talked about it for such a long time.’

Jennifer walks to the shop door and flicks the latch across so we won’t be disturbed. Outside three young children in shorts and T-shirts run screaming towards the harbour without a care in the world.

‘I got pregnant. Contraception wasn’t so good in those days and it was a mistake. But once I got over the shock, I thought it might encourage Jacques to leave his wife. He told me their relationship was loveless and she didn’t understand him. I was very naïve back then.’ She smiles, softer somehow. ‘Anyway, surprise, surprise, he didn’t leave his wife, who turned out to be pregnant herself and I found myself alone and pregnant in Paris with no support from my family. I lost the baby with the stress of it all which was probably for the best. Single mothers had a hard time back then.’

She shrugs but her eyes are full of pain. ‘After all that I became quite unwell’ –she winces and whispers the next word – ‘mentally. So I abandoned my studies and Paris for good and came back to Cornwall.’

She sucks in air and breathes out slowly. ‘I have shocked you now. I’m not the perfect person you thought I was.’

Slipping off my stool, I walk over to her feeling profoundly sad. Life is hard and we’re all damaged by traumas that remain buried within us.

‘You’re as perfect to me as you ever were,’ I say diplomatically, putting my arms around her and pulling her in for a hug. Jennifer is one hundred per cent not a huggy person but it’s the only appropriate response to what she’s just told me.

Jennifer allows herself to be held for a few moments. She smells of gardenias and there’s what feels like an industrial grade girdle underneath her dress. Then she pulls away and purses her lips. ‘Everything I’ve just said is between you and me, all right? So there’s no telling that young man of yours or blabbermouth Kayla and definitely no word of it to Storm. She’s put me on a pedestal and I don’t want to crush her. Promise me.’

‘Of course I promise.’

It’s the second promise I’ve made today but one I’m happy to keep. How awful to carry such heartache in silence for almost forty years.

‘Good. It’s a shame in one way because I’d have made a good mother,’ muses Jennifer, flinging open the door when a small child presses her face against the shop window. ‘Oy,’ she bellows, ‘unless you’re willing to clean that window, get your nose off the glass!’

The girl scuttles off as I imagine Jennifer with a child of her own. Maybe motherhood would have smoothed her sharp edges and made her less spikey. But knowing Jennifer’s story still doesn’t explain one thing.

‘So why do you think Jacques is here now?’

‘I have absolutely no idea. We haven’t been in touch since I left Paris all those years ago and him turning up out of the blue has unsettled me. I can’t help wondering how my life would have been if I’d stayed in France. I like it here well enough but it’s only human to wonder “what if”.’

‘I know but we’d miss you if you weren’t here keeping us all in check.’

‘Well, someone has to do it. There’s a serious lack of discipline in this village which isn’t helped by Roger allowing all kinds of drunken behaviour in his establishment. Oh, no!’

Jennifer is staring through the window and I follow her gaze. Striding towards the shop in a blue blazer and dapper Panama hat is Jacques.

‘I don’t want to see him,’ blurts out Jennifer. ‘Why did you let him stay in the first place?’

‘I had no idea who he was. We were just giving the B&B idea a dry run.’

‘Which is ridiculous because the village doesn’t need a B&B establishment and lots of locals are saying the same thing,’ barks Jennifer, moving away from the window so she won’t be spotted from outside. ‘Why can’t you leave Tregavara House as it is? Alice wouldn’t approve of you inviting strangers into her home.’

I let that go because Jennifer is about to self-combust. Usually under control to the point of coldness, she keeps swallowing and twisting her hands together so tightly her knuckles are white ridges.

Poor woman! We think our lives are under control but all it takes is a face from the past to blast our fragile defences to smithereens.

‘I’ll lock the door again.’ Jennifer dives towards the latch but it’s too late. The bell tinkles as Jacques steps inside, takes off his hat and gives me a small nod. His cologne smells of lemons warming under a sun-bleached sky and drifts across the space between us.

‘Good morning, ladies. I don’t mean to ambush you, Jenny, but I was told you work here.’

‘I don’t work here. The shop belongs to me and I know it’s only small, but we can’t all own fancy businesses across Paris.’

‘That’s true but your shop is charming.’

I’m sidling towards the door and have almost reached it when Jennifer jabs her finger at me: ‘And where exactly do you think you’re going?’

‘Home. I’ve got things to do.’

‘They can wait. Get back on that stool!’ When I hesitate, she gives me a wobbly smile. ‘Please.’

‘It’s fine to stay, Annie,’ says Jacques. ‘I have a feeling you are at the heart of the village.’

At the heart of a village that disapproves of my efforts to save my home – and if the fall-out caused by our first guest is anything to go by, they’ve got a point. I scuttle back to the stool like the biggest gooseberry ever.

Jacques takes off his hat and places it on top of the rearranged confectionery. ‘It’s good to see you again, Jennifer. I have often wondered how you are.’

‘And now you’ve seen that I’m still alive and kicking so you don’t need to stay,’ says Jennifer, giving her magnificent bouffant hairstyle a pat.

‘But I’ve come all this way and would like to catch up with an old friend. Tell me, did you continue with your music studies elsewhere?’

‘No, I didn’t but I’m doing just fine in retail, thank you very much.’

‘That’s such a shame because you had great musical talent.’

‘Had? I still have great musical talent and sing with a choir which recently won a prestigious award thanks to me and my vocal skills. Isn’t that right, Annie?’

That’s over-egging it a bit – though Salt Bay Choral Society did win the Kernow Choral Crown, so I nod.

‘Congratulations. And do you have a husband these days?’ Jacques hesitates. ‘And children?’

‘No, it’s just me.’

A tremor of emotion flickers across Jacques’ handsome face. ‘It’s hard to believe there’s no husband when you’re looking so well. I can still see the young girl.’

When Jennifer looks up at Jacques from under her lashes, I can see it too. She’s not an unattractive woman now but she must have been prettier then, with her high cheekbones and bright eyes. Before years of loneliness and dissing other people scored lines across her forehead and around her pursed lips.

She sighs: ‘Why are you here, Jacques, after all these years?’

Her former lover pauses a moment while I shrink down on the stool. Being size twelve with no super-powers means invisibility just ain’t gonna happen, but I’m acutely uncomfortable about being here. EastEnders has come to Salt Bay but this is painful real life rather than TV soap opera.

Jacques leans against the piled-up windbreaks. ‘I started thinking about the past now I’m on my own and I have some regrets about my behaviour.’

‘Did you finally leave your wife then?’

‘She left me, actually. She died a year ago.’

‘Oh.’ Jennifer stumbles over her next words. ‘I’m very sorry to hear that.’

‘Me too. She had a lot to put up with. But her death has made me think about how I’ve lived my life.’

‘So are you here trying to make amends?’ Eek! I didn’t mean to put my oar in, but the question just slipped out. An invisibility cloak would be wasted on me.

Jacques gives another Gallic shrug. ‘Maybe. I didn’t treat you well all those years ago, Jennifer, and I wanted to make sure you’re all right.’

‘As you can see, I’m absolutely fine so you can push off back to France with a clear conscience.’ Jennifer folds her arms across her chest. ‘How did you find me anyway?’

‘I thought you might still be in Cornwall. You always told me how much you loved the place and I knew you would still be singing. You always had such a beautiful voice.’

‘Still has,’ I pipe up. Jeez, I seem determined to get involved in this when I’ve got quite enough going on in my life at the moment. Fortunately, both Jennifer and Jacques ignore me.

‘So you found me through the choir?’

‘I found your photo online when your choir won that competition last Christmas. I saw the picture and recognised you straight away. Rupert was there too and Annie and Storm.’

‘Rupert?’ Jennifer looks at me, puzzled.

‘He means Roger.’

‘I see. Well, you’ve found me, Jacques and I’m a successful retailer so you can go back home with your conscience eased and get on with your life.’

‘I’ll be returning to Paris very soon but I’m happy to see you and would like to talk about the old days, if you’re willing. Perhaps you would meet me in the pub at lunchtime? I would like to find out what you’ve done with your life. I never forgot you, Jennifer.’

Ooh, it’s still really awkward, sitting here watching the drama play out. But I’m agog about what Jennifer will decide. Will she accept an invitation from a former lover to reminisce or will she tell him to sling his hook? Bam bam-bam bam-bam ba-ba-ba-ba! The EastEnders theme tune starts playing in my head.

Jennifer looks around at her little Salt Bay empire. Newspapers and magazines, beach balls and sunglasses, headache pills and diarrhoea tablets. Then she gives a tight nod.

‘One o’clock, the Whistling Wave. And I’ll buy my own drinks, thank you very much.’

Jacques grabs Jennifer’s hand, raises it to his lips and plants a soft kiss on her skin. ‘How do you say it? It’s a deal.’