My parents landed at three, although it was clear they’d hoped to arrive sooner – I could hear my mother berating my long-suffering father for his snail-pace driving before she even got out of the rental car.

‘Hello, Mum.’ I ran down to give her a kiss.

‘Hello, darling.’ Holding me at arm’s length, she scrutinised my appearance. ‘You’ve had your hair cut.’ She tilted her head to one side as though to judge better, then made her pronouncement. ‘I like it. Makes you look younger.’

I heaved a sigh of relief. Not wanting to risk her spotting something she could make an issue of – such as the luggage-sized bags under my eyes – I broke away and went round to my father’s side.

‘Hello, Dad.’

‘Hello, love.’ Dad gave me a peck on the cheek. While he unloaded their bags, my mother’s eagle eye took in the house, the garden and the gîtes across the courtyard.

‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ I said brightly.

She pursed her lips. ‘I suppose so.’

Dad winked at me. ‘It looks delightful. I can see why you wouldn’t want to rush away, even after... Well.’ He coughed and hoisted the bags up to the house.

I led them upstairs. Their room was the best in the house, as befitted the Hendersons. It overlooked the full sweep of Rupert’s garden, from the patio with its ceramic pots of lilies to the lawn dotted with random flower beds like islands of colour in a green ocean, the odd weeping pear or willow adding graceful height and shade, and on to the chicken run amidst the shrubs down at the far end.

‘It’s beautiful, Emmy,’ Dad said. ‘Are you sure Mr Hunter didn’t mind us coming at such short notice? Your mother was rather forceful with him on the phone.’ He shot her a look of disapproval, but it was like water off a duck’s back.

‘No, Dad, it’s fine. The people who were in this room left at lunchtime. Another couple – the Kennedys – are due today for a long weekend like you two, and the Stewarts leave on Tuesday. Rupert’s pretty busy – he gets a lot of repeat business.’

‘Yes, I imagine he does.’ Dad stared dreamily through the window.

‘Did Nick phone you?’ Mum asked, keen to know whether her instructions had been obeyed.

‘Yes, he did,’ I assured her.

‘Good. He seemed rather distracted last night. I wasn’t sure if he was listening properly. He must have been asleep when I rang.’

‘Maybe.’

Suppressing a smirk, I caught Dad’s eye and saw that he, too, was trying not to smile.

‘Come down when you’ve unpacked,’ I said. ‘I’ll go and make a pot of tea.’

As I turned away, I saw Mum surreptitiously run a finger across the dressing table. I almost laughed at the disappointment on her face when her finger came away clean.

As I headed downstairs, I heard Dad say, ‘Well, she seems happy enough, Flo,’ followed by my mother’s impatient ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Dennis, you can’t judge by appearances. I hope the shower works.’

Those two never changed. My dad, so quiet and thoughtful and calm, permanently bossed around by my larger-than-life, opinionated mother. And I’d never come across a happier couple.

When they came downstairs, I had tea waiting for them on the patio. There wasn’t a better way to show off the place than this. The late afternoon sun cast a deep yellow glow across the garden; the hens clucked peacefully; insects buzzed and zinged around the roses.

Dad sighed contentedly. ‘The garden’s glorious. Does Mr Hunter do it himself?’

‘Some of it, but there’s a bloke who comes in the summer.’

‘French chap?’

‘No, English. His mum and dad own a holiday house a couple of miles away, and he spends the summer out here doing gardens. In the winter, he goes back to England, labouring or something.’

I blushed, trying hard not to think about Ryan’s taut muscles and tanned torso, and prayed he wouldn’t turn up for a stint in the garden.

‘Sounds like a grand life,’ Dad said wistfully.

‘How are things at work?’

‘Oh, okay. We have a new client taking up all my time. He’s an awkward old sod, actually...’

‘Never mind all that, Dennis.’ My mother bristled impatiently. ‘We didn’t come all this way to listen to you witter on about work. Now, Emmy, what’s all this about Nathan?’

‘You didn’t have to come all this way, Mum. I could have explained over the phone.’

‘Rubbish. I know you, Emmeline Jamieson. You’d have told me bugger-all over the phone. This way, we can sort it out face-to-face.’

I poured tea and settled myself in for the long haul. ‘There’s not a vast amount to tell. Nathan thought we should separate. He’s gone off and I stayed here. Then I decided to stay an extra week to help Rupert, because he’s damaged his leg and can’t get about.’

Mum huffed. ‘Now, Emmy, that’s not all there is to it. People don’t just go off in the middle of their holidays. Nathan’s mother tried to blame you, of course, what with her thinking the sun shines out of her son’s backside, but I gave her what-for.’

I bet you did. ‘Perhaps it might be easier if you tell me what you’ve heard already, Mum. You were a bit’ – I searched for the least offensive word – ‘overwrought when you rang.’

She sipped her tea, then put her cup back in the saucer with relish. ‘Well, the first I heard was when Dorothy phoned. Heaven forbid I should hear major family news from my own daughter’ – her accusatory glare bore right through me – ‘but no, I have to hear it from that dreadful mother of his. Anyway, she told me...’

Mum was an expert at monologues. I’d got the gist when she phoned, but this was the unabridged version and took a good ten minutes.

I was happy to listen. It delayed me having to give my side of the story, and besides, I needed to know everything she knew and where she’d heard it from so I could decide how much I could tell her without giving away any more than necessary. There was always a great deal of strategic planning involved when dealing with my mother.

She finished her tale and poured more tea to rehydrate her voice box, waiting with ill-disguised impatience for my version.

My mind raced. She was right – boyfriends don’t disappear in the middle of a holiday just because things aren’t going too well. And Madame Dupont was right, too – there was no point in lying to her. She had that innate ability, as all mothers did, of knowing when I was not being entirely truthful. I couldn’t avoid telling her that Nathan had run off with another woman, but I certainly wasn’t going to tell her in lurid detail about the night I found Nathan and Gloria having wild jungle sex.

Tweaking the timeline of events, I explained that there had been some strain at the beginning of the holiday due to the owner being rushed into hospital, and Nathan had injudiciously decided that comforting the owner’s wife was the way to go.

Mum butted in at this point. I was amazed she’d stayed silent for so long. ‘Do you mean to tell me that Nathan has run off with Mr Hunter’s wife?’

‘Yes, Mum. Her name is Gloria.’

She raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘Well, that explains it.’

I wasn’t quite sure what Gloria’s name had to do with anything, but logic had never been my mother’s strong suit.

‘And how old is this dreadful creature?’

‘Mid-forties.’

‘Well, for goodness’ sake, I can’t imagine what’s got into the boy, going off with a woman like that when he’s got a perfectly good young girlfriend.’ She squeezed my arm in sympathy. ‘Don’t you worry. It’s just some silly midlife crisis. He’ll soon be back.’

The idea that she might pity me made me feel queasy. I didn’t want her to see me in the role of helpless victim.

I took a deep breath. ‘I’m not sure he will be back, Mum. And to be honest, I doubt I’d want him.’

My mother looked flabbergasted. ‘Well, really. What are you talking about? Men dally around all the time, don’t they, Dennis?’

She looked across at my father, but he remained his usual implacable self. ‘It’s no good asking me, dear. I wouldn’t dream of it.’

I smiled, but Mum was not to be waylaid.

‘Well, they do. It’s a disgrace, of course, but that’s the way they are. You’d be in a different position if he’d run off with some young secretary he’d got pregnant and intended to set up shop with, but as it is, it sounds like this Gloria’ – she spat the name out – ‘is far too old for him. He’ll get it out of his system. Nathan knows which side his bread’s buttered. Once he realises she’s mutton dressed as lamb, he’ll come running back with his tail between his legs, you mark my words.’

She paused for breath, sipping more tea to lubricate her throat before the next onslaught, while I wondered how many more clichés she could squeeze into the conversation. But all we got was, ‘Well, Emmy, I don’t know what to say.’

She sighed, patted my knee, then drew me into a voluminous hug. As I looked across at my father, I saw the glint of a tear in his eye.

‘I don’t want you to worry about me. I’m fine.’

Her soppy moment over, she said, ‘I don’t see how you can be fine.’

‘Well, I am. I wouldn’t say I’m turning cartwheels in the garden, but I’m okay under the circumstances. I know you’re both cross with Nathan, but I’ve had longer to think about it than you. I can’t say I’m not upset – I was livid at first, and surprised because it seemed out of character for him. But things were pretty rubbish between us already.’

Mum looked me in the eye. ‘You don’t love him any more.’

Returning her honesty, I shook my head. ‘No. Not any more.’

She reached across to take my face in her hands. ‘If that’s the case, Emmy, then there’s nothing you or he can do to change it. Life’s too short to go through it pretending to love someone. You deserve better.’

I was spared further interrogation by Rupert’s timely appearance. Looking much better for his rest, he limped out with his best greet-the-guests smile fixed in place.

‘Mr and Mrs Jamieson. What a delight.’ He shook their hands. ‘Welcome to La Cour des Roses. I’m so glad you came.’

Dad jumped up, smiling warmly back. ‘Mr Hunter. Good to meet you. You have a beautiful place here. It’s good to know Emmy is somewhere like this at such a difficult time.’ Ever the gentleman, he pulled out a chair for Rupert to sit.

My mother’s polite smile was on the glacial side. No doubt she thought Rupert was more than a little to blame for what had happened; that he should have kept his wife on a shorter leash.

Rupert sensed it and turned the charm up a notch. ‘I can only say what an absolute godsend Emmy has been the past few days, Mrs Jamieson. She’s a real gem. You must be incredibly proud of her.’

Amused, I watched my mother thaw, despite her attempts not to. Pouring Rupert some tea, I sat back to enjoy his expertise as he melted the last of her defences with compliments, concern for their wellbeing after their journey and hopes that they would enjoy their stay.

I caught Dad’s eye and he winked. He liked Rupert, I could tell, and I couldn’t be more pleased. It was important that he understood why I wanted to stay and help. And once more, it highlighted the chasm between Nathan and me – that my dad and I could both appreciate the man’s charm and fun, taking him with a large pinch of salt along the way, while Nathan hadn’t taken to him at all.

Lost in my thoughts, I dangerously took my eye off the ball for a moment. When I came back to the game, I was horrified to hear where my mother was headed.

‘…can’t think what’s got into Nathan, running off like that. And with a woman nearly old enough to be his mother.’

‘Mum!’ I shot her a stricken look.

‘What?’ she retorted. ‘I’m only stating facts.’

‘Quite so.’ The advantage of Rupert’s thick skin was that he was rarely offended.

‘Haven’t you heard from either of them?’ Dad asked.

‘Not a peep,’ Rupert admitted.

‘Well, we know Nathan’s phone has been off for days. That’s how I found out about this mess.’ Mum shot me a reproachful look. ‘Although I suppose we would have found out eventually, when you didn’t come home on Saturday.’

‘I only decided I was going to stay two hours before you rang! Of course I would have phoned. You beat me to it.’

Mum turned her frustration back on Rupert. ‘Have you tried to contact your wife at all, Mr Hunter?’

‘Mum! That’s none of our business.’

‘Of course it’s our business, Emmy.’

‘Your mother’s quite right,’ Rupert put in smoothly. ‘And please, it’s Rupert. Yes, Mrs Jamieson, I have tried to contact Gloria.’

My eyes widened in surprise. This was news to me. Since I’d taken the stance that I would make no effort to reach Nathan, I’d assumed Rupert felt the same about Gloria. I’d no idea he’d been trying to get hold of her. Rupert played his cards pretty close to his chest, but so far he’d given me the impression he knew deep down that she’d gone for good. Had he tried to contact her to beg her to come back? Or to tell her to go to hell? I resolved to find out the next time I could get him alone.

‘Her mobile’s always switched off,’ he said now. ‘I also phoned some friends who live further south, but she isn’t there. I don’t know where she and Nathan are. They’ll resurface when they want to, I suppose.’ Rupert reached across and patted my hand. ‘The important thing is that Emmy and I are coping perfectly well without them.’ He hoisted himself to his feet. ‘Talking of which, we need to make a start on dinner. Couple of minutes, Emmy?’ He limped back into the house.

‘Seems like a nice chap,’ Dad said. ‘Shame about his health. I hope he gets better before you leave.’

‘So do I, Dad.’

‘What did he mean, make a start on dinner?’ Mum queried.

‘Just that. I need to help Rupert cook. You and Dad relax out here. You must be tired.’

My mother, won over during Rupert’s presence, frowned again. ‘Exactly how much are you having to do here, Emmy?’

Taking a deep breath, I weighed up the pros and cons. She knew I’d agreed to stay another week to help Rupert, but she had no idea how much hard graft I was putting in. I knew she wouldn’t like it – that she would think Rupert was taking advantage of her darling daughter’s better nature. I could play it down, but since they were going to be here until Sunday, they would see for themselves.

I opted for vagueness. ‘I do what needs to be done at the time, Mum. I’m enjoying it. Don’t worry.’

Before she could respond, I popped a kiss on her cheek and shot into the kitchen, leaving her to mutter to my father out of earshot.

‘So what was all that you told my mother?’ I asked Rupert as soon as I caught up with him indoors. ‘About trying to contact Gloria? You never told me that.’

‘Ah, well, your mother has a much more vicious interrogative streak than you, young Emmy. You need to practice more. Hone your skills.’

‘You’re evading the question.’

He sighed. ‘I didn’t tell you, Emmy, because you had your own problems to contend with. And I know for a fact that the reason your mobile is never on your person and never charged is nothing to do with early-onset middle-aged forgetfulness. You’re assuming Nathan hasn’t tried to contact you, but the truth is, you don’t want to know.’

‘If he wants to get hold of me, Rupert, all he has to do is ring the landline here.’

‘And he hasn’t. But the point is, I knew how you felt and I respected that, so I didn’t see the point of burdening you with my attempts.’

‘But that makes me feel awful. You should have told me. God knows we’ve told each other all sorts!’

He looked me in the eye. ‘Ever heard of male pride, Emmy? If I’d got anywhere, I would have let you know.’ He turned to the fridge and started to get everything out, a subtle indication that he’d shared as much he was going to.

But I wasn’t finished yet. ‘Can I ask why you want to get hold of her? Do you want her back? Is that it?’

When he turned back to me, his whole face collapsed a tiny fraction, and I finally understood what people meant when they said that someone looked crestfallen.

‘The truth, Emmy? I don’t know. But I don’t think what I want makes any difference. Gloria’s the one who’s taken action, so it’s what Gloria wants that’s the issue. Was she just making a point? Attention-seeking? Is she trying to pay me back for something I’ve done – or haven’t done? Has she left for good? Does she want a divorce? Will she come back?’ He held out his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘See? Too many questions. They’re making my head hurt and they’re stopping me sleeping. So the answer to your question, Emmy love, is that I’m trying to get hold of Gloria simply to remove some of the questions from the equation. I’d like to know where I stand, so I can come to terms with whatever that is. But in her usual contrary fashion, Gloria isn’t playing ball, and there’s nothing I can do about that.’

The meal that evening was a huge success. We had a full house, and the atmosphere was relaxed and jolly. The Stewarts, noticeably more animated this evening without the overbearing input of the Hendersons, told us about their newfound love affair with the Loire, an area of France they’d never tried before. The Kennedys arrived just in time for the meal and happily gave in to the food and chatter.

Mum defrosted again with the aid of several glasses of wine and complimented the food at every opportunity. No one knew better than my own mother that I had never been a natural cook, so she was somewhat taken aback that I’d contributed in any way whatsoever to the gastronomic delights on the table.

My father’s tired lines were smoothing out, and I was glad. What with his demanding job and my demanding mother and worry over his abandoned daughter, the stress had been clear to see when he arrived, but now he leaned back in his chair, smiling.

It was dark outside. Rupert had turned off the harsher spotlights around the kitchen units, cleverly hiding any detritus from the meal and leaving us in the mellow glow of the overhead light and wall lamps in the dining area.

He was on top form, with plenty of tales to tell and an easy way of telling them. A natural raconteur, his stock supply of anecdotes was brought out, but there were others I hadn’t heard before and I laughed helplessly along with everyone else.

‘If you lovely people are wondering why I don’t supply candlelight to add to the ambience, then I shall tell you,’ he announced over coffee. ‘I used to do all that, when we first started up the business. Thought it added a touch of class. And so it did – until one of the guests had their fiftieth birthday here. The woman’s husband had paid serious money to a pâtisserie in town for an absolutely fabulous cake, which he placed on the table in front of his wife. He’d also spent serious money on the gift, by the looks of it, all decked out in fancy tissue paper and ribbons. He handed it over with the flourish it deserved, she opened it with the flourish it deserved, the wrapping paper dangled in the flame of one of the candles...’

There was a collective gasp around the table.

‘In her panic, she started wafting it about, which of course only made the flames spread up towards her hand. The smoke alarm got itself in a tizzy, deafening us all, and I was hopping about, desperately trying to grab it from her before she dropped it – I had visions of the whole table going up in flames!’

‘Did you get it off her?’ Mum asked, eyes wide.

‘Couldn’t get near the bloody woman – she was hopping about too, and of course the more she moved, the more the flames grew.’

‘So what on earth did you do?’

Rupert gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Chucked the water jug over it. There was nothing else I could do. It put out the flames alright, but it also drenched the birthday girl and ruined the cake – one minute a superbly crafted tower of white swirls and delicate iced flowers, the next a waterfall of cream and soggy sponge. The sleeves of her dress were singed, as was the box – although thankfully not the gift within. It rather spoiled the evening, and caused a god-almighty row when they left the next day. The chap was a solicitor and fancied the notion of suing me for the cost of the cake, the cost of his wife’s dress – a designer label, naturally – and possibly mental distress.’

‘And did he?’ Meg Kennedy asked, agog.

‘Thankfully, no. We came to an arrangement over the bill. Well, less an arrangement and more a full refund for their stay.’

‘That’s disgraceful!’ Frank Stewart chimed in.

Rupert winked. ‘On my part or his?’

Frank grinned. ‘His, of course.’

Rupert shook his head. ‘I was only grateful the kitchen hadn’t burned down. Didn’t fancy a legal wrangle. But hence no more candles. If you lot want ambience, you’ll have to create it yourselves with your delightful company and scintillating conversation.’

‘Dare I ask what the gift was, after all that?’ Karen Stewart asked.

Rupert shook his head in despair. ‘A dress from a Parisian boutique, clearly at least two sizes too small and two decades too young for its recipient. I could hear them arguing all the way up the stairs! Funnily enough, they haven’t been back since. Can’t think why...’

Mum and Karen were helpless with laughter. I caught Dad watching me and quirked a quizzical eyebrow at him, but he just shook his head and joined in.

It was midnight when we broke it up. As I started to clear the table, my mother began to frown again, but my father tactfully guided her away by the elbow. On their way upstairs, I heard him stop her before she could complain.

‘Leave it, Flo. The girl’s never been happier.’

I piled the debris by the sink with a light heart. My father, in his usual quiet way, had hit the nail on the head. Though my circumstances should most definitely suggest otherwise, and though this may be but a brief interlude, I had never been happier.