By the time we were tucking into dinner, I was tired and didn’t have much of an appetite. That didn’t mean I could pick at my food, however. With my mother watching me like a hawk, I had no choice but to steadfastly work my way through the hake in sauce and oven-roasted vegetables, occasionally resorting to mushing it around my plate so it looked like I’d eaten more than I had – an old childhood trick which I was sure wouldn’t fool her at all. Luckily for me, she was distracted by the delicious food, lively conversation and the wine top-ups my dad surreptitiously foisted on her, bless him.

It seemed the Stewarts were more in love with the Loire than ever.

‘We’re thinking of looking for a holiday home in the area,’ Karen Stewart announced over heavenly home-made ice-cream and melt-in-your-mouth shortbread.

‘Really? That’s fantastic news! I can recommend an excellent estate agent,’ Rupert told them. ‘Her name’s Ellie Fielding. She’s the English half of the agency, Philippe’s the French half. Ellie can be a bit scary at first, but she knows her stuff. If you like, I’ll give you her phone number. Maybe you could find time to meet her before you leave on Tuesday.’

‘That’s kind of you,’ Karen said, beaming, as Rupert wrote down the number. ‘Now we’ve had the idea, I can’t wait to get started. It might be sensible to have a quick chat with someone before we go home. It’d be so good to have a bolt-hole here in France.’

She squeezed her husband’s hand on the table, and I fought my resentment. It wasn’t the Stewarts’ fault they were happily married – or that they were well-off enough to buy a second home. Even if Nathan and I were still together, the idea of him agreeing to a holiday home abroad was laughable. For a start, we didn’t have that kind of money. Then there was the small matter of a holiday home not being much use if your job meant you never took any holidays.

Physically and mentally exhausted, I escaped to my room as soon as I could clear away without actually snatching plates from under everyone’s noses.

Sunday was thankfully a more laid-back affair. After breakfast, while Mum got settled outside, Dad helped me hang out some of the laundry from yesterday’s mountain of washing at the bottom of the garden, where we took advantage of the cover of billowing sheets and the distance from my mother to converse in conspiratorial whispers.

‘Is Mum okay with all this?’ I asked him anxiously. Her many disapproving looks yesterday had begun to get me down.

Dad patted my arm. ‘She’s shocked and cross with Nathan, as we all are, but she’ll get over it. And so will you.’

‘I appreciate the confidence, Dad, but that wasn’t what I meant.’

‘I know,’ he mumbled through a mouthful of pegs. ‘Rupert could charm the birds out of the trees, but your mother isn’t that easily taken in. To tell the truth, she thinks he’s taken advantage of you.’

‘How about you?’ I asked.

‘Me?’ Dad considered a moment. ‘I think helping is doing you good, taking your mind off things while it has a chance to catch up with itself. I suspect Rupert is taking advantage, but I can’t blame him after all he’s been through. He’d be in a terrible mess if you weren’t doing all this.’ He gestured at the snowy white sheets for emphasis. ‘In any event, as long as you’re both benefitting, it doesn’t matter, does it?’

I shot him a grateful smile. He could always size up a situation in a trice and make the best of it. A rush of emotion came over me for the one man who had always been there for me, no matter what. Giving in to it, I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him tight as I breathed in his familiar aftershave.

‘I love you, Dad,’ I murmured.

Taking this in his capable stride, he hugged me tightly back, then pulled away. He took my chin in his hands. ‘I love you, too.’ He smoothed a tear from my cheek with his thumb as he blinked away his own. ‘Come on. Your mother will be wondering where we’ve got to.’

Rupert brought us a tray of coffee and disappeared back indoors, presumably because his trouble radar had picked up on my mother’s disapproval of his enslaving her daughter and he didn’t fancy being in the line of fire.

She looked upset.

‘What’s up, Mum?’

‘I don’t know, Emmy. What with your brother a permanent gigolo, and you and Nathan splitting up, it seems this family’s not having much success in the relationship department.’

Her eyes glistened, and in that moment my strident, ever-practical mother looked decidedly vulnerable. It tore at my heartstrings that Nick and I could still cause her so much worry.

‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong.’ I squeezed her hand. ‘Nick hasn’t tried anything long-term yet, so how he can be a failure at it? Besides, you and Dad have been married for decades without killing each other. I’d call that a success, wouldn’t you?’

Mum cocked her head to one side as she thought about it. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘Yes, you’re right.’

As my parents’ little car disappeared down the lane late that afternoon, I thought about what I’d said to my mother. Their visit had served to remind me how much they loved each other. They weren’t just fond of each other, or used to each other, or putting up with each other, or taking each other for granted. After thirty-five years, they were still in love.

What if I never found what Mum and Dad had? Could I settle for anything less, having been a witness to their relationship, knowing it might be out there for me somewhere if I waited long enough for the one-in-goodness-knows-how-many who might be the person I could share it with?

I sat and watched the sun sink slowly behind the field across the road until the midges and mozzies and beasties came out to feast on my bare arms and then, with a self-pitying sigh, I hoisted myself upright and returned to the house.

Feeling out of sorts and unable to settle, I wheedled Rupert’s laptop from him, took it to the kitchen and set to work on that atrocious booking system of his.

Creating a spreadsheet was simple enough, but transferring the manual diary onto it was another matter. I’d never seen such a mess. When Rupert came in to see how I was getting on, the table was covered with little piles of date-sorted booking enquiries and letters of confirmation and goodness knew what else.

‘How’s it going?’ he asked, halting cautiously at the doorway as he took in the paper mayhem.

I glared up at him. ‘Fine.’

‘Would it help if I helped?’

Glancing at the diary with its spider scribbles and eraser smudges, I shoved it at him. ‘Absolutely.’

It was after ten when we sat back with a celebratory hot chocolate to admire our pretty-coloured spreadsheet and neat file of correspondence.

‘Okay, you were right,’ Rupert said grudgingly. He picked up the diary and tossed it in the general direction of the waste bin. ‘I admit it. I couldn’t have followed that lot.’

‘You’ve always managed so far. Never a hitch, you said.’

‘Yes, but what I didn’t tell you is that I always asked Gloria because I couldn’t understand anything she’d written. Since she left, I’ve only looked ahead a few days at a time. If I’d tried to plan any further, I wouldn’t have stood a cat in hell’s chance. You’ve stopped me from coming quite a cropper.’

‘I’m glad.’

‘Now for the other bit.’

I stifled a yawn. ‘What other bit?’

‘Website. Gloria.’

‘Ah.’ I still felt guilty about suggesting that, which was why I hadn’t pushed it. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

It was late and we were tired, so I kept it simple. The photo of the two of them was removed. Rupert found one of him on his own – taken at least five years ago, but it would do – and we removed any mention of Gloria from the text. That was all that was needed for now.

‘Thanks, Emmy,’ Rupert said quietly as we shut the laptop down for the night.

‘No problem.’ I studied him. ‘Are you okay?’

He gave a wan smile. ‘I’m fine. Thought I was, anyway. It’s just... Doing that...’ He wafted a hand at the screen. ‘It seems so final, somehow.’

‘I can change it back, if you like.’

‘No. I’m a realist, Emmy. No point in showing something other than the way it is.’

Figuring that was enough for one night, I stood and popped a kiss on his cheek. ‘Night, Rupert.’

‘Night, love.’

And now there was another expression I understood better. I couldn’t honestly say I was heartbroken when Nathan left, but as I climbed the stairs to my room now, my heart was breaking for Rupert. His defeated expression, the tired lines, the shadows under his eyes would haunt me for quite some time. That moment when I’d deleted the photo of him and Gloria – happy, smiling at the camera, arms around each other’s shoulders – had been nothing other than awful.

Still, as I climbed exhausted into bed, I’d have been lying if I hadn’t admitted I rather liked the idea of Gloria logging on to her own website, only to find out that she was missing in action.

My lie-in the next morning was rudely interrupted by Rupert bawling my name up the stairs, presumably in lieu of the fact that he hadn’t yet ascertained how much pain and effort might be involved in climbing them.

I staggered out onto the landing looking like a sleep-deprived witch. ‘What? What?’

‘Were you still asleep?’

‘No, of course not. I have every intention of spending the rest of the day looking like this,’ I declared, pointing at my tangled hair and slouchy T-shirt for emphasis.

‘Sorry. I thought you’d be up by now.’

I glanced at my wrist. Goodness knows what for, since I wasn’t wearing a watch. ‘Why? What do you want?’

‘I need you to drive me into Pierre-la-Fontaine. Market day. Errands to run. Accountant.’

‘Accountant? Again?’

‘Last week was just a social bumping-into-each-other, Emmy. This is business. Alain’s right – there are things I need to discuss with him now that Gloria’s gone. I’ve sweetened your chauffeur duties by arranging to meet him at the café, so you can be placated by continental atmosphere and caffeine.’

I shook my head. ‘Rupert, you don’t need me listening in on your personal financial discussions. Couldn’t he have popped round here sometime?’

‘He didn’t have time between appointments.’

‘Well, can’t I just see you to his office and then disappear?’

He tapped his leg. ‘First floor. Too many stairs.’

‘I’ll look round the market while you two talk at the café, then.’

Rupert looked stricken. ‘I’d really like you to be there, Emmy. My memory... I think this medication’s affecting my brain a bit. It’d be helpful to have an extra ear.’ Before I could respond, he added, ‘Get a shift on. We need to leave at nine if we’re going to get the other stuff done first. You need to do something with your hair, though.’

‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Rupert demanded on the drive. Fields gave way to small groups of houses, gradually increasing until we were on the outskirts of town.

‘What wasn’t?’

‘Your parents this weekend. Not so bad, after all.’

‘I suppose not.’

Rupert gave me a sympathetic glance. ‘At least you’ve got them out of the way. Now you can relax a bit.’

‘Ha! Of course I can relax. There’s only my job and my flat and my finances to worry about.’

‘That’s the spirit!’ Undaunted by my expression – which should have conveyed that I was struggling to cope with his chipper mood this morning – he carried on. ‘Anyway, you can put all that behind you for now, and we’ll have a nice morning out.’

I shook my head. The man had the strangest outlook sometimes. Why he thought lugging ton-weights of vegetables around and listening to an incomprehensible accounting conversation would be a bundle of laughs, I had no idea.

Even so, I enjoyed the market – although this time, I stayed with Rupert to help carry the bags. To make it more fun – for him, anyway – he made me ask for everything in French while he tutored me. I wasn’t at all happy at first, but I got into it and by the time we’d finished, I was feeling rather proud of myself.

We were almost done when I spotted a stall from the corner of my eye. ‘That’s it!’

Rupert jumped. ‘What’s what?’

‘Down there.’ Without waiting, I shuffled along the cobbles with my bags, leaving Rupert to follow more slowly with his stick.

The gift stall had glass bottles of every size and shape filled with pretty bath crystals, a cork in the top and a ribbon around the neck.

‘That’s your solution,’ I whispered to him as he caught up with me.

‘My solution to what? Do I smell or something?’ Rupert looked disconcerted.

I gave him a look. ‘Not that I’ve noticed. I’m talking about that stupid toiletry system of yours. This would be so much better. Really classy and pretty.’

Rupert glanced at a price tag and blanched. ‘Pretty expensive, you mean. They’re nice for a gift, Emmy, but not in every room.’

‘Obviously.’ I kept my voice low. ‘But we can copy the idea. Get some glass bottles like these, buy some good quality bubble bath and body lotion – decent stuff but in economy sizes – and refill the bottles when needed. Et voilà!’

‘Hmm.’ Rupert studied the stall. ‘It would look much nicer. And less nickable than sachets.’ He nodded. ‘Can you sort it?’

‘Of course!’ I almost turned to go, then stopped. The girl behind the stall had looked so hopeful as we stood there muttering to each other. Choosing a tall, elegant bottle of pale green bath crystals, I paid and waited while she wrapped the gift in pretty paper.

‘Who are they for?’ Rupert asked.

‘Sophie.’

‘The hairdresser? What for?’

‘For being a friend when I needed one.’

Alain arrived at the café just as we were ordering. I’d forgotten how tall he was – he towered over us in greeting, then folded himself into a chair.

‘Rupert tells me you’re staying another week, Emmy,’ he said by way of an opening. ‘That’s good of you.’

I shrugged. ‘I’m only pleased I could help.’

‘Emmy is being ridiculously modest as usual,’ Rupert chipped in. ‘She’s been a complete star. You name it, she’s mucked in and done it – cleaning, cooking, organising, making suggestions, changing things...’

‘Oh?’ Alain smiled. ‘What sort of things?’

Rupert rolled his eyes. ‘Well, she’s got rid of Gloria’s diary for a start. Complete bloody shambles, that was. It’s all on a spreadsheet now. Emmy’s the spreadsheet queen. And she got rid of Gloria from the website.’

I glanced at Alain in a panic. Did he think I was being bitchy? Apparently not – he suppressed a smile.

‘Fresh flowers in the guest rooms,’ Rupert went on. ‘Individually wrapped guest toiletries soon to be banished for aesthetic and environmental reasons; solution decided upon this very morning. And she’s going to work on my website when she gets back home.’

Alain raised an eyebrow and rested that soft brown gaze of his on mine. ‘Impressive. Are you in hotel management back in the UK?’

I laughed. ‘Not at all. Marketing.’

‘Well, it’s good to know your skills are benefitting Rupert to such an extent while you’re here.’ His smile was warm and approving.

Our coffees arrived. Alain curled long fingers around his cup and brought it to his lips. He had a full mouth, I realised – none of that tight-lipped seriousness you might imagine in an accountant – and his face was tanned. Shouldn’t an accountant be pale from being stuck behind a desk all day, I wondered? Not that I was staring at him or anything.

As he got down to business, I resigned myself to my fate. Since I was here to help Rupert with his listening and retaining skills, I supposed I’d better pay attention.

Alain was concerned about Rupert’s financial situation now that Gloria had upped sticks, and it sounded as though he’d spent considerable time covering all bases. Rupert, ever the entrepreneur, had no trouble following all the possible scenarios and permutations. As for me, although I was a) pretending not to pay too close attention to Rupert’s personal business and b) mathematically lost, I followed the gist enough to understand that although La Cour des Roses was doing well, things might get tight if Gloria decided to take him to the cleaner’s – something not one of us around the table doubted would happen.

‘I know you’re doing well, Rupert,’ Alain concluded, ‘but you need to ensure you’re fully booked mid-season as well as at peak season. Maybe find a way to attract people in low season.’

Rupert looked taken aback. ‘I like being quiet in low season,’ he muttered. ‘Gives me chance to catch up – spring clean, decorate, sort stuff out.’

I shot Alain a sharp glance. After all Rupert had been through, he was being too pushy.

But he carried on regardless. ‘I’m not saying you should be busting at the seams all year round. I’m saying you should extend the season, that’s all.’

‘La Cour des Roses pays its way,’ Rupert said sulkily.

‘It did,’ Alain pointed out, ‘when you only needed to cover costs and boost your income. But if you have to pay Gloria off, you’ll need to maximise your profits.’

Alain looked across at me for support, his gaze holding mine as though I was the only other person in the café. Because he was interested in what I had to say? Or because of something else? I ignored my accelerating pulse and retuned his look with a glare. What did he think he was playing at? Rupert wasn’t well. His wife had just left him. He didn’t need to hear this right now.

‘Any thoughts, Emmy?’ Alain asked.

Oh, I had plenty of thoughts all right, but they weren’t remotely polite. I closed my eyes for a moment, corralling them into something constructive, then turned to Rupert.

‘Well, obviously I haven’t seen your books – and I don’t want to,’ I hastened to add. But...’ I thought about the bath salts by my chair. ‘Gloria didn’t necessarily do things badly, but I suspect she didn’t put much thought into them either. Maybe you could start by looking at whatever she dealt with. Those motel toiletries are a prime example. I know she ordered them in bulk, but they can’t be economical. People use them once and chuck what’s left, then put the rest in their suitcases. Even if they only stay a couple of nights, you’ve lost everything you put in that bathroom. I suspect the difference in cost will be small, but taken over time, it could add up. Besides, we’re not just talking cost here. We’re talking about something far more valuable, which has a knock-on effect – image.’

I was getting in the swing now, despite myself.

‘You’re tied down to the service you offer – for example, you have to cook three guest meals a week whether you have one room full or four. In which case, you might as well have all four booked as often as possible. Think about what image you want to convey and go for it, especially if you want to increase bookings through repeat business and word-of-mouth recommendations.’

I lifted my purchase from the floor and waggled it at him. ‘Those crappy toiletries do not convey class. The glass bottles do. Potpourri does not convey class. Fresh flowers in antique vases do. You have good quality linen on the beds, but a duvet cover is a duvet cover. Add character. Those throws you have in the gîtes? The patchwork quilts? Gorgeous. Put them in the guesthouse as well. Get rid of any ornaments and pictures that don’t scream “class”. It will cost money, but you can do it a bit at a time and it’s an effective, long-lasting change. What about local artists? They may be willing to donate a piece if you leave their business cards out...’

I paused for breath, only to realise that Alain and Rupert were both staring at me open-mouthed – Alain in surprised admiration, Rupert in sheer panic. Oh dear. Once the ideas got running, it was hard to stop the flow. I immediately felt guilty. Five minutes ago, I’d been livid with Alain for haranguing Rupert. Now I’d done the same... Which made me even more livid with Alain for leading me into it.

I thought fast. I’d got carried away with minutiae, when we needed to look at the bigger picture first. I had to give Rupert something simple and solid to think about.

And then I needed to collar Alain in a quiet corner and thump him.

I wafted a hand to indicate that my verbal diarrhoea was of no consequence. ‘Small things can be done over time. If you want to fill vacancies, the main question is how you’re advertising. I booked via an online site – although I looked at your own website before I went ahead. Do you only use the one?’

Rupert nodded, back in his comfort zone. ‘I pay a yearly charge to list the gîtes and a link to my website. And I’m listed with the local tourist board here. It’s done the trick so far.’

‘Okay. But now...’

‘More ideas?’ Alain asked with a smile.

I narrowed my eyes at him in warning.

‘The problem with the site I booked through is that it lists thousands of properties,’ I explained. ‘Maybe you need to advertise on more than one site. Or look at the type of site – see if there’s something more select, specialised to the region, so you’re less a drop in the ocean and more a splash in a pond. And we need to increase your chances of being found on search engines. What about social media?’

He grimaced. ‘No, thanks.’

‘You don’t have to tell everyone your darkest secrets or what you had for dinner, Rupert. Although maybe that isn’t such a bad idea. A photo of the food you cook for guests posted up three times a week might be quite tempting...’

Rupert suddenly stood. ‘I’m off to order more coffees.’ And without waiting for our response, he limped away to the counter.

Shit. I’d gone too far. Again.

Happy to share the blame, I rounded on Alain like a mother tiger who’d caught him too near her cub. ‘What was all that about?’ I hissed.

The look of surprise on his face would have been almost comical if I wasn’t on my high horse.

‘What do you mean? I’ve hardly got a word in edgewise for the last ten minutes!’

‘I know that,’ I said crossly. ‘But I wouldn’t have got started if you hadn’t been haranguing the poor man about profits and loss and how much he’s going to lose in the divorce, would I?’

He frowned. ‘You didn’t have to join in.’

‘Actually, I did, because by the time you’d finished with him, I wanted to give the poor man something practical to think about. What you were telling him was unsubstantiated at best. We have no idea what Gloria might do. Don’t you think this is all too soon for him? He needs time to gather himself together. All you’ve done is make him worry about things he needn’t worry about.’

We stared at each other as he absorbed my tirade, and I bit my lip before I said something I might regret. I turned to check that Rupert was still out of earshot, but he was nowhere to be seen, presumably at the gents’.

Alain held my gaze the minute I turned back. For the first time, I noticed golden flecks in the brown – and I desperately wished my pulse would behave. I was so mad with him I could spit, so the way my stomach flipped when he looked at me like that was just downright annoying.

I compensated by venting my spleen. ‘Nor do I think a café is the ideal place for a discussion like this.’

Alain gave me a disparaging look. ‘Neither do I. But I think you and I both have our suspicions about why he chose it.’

‘He said he couldn’t manage the stairs to your office, but that you didn’t have time to come out to La Cour des Roses.’

‘The first bit’s true enough. The last is pure fabrication. I offered to come to the house, but he insisted on meeting in town because he was visiting the market. With you.’

I took my time absorbing that one. It stretched into an awkward silence.

Alain sighed. ‘Emmy. I know you and Rupert have had a crap time, and I’m beginning to see how much you care about him. But, at this point, I would like to remind you that I have known him for six years. He was one of my first clients when I moved down here. That means I have also known Gloria for six years. And believe me, what you think of her is nothing compared to what I think of her. I have had to spend those six years biting my tongue every time I did Rupert’s books and saw what she’d spent on a new car, or some cocktail dress she was hoping I’d write off as a business expense, and her insistence on not renting out the London flat so she could use it for the occasional shopping weekend. Can you imagine the lost income on that?’

‘But that’s all you’re bringing it down to, isn’t it?’ I spat, incensed. ‘Income and profit and loss. Rupert’s comfortably off, from what I can gather. He has no aspirations to be mega-rich.’

‘No, but what I’m telling you – and what I’m trying to get across to him – is that he needs to start thinking about where Gloria will leave him at the end of all this. He needs to prepare himself for the worst.’

‘And what I’m telling you’ – I jabbed a finger in his direction – ‘is that he doesn’t need to hear this right now. Couldn’t you have had the decency to wait a few weeks?’

Alain’s lips thinned. ‘I could. Gloria might not. Look, Emmy, you go home soon, but I’m one of the people who will have to see him through this. I’m only trying to help a friend.’

‘Well, that friend has been seriously ill, Alain, and I would have thought you’d take that into consideration.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s a pulled ligament, Emmy. It’s hardly life-threatening!’

‘Oh, so you don’t see being dragged off in an ambulance with a suspected heart attack as serious?’

Alain paled. ‘What are you talking about?’