There were greetings and cheers at my appearance. I spotted the crew from the dinner party – Ellie, Philippe (although no Martine this time), Bob and Jonathan. The Bedfords were there, along with some of this week’s gîte guests. Ryan with Brenda and Richard. Sophie grinned at me from across the room and raised her glass in my direction.

I turned to Alain. ‘You knew about this, didn’t you?’ I hissed.

He gave me a sheepish look. ‘Knew about it. Didn’t have much say in it. I’ve learned to do what I’m told where Rupert’s concerned.’

His hangdog look made me laugh, and as a glass of wine was pushed into my hand, I figured I might as well give in and enjoy the evening. As Alain said, it was best to do as you were told where Rupert was concerned.

The sideboard groaned with nibbles that my host must have spent all day preparing while I was out of the way. I worried he might have overdone it, especially with gîte changeover day tomorrow, but he seemed in high spirits and I told myself that as of tomorrow morning, he was no longer my responsibility. My heart sank a little at the thought.

Jonathan ambled over and gave me a tight bear hug. ‘Rupert’s going to miss you, Emmy. God knows what he’s going to do without you.’

‘Stop making the poor girl feel guilty, you old fool,’ Ellie said, coming swiftly to my rescue. ‘Ignore him, Emmy. Jonathan and Rupert are the absolute champions at emotional blackmail – as I’m sure you know by now.’ She winked. ‘Come and have a girly chat with me and Sophie while Jonathan gives Alain a list of all the little favours he needs doing in the next week or so.’

Alain gave me a smile as he turned fondly back to Jonathan, and I allowed myself to be dragged across the room.

Sophie kissed me on both cheeks. ‘Did you have a lovely day?’

When I couldn’t help but grin, she squealed. ‘I knew it!’

Ellie shook her head. ‘The poor girl has only just got rid of one useless man,’ she grumbled. ‘Why everyone seems to think she needs another is beyond me.’

‘But Alain is very handsome, don’t you think?’ Sophie asked her earnestly.

Ellie studied my date from across the room. As though he could feel her gaze lasering in on him, Alain turned and gave us a puzzled look.

‘If you like that sort of thing,’ Ellie agreed.

‘You are not the romantic type, Miss Fielding,’ Sophie chided.

‘Please. It’s Ellie. And no, I haven’t got a romantic bone in my body, thank goodness. Needs, yes. Romance, no.’ She shuddered, making us both laugh. ‘Now, tell me, Sophie. Why have I never been to your hair salon when you’ve done such a wonderful job on Emmy’s hair?’

Well, fancy that. I was beginning to warm to Ellie Fielding.

An hour or so in, the party was going great guns. Not too big to be impossible and not so small that it was just a gathering of friends. Rupert – as ever – had got it just right.

In the unlikely event of Nathan and me hosting something similar at home, people would come because they were Nathan’s friends or because there was a work connection, an angle of some sort that might benefit them. My friends had nothing in common with Nathan’s, so we tended not to mix them. There would be no camaraderie like there was here, with people happy to greet old friends and make new ones, embracing each other’s differences.

I crossed the room to speak to the Bedfords. ‘Did you have a good day today?’

‘Lovely,’ Caroline Bedford confirmed. ‘Nothing too strenuous – just drove into Pierre-la-Fontaine for coffee and a look around, then lunch.’ She smiled sheepishly. ‘And then we spent the afternoon in the garden.’

‘Do you have any sightseeing recommendations for us?’ her husband asked.

I laughed. ‘Not as many as I’d like, I’m afraid, what with helping Rupert. But I did take a lovely drive last week...’ I described the day with my parents around the château towns. ‘I’m sure Rupert would be happy to give you the itinerary in more detail. And...’ I hesitated, then thought, what the heck. ‘And then there’s the zoo.’

‘The zoo?’

‘I went there today, actually. It’s a wonderful place, very conservation-minded and beautifully landscaped. I think you’d like it.’

There was a loud clank of a spoon on glass.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Rupert announced as the chatter died down. ‘I would like to say a few words before I get too drunk to say what I want to say properly.’

A good-humoured chuckle rippled around the room. Some of those present obviously knew Rupert’s drinking habits of old.

‘First of all, welcome to my humble abode.’

At this, there was a loud snort from Jonathan who, as a pensioner, clearly lived in more straitened circumstances than his friend.

‘I think you all know I’m not one for making speeches.’

He glared at Ellie’s murmured ‘Thank the Lord for that!’ and continued undaunted.

‘But since I am making one on this occasion... Firstly, I would like to apologise to those of you who don’t know me well for having to put up with this outpouring’ – he nodded at the Bedfords and the gîte guests – ‘and secondly, at the risk of embarrassing you all, I would like to say how grateful I am to have good friends around me at such a difficult time.’

I glanced around at the array of bewildered faces staring back at their host, a man who was not renowned for sentimentality or any show of emotion.

‘However, the main reason for breaking my embargo on speeches,’ he carried on, ‘is that I would like to propose a toast to my very own angel, Emmeline Jamieson.’

He winked at me, and I spluttered at the combination of being the subject of his toast and his use of my much-hated name in front of all these people.

‘Emmy has just gone through the hardest time of her life,’ he said, all trace of joking gone. ‘And yet she has rallied round a man she barely knew to help him through the hardest time of his life. She is one of the friendliest, most unselfish people I have ever met, and I can only say how privileged I feel to have been at the receiving end of her warmth and generosity.’

He paused for a moment as though deciding whether to go on. ‘At the risk of making you all nervous by becoming sentimental... I never had children. I’m well aware that every single one of my friends knows I would have made a terrible parent, and they’d be right. But if I’d ever had a daughter, I couldn’t be more proud of her than I am of Emmy. And in the absence of being able to adopt her, I hope she will continue to be my friend for many years to come, however she chooses to map out her future.’ He raised his glass. ‘To Emmy.’

The echo came back. ‘To Emmy.’

I would have curled up and died of embarrassment if it wasn’t for the genuine way in which everyone responded, whether they knew me or not. Rupert may have been many things, but the one thing that was indisputable was that he was much-loved by his friends. Despite my discomfort at being the centre of unwanted attention, I knew that if there really were vibes in the atmosphere, all those coming my way were positive and heartfelt.

With the moment over and no way to segue from awkward silence to casual conversation, Rupert was saved by Bob, who declared it a moment for a professional photographer. He shot outside to his motorbike for his camera and returned to take several group photos, by which time everyone had relaxed into easy-going chatter again.

My face flushed from all the attention, I escaped into the kitchen. Away from my fifteen minutes – or fifteen seconds – of fame, I gave into the many mixed emotions storming around my system and burst into tears.

I didn’t doubt for a minute that Rupert’s speech had been genuine and heartfelt. If I hadn’t been sure of that, I might have been suspicious that it was yet another ploy to add to his grandiose plans for my moving to France and his clumsy attempts at matchmaking. I wished he could see past his selfish motives and try to understand that he wasn’t helping me cope with going back home to a presumably empty flat and stressful job and to face all my family and friends, by being as busy as a bee in the background, putting ridiculous notions of sunny hotel management and rather moreish accountants into my head.

Hearing a soft footfall behind me, I assumed it was Rupert. The last thing I wanted was to hurt his feelings by letting him think he’d upset me after such a lovely speech. In a panic, I swiped at my eyes with a tissue and turned to flash a beaming smile his way. But it wasn’t Rupert. It was Alain.

‘That smile isn’t going to fool anybody,’ he said gently.

‘I thought you were Rupert.’

‘He’s busy ordering Bob and his camera around. Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine.’ I promptly burst into tears again.

He hesitated. ‘Do you need a hug? Or do you want me to back off?’

‘Hug,’ I sniffled, lurching towards him as he folded his arms about my shoulders, towering over me so my head landed somewhere in the middle of his chest, where I sobbed until I realised I’d drenched his shirt with tears and possibly less desirable substances. Recovering myself enough to wipe my nose on the tissue before pulling away, I took a step back and hiccupped away any remaining tears.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, mortified. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me. PMS on top of everything else, I think.’ I winced and bit my lip. ‘Sorry. Too much information.’

Alain inclined his head in a bemused gesture. ‘That’s okay. If Rupert’s going to go getting all sentimental, he should at least make an effort to fit in with your hormones.’

I stared in horror at his chest. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. ‘Look at your shirt. What will people think?’

Alain glanced at the spreading damp patch on the dark blue fabric. ‘I could have spilled my drink. Don’t worry about it. And stop apologising.’

‘Sorry.’

He rolled his eyes and stepped nearer again, lifting his thumb to wipe under my eyes. ‘Mascara,’ he explained.

‘Do I look like a panda?’ I asked him anxiously.

‘The truth?’

‘Yes.’

‘No. You look vulnerable and beautiful.’

I gaped at him, wide-eyed, as a wave of raucous laughter drifted in from the lounge.

‘Come along, Emmeline Jamieson.’ He tugged at my hand. ‘You’re missing your own party.’

As we walked back in, Alain retrieved his sparkling water from the sideboard and knocked against Ellie, successfully coating himself – but not Ellie or there would have been bloodshed – in the exact same spot where I’d shed my copious tears, bless him.

Only Rupert seemed suspicious of Alain’s clumsiness – I saw him suppress a smile. Meddler. I wouldn’t put it past him to have deliberately made me cry in the hope Alain would come after me and fold me in his arms and... Oh. Hmm.

Sophie found me not long afterwards. ‘Are you okay? I would have come after you, but Alain got there first.’ She was smirking.

‘Don’t you start,’ I chided.

She plastered an innocent look across her face. ‘So. What happened today?’

‘We went to the zoo.’

She slapped my arm. ‘You know what I mean. Anything exciting? A kiss, maybe?’

My blush told her everything she needed to know. ‘Ah. Romance!’ Her face fell. ‘But you are going home tomorrow.’

‘Yes.’

‘And if you weren’t...?’

I gave her the titbit she wanted. ‘Then maybe.’

She nodded sadly, then looked at her watch. ‘I have to go. An early appointment tomorrow.’ Throwing her arms around me, she squeezed tight. ‘I will miss you, Emmy. When you walked into my salon last week, I had no idea there would be so much excitement! So much more interesting than Madame Fournier’s dog having puppies or Madame Laurent’s husband’s attempt to build a garage. You will come back soon?’

I nodded, unable to speak. My throat was clogged with tears.

By eleven o’clock, the party was still in full swing and I began to worry. I had to get up early for the ferry and Rupert had a busy day ahead, but there was no sign of anyone leaving yet.

I found Alain talking to Jonathan. ‘You two. I need your help.’

Jonathan frowned. ‘Of course, love. What is it?’

‘We need to start breaking up the party, or Rupert’s going to be exhausted tomorrow. Either of you ready to go home yet?’

Jonathan smiled. ‘Your concern for Rupert is touching, Emmy.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Yes, well, it’s not as selfless as you think. I have to get up at six in the morning.’

Alain nodded. ‘What do you say, Jonathan? Ready for beddy-byes if I give you a lift home?’

Jonathan gave an exaggerated yawn. ‘Guess I am pretty tired. Better go tell our host.’

‘That’s the idea.’ I beamed at them. ‘Be really loud about it, so people take the hint.’

Off they went to say goodbye to Rupert, Jonathan hamming it up all the way there and back. He should have been in amateur dramatics. Maybe he had been, once upon a time.

As I saw them to the door, I was gratified to hear a couple of murmurs along the same lines from other guests.

I popped a kiss on Jonathan’s cheek. ‘Well done. You’re a star.’

He blushed and kissed me back. ‘Take care of yourself, Emmy. Keep in touch. Give me your car key, Alain.’

‘What for?’

‘Takes me ages to get in that tiny thing. You two can stay here for a minute while I battle with it.’

Shaking his head, Alain handed him the key and watched him shuffle down the steps and across the gravel. ‘He’s as bad as Rupert. I’m not sure which of them should get the prize for interfering.’

I grinned. ‘They mean well, though.’

‘Yes, they do.’

He turned to me, all trace of joking gone. His eyes were hypnotising in the light from the doorway, golden flecks shimmering amongst the brown. We looked at each other for a long moment, and then he leaned towards me and cupped my neck in his hand as he drew me to him. His kiss was soft and gentle, and his lips felt so perfect on mine that I could have wept for joy at finding him and sorrow at losing him already. I allowed myself that small moment of bliss before pulling away.

‘Bye, Alain.’

‘Au revoir, Emmy.’

My alarm jolted me out of a fitful sleep at six for the drive to Calais. Despite not getting to bed until well after midnight by the time I’d cleared up after the party, I wanted to allow plenty of time for getting lost, tail-to-tail traffic jams, the car breaking down, a tyre blowout or any other manner of possible travel catastrophes.

Rupert had scoffed at my planned departure time, but when I wouldn’t budge, he only said, ‘Maybe that’s best. Whatever you’re comfortable with, love. Bon voyage.’ Then he’d kissed my cheek and headed off to his room without another word. He knew there was more than practicality behind my early start. An emotional goodbye in the morning would be hell for both of us.

All I had to do was shower and dump the last few things lying around into my bag. When I scanned the room that had been my home for the past three weeks, the empty furniture stared back at me, lifeless and uncluttered, ready for the next guests.

I crept downstairs and out to the car. As I opened the boot to toss my bags in, I looked around me one last time. It was getting light, and I knew there would soon be dappled sunlight pushing through green leaves to twinkle on the gravel. Brightly-coloured flowers, climbing vines, fragrant roses, birds chattering, bees zinging, chickens clucking.

My throat closed over. Panicked, I heaved my chest in an attempt to drag air into my lungs, but it felt like they were shut tight. I clutched at the car door, lowered myself into the seat and pulled on my seat belt. Still, I could barely breathe. The engine spluttered to life, shattering the early morning peace, and I set off across the courtyard, down the drive, onto the lane. Half a mile down the road, I pulled into a lay-by, clambered out and dropped to all fours, gulping in the air that La Cour des Roses had denied me.

A car pulled up behind me and a middle-aged man in a business suit rushed out. ‘Est-ce qu’il y a un problème, Madame?’

‘Non, merci. Merci beaucoup,’ I managed between gasping breaths, standing shakily. Since my French didn’t stretch to explanations of lack of oxygen or the symptoms of panic attacks, I resorted to thumping my chest in a dramatic manner and then forced a smile to show my kind Samaritan that all was well now. He touched my arm, judging whether it was safe to leave me, then smiled back and climbed into his car.

I did the same. As I navigated the junction onto the main road and picked up speed, my chest felt as though someone had opened it up and sewn a stone inside in place of my heart.

Remarkably, considering my frame of mind, I managed to get myself to Calais in plenty of time without running out of petrol or detouring to Germany. I drove onto the ferry without plunging into the sea, and parked bumper-to-bumper in that terrifying way they insist on without rear-ending the car in front. I even had the presence of mind to memorise which level and staircase I was at.

This was one good thing about Nathan’s absence, I supposed. Since he’d buggered off, I’d been forced into doing things for myself again, and in the spirit of finding a silver lining, I told myself it was good for me. Sink or swim. Although come to think of it, that wasn’t such a good expression, considering my current mode of transport.

I stood out on deck for the ferry’s departure, my stomach leaden and my heart hollow. Logic told me I should be relieved to be returning to the familiar, but my heart told a different story. The feeling that I was being wrenched from newfound friendship and solidarity, from a place that had felt more like home in the past three weeks than my own flat had for the past three years, was suffocating. As the French coast slipped further into the distance and I was drawn inexorably towards my homeland, I clutched the rail with white knuckles, gulping in sea air until I could taste salt on my tongue, praying this sort of thing was only a temporary blip.

When my breathing reached a more acceptable level, I became conscious that I was taking in more second-hand smoke than fresh air. Weaving my way through the windswept figures clutching their cigarettes, I went back inside in search of caffeine. My purchase did little to lighten my mood. As I sat nursing the plastic cup, all I could do was compare it with Rupert’s magic brew and sulk.

Scrabbling in my copious bag for a tissue, my hand closed around an unfamiliar object and I pulled out a small package. Puzzled, I turned it over in my hand, until curiosity got the better of me and I pulled off the ribbon and tissue to reveal a neat black box.

I lifted the lid and gasped. A pendant glinted back at me – the head of a rose, crafted in white gold, with a tiny diamond at its centre.

A note was tucked into the lid. Unfolding it, I immediately recognised Rupert’s familiar letterhead and scruffy handwriting.

Blinking hard to stop the tears pricking at the back of my eyes, I fingered the pendant. It was exquisite – a simple, elegant design. Spotting the jeweller’s address printed inside the lid, I realised Rupert must have bought it on our final foray into town. How he’d found something so appropriate, I had no idea. And I’d been sitting in the café nursing my grudges while he chose something so beautiful for me.

I knew he wasn’t happy that I’d refused payment for the work I’d done, but he shouldn’t have spent money on such an expensive gift instead. Still, as I lifted it from its box, fastened the chain around my neck and felt the weight of the rose against the hollow of my throat, all desire to be cross with him vanished. Instead, I chose to enjoy the thought that had gone into the gift and what it represented to me.

Friendship. A place that was dear to my heart. Somewhere I knew I would always be welcome. Newfound confidence in myself, and the welcome rediscovery of aspects of my old self that had somehow gone missing for a while.

Arriving home was a surreal experience. I’d set off on holiday with a boyfriend, and here I was battering my way back into the apartment without one. It felt like a chapter of my life had started and not been finished properly.

Kicking the post out of the way, I staggered to the bedroom, threw the suitcase and bags onto the bed and looked around. Everything was exactly the way we’d left it the morning we set off, from the tick list of things to remember still wedged in the mirror frame to the unwashed water glasses on the bedside table.

Taking a deep breath, I flung open the wardrobe doors. Half of Nathan’s things were gone. His business suits and shoes. That ludicrous electric rotating tie rack his mother had bought him for Christmas. His laptop from the safe place under his jumpers on the shelf.

Nathan was back from France, then. Where was he living? Was he still with Gloria, or had they already tired of each other? Did he wonder where I was when he came to get his stuff and found the flat untouched and empty? I hated that he’d left me with so many questions.

Dazed, I wandered into the kitchen to put the kettle on. A note was propped against it. I picked it up with shaking fingers.

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. He thought it only fair to let me know? He hoped I was well? Regards? After five years together, how much more impersonal could he get?

The content of his note filtered through to my overtired brain cells. He’d quit work and moved to London. How had he got another job so quickly? Why wasn’t he working out his notice at our place?

Taking a deep breath, I let it out with a whoosh. The thing I’d dreaded most – tiptoeing around him at work under the scrutiny of all our colleagues – was no longer a threat. Whatever he was playing at, he’d done me a favour.

And then an awful thought struck me. What if he’d done a more thorough job of leaving me than I thought, and had emptied our joint bank account?

Feeling sick, I rushed to the bedroom, dug out my laptop and charger and fired it up, holding my breath as I logged in.

No negatives or overdraft charges, thank goodness – only the usual direct debits, my own cash withdrawal the third week in France and a couple more which must have been made by Nathan. I looked at the dates. One the day after he left me, the other the following Friday. So, he’d stayed in France for the whole of that second week. I frowned. I might be none the poorer, but I was also none the wiser.

Rejecting the instant coffee granules in the cupboard with a shudder worthy of a true Frenchwoman, I made black tea – no milk in the fridge – and moved through to the lounge to sit on the sofa, listening to the silence fill the space.

I glanced around the room. It was like seeing it for the first time, and I was surprised to find that I didn’t like what I saw. How was it possible to walk out of this place three weeks ago, loving its sleek, modern minimalism, only to walk back in now and find it soulless and so damned unwelcoming? I got up and paced around, trying to get the feeling back – the feeling that I was home – but it was like viewing a show home, as though it had nothing to do with me any more.

I told myself it was late. I was exhausted. I would feel differently tomorrow.

But that feeling stayed with me for the rest of the weekend. I couldn’t shake it off. On Sunday morning, I made a start on the chores and unpacked. As I stuffed dirty laundry into the washing machine, a bundle of grey fur caught my eye and I rescued the gibbons from a watery death just in time. Clutching them to me, I closed my eyes to concentrate on the memory of Alain’s face so close to mine in the shelter at the zoo. The noise of the rain pounding on the roof. The colour of his eyes. The feel of his lips on mine. If only...

Stroking my inanimate friends apologetically, I carried them through to the bedroom to sit them on the pillow next to mine. Nathan’s pillow. The gibbons would probably be better company than he’d been the last few months – at least they wouldn’t sulk or ignore me when I tried to talk to them.