By late afternoon, all three gîtes were done, with two occupied and one awaiting an arrival, and I was pooped. Poor Madame Dupont was pooped too, so much so that I offered her a lift home. She only lived half a mile down the lane, but I was worried her varicose veins wouldn’t get her there.

As I pulled up outside her dilapidated cottage, she let out a string of Gallic invective, then she patted my cheek and said ‘Merci,’ several times. Despite the language barrier, I understood the gist. It was good to know that she, and ergo the rest of the neighbourhood, was on our side.

As I waited for her to get safely indoors, a cacophony of noise drifted through the open car window and I craned my neck to see over her fence, looking for the source of the racket. Dozens of scrawny, evil-looking black hen-like creatures scurried about her yard and the land beyond. I pulled a face. I couldn’t imagine having to look at and listen to them all day. Good job her neighbours weren’t too close.

When I got back, Rupert made me a well-deserved cup of tea.

‘Get Madame Dupont home alright?’

‘Yep. That cottage should be under some sort of historic preservation act.’

Rupert laughed. ‘You should see inside.’

‘What are those ghastly creatures she’s got in her yard? Hens or something. What on earth does she keep those for?’

‘They’re a sort of chicken. Madame Dupont has several grown-up children and therefore numerous grandchildren and great-grandchildren. That’s a lot of mouths to feed.’

‘Mouths to feed?’ I looked at him questioningly, although I had a nasty feeling where the conversation was going.

‘They’re good eating birds. When she has family to visit or she visits them, they get a chicken. I wouldn’t get too friendly with her if I were you, or you might find yourself on the receiving end of her generosity.’ He twisted his hands in a wringing motion.

I shuddered at the thought of the ugly birds’ bald necks. ‘Wish I’d never asked.’

Taking a gulp of reviving tea, I kicked off my sandals and put my aching feet up on the chair opposite. Now that the flurry of the day was over, my mind latched straight back onto Nathan’s desertion.

I looked across at Rupert. ‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’

He shrugged. ‘Depends what it is.’

‘I wondered... Were you and Gloria having problems already? Before Nathan?’ But then I stopped and held up a warning hand. No matter how desperate I was to find reasons for being abandoned, I didn’t have the right to pry into Rupert’s marriage. ‘Actually, no, don’t answer. Sorry. Nothing to do with me.’

‘If it’ll stop you feeling so guilty about his behaviour, I don’t mind telling you.’ He shot me an exasperated look. ‘Yes, we were having problems. Things were good at first. Gloria gave up work and we rented out her little house and split our time between my flat in London and the house in Mallorca. It was a perfect life for her – sunning herself on the coast half the year, shopping and fancy restaurants the other half. Then, about six years ago, I decided to buy this place. You should have seen it, Emmy. It was a wreck, but I fell in love with it the minute I saw it. I knew it could be beautiful and I needed a new project. I was bored with Spain, and London was only a bolt-hole to me. Several of the pies I had fingers in had come to a natural conclusion and this place seemed like the perfect investment. It could earn us an income for as long as we wanted and would be worth loads more than we’d shelled out on it if we wanted to sell. So I went ahead and bought it.’

I took a sip of tea, sighing in appreciation, and nodded at him to continue.

‘Gloria liked the idea, but she didn’t know what she was letting herself in for. We had to live here to oversee the work, and it wasn’t the relative luxury she was used to. When it was finished, we advertised to upmarket types and she quite liked the idea of being the lady of the manor. She wasn’t so keen on the hard work it entailed, though – and of course, it tied us down. I rented out the place in Mallorca because we didn’t have time to go there any more. Gloria sulked about that. She made sure we still went to London, but I wasn’t bothered about gallivanting over there too often, so sometimes she went on her own.’ He poured more tea. ‘I was blind, Emmy, or stubborn, or both. We’re not exactly next door to Paris here. The novelty wore off for Gloria, but I loved it so much, I stuck my head in the sand.’

‘That’s understandable.’

‘Maybe, but also terribly complacent. I knew when I married her that it was probably my lifestyle she found attractive.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘But then it all seemed to go a darned sight better than I expected. Lulled me into a false sense of security.’ He sighed. ‘I should have seen things from her point of view. She married a reasonably dashing middle-aged man of independent means who could offer her the nearest she was likely to get to a jet-set lifestyle, and ended up in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of noisy chickens and an ageing stick-in-the-mud.’

So much for the rose-tinted glasses I’d thought Rupert had on last night.

‘You’re not being fair on yourself,’ I told him.

‘No sympathy, please. I only told you so you’d get it into your head once and for all that Nathan’s poor decision – and that’s what it was, Emmy, because he must have been mad to cheat on you – had nothing to do with breaking us up. My marriage was already foundering on the rocks. Nathan was merely the catalyst to an inevitable conclusion.’

‘Funny. That’s exactly the same way I see Gloria. As a catalyst. Nathan and I were fine at first – we had a lot in common, working at the same company, and we enjoyed the same things. But then it started to slip, and like you, I didn’t pay enough attention – at first, anyway. This past year, I’d noticed it more. Fewer conversations that weren’t about things like the energy tariff or replacing the boiler. And working at the same place meant we tended to spend our evenings telling each other about our day at the office in vast detail. It got kind of depressing. But lately, even that tailed off. Less talking. Fewer evenings out. Less...’ I blushed furiously.

‘Less sex?’ Rupert asked gently.

I nodded, miserable and embarrassed. ‘I put it down to tiredness, working too hard... But it’s obvious now that the spark had died a bit. I just didn’t think it had died enough for him to sleep with someone else. And it would have been so much better if Gloria was a nubile twenty-three-year-old. It’s not good for the ego when your boyfriend runs off with someone older than you.’ I gave him a curious look. ‘How old is Gloria?’

‘Forty-six,’ Rupert admitted apologetically.

I made a face. ‘I can’t imagine what’s got into their heads. A bit of illicit lust is one thing, but running off together? It can’t last.’

‘No, I don’t imagine it will,’ Rupert agreed. ‘I think they’re probably using each other as an excuse – a way out for them both. For now.’

He finished his tea, and we heaved ourselves back to our feet for kitchen duty. I was grateful to see that he’d planned his menu more sensibly this time: homemade spring vegetable soup from the freezer to start, followed by a cold seafood platter – plump prawns, lobster tails and crab, surrounded by salad leaves – and fresh fruit salad for dessert. Three delicious courses that looked and tasted fantastic but were mercifully light on hard work, and all of which we could prepare in advance. We worked amicably side by side, defrosting, chopping and peeling. At least there would be no standing over a hot stove co-ordinating numerous dishes to come together at once – something Rupert wasn’t up to and I was frankly incapable of. One-pot Emmy, that was me.

‘I met your gardener this morning,’ I said casually.

Rupert nodded. ‘I like Ryan. He’s a hard worker, that’s for sure. Done wonders with the garden. Usually comes in two or three times a week, so you’ll likely see him again before you go.’ He glanced sideways at me, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. ‘Good-looking young man, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I suppose.’ I gave a nonchalant shrug, although certain nerve-ends were tingling at the vision I still had in my head from this morning. ‘If you like that sort of thing.’

Rupert grinned. ‘Not your type? Prefer a nice, studious accountant?’

I grimaced. ‘Ha! Not any more. I think Nathan’s put me off accountants for life!’

Rupert nodded. ‘Understandable. I doubt I’ll be chasing after any blonde restaurant managers in the near future, either.’

As we finished off in the kitchen, we decided the new gîte guests need know nothing of Rupert’s current situation. They had the accommodation they’d booked, a welcome basket as promised, and the owner was available to provide information and deal with any problems as advertised. The fact that only one of the owners was around would probably go unnoticed.

The Hendersons were a different matter, however. It would be too much to hope they wouldn’t notice the place being run by one incapacitated member of the team, while the able-bodied one was permanently unavailable. I didn’t think a couple who could spot a speck of dust at twenty paces would be blind to the fact that my partner was suddenly missing too, while I was permanently up to my elbows in household chores.

‘We’ll get ‘em drunk tonight,’ was Rupert’s solution. It seemed to be his solution to most things. ‘I’ll dig out the Chablis.’

Piece of cake.

The Hendersons were indeed impressed by the wine, but not by the news. I admired the way Rupert handled it. He may have come across as a jovial buffoon, but I was beginning to see that this was a front he put on for the guests’ benefit, to put them at ease during their stay and presumably to soften the brittle edges of Gloria’s manner.

Rupert kept his announcement factual. ‘Well, I imagine you’re wondering why Emmy and I were somewhat... inebriated when you came back last night.’

Mrs Henderson’s eyebrows shot up, and her husband shifted in his chair.

‘I would apologise for our behaviour,’ Rupert went on, ‘but I’m sure when you hear the reason behind it, you’ll understand.’ He refilled their glasses. ‘I’m afraid my wife has taken it upon herself to leave me at what is rather an inconvenient time. Emmy has kindly agreed to help me over the next few days, so I hope you’ll bear with us.’

Clearly amazed that a paying guest would offer to do any such thing, Mrs Henderson’s eyebrows shot up even higher. ‘I see,’ she managed. ‘Well, we’re both...very sorry, of course.’

‘Absolutely, Hunter,’ her husband chipped in. ‘Rotten luck. Bad timing, as you say.’

Mrs Henderson’s pursed lips as she glanced sideways at her husband confirmed that Rupert knew his stuff. Lies would have been seen through and put him in a bad light.

To break the awkward silence, Rupert launched into one of his tales. ‘Did I ever tell you the story behind the name for this place?’

I smiled encouragement. Anything to get us back onto neutral ground.

‘La Cour des Roses – courtyard of roses. Straightforward, you’d think. And when we first saw the place, it seemed an obvious enough name. There was a courtyard, and there were roses. Millions of the things. Trouble was, they’d taken over the whole garden, strangling themselves and everything else in sight, especially the climbers. So what was the first thing we had to do? Have ‘em all taken out. Every last one of ‘em. Someone came in with a digger, and all we were left with was a mud bath. It was pretty depressing, I can tell you. There we were with a property named after roses, and not a blasted rose in sight!’ He laughed. ‘But the name sounded so pretty, we didn’t have the heart to change it. Besides, what would we have changed it to? La Cour de la Désolation doesn’t have quite the same appeal, does it? So I had to get the landscaping chap to train those rambling roses over the doorways of the main house, and Ryan’s been introducing a few new bushes in the garden each year...’

I listened to him ramble on with a smile on my face. Last night, he’d called me a real trooper. Well, he was quite a trooper, too.

The next day, I revelled in a much-deserved Sunday lie-in. I eventually surfaced around noon, groggy and grumpy, my body complaining that its caffeine fix was a good three hours overdue. As I dragged on some clothes, I glanced at my phone on the bedside table. The message screen was devoid of contact from Nathan. I hadn’t expected any different. I wasn’t sure if or why I wanted to hear from the cheating bastard anyway.

I wondered if I should be making some calls myself. My parents, for a start – but I wasn’t sure I was strong enough for that yet. My mother was... strident, and she would have an awful lot to say and no qualms about saying it. My dad would only worry, and as an accountant himself, he’d always got on so well with Nathan. I’d never understood half of what they talked about, but they seemed to enjoy themselves. Why tell them any sooner than I needed to? Maybe that was best left for when I went home.

I could phone my little brother, but although Nick would express sympathy, as a committed commitment-phobe, he could never fully understand. Besides, he’d probably think Nathan leaving was a cause for celebration – he and Nathan had never got on.

My best friend Kate, on the other hand... With a pang that hurt, I wished I could meet up with her for a latte to sob out my woes, but since that couldn’t happen, a phone call would have to do. I flicked up her number and clicked on it.

She answered immediately. ‘Emmy! How’s France? I wasn’t expecting you to phone! Is everything okay?’

At the sound of her voice, the emotion I’d been holding in check for Rupert’s sake – and mine – flooded over me in a sudden wave. ‘No!’ I wailed. ‘Nathan left me!’

‘He what?’

Ten minutes later, she was up to speed with a fairly incoherent account of Nathan, Gloria and Rupert.

‘Bloody Nathan. Bloody disgrace,’ she pronounced. ‘You’re better off without him.’ There was a pause. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’ Another pause. ‘Do you think he’ll come back?’

‘I don’t know,’ I admitted, exhausted after my rant. ‘I’m still so angry with him, I can’t think straight. It’s all been so unexpected.’

‘I know,’ Kate soothed. ‘You’ve told me a few times that things were getting a bit dull, but I never imagined Nathan would do something like that! He’s always been so... straight-laced.’

‘You were going to say boring,’ I muttered.

Kate and Nathan got along passably for my sake, but they didn’t have much in common. Kate was bright and bubbly and passionate about things like the environment and equality. Nathan was the epitome of conservative capitalism. Chalk and cheese.

‘I wasn’t. I only meant it seems out of character. Maybe he just needs some space. A trial separation.’

‘He didn’t say that,’ I pointed out.

‘Will you try to phone him? In a few days?’

I shook my head, then realised she couldn’t see me. ‘No. Absolutely not. It would look like I was begging. And since I don’t know how I feel about him, other than sodding livid, I don’t see the point.’

She sighed. ‘I wish I was there, Emmy. But...’

‘Don’t remind me! Ten days in the Maldives with Jamie. What time do you fly?’

‘Later this afternoon. Jamie’s collecting me around two.’

‘Okay, well, have a lovely time.’ I was going to cry again. ‘Thanks, Kate. I feel better.’

‘You don’t sound better.’

I straightened my spine. There was nothing more she could do for me for now. ‘I’ll see you when you get back?’

‘I’ll phone you as soon as I can. Promise.’

I powered off the phone and put it in the drawer, where I wouldn’t be tempted to check it for messages from Nathan.

Downstairs, there was no sign of Rupert – although he must have been up and about because the washing machine was taking off on a supersonic spin cycle.

The Hendersons were just leaving.

‘Where to today, then?’ I asked politely.

‘Le Château d’Ussé,’ Mrs Henderson announced. ‘It was the inspiration for Sleeping Beauty, you know.’

‘No, I didn’t know. Well, enjoy.’

She managed a small wave and off they went. Two people I would be less likely to associate with fairy tales, I couldn’t imagine.

I stuffed down a croissant while I waited for the washing machine to come in to land, dragged out the king-size sheets we’d stripped from the gîtes yesterday, and trudged outside to peg them out on the line at the bottom of the garden.

No sign of Ryan or his muscles. Shame. Still, it was a Sunday.

Mentally telling myself off for even thinking about him, I trooped back inside to shove another load of washing in, then scanned the bookcase in the hall. The worthy tomes I’d packed along with my good intentions held no appeal, so I plucked out a thriller and went outside. I wandered down the garden, skirting islands of bright pink azaleas and pale yellow roses until I found a wooden Adirondack chair under an arbour of sweetly-scented lilac. The warm sun slanted through the leaves and flowers, just the right temperature for soaking up some vitamin D without roasting, and it was the perfect hideaway for losing myself in the happy world of murder and mayhem in Rupert’s book. The plot tore along at quite a pace and I got so wrapped up in it that I jumped when my stomach gurgled loudly.

Taking heed, I headed back to the house. As I crossed the patio, someone called out.

‘Excuse me.’ A woman stood at the gate between the courtyard and the garden. ‘Hi, sorry to disturb you. I’m Jenny Brown. I’m in the gîte at the end over there. I didn’t get to meet you yesterday.’

Realising she must have arrived while I’d driven Madame Dupont home, I crossed to the gate and shook her hand. ‘It’s nice to meet you. I hope everything’s all right for you.’

‘Gorgeous. Just what we were hoping for. Harry’s been working too hard. We both have. I found this place on the Internet and it looked so scrumptious and I thought, gosh, that’s just what we need. A little R & R, a château or two. You know.’

‘Yes. I know.’ I plastered a smile on my face to hide the fact that my heart had plummeted to my feet. Her words were an echo of mine to Nathan – and look how that had turned out. I hoped Jenny and Harry would have a better time of it.

‘Feel free to come over if you need anything,’ I told her.

‘We will.’ She turned to go, then swung back round. ‘By the way, I’m sorry about your husband’s leg.’ She paused. ‘And I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you could do with updating the website a bit. You don’t look anything like your photograph.’ Her eyes widening, she quickly added, ‘Oh, I meant that in a good way. You look much younger in real life.’

I frowned. My husband? My photograph? The fog cleared.

‘Oh, no, Jenny. The chap you met yesterday – Rupert – he’s not my husband. What I mean is, that isn’t me on the website. That’s his wife. She’s not here at the moment. I’m... helping out while she’s away. Rupert’s a friend.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Jenny’s sunny smile faltered. ‘I hope I didn’t offend you. I thought Rupert seemed an awful lot older than you. See you later.’ She waved and skipped back to her gîte across the way.

As I threw a sandwich together, I made a mental note to tackle Rupert about the website sometime. If Gloria wasn’t coming back, he could do with removing her hateful image from it. And I could do without being mistaken for Gloria again.

Peeved, I bit into a plum tomato. It promptly exploded juice and seeds all over my T-shirt – clean on today and white. Great.

I’d just put all the lunch items away when Rupert came into the kitchen to forage.

‘What do you want me to do with all that bedlinen when it’s dry?’ I asked him tetchily.

‘Just shove it in one of the unused rooms out of sight for now. I’ll get Madame Dupont to deal with it next time she comes in.’

This seemed rather laissez-faire, even for a Sunday, but if he couldn’t be bothered, I didn’t see why I should.

‘Besides, other things to worry about first,’ he said. ‘The Stewarts are due on Tuesday.’

‘Why is that a worry?’

‘Madame Dupont isn’t in today – church. Or tomorrow – sister’s. Could you do their room for me, love?’

I frowned. ‘Today? Why not tomorrow?’

‘Because tomorrow is market day,’ he stated, as though this was a perfectly obvious answer. When all he got from me was a bewildered expression, he explained, ‘I always go into Pierre-la-Fontaine on market day. I get my fresh and specialist food there.’

I blew out a frustrated breath. ‘Can’t we stick to the supermarket this week?’ I’d only just mastered that little hurdle. Driving to the outskirts of town and parking in a large supermarket car park was one thing. Negotiating my way into a proper French town on a busy market day was quite another. Besides... ‘Haven’t you heard of doing your grocery shop online?’

He had that stubborn look in his eye that I was coming to recognise all too well. ‘Of course. But I wouldn’t like it.’

‘Why not? Wouldn’t it be easier?’

He shook his head. ‘I like to see what’s fresh. What’s on offer. I don’t even write a list – I’ve only been doing that for your benefit. I wouldn’t dream of confining myself to the supermarket, anyway. I like to use the shops in town. Go to the market when it’s on. Bump into people I know and have a chat. I’m getting cabin fever, Emmy. I need to get out, get back to normal a bit. And it would do you good, too. Give you a break from this place.’

He gave me a pleading look, and I couldn’t help but laugh. He looked like one of those dogs with the wrinkled faces and huge eyes that you can’t say no to.

I sighed. ‘All right.’ The idea of getting out and about was beginning to appeal to me, too. Other than the first couple of days pottering about nearby villages and taking strolls along country lanes with Nathan, there had been a distinct lack of traditional holiday activity so far. ‘But only on the condition that you treat me to coffee afterwards.’

Rupert shook his head. ‘You’re getting so you’re anybody’s for a coffee, Emmy.’

‘I know. You’ve corrupted me with your big shiny machine.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I wish!’ But to his gratification, I’d already blushed bright scarlet before the words were out of his mouth.