‘Solange kept a spare key hidden in the trunk of the old tree in the front garden. I’ve removed it,’ he confessed.

‘Thanks for warning me!’ Tabby sniped, but the reproof lacked bite because her voice was weak. ‘I just can’t believe you’ve done all this…and in such an incredibly short space of time.’ She glanced into Jake’s room, which, having already been furnished, had benefited a little less noticeably from fresh paint and polished floorboards. ‘What are you expecting in return? Me in a gift box?’

His husky, sexy laugh vibrated down her spinal cord like a caress.

‘How am I supposed to hand back new windows when you haven’t left me the old ones?’ Tabby demanded, looking out the bedroom window to note that a big glossy car had stopped out on the quiet road.

‘When I want you to climb into a gift box for me, you can be sure I’ll cut off all avenues of retreat-’

‘But I can’t accept a generosity that I can’t match-’

‘Are you discriminating against me because I’m rich?’ Christien countered with mockery.

Tabby walked downstairs again. ‘If I accepted all this stuff…well, it would make me feel like I’m in your power-’

‘That works fine for me,’ Christien slotted in without shame.

‘Or like I owed you big time-’

‘I can’t say that that idea turns me off either. I know it’s not politically correct but, if your conscience is heavy, I could give you a suggestion or two on how best to lighten-’

‘Shut up!’ But Tabby was laughing until she went over to the kitchen window to check on Jake, only to discover he was nowhere within view. ‘Hold on a minute,’ she urged Christien then. ‘Look, I’ll call you back!’

After distractedly pressing the ‘hold’ button, then discarding the phone, Tabby headed into the front garden. Relieved that Jake had not strayed round there as she had feared, she took the time to study the car still sitting parked because she couldn’t help wondering what it was doing there. It was a Mercedes and a very expensive-looking model. She was heading for the side of the cottage where she assumed her son was playing when she saw Jake running out from behind the van. He was chasing his ball, which was bouncing down the sloping driveway towards the road.

‘No, Jake…stop!’ Tabby screamed at the top of her voice.

But her shout was drowned out as the engine of the Mercedes suddenly ignited and the vehicle moved off. Even knowing that she was too far away, Tabby made a frantic attempt to reach her son and prevent him from running out into the road in front of the car. But she was too late. With a protesting screech of tyres, the driver braked hard and swerved to avoid Jake and the Mercedes mounted the verge with a crashing jolt before coming to a juddering halt.

For a split second deafening silence held and then Jake broke it with a frightened howl. Tabby grabbed him up, sat him down on the driveway and told him firmly to stay there while she raced across the road to check on the driver. The car door fell open and a slender, middle-aged blonde lurched out, her white face a mask of shock.

‘Are you hurt?’ Tabby gasped and then, fumbling for the French words, used them as well.

The woman hovered at the side of the road and stared fixedly at Jake. Then she began to sob noisily. Curving a supportive arm round her and feeling quite sick herself at what had so nearly transpired, Tabby urged the woman indoors. She offered to call a doctor and when that suggestion was met with a dismayed frown asked if the lady would like to call anyone. That too was met with a silent negative and she was careful to apologise for having left Jake alone in the garden.

‘It was not your fault. Children will be children,’ the woman finally responded in English while she continued to study Jake as if not yet fully convinced that he was wholly unharmed. ‘We must thank le bon Dieu that he is safe. He is…your son? May I ask what he is called?’

‘I’m Jake. Jake…Christien…Burnside,’ Jake recited with care.

The lady was trembling. She twisted her head away and fumbled for another tissue from the box that Tabby had set beside her, her thin hands shredding at it as she choked back another sob.

‘You’re in shock and I’m not surprised after the fright my son must have given you,’ Tabby said worriedly. ‘Are you sure I can’t phone the doctor for you, madame?’

‘Perhaps…if I could have a glass of water?’ The woman snatched in a deep breath in a clear effort to calm herself.

‘Of course.’ Tabby returned with the glass and found Jake chattering about cars and holding the woman’s beringed hand. Tabby introduced herself.

A strange little silence fell

‘Ma-Manette,’ the older woman finally stammered, suddenly awkward again, her reddened eyes lowering. ‘Manette…eh, Bonnard. Your son is so sweet. He kissed me because he saw that I was sad.’

Tabby took the opportunity to explain to Jake why Madame Bonnard had been sad and why he must never, ever again run out into a road.

‘Please don’t scold Jake…I am sure he will be more careful in the future.’ Although Manette Bonnard was smiling and it seemed a very genuine smile, her eyes still glistened with unshed tears.

‘Do you have a little boy like me?’ Jake asked.

‘A big boy,’ their visitor answered.

‘Does he like cars?’

‘Very much.’

‘Is he taller than me?’ Perceptibly, Jake was stretching himself up, his innate competitive streak in the ascendant, dark brown eyes sparkling.

‘Yes. He is all grown up,’ Manette Bonnard said apologetically.

‘Is he a good boy?’

‘Not all the time.’

‘I’ll be very tall and very good when I get grown up,’ Jake informed her confidently.

Keen to see the older woman fully recovered before she got back into her car, Tabby offered her coffee. A rather dazed look etched in her fine dark eyes, their visitor nodded polite acceptance while trying to answer Jake’s questions. Jake had no inhibitions about being nosy and, by dint of simply listening to the older woman’s initially hesitant replies, Tabby learned that their guest lived in Paris in an apartment that had twelve bedrooms and also had a summer home in the area.

‘Mummy…can I show Madam Bonnard one of your pictures?’ Jake pleaded.

‘If it would not be too much of an intrusion, mademoiselle,’ Manette Bonnard interposed. ‘I collect miniatures.’

Tabby got her first glimpse of the sun lounge since her return and discovered that in Christien’s makeover even her studio had gained sleek storage units and a wonderful mosaic tiled floor. The older woman enthused at length over the two tiny canvases she was shown and was disappointed to learn that both were earmarked for a client.

‘I must not take up any more of your time, mademoiselle,’ their visitor finally sighed with regret.

‘I like you,’ Jake told Madame Bonnard.

Tabby was unsurprised that Jake was so taken with the older woman for Manette Bonnard had demonstrated flattering enthusiasm for her son’s company and had made no attempt to hide her appreciation from him. But she was dismayed when their very emotional visitor looked as though she was about to go off into floods of tears again.

‘Are you sure that you feel well enough to drive?’ Tabby prompted with concern.

The older woman kept her head down and patted Tabby’s hand in an uncertain but apologetic gesture. ‘Please don’t worry…you don’t understand…I am sorry,’ she muttered in confusion before she broke away to hurry across the road and take refuge in her car.

Tabby was relieved to see that the Mercedes drove off at a slow speed.

She darted back indoors intending to ring Christien back and then she fell still, the excitement in her discomfited eyes dwindling. Why did Christien always do what she least expected? She had been angry and hurt when she’d last seen him and she had believed that she could forget their night of passion and write it off as the result of her own foolishness. His arrogant assumption that he could make her do what she did not want to do had offended and mortified her and persuaded her that it was not possible for her to try to rewrite the past with Christien. But in the space of a week, Christien had turned all her expectations upside down.

He had gone to extraordinary lengths to demonstrate that he had accepted her right to live in Solange Laroche’s cottage. He had transformed the humble little dwelling into a sophisticated and trendy property bristling with luxury extras. Of course, he had had no right to do that, but it scarcely mattered now, did it? After all, if she was planning to seek a permanent home elsewhere, she would be selling the cottage back to Christien and it would have to be at a price that did not take account of the improvements that he had made at his own expense.

In retrospect her own weakness with Christien seemed unforgivable and inexcusable. She had not told him about Jake. She had let her heart and her hormones carry her away and she had slept with him again. The Jacuzzi big enough for two suggested that Christien was very keen to repeat that experience. Only Christien had no idea at all that she was the mother of a three-year-old, who had already contrived to leave a muddy footprint on one of the slinky cream sofas. And she was not just any single parent either, she was the mother of his child. How was she to break that news to him? Especially with Jake under the same roof? She gathered Jake into a hug and rested her chin down into his dark silky curls. Her eyes were stinging.

‘Our clothes are in the van,’ her son reminded her. ‘We’ll go out and get our cases.’

Having fetched their luggage in, Tabby called Christien back.

‘Why did you leave me on hold?’ he demanded.

‘I didn’t…I must have pushed the button wrong,’ she answered, her voice a little thick.