.

built this house to maximise the contours of the hill.

      She unpacked quickly, laying claim to the room, although she couldn’t believe that either Angela or Jade would be that fussed about this one. It was easily the smallest but it felt right, down to the little dressing table, which would double perfectly as a desk, although she suspected the view might be rather distracting.

      Lavender perfumed the air when she opened up the painted-wood wardrobe, filled with fancy, silk-padded hangers and lace sachets of herbs. It seemed almost sacrilege to bother it with her meagre collection of clothes. She didn’t do quantity but where quality was concerned, she had an aptitude for mixing expensive with dirt cheap and making it look good. Most of the things she’d brought with her, T-shirts, strappy vest tops and flippy skirts didn’t need hanging up and certainly not on hangers as posh as these.

      The tiled floors were cool to her hot feet when she slipped off her beloved converses and yanked down her jeans, which now clung to her legs. Folding them up, she consigned them to the back of the wardrobe. They could stay there until it came to going home. Just think – she could wear dresses and skirts every day without once having to worry about being cold or taking a coat or an umbrella everywhere with her. If it did rain here, it would be the sort of rain that you didn’t mind getting wet in.

      Slipping her feet into her well-worn flip-flops, she cast a quick, longing glance at the en-suite bathroom and its walk- in shower that she didn’t have to share with anyone. Absolute bliss.

      The beep of her phone with yet another text welcoming her to France providing details of how much it cost to send a text or make a call, reminded her that she ought to let Alan know they’d arrived safely and alleviate his fears that their free accommodation wasn’t a shanty house after all.

      A quick flurry of texts between them confirmed he’d had a great day’s cycling and that he was pleased that the house wasn’t falling down around her ears.

      All that was needed now, to finish the day off in perfect style, was a long, cool glass of wine. But first she wanted to look up where the village of Ramatuelle was and when market day was.

      Angela had wasted no time. With the instincts of a born nester, she’d unearthed a table cloth, pretty napkins and china to lay the table in the bay window. To Carrie’s delight a condensation-coated bottle of white wine wedged into a terracotta cooler took up prime position in the middle of the table flanked by a pair of large wine glasses.

      With picture-perfect design, a basket of rustic bread waited alongside a wooden board of cheeses, some of which already scented the air with their pungency, a platter of sliced meats and two round dishes of pâté.

      ‘Can I do anything?’ asked Carrie, with a raised eyebrow, knowing that Angela was in her absolute element.

      ‘Nothing. Apart from getting that bottle open and pouring us both a glass. Oh and you can put these olives on the table.’

      ‘When are the others arriving?’ asked Carrie. ‘Did you put everything in the fridge out?’

      Angela laughed gaily and threw open the fridge doors. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. There’s enough food here to withstand a siege. It’s heaven.’

      Every shelf was packed with unfamiliar branded bottles, unusual-shaped jars and beguiling paper-bag-wrapped parcels.

      ‘There’s gallons of stuff in here. Merguez sausages, compôtes, duck confit, Cassis and myrtle jam, a million different cheeses and meats.’ Angela threw open a cupboard, almost skipping with joy. ‘Here, look. There are stacks of tins, every kind of bean you can imagine, haricot, flageolet and green beans, cassoulet, Tartiflette and even tinned Dauphinoise potato!’

      Carrie opened the bottle and poured two glasses, sticking her nose deep in the first glass before sampling it. The clean fresh straw-coloured wine tasted every bit as good as its heavenly smell.

      ‘I’m going to have so much fun in this kitchen.’

      ‘It’s supposed to be a holiday,’ said Carrie, offering up a glass with a dramatic shudder, grateful as always that her sister loved cooking.

      ‘It is but I don’t have the time to think about cooking properly at home, which means we have the same old. With all this inspiration, I can go to town.’

      Carrie smiled, her heart lighter just listening to her sister.

      ‘Are you sure? I know you love it but don’t overdo it.’ Her eyes rested on the knobbly joint at the base of her sister’s index and middle fingers.

      Angela flexed her fingers, the fine lines around her mouth tightening. ‘I’m fine.’

      Carrie smiled at her sister’s stubbornness, but then she’d had to be to fight against the regular pain that her condition brought with it. ‘I know you’re fine. But I don’t want you to end up in here all the time. Jade and I need to help out otherwise it isn’t fair. Now come sit down.’

      ‘I bet the view out of this window is fabulous in daylight,’ said Angela, perching on the window seat and twisting around to peer through the glass. ‘Can’t see much now. No wonder Marguerite kept going on about the views.’

      ‘My room’s the same. I can hardly wait for the morning.’

      ‘Glad you came?’

      ‘Of course I am.’

      ‘I’m very relieved this place is okay—’

      Carrie let out a laugh. ‘You are the master of understatement. This place is a-ma-zing with capital everything.’

      ‘Thank goodness. I wasn’t sure you wanted to come with us. Not so soon after you and Al got engaged.’ She leaned over and laid her hand on Carrie’s. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘For what?’

      ‘For driving. We couldn’t have come without you.’

      ‘You don’t need to thank me, you daft bugger.’ Carrie shook her head as her sister’s eyes shone suspiciously brightly. ‘Honestly, what are you like? I’m getting a holiday. I’ve got my play to work on. And … I might be able to track down my errant husband.’

      ‘What … Richard?’

      ‘How many husbands do you think I’ve got? Although I need to get rid of him pretty quickly.’ Carrie let out a peal of laughter. ‘Oh, Lord, that sounds like I’m planning to bump him off.’

      Angela snorted into her wine glass. ‘It does a bit. Murder aside, why the hurry?’

      ‘Al wants to get married in October.’

      ‘Yikes! Can you get a divorce that quickly?’ Angela shot a quick look towards the door. ‘Although if you can’t, he’ll wait.’

      Carrie studied the way the light refracted and danced from the solitaire diamond of her ring.

      ‘You haven’t told him.’ Angela suddenly accused. She put her wine down with a firm chink, liquid slopping everywhere. ‘I don’t believe you. Why didn’t you tell him?’

      Carrie winced, still looking at her ring. ‘Because it sounds weird. Hey Al, guess what? I’m married to an international A-list superstar actor. Have been for the last ten years.’

      ‘See what you mean. He’s bound to wonder why you never mentioned it before.’

      ‘It’s not that, it’s confessing the whole impetuous-marriage thing. How do I explain that?’

      ‘You were young and in love?’

      ‘I know but he thinks I’m sensible and responsible.’

      ‘You are … now.’

      Carrie loved her sister, even though they couldn’t be more different. Trust Angela to pass over her wild, impetuous youth with one brief word.

      ‘He’s so decent, I don’t want him to think badly of me and I don’t know how to