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‘There isoneroom available,’ he said, looking troubled.‘But we do not usually place our adult guests inside it. It is not as nice as this one.’

‘It’s fine, I’ll take it,’ I said, relieved.

I didn’t care what the room looked like at this point, it could be a converted broom cupboard for all I cared, as long as it was far, far away from Theo.

‘No, you stay in this room,’ said Theo, in a rare display of chivalry. ‘I’ll take the other one.’

‘Fine,’ I said. I wasn’t about to argue about it, and this roomwaslovely.

‘OK,’ said the hotel manager in a tone that suggested things were anything but. He removed a bunch of keys from his belt loop. ‘Follow me, please,Monsieur.’

I stood back, fully expecting him and Theo to leave through the door we’d just entered by, but instead he lurched at an arched doorway carved into the left-hand wall which I’d assumed was my bathroom, inserted a key and turned it. I watched in ever-increasing horror as the door swung open revealing a smaller room with twin beds and not much else on the other side.

I gasped. ‘Is this an inter-connecting family suite?’

‘Yes,Madame, and it is the only room available,’ said the manager, ushering Theo through before either of us could complain again. ‘Usually it is for our . . . smaller guests. But there is an en-suite bathroom and a balcony.’

And not much else, I thought, looking at it, thankful that Theo had let me stay in this part of the room. If I was essentially trapped here for the next fortnight, I at least wanted to be comfortable. Theo caught my eye for a second as he closed the inter-connecting door behind him, no doubt already regretting his generosity.

‘I hope this door locks?!’ I called out.

A few seconds later I heard the clunking of the keyturning on the other side, although I could still hear the murmur of their voices as they talked. Great, there would be no escaping Theo now, with only paper-thin walls and a shared door between us. Huffily, I swung my suitcase up onto my bed and began to unpack, giving up halfway through and stuffing the whole thing under the bed instead. I checked out the bathroom, which was invitingly shiny and new with a black-and-white chequered floor and a bathtub that would be big enough for two, should it need to be. I took the plastic off one of the glasses and stood it next to the sink, ready to put my toothbrush in. Four fluffy white towels hung enticingly on the heated rail and I was tempted to strip off and wrap myself up in one immediately.

Twenty minutes or so later, I was feeling settled already and had thrown open the French doors leading out to a balcony overlooking the pool, which was more beautiful, even, than the photos I’d seen on the website. That felt like a rare thing, for a hotel to be nicer in real life. But it was, it was perfect. I was already inspired to write, even if I didn’t exactly know what. And I was relieved to note that you couldn’t see through to the other balconies on this side of the building (e.g. Theo’s), with sage green shutters dividing up the balcony space at each end, meaning I could spend a lot of time out here enjoying the peace and quiet of the surrounding countryside without fear of bumping intohim.

When I went back into the room to get my book, I thought I could make out the hiss of water from his room. Tentatively I crept towards the internal door, placing my ear carefully against its cool wood. Yes, there was definitely running water coming from somewhere. Perhaps he was in the shower, a thought I instantly wished I hadn’t had because it brought back a whole host of memories, not all of them good. I crept away as silently as I could, shaking my head atmy own patheticness. What on earth was I doing listening at his door? I couldn’t be doing this for twelve nights straight, and why would I want to be? What was I hoping to achieve? I sat on the edge of my huge bed with its soft, slippery sheets, deciding I ought to check my phone – I hadn’t looked at it for at least an hour, which was unheard of, and anything could have happened in that time frame. True to form, there were three texts from my dad, a ranty WhatsApp from my sister about how much she hated Richard and a message from Alexa.

How’s the reconciliation going? Give me all the deets immediately!

I messaged straight back.

Other than the fact that our agent booked us on a couples retreat instead of a writers’ retreat, it’s going swimmingly.

Alexa sent three laughing face emojis. I sent three angry faces back.

I lay down on the bed, wondering how long I could feasibly leave it before I had to ring Kate back. All I wanted to do was lie on my back and breathe in the scent of the French Riviera. To see if I could hear the sounds of the sea from here. To think about anything other than a potentially naked Theo next door and the fact that if this trip continued to go as badly as it had so far, we were in for a rocky ride.

Chapter Five

The following morning I attempted to micro-manage breakfast time so that I wouldn’t have to bump into you-know-who. I’d thought I’d heard Theo’s door – the one leading out to the corridor – open and close at 7.30, so presumably he’d gone down to eat then. I left it until 8.30 to be on the safe side, hoping to avoid him altogether – I was all for a breakfast buffet, but surely you couldn’t eke it out for an hour.

I’d drunk two coffees already this morning, and had sat out on the balcony, listening to the sounds of the Côte d’Azur waking up – the flap of a bird’s wings; a car reversing out of the hotel’s driveway; the hum of a lawn mower somewhere in the distance. In front of me were undulating hills covered in deep green trees and what looked like huge white villas and luxury apartment blocks. Down by the pool a member of the hotel staff was sweeping away leaves, and the air smelled fresh and pure in a way it definitely didn’t in Ealing. It was like a different world and I loved it already – even from my bed I’d been able to see the giant pine tree that towered over the pool, giving the water some much-needed shade in the summer, I presumed. After breakfast, perhaps I’d have a swim. For the moment I was putting off the inevitable, i.e. having to talk to Theo about whether we could actually do this writing a book thing. And I wascompletelyburying the other thing, the retreat that shall not be named.

There was no sign of Theo in the pretty dining room, which had tables and chairs set out in little clusters and tablecloths and napkins in the same colour scheme as my room – lilacs and purples and pale silver. They’d opened up the doors out to the courtyard and a warm breeze swirled pleasantly around the room. I was wearing jeans and a jumper again and thought I should probably go and change at some point because, give it an hour, and I was clearly going to be far too hot. Why did I have to keep reminding myself that I wasn’t in rainy London, I was in the glorious French Riviera?!

Taking a plate, I began to fill it with some of the delicious-looking breakfast items laid out in glass cabinets. I plucked tiny little glazed croissants out of a basket and popped them on my plate alongside creamy scrambled eggs and a pile of green salad leaves; a hunk of unidentifiable crumbly cheese was thepièce de resistance.

‘Morning.’

I turned to see Theo standing behind me. Great. So much for my grand plan for a peaceful breakfast. This was what happened when I tried to control something to within an inch of its life, it sometimes went completely the other way. I’d been so keen to avoid him that I’d over-thought it and had ended up being perfectly in sync with his schedule. Brilliant.

‘Hi,’ I said, smiling tightly at him.

‘Nice spread,’ said Theo, picking up a plate himself. He was positively glowing of course, his hair damp from the shower, smelling of limes and sea air. His T-shirt this morning was racing green, but his jeans were the same as they had been yesterday.

‘Very,’ I said.

I grabbed a yoghurt and headed to a table for two out in the courtyard. This was excruciatingly uncomfortable, but atleast if I sat down first, he’d have to make the decision about whether to joinmeor not. Part of me wanted him to stay inside and sit at the table farthest away from me, preferably out of my eyeline altogether, but I also suspected that I’d be a little bit put out if he did, so basically, it was a lose-lose situation. We had to face each other sometime, but at no point did it feel like the right time. Irritated by the way I had to complicate everything by rolling every scenario over and over in my head and going back and forth over it, I pretended to be very interested in the contents of my plate, carefully slicing open the croissant and delicately inserting a teaspoon of apricot jam inside. I swallowed hard when a shadow fell over my plate.