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shoulder flexed in surprise – it was the first time I’d called him by his name. ‘Do I need to feed the dogs?’
    He looked down at them and grinned. ‘They will tell you “yes – all the time” but they only have one meal a day, at six o’clock. When I am not here, Louise comes in from the surgery to feed them. They will tell you when it’s time. They are very good clock watchers.’
    ‘Do you have surgery today?’
    ‘Non. Today, I have three farm visits. But please, feel free to go in and say hello to Louise. She is a lovely girl. You will like her.’
    I hoped so. I could do with a friend nearby. Isabelle was in Paris, 250 miles away. There would be no dropping in on her to share experiences and a bottle of wine. I’d called her last night, once I’d settled in.
    ‘I told you Christophe would arrive,’ she’d said. ‘What do you think?’
    ‘Great. It’s a lovely old house and my studio is fabulous. I’d have been happy in an old shed.’
    ‘And Christophe?’
    The vision of him in his tuxedo had flashed before me. ‘He seems nice. But we haven’t really had time to talk and now he’s gone out for the evening.’
    ‘I hate to say it, chérie, I don’t have time to talk either. Jean-Claude is here, we’re watching 2001 A Space Odyssey, have you seen it?’
    ‘Yes, I fell asleep after ten minutes and woke up when all the alarm clocks went off.’
    ‘Oh Vicki, you’re so funny. You must watch it some time, it’s fascinating.’
    ‘No, honestly. I’d rather watch paint dry.’ And often did.
    ‘Bye, honey. Love you.’
    Just occasionally, I wondered how on earth Isabelle and I had become so close. Sixteen years ago, our friendship had an unusual beginning. Bristol had been twinned with Bordeaux for years, and my dad used to be very active in the city’s twinning association. So, despite my hesitation to venture into another country alone – especially since I’d just had dental braces fitted – I’d been set up for an exchange. I’d arrived at Bordeaux airport, the youngest of fifteen Bristolean students, trembling in my short, lavender tartan kilt, lavender sweater, black tights and chunky black shoes – the height of fashion in the late nineties or so I thought – and waited with anxiety churning in my stomach. When the group leader began calling out names to partner us up, out of the crowd stepped a tall girl with short dark hair. She was wearing a bottle-green sweater over jeans and trainers but looked unutterably chic to my young eye. Isabelle Masson grinned in my direction and I was overjoyed to see her teeth were adorned with a comprehensive set of dental braces identical to mine. I hadn’t smiled properly since I’d had the horrible things fitted but I beamed back at her with relief.
    She’d made me a card, showing a hand-drawn, vaguely recognisable image of Bristol Suspension Bridge with the letters – V I C K I – hanging beneath. Inside the card was another bridge, that I later learned was Pont Pierre in Bordeaux, with the letters – I S A B E L L E – hanging beneath.
    ‘We are the same,’ she said in her best English.
    ‘Yes,’ I replied, delighted to think this girl would align herself with me. ‘Oui.’
    Our friendship confirmed, she hugged me and took hold of my hand before leading me to her parents. As I’d never had a brother or sister – and coming from an English society where hugging was reserved for close family – the intimacy of this made me feel weirdly alien and yet totally accepted.
    As if in anticipation of her future career, Isabelle already showed a knack for getting alongside others and gaining their confidence.
    She was confident too, for a teenager. She had three brothers and read everything she could lay her hands on. I, on the other hand, was still finding my social feet, was an only child and read magazines – occasionally. While she would astonish me with her burgeoning philosophies of life, I would impress her with my drawing