He looked over at her and she gave him a small, tight smile before focusing on pouring gravy over her dinner. Richie chose that moment to blow an enormous raspberry and throw his spoon and they all laughed.

The meal passed with the same relaxed atmosphere. Everyone’s stomachs were pleasantly full, but they still managed to make room for the dessert he’d made. They’d all watched with fascination as Celeste tried the savoury golden beetroot and feta pie he’d made her for dessert, working on the information she’d given him, so that it looked and tasted like apples and custard.

‘Oh wow, that was so clever,’ she said, ‘and so thoughtful. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ He felt a little glow from her pleasure and praise.

And the glow continued as they all stayed sitting around the table, drinking wine and talking, even though the dishes had long since been cleared away. It was nice to know his maman had this family here for her; this welcoming, relaxed place to just be herself.

It was what he wanted, he realised, but what he had in Paris was a lonely apartment which he spent most of his time sleeping in, and a papa who made every family meal – when they did rarely happen – an opportunity to tell him what heshouldbe doing with his life. The closest he got to this was with Bertrand, but he hadn’t been able to visit with him anywhere near as much as he would have liked because of the restaurant hours.

This choice he was having to make was more than just about taking on the sous-chef role or not. It was about everything. Something needed to change.