Olivier rolled his eyes and unfortunately caught sight of the wobbly Christmas tree that had been propped in the corner of the room. Large brassy baubles were drooping on the artificial branches and in a room where there was no other sign of Christmas, it looked like an afterthought.

His maman put in a lot more effort than that though, and her cooking was sublime too. Recalling his Christmases in Brighton with his maman as a teenager the memories were always accompanied by the scent of dark chocolate and cinnamon, the taste of rich, velvety tortes and perfectly chewy spiced biscuits. Warmth at the fire while rain drizzled against the windows and they watched classic movies together.

‘I honestly don’t understand what’s holding you back,’ Auguste continued. ‘I’ll have to advertise it soon you know, if I don’t get an answer. It will take me a long time to find someone who can work to my standards.’

To find someone who could put up with him. Auguste was a complete control freak in his kitchen. He expected his staff to follow his instructions exactly, every last detail. It was no wonder Olivier couldn’t make his mind up. He’d spent so many years doing exactly as Auguste said, how could he possibly know whether the decision he made was his or his papa’s. Not without getting a little space.

The tannoy in the corner of the room crackled to life, giving everyone a warning to return to their cars before the ship docked, rescuing Olivier from having to find a response. ‘I have to go now.’

‘We’ll speak again soon. Give your maman a hug and a kiss from me.’

‘Of course.’ He tucked his phone back into his coat pocket and glanced at the other passengers, gathering their belongings, and heading for the stairwells. He took a deep breath and one last look through the window.

The cliffs were suddenly so much closer, that pale smudge he’d seen in the distance now tall and imposing. Bright white and unscalable.