Poppy hesitated, asking herself that as she didn’t precisely have an answer. She just had. Thrilled at the state of her future house and still hyped at getting the job, somehow dinner seemed the best way to end the day. And, to be honest, spending a few more hours in Stéphane Poulain’s company wouldn’t be any sort of hardship. “Where are we going?” Might as well know. They were heading away from Nice and toward Monaco but that didn’t tell much. “To a place I know, above Menton, high up among the lemon trees.” Sounded rather lush and definitely not Sussex. “I’m looking forward to it.” And what else? She had no idea. That she’d decide when the time came. He wasn’t kidding about “high among the lemon trees”. They skirted Menton and climbed, through a village of stone houses and up a zigzag road through lemon orchards until he pulled off the road and they parked in front of a long stone building. A painted sign over the wide front door, read Alberge Prunier. Odd to label it “plum tree”
