The Chateau of Happily-Ever-Afters. Jaimie Admans

They’ve been here for at least a hundred years.’

      I’m not sure if I’m impressed he can tell that or creeped out, picturing the ghosts of long-dead chestnut farmers from centuries ago watching us in their beloved orchard. Maybe Scooby Doo would come in handy after all. ‘Are you going to pick any? I saw a couple of open hearths in the house last night to roast them on.’

      ‘It’s way too early for chestnuts – they’re nowhere near ripe. But in the autumn, definitely.’

      Something pings in my brain at that. We won’t still be here in autumn, but I’m sure the squirrels will enjoy them. ‘You know a lot about plants,’ I say instead. He doesn’t look like someone who knows much about plants. He looks like someone who knows a lot about hair products and gym memberships.

      ‘I like plants. They’re reliable. You give them what they ask for and they do what they say they will.’

      ‘If plants are saying anything to you, I’d be concerned.’

      ‘Ha ha,’ he says in a high voice, mimicking me. ‘I just mean they’re predictable. You give them the right conditions and they’ll do what nature intended them to. There’s give and take with them. You help them and they help you, unlike people.’

      The hint of bitterness in his voice intrigues me, and then I wonder why I’m even thinking about it. ‘Same could be said of certain people I’ve met lately.’

      He raises an eyebrow above his sunglasses. ‘So far this morning I’ve rescued you from a wall and saved an innocent centipede from death by hair. What exactly have I done that’s so bad?’

      I go to shout something at him but I stop myself. ‘Eulalie didn’t leave this place to you,’ I say calmly. ‘She didn’t even know you. She wouldn’t want you destroying the place looking for money.’

      ‘Is it me who broke into a wall and got myself stuck there for a box of dead rats?’

      ‘No, but—’

      He doesn’t let me finish. ‘If she wanted you to have this place so badly, she should’ve been better prepared. She must’ve known French law entitles direct descendants to a fair share and she must’ve known there was a possibility that her brother had children.’

      ‘Oh please, you’re a great-nephew. That’s barely even a relation!’

      ‘You’re not even a relation! What moral high ground do you think you have to stand on here?’

      ‘This is what she wanted.’

      He shakes his head. ‘She was insane. She’s going on about treasure hidden here like there’s some pirate’s bounty buried in the basement or something. It’s madness.’

      ‘She was not…’ I start to defend Eulalie’s sanity when my brain realises what he’s said. ‘You don’t think there’s any treasure?’

      ‘I find it highly unlikely.’

      ‘Why are you here then?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ he says with a shrug. ‘Same reason you are, I suppose. If you inherit a French château, you can’t just ignore it. I had to see the place.’

      A part of me believes him. Eulalie’s mention of treasure is so ridiculous, it’s laughable, but the sensible side of me is screaming at myself to be careful. He’s obviously only saying this to throw me off. All he’s after is money, like all men. It’s a classic diversion – if I think he’s not interested in treasure, he can hunt for it in peace while I swan around obliviously believing it doesn’t exist.

      ‘And I’m glad I came,’ he carries on. ‘Despite the welcoming party. This place is incredible. I’ve dreamed of someday retiring to somewhere with even a fraction of this land. All I’ve ever wanted is my own orchard.’

      ‘It’s a bit overgrown,’ I say, distracted by wondering if I should give him the benefit of the doubt.

      ‘It’s just naturalised. All it needs is some care and attention and some fixing up and it could be the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.’

      ‘Yeah, well, I’m not wasting my holiday here fighting with weeds that will have grown again by the time I have another chance to visit. Given the short notice this time, I doubt my boss will approve any time off for at least another year.’

      ‘What do you do?’

      ‘I’m a food ambassador,’ I say, surprised he’s interested enough to ask. I haven’t exactly given him reason to make small talk with me so far, have I?

      ‘What’s that?’

      I blush. ‘I man the sample stands in a supermarket. You know that woman who’s always in the way of the exact shelf you need to get to, trying to offer you centimetre-square bits of cake while chattering about how lovely it is? That’s me.’

      ‘Sounds riveting,’ he says with a laugh.

      ‘What about you?’

      ‘I’m a fitness model.’

      ‘Of course you are,’ I mutter. I don’t know why I expected anything else. Plumbers don’t have abs like that.

      He raises that eyebrow above his sunglasses again.

      ‘So when are you leaving?’ I ask, trying to sound nonchalant, like it doesn’t matter to me at all when he leaves. Behind my back, my fingers are crossed for luck. It’s Wednesday now, so surely he’ll be off by Friday? Sunday at the latest?

      ‘I’m not.’

      ‘You’re… not?’ He means, like, this week, right? I’m not leaving this week but I’ll be gone on Monday?

      He looks at me and his mouth breaks into that tight-lipped smile. ‘Why would I leave? This place is half mine. I have every right to be here whenever I want, and I have a key now so you can’t play your little games any more. I have nothing to keep me in Scotland. I drive down to London for photoshoots all the time, so it’d be just as easy to nip back from here. This place is a dream, and I see no reason to leave.’

      ‘But… but…’ I stumble over my words, they get tangled up with my desire to knee him in the bollocks.

      ‘Oh, what a shame you’ve got a fixed job you’ve got to get back to in, what, two weeks?’

      ‘Four,’ I mutter. ‘Three if my boss needs a doctor’s certificate for the sick days I’ve taken this week.’

      ‘And I have no ties. I can stay here as long as I want. And there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.’ He grins and, in that moment, he achieves a previously unaccomplishable feat – he gets even more smug than he was before.

      ‘You can’t just move in!’

      ‘I didn’t say I was going to move in, but I could if I wanted, and you couldn’t stop me.’

      ‘But it’s not yours!’

      ‘No, it’s half mine, so I’ll tell you what, I’ll only move into half of it, and you can do whatever you want with the other half in the two weeks’ holiday your boss gives you next summer.’

      Somehow the thought of him being here and me not being here is worse than us both being here together. I feel like Eulalie entrusted me with her beloved château and it’s my responsibility to protect it from everything, and that includes him. How am I supposed to do that when he can come and go as he pleases? He could knock the whole place down in his hunt for the treasure and I wouldn’t be able to stop him.

      All plant-loving, non-treasure-hunting softness I was feeling towards him disappears instantly. ‘You’re a git, has anyone ever told you that?’

      ‘Probably about as many people who have said the same to you.’ He grins with pride at the snarky comeback.

      ‘No