CHAPTER ONE

      SOMETHING WAS GOING very wrong for Alice McMillan.

      She was not supposed to be enjoying herself right now.

      ‘I’m sorry...’

      Silent, one-sided communication had become a habit even though the feeling of connection had faded over the months of this year. Now it only served to increase the prickle of guilt.

      ‘But it is gorgeous... You must have loved it, too.’

      All those years ago. Twenty-nine, to be exact. A period of time that had included Alice’s conception.

      Having stepped off the bus from Nice in the heart of the small town of Villefranche-sur-Mer, Alice crossed the road to start walking downhill, skirting around a man on a ladder who was part of the team installing a huge pattern of tinsel that would hang over the centre of the main street like a giant tiara. She’d printed off a map before leaving Edinburgh and the route looked easy enough. All she had to do was find the beach and follow it. At the other end was the start of the peninsula that was St Jean Cap Ferrat and the address she was heading for looked like it was within easy walking distance.

      There was a small market happening on a grassed area opposite the bus stop. Stalls were selling things like cheese and preserves, hand-made soaps and Christmas decorations. There was music coming from somewhere and the smell of hot food made her mouth water. When had she last eaten? That bag of cheese and onion crisps and a bottle of water on the last leg of her long train journey didn’t really count.

      She had to edge her way through a group of people who seemed to be there to socialise rather than shop but they made way for her politely and the smile of the man at the stall was welcoming.

      ‘Bonjour, mademoiselle. Qu’est-ce qu’il vous fait aujourd’hui?’

      This might be her first day ever in France but Alice had been surrounded by the sound of this language since her arrival in Paris early this morning. She’d already learned that the best response was a smile and an apology that she didn’t speak French.

      The apology was genuine. Most people learned at the very least to say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ in the language of a country they chose to visit and Alice could do that in Spanish or Italian. Even Greek. But not French.

      Never French...

      ‘One of those, please.’ Alice pointed to a baguette that had been split and filled with a thick slice of ham and some cheese.

      ‘Of course.’ The man switched languages effortlessly. ‘You are English?’

      ‘Scottish.’

      ‘Ah... Welcome to Villefranche.’ The sandwich was being wrapped in paper. ‘You are here on holiday?’

      A holiday? A place you chose to go to relax and enjoy yourself? No. This journey was definitely no holiday.

      But Alice smiled and nodded as she handed over some money because the truth was far too personal to tell a stranger and too complex to explain anyway. She wasn’t even sure she understood herself why she had made the impetuous decision to come here and now that she was here