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Everyone carries on being friends, just as my husband did with the women in that church. I'd had a sheltered middle-class upbringing in London, where my father was a PR consultant and my mother a housewife. My oldest sister (I'm one of five children) was living in Paris.
Two of my friends were setting off on a trip around Europe and, on the spur of the moment, I decided to go with them as far as Paris. Instead her flatmate, Laurent, answered the phone and offered to pick me up.
I married Laurent Lemoine at his parents' beautiful house in Normandy.
Cultured, as only the French can be, and with a career in management consultancy, he exuded an intellectual self-confidence.
More significantly, he exuded sexual self-confidence. In England, I'd always felt I had to make the first move.
As the evening wore on, I noticed that a few men and women were peeling away from the table and moving into the next room.
As the Grand Prix was on, I assumed they were watching the highlights.