They were chatting elatedly. She loved it, particularly in public like this. Francine sounded incredibly posh. Her own r’s rolled nicely as well, but Francine really brought it home. After spending time in the company of Francine she always felt she had risen in ranks herself. Francine was about ten years younger and a grade higher on the social ladder. At the moment she was telling a story, throwing in French words and phrases right and left. She was talking about the wife of the gardener of her son’s second house in Bretagne, with a nonchalance clearly showing her lack of perspective. “Simply marvellous”, Francine concluded. During their monthly lunch meetings she would dream away on the sound of Francine’s voice, much the same as she used to so when she read books about ladies of nobility. Francine’s tone was the physical representation of the life she could have had, with the immediate realisation of how happy she was with horizons a bit broader than Francine’s.