The holiday fling that lasted

Minutes before midnight on New Year's Eve 2001, my friends and I exchanged resolutions: mine was to give up on men. I was 30, had recently ended a seven-year relationship and decided that longterm romance just wasn't for me. We were on holiday in the tropical paradise of Malapascua Island in the Philippines.

I'd had a stressful year, buying a new flat in Ladbroke Grove and travelling on business - I encourage multinationals to trade responsibly in developing countries - and just wanted to relax.

I was knocking back rum cocktails and getting a bit drunk when my friend came over to tell me I had to come and meet "the sexy Frenchman" she'd found. The first time I saw Yannick, he was laughing and dancing, and I remember thinking he was really good looking with a great smile.

After dancing together, we went to get some drinks and that was that. The next thing, we were the only people left in the bar, dawn was breaking and we'd been talking to each other non-stop - luckily, he is fluent in English, because I barely spoke French. He walked me back to my hut and kissed me under the palm trees.

The next day I decided to be cool towards him - I was only there for a few days and I didn't need the complication of a fling - but he sat me down on the beach and gave me this wonderful speech. He totally understood everything about who I was and how I felt. As he was saying this, at the back of my mind I just kept thinking: "Here he is! Mr Right! Finally!"

For the next week we were inseparable, talking constantly and scuba diving. My friends thought it was great; they all liked him and could see how happy I was. When it was time to leave I was devastated. I cried at the departure gate and as soon as he'd gone I began to panic.

We had agreed to meet three weeks later; I started to think: "Did he mean that?" It felt too good to be true, but as soon as my plane landed I got a text message and then a day didn't go past without us talking for at least an hour on the phone. Back in England some of my friends thought it wouldn't last - Yannick was nine years older than me and I had been impulsive in love before - but my parents said that they knew from the start that this was different.

I had always been used to travelling - before my parents settled in Wimbledon they had been diplomats and so my younger sister, Alice, and I had grown up in Cyprus, Romania and Greece. My job involves a lot of overseas work and I arranged to meet Yannick, who runs a business in Provence, on my next trip - I was due to give a speech in nearby Geneva in front of 200 people. Instead of being nervous all I could think about was that we were going to be together again. When my speech finished, I raced outside. But he wasn't there.

He called to say he'd been delayed and my heart just sank. I settled down to wait in the frosty afternoon and then he appeared. I leapt into his arms; I knew that it was right. We had the most fantastic weekend skiing and then we settled into a pattern of seeing each other every other weekend, either in London or Provence.

French men are definitely more traditional and protective, but they're also so much more expressive, romantic and less repressed than English men; Yannick will tell me how he feels and be very open, but he's also macho - at first he'd get very upset if I tried to pay for dinner. He's romantic, too - he organises surprise weekends away and used to write wonderful letters to me.

I started getting frustrated at seeing him just twice a month and left London for Provence that August. My family were very supportive - they loved Yannick straight away.

I rented out my flat, began freelancing and moved to Avignon.

It was a tough time: I grew resentful of Yannick because I had to rely on him for everything - no one speaks English.

I hadn't wanted to rush things and move straight in with him so I was just seeing him at weekends, and I missed my old London life; Provence is much more traditional and I felt miserable. But after two months things began to change - I was listening to the radio and all of a sudden I could understand what they were saying.

Once I was more independent I felt much happier. After Christmas 2002, we decided to live together. I sold my London flat and we moved to North Provence.

We have four bedrooms, a pool that overlooks vineyards and a lavender field, all for £200,000 - the price of my small flat. The romance has come flooding back and I love the lifestyle. Every day I open my shutters and walk out into the sunshine.

I water my geraniums, have a swim followed by fresh croissants, and play with my labrador puppy, Merlin, before settling down to a couple of hours' work. I've made a great friend, Lisa, who lives just 10 minutes away, and my English friends come out most weekends.

The best news is that in February I discovered I was pregnant. If someone had told me 18 months ago that I'd be pregnant and living in Provence with the man I want to spend the rest of my life with I'd have thought they were insane.

I guess we are proof that holiday romances don't have to fade with your tan.