Interested, Carlo set down his leather case. “He’s working out then?”

“Wonderfully.”

“The young boy who wanted to be a chef,” Juliet murmured and found herself incredibly moved. He hadn’t forgotten.

“Yes, did you meet him? He’s very dedicated,” Summer went on when Juliet nodded. “I think your idea of sending him to Paris for training will pay off. He’s going to be excellent.”

“Good.” Satisfied, Carlo patted her hand. “I’ll speak with his mother and make the arrangements.”

Brows knit, Juliet stared at him. “You’re going to send him to Paris?”

“It’s the only place to study cordon bleu properly.” Carlo gave a shrug as though the matter were everyday. “Then, when he’s fully trained, I’ll simply steal him away from Summer for my own restaurant.”

“Perhaps you will,” Summer smiled. “Then again, perhaps you won’t.”

He was going to pay for the education and training of a boy he’d met only once, Juliet thought, baffled. What sort of a man was it who could fuss for twenty minutes over the knot of his tie and give with such total generosity to a stranger? How foolish she’d been to think, even for a minute, that she really knew him.

“It’s very kind of you, Carlo,” she murmured after a moment.

He gave her an odd look, then shrugged it off. “Dues are meant to be paid, Juliet. I was young once and had only a mother to provide for me. Speaking of mothers,” he went on smoothly, changing the topic. “How is Monique?”

“Gloriously happy still,” Summer told him, and smiled thinking of her mother. “Keil was obviously the man she’d been looking for.” With a laugh, she turned back to Juliet. “I’m sorry, Carlo and I go back a long way.”

“Don’t be. Carlo tells me you and he were students together.”

“A hundred years ago, in Paris.”

“Now Summer’s married her big American. Where’s Blake, cara? Does he trust you with me?”

“Not for long.” Blake came through the open doorway, still elegant after a twelve-hour day. He was taller than Carlo, broader, but Juliet thought she recognized a similarity. Power, both sexual and intellectual.

“This is Juliet Trent,” Summer began. “She’s keeping Carlo in line on his American tour.”

“Not an easy job.” A waiter rolled in a bucket of champagne and glasses. Blake dismissed him with a nod. “Summer tells me your schedule in Philadelphia’s very tight.”

“She holds the whip,” Carlo told him with a gesture toward Juliet. But when his hand came down, it brushed her shoulder in a gesture of casual and unmistakable intimacy.

“I thought I might run over to the studio in the morning and watch your demonstration.” Summer accepted the glass of champagne from her husband. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you cook.”