But how? Making light conversation with him was certainly easy. During the last quarter century, Hadley had acquired a rich fund of amusing stories, which made him a delightful dinner companion. She watched his friendly eyes, to see if they were indicating that he was also finding her attractive. It was hard to tell. More promising, he was fascinated that she ran a business.

“Since the war,” he said, “a lot of young American city women are going to work. But they never get to run anything. Is it different now, in France?”

“I think it only happens in family businesses,” she said. “But it wasn’t forced on me, and I must say I enjoy it.”

He asked her all sorts of questions about how she ran Joséphine, and her answers seemed to impress him.

“I think you are remarkable,” he said, and she could see that he meant it. Good, she thought. She intrigued him. That was a start.

She asked him one or two innocuous questions about this wife of his, who didn’t like to travel. But she received only innocuous answers. Mrs. Hadley was a good wife and mother. She liked tennis. She had a talent for flower arranging. This was all information that might have been said about any wife, but it was not accompanied by any of the slight inflections that a man sometimes uses to hint that his wife is boring him. She suspected that, even if he were dissatisfied at home, he would never show it. But that was hardly to her purpose.

She reminded him of their visit to Giverny long ago, and he became quite enthusiastic about the subject. She caught a certain light in his eye as he remembered that summer day, but whether it was engendered by herself or by the garden she wasn’t sure.

She also learned that he would be remaining in Paris for another three weeks before taking the liner back to America. So if she was going to spend time with Mr. Hadley while he was in Paris, she had better do it soon.

“Would you like to look over the store?” she suddenly suggested. If he was intrigued by the idea of her business, that seemed a promising venue. Taking him around the offices and the storerooms opened up all sorts of possibilities for moments of private intimacy.

“Yes,” he said. “If it’s not too much trouble, I should.”

“Then telephone me at my office tomorrow,” she said. “I need to check my appointments, but we can arrange a time.”

She felt decidedly pleased with herself. Whether he had understood her design and was complicit she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. She just needed to get him to herself.

A new course was being served. With a charming smile, she turned to talk to the diplomat on her left.