The next day she casually asked Claire if she had any plans for seeing young Frank that week, and learned that she was taking him to a fashion show at Chanel the following day.

“It’s a small afternoon show for some of her customers, but he’s never been to such a thing.”

Perfect. With Claire and Hadley Junior otherwise engaged, she would have his father entirely to herself. She smiled at her daughter kindly.

“Enjoy yourselves.”

So she was more than a little surprised and vexed, an hour later, when instead of a call from Mr. Hadley, she received a visit from her brother.

“Hadley just called me. He’s asking if he can see us. Just you and me. Privately. He wonders if we could meet at his apartment. It’s not far.”

“I suppose so. When?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

The apartment was on the third floor, in a big, ornate mansion block. It had a handsome double salon whose windows looked over the leafy, well-tended walks of the Parc Monceau. It was furnished in the rich style—heavy carpets and hangings, gilded ornaments, Louis XV furniture—so favored by the great banking families of the late nineteenth century. Not quite Hadley’s style perhaps, but he seemed to be enjoying it as a place to stay.

As soon as they’d sat down, he came straight to the point.

“We know each other well enough to be completely honest with each other,” he said, “so I want to ask you both. What are we to do about my son and Claire?”

Marie sat up sharply. She looked at Marc, who seemed quite unfazed.

“Are you suggesting they’ve …”

“No. My son assures me not, and I believe him. But he’s falling in love with her.”

“Have they really had time to be so much in love?” Marc asked.

“I don’t know. But the first thing Frank told me when I arrived was that he’s glad I’ve come, because he thinks he’s found the girl he wants to marry.”

“I’m against it,” said Marie.

“Why?” asked Marc.

“Because I don’t see young Frank in France for the rest of his life, and I don’t see Claire in America.”

“You’ve never been to America,” Marc pointed out. “By the way,” he asked his sister, “has Claire talked to you about this?”

“No. She hasn’t.”

“I’m surprised,” said Hadley.

“The young are strange,” said Marie crossly. “I don’t understand them.”

“What surprises me,” Hadley remarked, “is that neither of you have mentioned the question of religion. My son is not a Catholic.”

Marc shrugged. He didn’t care.

“Claire’s life has been a little unusual. One could say that she has been brought up to be both,” Marie said. And she explained the bargain that James Fox had originally struck with her father.

“I had no idea,” said Hadley.