The room was carpeted with a thick blue weave, navy, and its walls were painted in soothing Wedgwood blue. On the long table were vases of cream and pink roses, a cheerful splash of colour, heavily scented, and in front of the old couple, and all the executives seated around them, were glasses of fresh citrons pressés with crushed ice. Everything had been done to make the atmosphere pleasant. But it did not help him much.

Herr Brandt did not want to be here. He lived with Gertrud, quietly, in a small village near Wengen, in Switzerland; one without too many ski runs. It escaped the worst of the tourists in winter and was sheer delight in summer. His house was very comfortably appointed, with the fees from twenty years of designing jewels for House Massot; he hated to leave it.The Brandts’ concessions to the modern world were as few as they could manage: a studio, for sketching new designs; a workshop, attached to the house; and a fax machine. If he had to communicate with Paris, that was the way he preferred to do it.

But the skinny, hard-looking American girl in the rich clothes had rung them and insisted. And Gertrud told Heinrich not to say no. They should have saved more, but their eldest daughter had gotten married and needed an apartment, and property in Geneva . . . while Hans, their son, had gotten it into his head he wanted to take an MBA at Harvard.

This cost money. A lot of money.

Heinrich knew only that House Massot was in big trouble, and there was a possibility his checks would stop coming. He fretted about it. He was presently sixty-five. What other house would take on a designer from a firm that was about to go bust? Harvard was off, and the Geneva flat would need remortgaging. He thanked God he owned his chalet free and clear.

This had to be bad news. Heinrich glanced out of rheumy eyes at his wife. Her sharp gaze was scanning the room, taking it all in, as he had. For all the convivial arrangements—there was a sideboard laden with coffee, warm croissants, fruit, and charcuterie—nobody seemed relaxed. The men and American woman were sitting there, as tense as he was. Perhaps they too were anxious about money. But then again, who was not?

He understood that changes had come since the widow of the founder took over. Heinrich disliked all change, especially when it affected him. His wrinkled hands gripped the tall glass of citrons pressés and he took a nervous sip. It was delicious, but he would have preferred a shot of schnapps.