“While my husband has been gone,” Judy stiffened, but Sophie did not see it, “House Massot has lost its soul. We have diversified, with no success. The fashion division is an embarrassment.”

There were murmurs of agreement.

“Our jewellery has lost ground to Tiffany, to Cartier, and especially to Mayberry. But it is different from all those houses. We are more individual than either Tiffany or Cartier. Our pieces are designed by Heinrich and Gertrud, made by skilled artisans. They are one-off—they are bespoke. And at the same time, the prices reflect this.” Sophie glanced at Judy. “I’m afraid we’ve been advertising where there are no customers. We are haute couture, and whatever we may do in the future, at present we need our core customers back.”

She paused.

“They will not return with the way House Massot is now. Shabby stores filled with underpaid attendants who do not love jewellery and who take no pride in either their work or appearance. Pieces crowded together, their beauty unable to breathe. And our marque devalued by the travesty of a fashion division that nobody wears and nobody buys.”

“But change will take years,” said one of the executives, a man, combatively.

Sophie shook her head. “We do not have years, Monsieur.”

“To reform the fashion division? Find new designers . . . spend on advertising . . .”

“I am closing the fashion division, effective immediately,” Sophie said flatly.

The man blinked. “You can’t.”

“I can. And as of nine o’clock this morning, I have.”

Judy spluttered, “But—but those are assets. All the stock. The collections. We could sell them, find a buyer . . .”

“And have them go out with the name Massot? It will devalue the jewellery.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Judy protested, forgetting herself. She thought of all the pleading, all the jockeying, the work she had done over that stupid label. The endless calls to New York, the bribes to journalists at the fashion shows in Milan and Paris, even London—no show had been too minor for her, when she was grubbing for notice.

And for what? Sophie was junking it.

“Judy,” she said. “Let me ask you. Would you wear it?”

Judy swallowed hard. She was forced to reply, “No.”

“No more would I. I went to Maison de Lis yesterday to have my hair done.” That was one of the most expensive and chic salons in Paris; Judy saved up to go there once a year for her signature cut, which she then had trimmed at cheaper places. She nodded.

“It was very crowded,” Sophie said, relentlessly. “I saw Prada, I saw Versace, I saw Richard Tyler, I saw Chloé . . . I never saw one Massot piece. Not even a bag.”

“The banks won’t let you eliminate those assets,” another man said.

“They have no choice. They lent money to the company, not to a division. And the loans are not due for three months.”

“I am already taking calls from our bankers,” he insisted, anxiously.