“Then you may reassure them that their loans will be repaid on time,” Sophie said, calmly.

“And how do you plan to reclaim our customer base? What you see as our customer base,” Judy asked.

Sophie said, “If you’ll just look at the projector, ladies and gentlemen.”

She dimmed the lights in the room and took up the button that controlled the screen. Judy heard a soft click and the screen filled with an image.

Judy stared. She heard slight intakes of breath all around her.

“This is what I’ve been doing for the last few weeks,” Sophie said. “The store designers and I worked in secret; you will excuse me, but I didn’t want our plans to leak out prematurely.”

“It’s quite beautiful, Madame,” a man said, and there was a small ripple of applause in the darkness.

Jealousy surged in Judy’s chest, thick jealousy, and rage. She felt quite light-headed. She was thankful the room was dark; in her lap, her fingers twisted, the knuckles clenched.

She was gazing at a picture of a House Massot showroom.That was what it had to be, but the interior was unrecognizable. Out had gone the long cases, the beige carpet, the dull lighting. Instead, the walls were dressed in a silky, delicate shade of palest pink, the display stands were painted in grass green, and the floors were covered in boards of polished oak. There was natural, recessed lighting in the ceiling; the display cases, instead of lining the walls, were grouped in five or six individual stands, around the room. The dull wheat-coloured linings had been replaced with inky blue velvet, and individual pieces glittered against them; even from the photograph’s distance, you could make out a necklace here, a ring case there. Marble plinths covered in cascading showers of fresh roses, pale greens, pinks, and blues, were everywhere. The effect was supremely feminine, floral, and expensive.

It took Judy’s breath away. She instantly wanted to go shopping.

Sophie pressed the button again. A man and a woman stood in the frame, impeccably dressed. The woman was wearing classic Chanel in pink tweed; the man a sober, dark suit.

“And these are our customers,” Judy said.

Sophie laughed. “Actually, these are our shop assistants. The young woman is Mlle Claudette Chiron, the new manager of our flagship store on rue Faubourg. The young man with her is M. Edouard Peguy, a former history of art student at the Sorbonne. He now manages our store on rue des Princes.”

“They look pretty rich to be shop assistants,” a man said.

“That’s the point; those are the new uniforms. Men’s are made in Savile Row, in England; women’s are by Chanel.”

Judy raised her eyebrows. “We are dressing our shop assistants in Chanel?”