“You can have it,” Sophie said. “It’s only a sample. We sent Baronne de Chantilly a stallion. She keeps a large stable of horses.”

“Well,” said Judy, before she could stop herself. “Isn’t that just lovely,” and she turned and walked out of Sophie’s office.

There’s something wrong with that girl, Sophie thought. Maybe she was working her too hard. But it couldn’t be helped, not at the moment. The future of the House hung in the balance.

After the party . . . that’s when she would give Judy a vacation.

Clutching the brooch in her hand, Judy raced from the office. She saw the new girl on reception, a mousy brunette, and told her to direct all calls to Marie. And then, as she emerged into the blazing sunlight of rue Tricot, she was free.

Judy pulled her sunglasses from her bag and took off her cardigan. Her reflection, attractive and slim, stared encouragingly back at her from the window of the pharmacy opposite the office, and the approving glances of the women passing her warmed her like the sunshine on her skin.

She headed to the Left Bank and hailed a taxi.

“L’hôtel Crillon,” she said. “Vite!”

It was still only half eight. Sophie had arrived early. With any luck, her quarry would still be there.

Hugh Montfort glanced over his agenda. Mrs. Percy had faxed it to him promptly at seven. She had offered to come to Paris, but he didn’t think it necessary, at least, not yet. The office in London had to be manned. And anyway, he could summon her and have her here in a few hours if it came to it.

His first meeting was due to start in twenty minutes. The M&A team, over from Boston, were putting the finishing touches to their offer. Montfort had to review the financial PR one last time, and after that, House Massot would be in play.

It was going well. He had a splendid appetite and had ordered a large, French breakfast—pastries, coffee, some delicious cured ham, tiny cheeses—it felt rather indulgent to be packing these away at breakfast, but he enjoyed every bite. The hotel had a good gym, and a large pool; he had enjoyed a fifty-lengths swim at day-break; then towelled off and completed a punitive circuit on the rowing machine, and followed that up with weights. His muscles were now pleasantly warm, the endorphins from his workout mingling with the pleasure of the coffee and food, and perhaps the anticipation of battle.

There were still some variables. His lack of knowledge of quite what Sophie Massot was planning. Louis Maitre had hit a brick wall; it had to happen sometime. But he thought, on reflection, that he may have been overly concerned. House Massot’s share price was in free fall, and she had barely three months. What could she possibly do in that time?