“The shareholders can’t wait to dump Sophie Massot, from what I’m hearing. Spoiled bitch,” she said with contempt. “People have their savings in that company. But she’s too rich to care.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Sure we do. When you sit on your ass for ten years, then come in and destroy something, that’s all we need to know. Well, she’ll be out in three months.” The girl nodded at him. “Good to meet you,” she said and, mercifully, walked out.

He waited five minutes, enough for her to clear the lobby, and then left the hotel himself. The day was strangely cool, foggy and with a chill in the air, freak weather blowing into the heat of the Parisian summer; Hugh did not mind the cold snap. He wanted to walk and to clear his head.

Was Sophie Massot a spoiled bitch?

On paper, everything confirmed it. And yet, he nonetheless thought not. There was that one, surprising encounter at the library benefit.

He had remembered her, often, in fact. The unsurpassed elegance of her raven silk ball gown and teardrop briolettes; she was breathtaking. And attractive in the most dangerous way, more than superficially. Her face was pretty enough, considered conventionally, but nothing out of the ordinary. Sophie Massot’s charm was in her elegance, her style, and more than that, her personal dignity.

Women made Hugh Montfort edgy, pleased, aroused, in turn; they did not often make him feel small. But Sophie had sharply corrected his arrogance. He admired her for it.

He walked through the drizzle, grey skies matching the grey stones of the city. It had been a snapshot of a woman, nothing more. And yet, she interested him.

Sophie Massot was a puzzle. Nothing about her bearing fit the facts.

He had reached the Left Bank, and realized he was heading for rue Faubourg and the Massot showroom. Hugh had been given a brief. The showrooms were redesigned, and foot traffic appeared to be slightly up, but nothing to cause them any alarm. A non-event, then.

He still wanted to see it for himself.

There was a doorman outside, in a navy uniform and old-fashioned cap, who sprang to open the door.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning.” Hugh nodded. If that was the first change, he approved of it. He noticed everything: the man’s immaculate, wrinkle-free uniform, his pleasant manners; the gleaming brass trim on the new glass doors, and the heavy, reassuring heft of them as they opened. Soundproofing, he thought, and was proven right because as the door closed behind him, it swallowed up whole the sounds of the street, the hum of people and traffic.

He took everything in with a quick glance, and was immediately impressed.