“But it is the great triumph of House Massot. At least, that’s what all the rumours say.”

“They are just rumours. The House will triumph again, of course—after I have taken over.”

The girl’s pinched face clouded in confusion. “You are not throwing this party, Monsieur?”

“My mother and I have a minor disagreement,” Tom said with dignity. “And please call me Tom.” He wanted to change the subject. “I like that brooch,” he said.

Her eyes bugged. “But it’s Massot,” she said. “Your mother sent it to me. Well, she sent one to everybody who was invited. Not a crab, like mine. But a brooch, anyway. A different one for everybody.”

Tom paused. “Let me get this straight, Minette,” he said. “My mother sent an original Massot piece to everybody she invited to this party?”

“That’s right.” The girl smiled her bad teeth at him. “And do you know, Tom, everybody’s just delighted. . . .”

He felt sick. So—his dear maman was turning House Massot jewels into cheap promotional freebies? Tom was sure Papa would be turning over in his grave—no, not that; would be furious. When he came home.

“I expect they are very pleased to receive a House Massot piece for nothing,” he answered coldly. “Whether the shareholders will enjoy this recklessness is another matter.”

“So . . . you won’t be coming?”

She really was as thick as pigswill. “Excuse me,” he said stiffly, and walked away.

Katherine was holding court on a chaise longue at one end of the salon. A crowd of young people had gathered around her, and she was talking animatedly, waving her splendid filigree ivory fan. Her eyes lit up as Tom approached, clutching his champagne flute as though it were a lifesaver.

“Ah, there you are, darling. I thought we had lost you forever.”

“My apologies, Grandmother. I was talking with Minette Roux.”

“A very charming young woman,” his grandmother pronounced.

“Tom, Mme Katherine was just telling us stories of your father,” Margot de Fortuny said. “All about his first atelier on rue d’Agusseau. And his first piece, the eagle brooch. Holding the diamond.”

Tom softened. “That is magnificent. Still the greatest piece House Massot ever made.”

That brooch was now the logo of the House; his father, Maman had told him, repurchased it at incredible cost from the private collection of an infanta of Spain, and it was now housed under a glass case in Papa’s old sitting room, in the château.

“Oh, I love all House Massot’s jewellery,” said Louise Tatin, sycophantically.

“And I.” Julie Heberge, a young baronne, smiled at him. “The brooch your mother sent me when she invited me to her party—quite charming, I assure you. A spider, made from solid gold, with the tiniest eyes of jet. . . .”

Tom nodded. “Have you heard about this party, Grandmother?”

Katherine looked at him calmly. “Of course I have, darling. All Paris has heard of it.”