“Ladies, monsieur.” Sophie smiled at the vultures with an effortless grace that renewed his admiration of her. “I’m about to give a speech, and after that, you may ask all the questions you want. Excuse me, please.”

She nodded gracefully to them and stepped aside, through the crowd, towards a dais where a microphone, wreathed in flowers, had been set up.

The reporters looked at Hugh, but his face was granite. They knew they would get nothing there, so they melted away, looking for Judy Dean.

Sophie stepped up, lifting her skirts with her hands; they were delicate but a little weatherbeaten; Montfort thought of her spending time in a garden, bent over and covered in dirt; it was an appealing picture.

She moved towards the microphone, and he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the reporters swarm around the American girl. Her face was alight. She was, he knew, briefing them against Sophie. Subtly, but that’s what she was doing.

He made a decision. Whatever else happened, he would disabuse Mme Massot about her protégée. Sophie played a straight bat; she deserved at least that much from him.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” Sophie’s soft tones, her flawless French, rang out over the room, and there was instant silence.

Hugh watched the crowd. Tom Massot and the mother-in-law in the corner, staring up coldly. There was trouble there. The reporters, eyes gleaming; Judy Dean, with a rigid air of triumph; the guests, appreciative and warm, many of them with priceless pieces dangling from their hands.

“Thank you all very much indeed for giving us the pleasure of your company this evening. Tonight marks the relaunch of House Massot, which my late husband founded.”

Montfort watched the younger Massot struggle with himself.

“Pierre made this one of the great houses of France, one that would export the classic French tradition of excellence in bespoke jewellery all over the world. Tonight I honour him, and his vision. I hope that some of you may choose to purchase some of the pieces laid out for your perusal, and whether you do or not, may I wish you all a very pleasant evening.”

There was an immediate, warm, round of applause. Sophie lifted her head; the diamonds in her ears, pink as the first blush of dawn, glittered beautifully in the spotlight.

“Do any of you have any questions?” she asked. She looked directly at the three reporters, standing next to Judy Dean.

She’s fearless, Montfort thought, absolutely fearless.

“Yes.” The black-clad old witch was not impressed by Sophie’s courage or her poise. “Can you explain to my readers why your guests are being allowed to handle all these incredibly expensive jewels, without any security inside the party?”

“Certainly.” Sophie smiled back softly. “You see,” she said, “we are all ladies and gentlemen here.”