She blushed; the slight vulnerability that betrayed made her all the more appealing to Tom. He looked round once more at the thinning room.

“Would you like to get out of here?” he asked. “My car’s late, but I’m sure we can find a taxi. Maybe there’s a decent café round here. . . .”

He wanted to sober up; cool night air and a decent pot of coffee would be a start.

Judy nodded. “If you hit the side streets there are some excellent places. I know one not far from here where they do wonderful espresso and patisserie.”

Tom said carefully, “That sounds perfect,” and offered her his arm.

Sophie stayed late. When the last guest had gone, and the cleanup crew had started their work, she went over the evening with her staff. There had been nothing but compliments, although Claudette remarked, with delicate tact, that Mme Katherine had not seemed wholly pleased. Sophie waited as they tallied up the night’s sales: two hundred and seventy-three pieces purchased—that was practically one per couple—gross receipts in euros, almost twenty-six million; several of the most important necklaces and bracelets had been among the purchases.

That success was almost immaterial, though, compared to the reaction of the press. They would write the story up, with breathless approval. Sales would soar; the stock price would rise. Sophie exhaled; she was vindicated.

She thanked the staff, sent them home, and got into her waiting car. Richard knew better than to engage her in conversation; the traffic had cleared up, and Sophie was soon out of the city, heading for St.-Aude and the château, alone with her thoughts.

For the first time in months her thoughts drifted back to her husband. She thought of Pierre, how close she had come to losing his legacy, but she thought, with any luck, she had saved it.

It was a clear night; the stars were brilliant in the inky velvet of the sky as the neon haze of Paris receded into the distance. Sophie watched her home, the château, as it loomed into view, grey and forbidding against the moon, but nevertheless, sternly beautiful. What a life, what a gift her marriage had been. For all its flaws, she was beyond material worries. Pierre had not really asked so much of her, after all.

Tonight, she felt with weary satisfaction, she had repaid her debt. In saving all he had worked for, protecting the inheritance of their son. She settled back against the soft leather of the car seat as the tires crunched on the gravel drive.

Sophie felt free. Once this shareholder business was concluded, she would get to work. Real work; expanding, growing House Massot; she would hand it over to Tom, when the time came, in better shape than she’d found it, better even than Pierre had left it.