Celine Bousset was prepared for anything.

She was having a wonderful morning. First, Rene, her boyfriend of three years, had dropped a hint that he might finally be ready to marry her. She’d been ecstatic, of course, and then when he’d left for work, suddenly started to wonder if, in fact, she wanted to marry him.

The thought had lasted all through her careful breakfast of black coffee and a very small croissant; Celine was watching her figure. She wasn’t far off thirty, and she’d heard too many horror stories about one’s metabolism screeching to a halt and suddenly landing you with thirty pounds before you knew where you were. Beauty and slimness were almost synonymous, as far as Celine was concerned; she wanted to keep herself attractive for as long as possible, in that effortless way Sophie Massot managed it.

It was also sunny. And the party had been a success.There were still four invitations left over, kept as last-minute spares, but nobody had needed them; that meant four beautiful brooches. There were a tulip, a comet, a hare, and an ox; Celine was hoping to drop a hint, maybe Sophie would give her the hare.

She’d set the stage. Her boss, whom she adored, was endlessly generous and kind, if a little naive, but it didn’t hurt to be ready. Celine had tidied Sophie’s office with extra care, chosen especially gorgeous flowers—creamy, scented orange blossoms and pale green roses—picked a very smart outfit of her own, a crisp navy skirt suit with a white cotton shirt, and finally, as a crowning touch, had picked up some of that flavoured American coffee Mme Massot was fond of, cinnamon, and decanted it from its white paper holder into a bone china cup. It was still piping hot when Sophie had gone into her office; Celine had timed it perfectly.

The little buzzer on her phone went off.

“Yes, Madame?”

“Could you come in here a moment, Celine? Ask the switchboard to take all my calls for a few minutes.”

“Certainly, Madame,” Celine said brightly. She thought she would ask for the hare, although the comet was very pretty too, with pavé diamonds along its tail to make it sparkle. The hare was simply gold, but she preferred its design; there was a fluidity to the running animal that Celine thought the picture of grace. Even with her raise, she could never afford a brooch like that. The most she could hope for in the way of jewellery would be the no-doubt tiny ring Rene would present her with. If she let him, that is.

She knocked on the door. Sophie was sitting in her chair, looking thoughtful. She was wearing shades of olive and forest green that set off her colouring wonderfully. So elegant, Celine thought. Her husband really must have been some kind of fool. . . .

“Close the door behind you; sit down, please.”