The taxi drew up; Montfort paid and led Elizabeth into the restaurant. They were seated immediately, and she tried to relax; the sumptuous surroundings and quiet hum of monied diners made her slightly uneasy.

“It’s just good food.”

She smiled; he was a real old-fashioned gentleman, Hugh Montfort, trying to put her at her ease.

“So what’s good here?” she asked.

“I can confidently say, everything,” Hugh said. “Shall we start with some appetizers?”

He ordered a couple of glasses of champagne, Perrier Jouët La Cuvée Belle Epoque, and smoked oysters for himself.

“Oh, pick for me,” Elizabeth said. Her French was shaky, and the menu seemed frighteningly complex.

“Very well.” Hugh ordered her a salad of Breton lobster and white beans, followed by lamb brochettes in a thyme sauce.

The food was, indeed, outstanding; Elizabeth chewed slowly, savouring each bite; she ate with Hugh in companionable silence for a few minutes.

It took another glass of champagne before she got the courage to ask, “Why did he do that?”

Montfort shook his head. “He has always disliked me, but apart from that I see no reason for it.”

“Was it Mrs. Massot’s party?” Elizabeth pressed timidly.

“That’s an excuse.” Hugh gazed down at his meal. “No, something’s happening that gave him the courage to dismiss me.”

“But why? It’s insane. Without you there wouldn’t even be a Mayberry.”

He smiled thinly. “I believe I have made some difference to the company’s shareholders, yes.”

“What are you going to do?” Elizabeth Percy was pink-cheeked with outrage. “You have to sue them, sir—I mean, Hugh.”

“I shall do no such thing,” Hugh shrugged. “There’s no need; I have every confidence that the business press will represent my service to the company for what it was. Lawsuits are expensive and long-winded, as well as terminally dull.”

“Then you’ll go to somebody else? To Cartier. Or Tiffany.”

Montfort shook his head. “Fifteen years at Mayberry haven’t made me too many friends.”

Elizabeth said fiercely, “Start your own business then. You can do it better than any of them.”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Not yet, anyway. It’s almost always a mistake to make major decisions on the spur of the moment.”

Elizabeth fretted. “But you need to work, Mr.—Hugh. You need to have something to occupy you. You’ve always been like that. Otherwise you’ll . . .”

She realized she was getting too close to the truth for comfort, and her voice trailed off.

“I’ll think too much about my wife?” he asked gently.

She blushed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“It’s quite all right. I’m just surprised you knew.” Montfort looked closer at Mrs. Percy, as though seeing her for the first time. “Did other staff talk about that? In the London office?”