But that was weakness. Sophie had to get back to the office: call more small stockholders, give more interviews, get her plan out there. The meeting was weeks away; there was no time, not a second, to rest on her laurels.

Work had one other thing to recommend it, she thought, as the sun beat down on the back of her neck; she adjusted her Hermès scarf to keep her pale skin from burning. It was a wonderful distraction. It would take her mind off Tom and all the sacrifices she had to make to do what was best for him, in his interests, though against his will.

Here it was . . . rue Tricot. Sophie sighed, pulled herself upright; she would call Lizzie at Burston-Marseller and see if she couldn’t get herself another couple of interviews this afternoon. Every small shareholder counted; they all had to believe in her....

She walked into the lobby and smiled at the new receptionist, a pudgy, neatly dressed girl called Therese; the girl was wearing a cream twinset with neat Massot pearl earrings; Sophie had issued them with her hiring slip; of course the first face anybody saw must be wearing Massot. All the girls had the earrings, and the security guards on the night shift wore plain gold Massot cuff links in their shirts.

“Good afternoon,” she said.

“Good afternoon, Madame.” Therese smiled easily at her; Sophie was pleased the staff no longer trembled just because she bore Pierre’s name. “How are you?”

“Very well.” Sophie headed for the ancient lift.

“Excuse me, Madame, but you have a visitor. He said he didn’t have an appointment.”

Sophie turned around; there, sitting on the couch, looking suntanned and incredibly handsome, was Hugh Montfort.

She blinked, but it really was him.

Sophie sighed. “Really, Mr. Montfort. Another surprise visit? Shouldn’t you be working on Mayberry’s offer for this company? If you’re still trying to persuade me to sell, you’re wasting your time. I have no intention of giving away my son’s inheritance to a bunch of cowboys hawking blue topaz and vermeil.”

Montfort chuckled. “Blue topaz and vermeil; ouch, that’s cruel.”

“I’m glad you’re amused.” Sophie turned away. “I really don’t have time for this.”

“I’m not here as a representative of Mayberry.” Montfort glanced at the receptionist. “I really would prefer to speak to you privately, but if you aren’t prepared to see me, I shall, of course, withdraw.”

Sophie hesitated; he was too polite to simply dismiss.

“Very well. I can give you ten minutes,” she said, and pressed the button for the elevator.

Sophie asked Celine for some coffee, then closed the door to her office.

“May I sit down?”