“I was hoping,” he said, “that a good dinner with me might reduce some of those pressures. But I will understand if you feel unable to, right now. In which case I shall return with the request once the Mayberry bid is decided.”

“No, it’s all right.” Sophie smiled weakly at him. “I think I’m tired of sitting here calculating what people will think.”

“I’m pleased,” he said softly; Sophie looked down. “Can I pick you up from this office?”

“Better not.” She could imagine the stories. “Do you know where my house is?”

“The Château des Étoiles? Very well. It’s quite magnificent.”

“I would rather not meet there, either. At least, not yet.”

“I understand.”

“There’s a little restaurant in St.-Aude, the village. The last time I went there it was with Judy Dean, but I can’t let that spoil it for me.”

“Fruits de la Mer; I’ve heard of it.”

“I’ll book a table for eight.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Montfort stood, smiled at her, and walked out.

There was a knock on the door; it was Celine with Sophie’s coffee.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Madame.” Celine could not contain her curiosity. “What was that about?”

“Just business,” Sophie lied airily. She took a sip; it was cinnamon-scented, her favourite. Her mood had lifted. All of a sudden, things didn’t seem quite so black or so desperate.

She smiled warmly at her secretary.

“Madame, I was wondering,” Celine began.

Sophie sighed. What next?

“About the invitations to your party, Madame. There are some leftover . . .”

“I don’t think that’s a problem.”

“Oh! No, Madame. I was just wondering if . . .” Celine’s courage failed her. “If I might . . .”

Sophie smiled; light dawned. “You would like one of the brooches?”

“If it’s all right, Madame. They are very beautiful, and I could never afford . . .”

“Take them all.” Sophie pulled open her desk drawer and fished out the last four envelopes.

Celine stared. “Oh, thank you, Madame! Thank you so much! I don’t know how to thank you!”

“Well, you can start by getting me Burston-Marseller on the phone,” Sophie said, grinning. “Right away.”

“Of course.” Celine fled back outside her office, clutching her prizes, and within thirty seconds Sophie’s phone was lit up.

She took the call, glancing at the clock on the wall. Half three. Time for one radio interview. Then she would have Richard drive her home.

The rigours of the day had exhausted her. Thank God for coffee, she thought. All Sophie really wanted to do was get back to the château, take a long, luxuriant bath, and dress for dinner.

Something stirred inside her when she thought of Montfort, and however her son might disapprove, Sophie was determined to be beautiful.

“Well, you kept your word,” Sophie said. “You were waiting.”

Montfort stood up as she approached the table.