“Yes, there’s no doubt about that, unfortunately.” Hugh decided not to sugarcoat it. “There were multiple times, even within Mayberry, which makes mass-market jewels, that I had to stop him from trashing the quality of the product. I wanted Mayberry to be another Tiffany. Lines of avant-garde jewels. Stockton would always argue for the cheaper stones with poorer quality, or that we should downgrade the gold—ten karat, for example, instead of fourteen . . .”

“Ten-karat gold? Women’s fingers would stain. That’s not really gold at all.”

“Of course not. But his instinct is always to save money. He has no conception of quality or of branding.”

Sophie sighed. “I pity the shareholders, not just Tom.”

“They made their choice when they sold to him.”

“Well, mostly they sold to you.”

Hugh inclined his head. “True. But it’s no good to cry about it, Sophie. That’s business. And no matter how glorious the product—in Massot’s case, sheer beauty—it’s still, in the end, just business.”

“I don’t think so,” Sophie said. “Consider this. Massot was built up in one generation . . .”

“Two, if you count Pierre’s uncle. Wasn’t he a jeweller?”

“A jeweller and a watchmaker, but having one small atelier on the Right Bank in the sixties is hardly an empire. Nothing happened until Pierre built Massot up.”

“Yes. The man sounds like a first-class weasel, but he knew his jewels,” Hugh conceded. “And he had an impressively ruthless business style. I admit that.”

“And if he built up House Massot in one generation . . .” Sophie slipped off the chaise and started to walk around the room. She was magnificent to watch, and he enjoyed it: the silk pooling around her long, slender frame, her eyes alight with enthusiasm, her hands gesticulating. “Then why can’t somebody else do it? Why can’t somebody else do the same? Why not us?”

“Start a jewellery business?”

“House Montfort. Why not? The letter M seems to be in vogue in gems these days.” She was joking, but, he saw clearly, she was also quite serious. Sophie came back to him and grasped his hands. “Look, Hugh.” She spoke urgently. “You’re a wonderful businessman. With an incredible record. You could get a loan. I’m sure investors would fall over themselves to lend you money. And my party, my redecoration—it got some press; I could design the showrooms for you.”

Hugh chuckled.

“You think it’s a stupid idea?”

“Certainly not. I’m only laughing because I had planned on suggesting it to you.”

She beamed. “You mean you want to? Start a company with me?”

“I certainly do.” He pulled her close and kissed her. “A company. A marriage. A life. The works.”

Chapter 42

Chapter 42

Judy had a plan. And it was a simple one.

Show Tom Massot a good time.