“And then, if you have the time, perhaps I could take you out to lunch, and give you an overview of the company and where we stand. It is important for you to judge our stewardship of Pierre’s legacy.”

Sophie smiled. “Thank you, yes. I should like that very much.” He was very kind and not in the least intimidating, despite being so tall.

“Me too. It’s so nice to really talk to you, Madame. I wish it could be on a more auspicious occasion.”

“Please call me Sophie,” she said.

“Then, Gregoire.”

Gregoire took her around the building, steering her slight body with his huge one. He was very protective and chivalrous, opening every door, summoning the staff with a snap of his fingers. There were many of them to remember, but that was one thing Sophie felt confident about; painful years of being forcibly turned into the perfect hostess, for Pierre, had trained her, given her an almost perfect recall of names and faces. They were mostly men: Jean-Paul Roubin, wiry, fifties, the head of sales; Richard Roget, a bulldog of a man, acquisitions; Felix Petot, also squat, and a nose flushed from wine, an unlikely head of designers. The head of public relations was a M. Keroualle, in New York today apparently, but his deputy was an attractive, rather hard-looking woman called Judy Dean. She was the easiest to remember of all the vice presidents; the only American and the only woman.

“Glad to meet you,” Judy said, shaking Sophie’s hand with a firm grip.

Sophie inventoried her: an elegant suit in raspberry wool, rather a bold colour choice, and very small, but flawless diamond studs. Her hair was a touch too short for real beauty, but she was very striking, no doubt. It was a short-sleeved suit and Sophie couldn’t help but note the marvellously toned arms.

She felt slightly inadequate. She was a member of four of five of Paris’s most exclusive health clubs, but hadn’t darkened their doors for months. Sophie thought she would feel foolish, taking up free weights and jogging shoes in her late thirties, but this girl did it, and she couldn’t be that much younger, and she looked fantastic.

“Delighted. Thank you for all the hard work you do for us,” Sophie said.

“Well, thank you for my salary.” The younger woman smiled, to show it was a joke.

“There aren’t that many women working at House Massot,” Sophie remarked.

“No. So many still prefer to stay home,” Judy said coolly.

Sophie paused. Was the younger woman attacking her? But she was smiling, with those very American, brilliantly white teeth.

“I suppose so. But I’m glad you’re here; it will be good to have another woman’s opinion while I’m looking over the firm.”

“Any way I can assist you, Mrs. Massot. Just let me know.”

“Judy is one of our rising stars,” Gregoire chimed in.