“Just a bottle of Perrier. It’s a business meeting.”

“Very good, sir,” said the waiter, vanishing.

“If you can bear it, I will summarize the position for you,” Gregoire said to her. He was all seriousness, and Sophie willed herself to concentrate and not think about his charming manners or the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Naturally I will provide you with all the reports and documentation when we get back to the office. But for now, an overview?”

“That would be fine.”

He sketched things out for her. House Massot was thriving. The stock price had increased by 9 percent since the disappearance of Pierre. The jewellery business was magnificent; they boasted some of the world’s finest pieces, and their reputation was undimmed. Accessories and fashion continued steady—though there had been some slight resistance to the last collection, his excellent PR department was working to overcome it.

“Judy Dean,” Sophie said, recalling the hard-looking girl in the raspberry suit.

“She is very efficient.”

“I am sure she is.”

Gregoire Lazard paused. “Perhaps you would like to get to know her better; as you said, she is the most senior woman at Massot. Apart from yourself, of course.”

“I’m hardly ‘at Massot,’ ” Sophie said.

He smiled back at her. “We all work for you; you must get used to it.”

Sophie loved how he did that. He was so respectful, and he treated her without any condescension.

“I would like to get to know her, although I probably shan’t stay long in the office.”

Gregoire groaned. “You’re not going to run away to the château and leave me all alone again, doing boring business all day long?”

She giggled. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“You have no idea of the tedium.”

“Well,” Sophie said. She paused as the waiter laid their dishes in front of them and withdrew. “You seem to have everything under control, Gregoire, so I’m afraid I shan’t spend more than a week or so over there once I have read all the papers.”

“The papers?”

“Yes, the papers and reports you said you would give me.”

“Oh, those.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Of course you want to read them. I had hoped to save you the trouble.”

“I suppose I had better check over everything,” Sophie said apologetically.

“But certainly,” he said, grinning. “Why should I be the only one to suffer?”

She took a bite of her salad. It was exceptional: the beans were fresh and crisp, the salad dressing used lemon juice instead of vinegar, and they had added some fresh chopped herbs that made the whole thing smell like summer. She saw that the new potatoes were flecked with tiny specks of truffles, and sighed with pleasure.

Gregoire was poised over his steak, which looked excellent, very tender and bloody. He nodded towards her salad.