Sophie leaned back on the gold brocade of the sofa, feeling almost dizzy with relief. See! She thought triumphantly. He is asking me to stay. . . . No emotional blackmail. . . . Father is wrong about him.

“No, Gregoire,” she said. “There’s no need for me to stay there anymore. I’m sure you’re doing a perfectly fine job. Judy tells me you are, and she’s a bright woman. And I looked up the stock price—I see it’s risen, like you said. Nine percent.” She glanced at the reports she’d brought with her, stacked neatly on top of a desk. “I trust you,” she said, and felt the weight lift off her shoulders as she did.

“You trust me,” Gregoire said. He sounded overjoyed, almost weepy. “You trust me,” he repeated. “Sophie—that means so much.”

“You’re welcome.” She was pleased at his emotion, maybe just a little surprised.

“I wonder if I could come over and visit you. Nothing to do with the office. I should just like to see you,” he said.

Sophie’s face lit up. She was right! Gregoire was holding back because she worked with him. Now he’d come to her, and tell her the truth—he loved her.

“Please do,” she said, trying to keep it light.

“I shall be there in half an hour. I can’t wait,” Lazard told her.

Sophie hung up, hugging herself. Neither can I, she thought. Neither can I!

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The Palace d’Épée, a sixteenth-century Italianate building nestled inconspicuously on rue de la République, was alight. The gates that protected its fine old courtyard from passing traffic of foot and car had been thrown open; huge torches flamed along the lawns, illuminating the uniformed flunkies who were directing limousines to the paved parking lot in the back. Normally, the palace was a rather uninspired museum of Roman Gaul and France under the Merovingians, but tonight, Hugh thought, it had reacquired a touch of its pre-Revolutionary lustre. His own limousine was in a long queue to get to the front, where a security guard, immaculately polite yet well-armed, would check his details. There were policemen and secret service agents everywhere; his soldier’s eye picked them out easily enough.

Hugh supposed it was hardly surprising. Le tout Paris would be here tonight. He knew of three ambassadors who were attending, including the American one. It was a benefit for literacy programmes, hosted by the wife of the president of France; attendance was practically compulsory. Louis Maitre had to pull strings to get him in this late, but he’d managed it.

Hugh made a note; the man deserved a bonus. He was a little attack dog, worrying away at Hugh’s problems like a terrier.

Ah, they were there at last.

“Name.”

“Hugh Montfort.”

The man scanned his list. “The Honourable Hugh Montfort?”

“Yes,” Hugh said.

“Your driver may pull up, Monsieur. You are seated at table twenty-three.”