“Margot, you’re too sweet,” Sophie said automatically. Her eyes scanned the table: six of Pierre’s favourite people, favourites in that they were all titled or very rich indeed, and to her right, a politician, a junior minister in the culture department, the “spare man.” He’d been ogling her hopefully all evening, but she could barely respond to his energetic compliments and polite conversation about the château.

Oh hell, I wish Gregoire were here, she thought.

Of course he couldn’t be with her every moment. He had come out to the country, or had her to lunch, every day since she’d left the firm; ever since the day she’d decided not to come in anymore, and Gregoire had driven straight out to the country, kissed her hand, and told her that he loved her.

Sophie toyed with her duck and champagne. Yes, she would think about Gregoire, that was the way to go. He had taken her in his arms and kissed her, in a very practiced way, and although she’d been stiff, and resisting, he hadn’t minded. He told her he knew she was Catholic, and he would wait. . . .

But I was expecting to melt, she thought. Oh well, perhaps it was just lack of practice. It had been seven years, after all.

This train of thought was not completely satisfactory, but she forced herself to consider Gregoire’s kindness, his willingness not to push, to go at her pace. And he’d called and sent flowers every day and come as often as possible; of course there would occasionally be nights when he had to work.

In fact before this evening, she reflected guiltily, she’d almost been looking forward to it. Just a little. Well, before he declared himself she’d been longing for him to say something, and now that he didn’t leave her alone, she wanted a break. I’m just perverse, Sophie thought.

But she’d certainly changed her mind when Hugh Montfort appeared. She wanted Gregoire then. He would have told him where to go.

When Sophie thought it was safe, she snuck in a couple of looks over to Montfort’s table. He was seated so she could only see the back of him, but he appeared unfazed by her rebukes. He was deep in animated conversation with the other benefactors. She’d thought that at the very least he would have stormed out.

As soon as it was safe, Sophie excused herself and made her way to the cloakroom. She summoned her driver and waited impatiently for him to come around.

From time to time she glanced back nervously into the hall. Had Montfort seen her leave? She was sure he must have. But he hadn’t followed her. She rehearsed two or three put-downs, just in case he did.