Sophie blinked. The girl was no more than nineteen, with dyed blonde hair cut just below her chin in a long bob. She had a pretty face and undistinguished brown eyes, and was wearing jeans and what looked like a man’s shirt, thin red stripes on white.

“Sorry, I must have picked the wrong house,” Sophie said, in confusion. The development was expensive, but the houses were identical.

But then she heard heavier footsteps; she recognized them; they were his. Gregoire came running downstairs, smiling at her, and opened the door. He was wearing a white shirt, a tie, and trousers, and smelled of aftershave. He kissed her hand, gallantly.

“Chérie!” he said. “Welcome; it’s so good to see you.”

Sophie stared uncertainly at the young woman.

“Excuse me,” Gregoire said. “This is Lise, my new assistant. Lise—this is the lady I’ve been telling you about, Mme Massot, who owns the company.”

“Delighted to meet you, Madame,” Lise said. “It’s a great honour.”

Sophie shook hands, feeling stupid.

“We decided to come back here and work, as there was such a quantity of it; it’s late, and I thought I should at least buy Lise a pizza,” Gregoire said. Sophie glanced into his sitting room; there was indeed a pizza box open on his expensive green-glass coffee table. She smiled.

“I didn’t think you were a pizza kind of guy.”

“From time to time,” he said. “Come in, come in.”

The young girl stood aside as Sophie moved into the hallway.

“Wow, what a dress,” she said.

“Thank you,” Sophie replied, a little awkwardly. She looked at Gregoire, who immediately came to her rescue. “Lise, since Mme Massot is here, I’ll knock off for the night. You can finish typing everything up at home.”

“Uh, yes, Monsieur,” said the girl.

“Just make sure you’re in early—seven thirty,” Gregoire said easily.

“Yes, Monsieur. Good night, Madame. Nice to meet you.”

“And you,” Sophie said, glad when the door had shut behind her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart; I didn’t think you’d still be working, really, at this hour.”

“We were almost done.” Gregoire clasped her hand. “I’m so glad you’re here; you’re so much more interesting than dull work on diamond suppliers. Allow me,” and he slipped off her silver coat. “It is a fabulous dress, darling. Did you manage to survive the evening without me?”

“Funny you should ask,” Sophie said, sitting down on one of his woven-leather chairs. She felt on more familiar ground now; jealousy of a secretary, what could be more stupid? “I met someone unexpected.”

“And who was that?” Lazard moved into the kitchen. “Tea? Coffee? A digestif?”

“Something decaffeinated, if you have it. Chamomile would be lovely. Anyway, it was Hugh Montfort.”

Sophie watched Gregoire as he busied himself in his sleek chrome kitchen; his back stiffened.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Perfectly; he introduced himself to me.”