The inaugural coffee of the day had been transferred by Nic to a thermos and placed on her desk along with Laure’s schedule. She sat down, placed her bag under the desk and tapped in ‘Vet, Canal Saint-Martin’ into Google. Seconds later, she was on the phone and making an appointment.

‘Didn’t know you had a cat,’ said Nic.

‘I don’t.’

He sent her a look. ‘The schedule needs your OK.’

She glanced over it. An interview with a freelance journalist was slotted for mid-morning. ‘Oh God.’

Clever Nic had become expert in managing Laure’s reactions. ‘I arranged it so it’s done with before lunch. It will all be over by the time you tuck into your frites.’

‘Frites!’ She glanced up. He was smiling. She grinned reluctantly. ‘Who?’

‘She says she’s got top contacts who would look at her pitch.’

Laure rolled her eyes. ‘In a previous life, I must have sinned greatly.’

At his nicest, Nic could be flexible. Other times, he was up there with Caligula and Stalin. ‘This one shouldn’t be too bad and you must do it. She sounds good on the phone and I’ve checked her out. She’s had pieces in the New York Times magazine, among others.’ He added, ‘She’s young. Working her way up.’

‘They’re the worst.’

‘Are they now?’ He observed her expression. ‘Spoken as the woman who refuses to reveal if she prefers marmalade or jam at breakfast.’

She gave a self-conscious little laugh. ‘Maybe.’

Xavier always told her it was pathological.

On previous occasions, Nic had said it was understandable but… he would never voice it, but by ‘understandable’, he meant shortsighted.

‘If you take a chance, a big piece in a major publication will benefit the museum.’ Nic had resorted to deviousness and worked the arguments up an ascending scale. ‘Those up-themselves museum directors would have to take note of you, Laure.’

‘I don’t mind if they do or they don’t.’

‘Think Gianni from Rome.’

‘He was unique.’ Gianni Rovere, the Italian journalist, had been good-mannered, humorous, and did Laure the courtesy of reflecting on her answers before going on to the next question.

‘Some might see this as a negative place,’ he had observed towards the end of the interview.

‘No,’ said Laure. ‘The museum offers a space to begin again.’

Nic’s final thrust: ‘The directors of Maison de Grasse will love it. It’s the sort of exposure that will convince them they made the correct decision.’

He had the best interests of the museum at heart and she trusted him. ‘If I agree, will that do until Christmas?’

When Nic smiled, the sun came out.

Mid-morning, he ushered the journalist into the office. Laure looked up and frowned. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘We’ve met.’ She picked up the card given to her by the girl that she had dropped into her filing tray. ‘May Williams?’