Meyer didn’t seem impressed. “I have a teleprinter already installed that is sitting idle and useless, waiting to be connected, and the men who are supposed to be operating the system sitting just as idle and useless. Did von Rundstedt at least tell you when we might expect delivery of this sophisticated encryption unit?” He practically spat the word sophisticated back at the officer.

“I-I’m not sure, sir. Days, I think. They are waiting for a part of the machine from Berlin. It’s shipped in pieces, as I understand. For security purposes.”

Meyer cursed under his breath.

“Is something wrong?” Estelle looked up from her handbag with wide eyes.

“No, no,” he assured her in French. “Just a small matter.” He turned to the officer and switched back to German, visibly composing himself. “Give the message to me. I will take it to the Reichsmarschall.”

“Very good, sir.” The younger officer sounded relieved. “I will wait for a response.”

The colonel held out his hand, and the officer placed the paper in his waiting palm.

“You can also tell von Rundstedt that he is trying my patience. And that of the Reichsmarschall.”

“Sir?”

“Never mind.” Meyer waved the officer away impatiently.

“Is that important?” Estelle asked, gesturing at the paper.

“A message from Berlin,” Meyer told her. “And something I must deal with, I’m afraid.” He picked up the emeralds still lying on the polished bar and weighed them in his palm. “On second thought, perhaps you may reconsider your offer?”

“My offer?”

“To sing tonight, of course.”

“Of course.” This man had a way of twisting words.

“Come with me to the Reichsmarschall’s suite. If I must disturb him, he will take such an inconvenience more gracefully if it is accompanied by a welcome distraction such as yourself. He would enjoy a private audience with his favourite songbird, I think, and even more so should she come bearing gifts.”

Estelle stilled. “I don’t think that would—”

“We are exchanging favours here, are we not, Mademoiselle Allard?” Meyer put the emeralds on the table in front of her.

Estelle took another tiny sip of champagne that now tasted like poison. She set her glass back down and picked up the necklace. “It would be my honour,” she lied.

“Excellent.” Meyer gestured toward the entrance to the bar. “Shall we?”

Estelle followed the colonel from the bar, through the grand salons, and up to the étage noble. In all of her pampered, monied life, she had never actually been inside the Imperial Suite. There was a guard standing outside the suite’s door, and he stepped smartly aside as the colonel approached. Estelle could feel the guard’s eyes on her, and she turned to meet his stare boldly. He dropped his gaze.