“Alice, have you confirmed the plant delivery?”

“Yes,” said Alice. “Everything has arrived. Weeping figs in the entryway, succulents on the coffee tables, butterfly orchid on the mantel.”

“John,” Claudine said, “two things. One, not too much flirting with Mrs. Tiggleman. A little is okay. We want her to be happy. But too much could upset the captain. We want him happy too. I don’t need to tell you, they are both very important clients. And two, I need you to bring party favors. In case Zara’s expecting something a bit more … exciting.”

“Any idea what she’s into?”

“Bring an assortment.”

“Looks like more snow is in the forecast.”

“Are we worried about the actual snow?” asked Rashida. “It’s pretty nasty out there. What if the roads start to get too bad. Should we be worried about how Zara will get home?”

“Are you sure you’re concerned about Zara and not yourself?” Claudine said.

Rashida looked down in embarrassment.

“Want me to calculate the frequency of snowplows and salt dispersal in this area just to be safe?” Louisa asked.

“No,” Claudine snapped. “The weather will not ruin this night.”

The way she said it was both a guarantee and a threat to the earth’s atmosphere.

“Natalie.”

“Yes, ma’am.” A military habit she couldn’t break, no matter how many times Claudine chided her. She despised the formality. It made her feel ancient.

“Natalie, if you call me ‘ma’am’ tonight in front of Zara, I’ll fire you.”

“Of course, ma—Claudine.”

“You’re in charge of quality control. Walk through the house and make sure nothing is out of place. The throw pillows plumped. The central fireplace stoked. All table runners removed.”

“We hate table runners,” Natalie said.

“The house must look like Aspen’s own Windsor Castle.”

“You mean Buckingham Palace?” asked Jules.

“No,” Claudine said. “The queen weekends at Windsor. Someone like Zara needs many houses. Montague House is the one where, in the middle of her chaotic life—whether she’s taking a bow from a stage in Tokyo or fleeing from paparazzi through the streets of Zurich—she’ll long to return to, to escape it all.”

It was then that Claudine noticed Jules’s outfit. A long-sleeved evergreen knit dress splashed with tiny snowflakes.

“You’re wearing that?”

“It’s festive!” Jules said. Unlike the other agents, she didn’t act intimidated by Claudine. She had a youthful composure, but also an air of discipline. It was even evident in her handwriting. The little notes she left for the agents letting them know of a missed call were so fluid and graceful. It looked almost like calligraphy. And so Claudine had a special task for Jules.