“Why?” she repeated. The cigarette was stronger than she’d expected. It made her feel slightly nauseous. She took another drag nonetheless. “Does there need to be a reason? Shoes can be beautiful. We both know this. They can be works of art.”

“But so can dresses, can’t they? So can necklaces and rings and perfumes. Why the particular interest in shoes?”

“I’m a collector,” said Genevieve, slightly put out now. “I have a room full of shoes. Over five hundred pairs. Shoes are my passion.”

“Yes, yes. But you’re still not telling me why.”

The cigarette was making her head spin. “Perfume means nothing to me. I wear it, of course, but that’s as far as it goes. Dresses, jewelry—well, they’re important, but they’re so obvious. Truly beautiful shoes are so much more fascinating. Why, a few years ago you could have worn hobnail boots or clogs under your dress and nobody would have been any the wiser. But now…Now an outfit is nothing without the right shoes.”

The smile stretched a little wider. “Go on?”

She realized she was being tested. Her answer had better be the right one. “And then, good shoes aren’t merely beautiful. The fit must be perfect, or the most fabulous party can be utter torture. Shoes connect us to the world, you know, in the most direct physical sense.” She liked this last pronouncement. It had a profound quality to it. Her head was swimming all the more, though. She stubbed out the cigarette.

“That’s all very interesting and pretty.” Zachari put out his own cigarette. “But it’s not the real reason, is it?”

Genevieve was becoming exasperated. “Look, I just like them. All right? What more do you expect me to say?”

“Nothing.” He drained his coffee cup. “Nothing at all.”

The silence between them was abruptly broken by a loud tapping on the window. Genevieve, startled, twisted round to see Zachari’s glassy assistant standing in the street outside. Her hair was silvery in the cold sunlight. Her face was sharper, somehow, than Genevieve remembered it. Ignoring Genevieve and focusing solely on Zachari, she gave a little jerk of the head and pointed meaningfully at her wristwatch. Then she turned and walked away.

“I must go.” He reached for his overcoat.

“Because that woman says so?”

“Because I have an appointment with a customer.”

Genevieve searched for the freckle, but it was obscured now by his shirt collar.

“And what about me?”

“You?”

“The shoes for my party?”

Zachari frowned. “I haven’t promised to make you any shoes, Mrs. Shelby King.”

“But you will, won’t you?” She smiled in as coquettish a manner as she could.

Zachari put his head to one side and appeared to be considering the issue.

“Please?” Genevieve hated the smallness of that word.

Zachari put his head to the other side.