“He’s still funny,” Majid said. Rafe had always been a joker. The smartest clown at Harvard Business School. Admittedly not a place with a lot of competition for the title.

Catherine furrowed her brow, which could have meant concern, or skepticism, or that the sun was in her eyes. It was setting over France, just across the border.

“That was always a matter of opinion,” she said. “You thought he was funny, Majid.”

She still scanned the room for a waiter. “What are you doing here?” she said again.

“Business,” Rafe said. “I’ve got a little startup wealth management firm. I’m prospecting . . .”

He paused for a moment, seeing Catherine looking at him, waiting for him to go on. Her eyes. Sometimes they hadn’t made it from the doorway to the bed. When was the last time he had sex on the floor? Jesus.

“. . . for prospects,” he finished. Not exactly brilliant, he had to admit.

“Wealth management? So you’ll be competing with Majid?”

“I think there’s room for more than one wealth management firm in Switzerland.”

“At the moment,” said Majid, “there are six hundred eighteen.” Reminding them that he was still there. Catherine and Rafe turned to him. “That’s how many are registered. With FINMA,” he said.

Rafe turned back to Catherine. “Always did know his facts. Teacher’s pet.”

“Hey,” Majid said, mock offended. “High honors.” Catherine was still looking at Rafe.

“What’s your firm called? Where’s it set up?” she asked.

“I just got here a couple of weeks ago. It’s early days. In flux.” Weak, Rafe thought. But at least better than “prospecting for prospects.” His story needed work. “Hey, let me get you a drink. Vodka martini, up, twist?”

They watched Rafe move away through the crowd. “He’s new in Europe,” Majid said. “He’ll ask for a martini and get straight vermouth.”

“Fifty-fifty,” Catherine said.

Majid looked at her, trying to read her. Never easy.

“What you said . . . about him competing with me . . .”

“In business,” she said. “He . . . Cambridge is ancient history.” And her arm moved, lightly brushing Majid’s hand, possibly on purpose, as they both watched Rafe heading to the bar.

Italy

ITALY

Majid stared at his computer screen, willing it to change what it displayed.

It didn’t change.

What he saw shouldn’t be, it couldn’t be.

It still didn’t change.

“You’re overreacting,” said Ron.