“I suppose we’re lucky he comes here at all,” she said to William the day he left “All he ever wants to do is play polo, be with his friends, and stay at Whitfield.” They had finally agreed to let him go there alone on weekends and occasional holidays, and he could take friends, as long as he invited one of his teachers to go with him. It was an arrangement that seemed to suit everyone, most especially Phillip. “Isn’t it funny, how he’s so British, and Julian is so French?” Everything about the little boy was incredibly Gallic. He preferred to speak French with them, he loved his life at the château, and he much preferred Paris to London.

“Les anglais me font peur,” he always said. “English people scare me.” Which Sarah told him was silly, since his father was an Englishman, and he was English, too, although as the second son, he would never inherit the title. He would be merely Lord Whitfield when he grew up. Sometimes British traditions seemed incredibly quixotic. But she didn’t think Julian would ever care. He was so happy and good-natured, nothing ever bothered him, not even the indifference of his older brother. He had learned as a very little boy to steer clear of him, and keep to his own doings, and that seemed to suit them both to perfection. He adored his parents, his friends, his pets, the people who worked at the château, he loved visiting Emanuelle. Julian loved everyone and everything, and in return, absolutely everyone who knew him loved him

Sarah was thinking about it one afternoon in September, as she tended the flowers over Lizzie’s grave. She still went there regularly, kept it looking tidy, and she couldn’t help herself, she always cried when she went there It was incredible that after eleven years she still missed her. She would have been fifteen by then … so loving, and so sweet. … She had been a little bit like Julian, only softer, not as strong. … Sarah’s eyes were filled with tears as she cut back some of the flowers and patted the soft earth they grew on, and she didn’t hear the wheels of William’s wheelchair approaching. He hadn’t been quite as well recently. His back had been bothering him a great deal, and he never complained, but Sarah knew that the rheumatism in his legs had gotten worse during the past winter.

She felt his hand on her shoulder, and turned, the tears streaming down her cheeks, and she reached out to him, as he gently brushed the tears from her cheeks and kissed them. “My poor darling… ” He looked at the well-tended grave, “… poor little Lizzie …” He was sorry, too, that Sarah had never had another daughter, to bring her comfort, although Julian was a great source of joy to both of them, and he accepted Phillip for what he was. But he had never known his only little girl, and without ever having seen her face, he missed her.

Sarah turned, and finished her work, and then came to sit next to him on the ground, accepting his perfectly pressed handkerchief from him.

“I’m sorry … I shouldn’t, after all this time….” But always, always, she felt the little warm body next to hers, the little hands around her neck, until she had grown so still and had stopped breathing….

“I’m sorry too.” He smiled gently at her. “Maybe we should have another baby.”

She knew he was only joking and she smiled at him. “Phillip would really love that.”

“It might do him good. He’s a very self-centered young man.” Phillip had annoyed him this time, being so impatient and unkind with his mother.

“I don’t know who he takes after, you’re certainly not like that, I hope I’m not … Julian adores everyone … and your mother was so sweet. My parents were pretty nice too, and my sister.”

“There must have been a Visigoth king somewhere in my past, or a savage Norman. I don’t know. But Phillip is certainly Phillip.” All he cared about now was Whitfield, Cambridge, and the shop in London. That fascinated him, and whenever he was there, he always asked Nigel ten thousand questions, which amused the older man. He answered all of them, taught him what he knew about the stones, and showed him all the important points about the size, quality, clarity, and the settings. But Phillip had a lot of other things to do before he could think about going to work at Whitfield’s.

“Maybe we ought to go away somewhere this year.” Sarah was looking at William, and she thought he looked tired. At fifty-two, he had weathered a lot in his lifetime, and there were times when he looked it. He chased after her tirelessly, from Paris to London and back again. But the following year, when Julian started school in La Marolle, they would have to spend more time at the château. This was the last year they could really travel. “I’d really like to go to Burma and Thailand and look at some stones,” she said thoughtfully.

“You would?” William was surprised. She had gotten incredibly knowledgeable about stones in the six years since they’d started the business, and she was very choosy about what she bought and from whom. But because of that, Whitfield’s had an impeccable reputation. Business had grown in both London and Paris. In London, the Queen had bought from them again several times, as had the Duke of Edinburgh, and soon they were hoping to be able to hang a sign with the royal warrant.

“I’d love to go away. We could even take Julian with us.”

“How romantic.” William teased. But he knew full well that she always liked to have him near her. “Why don’t I organize something for the three of us then? And we should probably take a girl with us to help with Julian. We could probably get out to the Orient and back before Christmas.” It would be a long, long trip, and she knew it would be tiring for him, but it would do them both good too.

They left in November, and arrived back in England on Christmas Eve, when they met Phillip at Whitfield. They had been gone for more than six weeks, and they had endless tales to tell him about tiger hunts in India, and visits to the beach in Thailand, and Hong Kong, and temples, and rubies … and emeralds… and fabulous jewels. Sarah had brought an absolute fortune of beautiful stones back with her. And Phillip was fascinated by them, and all the tales they had to tell him. For once he was even agreeable to his little brother.

The following week, when Sarah showed all her treasures to Nigel, he was in awe of them. And assured her that she had bought well. And Emanuelle was thrilled with some of the Indian maharaja’s jewels she took back to Paris, and so were the ladies who bought them.

It had been a fabulous trip, and a productive autumn for them, but they were all happy to return to the château. The girl they’d taken with them had wonderful stories to tell her family, and Julian was thrilled to be back home, with his friends, as was Sarah. She had said very little about it, but while William’s health had improved on the trip, she had picked up a bug in India and just couldn’t shake it. It ravaged her stomach continually, and she did her best not to complain, but by the time they got back to the château she was worried. She didn’t want William to be concerned, and she tried to make light of it, but even once they were home she could barely eat. And finally, the next time they were in Paris in late January, she went to the doctor. He ran a few tests, and saw nothing serious and then he asked her to come back again. But by then, she was feeling a little better.

“What do you suppose this thing is?” she asked, truly annoyed by then. She hadn’t enjoyed a meal since November.

“I believe it’s very simple, Madame,” the doctor said calmly.

“That’s comforting.” But she was still annoyed at herself for catching it in the first place. Thank God Julian hadn’t gotten it, but she’d been careful about what he ate and drank. She didn’t want him to get sick there. But for herself, she had been a good deal less careful.

“Have you any plans for next summer, Madame?” he asked, with a small smile, and Sarah began to panic. Was he suggesting surgery? But that was seven months away, and then suddenly, she wondered But it couldn’t be. Not again Not this time.

“I don’t know … why … ?” she said vaguely.

“I believe you will be having a baby in August.”

“I am?” At her age, she couldn’t believe it. She was going to be forty in August. She had heard of stranger things before, and she was hardly over the hill. She still looked as she always had, but one couldn’t lie to the calendar. And forty was forty. “Are you sure?”

“I believe so. I would like to run one more test to be certain it is positive.” He did, and it was, and she told William as soon as the doctor called her

“But at my age … isn’t that absurd?” Somehow, this time, she was faintly embarrassed.

“It’s not absurd at all.” He looked thrilled. “My mother was much older than you are when she had me, and I’m perfectly fine, and she survived it.” He looked happily at her. “Besides, I told you we should have another child.” And this time, he, too, wanted a daughter.

“You’re going to send me to that dreadful clinic again, aren’t you?” Sarah looked at him ruefully and he laughed. There were times when she still looked like a young girl to him, she was a beautiful woman.

“Well, I’m not going to deliver it myself again—not at your age!” he said teasingly, and she screeched at him.

“See! You think I’m too old too. What will people think?”

“They’ll think we’re very lucky… and not very well behaved, I’m afraid,” he teased, and she had to laugh at herself. Having a baby at forty seemed a little foolish, but she had to admit, she was pleased too. She had enjoyed Julian so much, but he was hardly a baby anymore at five, and he would be starting school in September.

Emanuelle was a little startled when Sarah told her in March, and Nigel was faintly embarrassed by the news, but congratulated them very politely. Both shops were doing so well that they really didn’t need Sarah’s constant attention. She spent much of that year at the château, and as always, Phillip joined them there for the summer. He made very little comment about his mother’s pregnancy. He thought it was too nauseating to even mention.