“Maybe you’ll have passed your driver’s license by then.”

“Oh, shut up.” There was a joke in the family about what a terrible driver she was. She had already damaged two of the old junk heaps at the château, and she claimed it was because they were so impossible to drive, and it had nothing to do with her driving. But Julian knew better, and he wouldn’t have let her touch the steering wheel on his precious Alfa Romeo.

They reached the château long before his guests, and Julian went for a quick swim, and then went to see if he could help his mother. She had hired a local caterer and there were long buffet tables everywhere, several bars, and a canopy over an enormous dance floor. There were two bands, a local one, and a big fancy one from Paris. Julian was thrilled and touched that his mother was giving him such a fabulous party.

“Thank you, Maman,” he said, and put an arm around her, still wet from his swim. He stood tall and handsome beside her, dripping wet in his swim trunks. Emanuelle was standing next to her, and she pretended to swoon when she saw him.

“Cover yourself, my dear. I’m not at all sure I can handle having you at the office.” And neither would anyone else. She made a mental note to watch her girls. She wasn’t at all sure that Julian wouldn’t take them off to his apartment after lunch. She knew he had a bit of a naughty reputation. “We’re going to have to do something very imaginative at work to make you look ugly.” But the truth was that it couldn’t be done, he oozed charm and sex appeal. As restrained and repressed as his brother was, Julian was everything he wasn’t.

“You should get dressed before your guests arrive.” His mother smiled at him.

“Or perhaps not,” Emanuelle whispered. She always enjoyed an attractive body and enjoyed teasing him a little bit. It was harmless after all, she was an old friend, and he was just a child to her. She had just turned fifty.

Julian was back downstairs long before the guests, having spent half ah hour with Xavier while he was getting dressed explaining to him about cowboys in the Wild West. For some reason Xavier was obsessed with Davy Crockett. He was fascinated by American things, and had told someone in school that he was really from New York, and only in France for a year while his parents did business.

“Well, my mother is!” He had defended himself afterwards. He wanted to be American more than anything. Having never known his father, and seeing very little of Phillip these days, he seemed to feel no kinship whatsoever with the British. And while Julian was clearly French, Xavier found it far more exciting to pretend he was from New York, or Chicago, or even California. And he talked constantly about his Aunt Jane and the cousins he didn’t even know, which amused Sarah. She often spoke English to him, and he spoke it very well, as did Julian, but nonetheless with a French accent. Julian’s English was better than his, but still one could tell that he was French, unlike Phillip, who sounded so relentlessly British. And Isabelle didn’t care where she was from, as long as it was somewhere far removed from all her relations. She wanted to be separate from all of them, so she could do exactly what she wanted.

“I want you to be a good boy tonight,” Julian warned Xavier as he went to join his friends. “No wild tricks, no getting hurt. I want to have fun at my party. Why don’t you go watch TV?”

“I can’t,” he said matter-of-factly. “I don’t have one.”

“You can watch the one in my room.” Julian smiled at him, impossible as he was, he really loved him. Julian had been like a father to him, and he really enjoyed being with him. “I think there’s a soccer game on.”

“Great!” He shouted as he headed back to his brother’s room, humming Davy Crockett.

Julian was still smiling to himself when he ran into Isabelle on the stairs. She was wearing a white, almost see-through dress that barely reached her crotch and covered her stomach with chain mail.

“Cardin?” he asked, trying to sound cool.

“Courrèges,” she corrected, looking arch and far more dangerous than she knew. She was walking trouble.

“I’m learning.”

But so was Sarah. When she saw her, she sent her back upstairs to put something else on. And Isabelle slammed every door in the house on the way, as Emanuelle watched her, and Sarah sighed and helped herself to a glass of champagne.

“That child is going to kill me. And if she doesn’t, Xavier will.”

“You said that about the others too,” Emanuelle reminded her.

“I did not,” Sarah corrected. “Phillip disappointed me because he was so distant and so cool, and Julian worried me because he slept with the mothers of all his friends and thought I didn’t know. But Isabelle is an entirely different creature. She refuses to be controlled, or to behave herself or listen to reason.” Emanuelle couldn’t disagree with her. She would have hated to be the girl’s mother. Seeing Isabelle always made her grateful she had never had children. Xavier was another story though, he was impossible but so warm and cuddly that you couldn’t resist him. He was like Julian, but freer and more adventuresome. They were an interesting bunch, the Whitfield crew. And none of them saw Isabelle emerge again in a zebra-striped leotard and a white leather skirt that was even worse than what she’d worn the first time. But fortunately for her, this time Sarah didn’t see her.

“Having fun?” Sarah asked Julian hours later when she saw him. He looked a little drunk, but she knew no harm would come to him. No one was driving anywhere, and he had worked so hard to graduate from the Sorbonne. He deserved it.

“Maman, you’re terrific! This is the best party I’ve ever been to.” He looked happy and dishevelled and hot. He’d been dancing for hours with two girls who were causing him to make an impossible decision. It was an evening filled with blissful dilemmas.

And for Isabelle too. She was stretched full-length in the bushes near the stables with a boy she had met that night. She knew he was a friend of Julian’s and she couldn’t remember his name. But he was the best kisser she had ever met, and he had just told her he loved her.

Eventually, one of the servants saw her there, and whispered something discreetly to the duchess, who suddenly appeared miraculously on the path to the stables, with Emanuelle, pretending to stroll along and enjoy a casual conversation. And when Isabelle heard her, she scurried away and the two women looked at each other and laughed, feeling both old and young at the same time. In August, Sarah was going to be fifty-six, although she didn’t look it.

“Did you ever do things like that?” Emanuelle asked. “I did.”

“You only did them with Germans during the war,” Sarah teased her and Emanuelle corrected her firmly.

“That was to get information from them,” she said proudly.

“It’s a wonder you didn’t get us all killed,” Sarah scolded her thirty years later.

“I would have liked to kill all of them,” she said with feeling.

Sarah told her then about Joachim turning up just after Phillip’s wedding. She had never told her that before, and Emanuelle was annoyed.

“I’m surprised he’s still alive. A lot of them were killed when they went back to Berlin. He was pretty decent, as Nazis went, but a Nazi is a Nazi is a Nazi.…”

“He looked so sad, and so old… and I guess I disappointed him bitterly. I think he thought he’d come back, with William gone, and everything would be different. But it could never have been.” Emanuelle nodded. She knew how much Sarah had loved William. She had never looked at another man since he died, and she didn’t think she would again. She had tried discreetly to introduce her to a few friends after a few years had gone by, but it was obvious that she had no interest. She was only interested now in her business and her children.

The party ended at four A.M. with the last of the young people falling into the swimming pool as the bands left, and finally winding up in the château kitchen at dawn while Sarah cooked them scrambled eggs and served them coffee. It was fun having them there, she liked having them around, and lately she was glad that she had had some of her children so late in life. So many of her friends were lonely and alone, instead she would have them around her forever. They would drive her crazy probably, but those who knew her well, knew that she enjoyed it.

She went to her own room at eight o’clock, and smiled when she saw Xavier sleeping soundly on Julian’s bed. The television was still on and there was nothing on the screen but snow, and a continuing recording of the “Marseillaise.” She went in and turned it off, took off the Davy Crockett hat and smoothed his hair, and then she went to her own room and slept till noon.

Sarah and Emanuelle had lunch before she went back to Paris. They had a lot to talk about. They were expanding the Paris store again, and lately Nigel had been saying they should think of doing that in London. They still had their royal warrant, and were officially Jewelers to the Crown. In fact, in recent years, they had sold to many heads of state, several kings and queens, and scores of Arabs. Business was excellent, in both stores, and Sarah was excited about Julian coming into the business.

He started, as promised, the following week, and everything went smoothly until they closed in August. He went to Greece then with a bunch of friends, and she took Xavier and Isabelle to Capri. They loved it there. They loved the Marina Grande and the Marina Piccola, and the square, and going to the beach clubs like Canzone del Mare, or some of the more public ones. Isabelle had been studying Italian in school, and with a smattering of Spanish under her belt, too, she considered herself a great linguist