But by the end of her first year, Sarah saw a marked change in her, and Emanuelle saw it too. Isabelle wasn’t necessarily better behaved, but she was a little more reasonable and a great deal more worldly. She had a better idea of what she could and couldn’t do, and how to behave with men without giving them an open invitation. In some ways Sarah was relieved, and in others she was worried.

“She’s a dangerous girl,” she said to Julian one day, and he couldn’t disagree with her. “She always reminds me of a bomb about to go off. But now it’s a much more complicated one … maybe a Russian one … or a very delicate missile …”

Julian laughed at the description of his sister. “I’m not sure you’ll ever be able to change that.”

“Neither am I. That’s what scares me,” his mother admitted. “And what about you?” She had been waiting for weeks to see him. “I hear you’re doing a little business with one of our best customers.” They both knew who she meant, and he wondered if Emanuelle had told her. “La Comtesse de Brise is a very interesting woman, Julian, and much more dangerous than your sister.”

“I know,” he confessed with a grin, “she scares me to death, but I adore her.” The late comte had been her third husband in fifteen years, and she was thirty-four years old, and she devoured men. And all she wanted now was Julian. She had bought half a million dollars in jewels in the past month, and she could certainly afford to pay for them, but she was still coming back for more, and die biggest jewel she wanted was him, as her plaything.

“Do you think you can manage that?” she asked him honestly. She was afraid he might get hurt, but so was he, so he was careful.

“For a while I play very carefully, Mother, I assure you.”

“Good.” She smiled at him. They were a busy lot, all of them, with their mischief and their mates, and their affairs. She only hoped Isabelle would make it through the second year of her finishing school in Switzerland. And in fact, she finished the year, and flew home on the day of Whitfield’s twenty-fifth anniversary party, which Sarah was giving at the château, for seven hundred guests from all over Europe. Every possible kind of press would be there, there would be fireworks, and most of Europe’s crowned heads, absolutely everyone who was anyone had been invited. Emanuelle and Julian had helped her organize everything. And Phillip and Nigel and Cecily were flying in for the party.

It was glorious. Everyone who was supposed to came, the food was exquisite, the fireworks extraordinary, and the jewels beautiful, most of them theirs. It was an absolutely perfect evening, and a major victory for Whitfield’s. The press raved, and even before they left, they all came to congratulate Sarah for her major coup, and she in turn thanked and congratulated all the people who helped her to put on the party.

“Has anyone seen Isabelle?” Sarah asked, already late into the night. She hadn’t been able to pick her up at the airport herself, but she had sent someone to pick her up and bring her to the party. She had seen her and kissed her when she arrived, before she was dressed, but she hadn’t seen her since then. The crowd was simply too large and she had too much to do to go and look for her. She had barely been able to find Phillip and Julian for most of the evening. Phillip had deserted his wife as the evening began, and seemed to spend a lot of time with a model who had done several ads for them, and he had been telling her how much he liked them, while dancing with her, and Julian had been very busy chasing some of his latest conquests, one of them married, and two of them slightly overaged, and all the others dazzling girls that every man in the place envied him, especially his brother.

They had sent Xavier to stay with friends for the night, so he wouldn’t get into too much mischief, although at nine and a half he was behaving better. Davy Crockett was no longer the thing. But James Bond was what really made him happy. Julian bought him every gimmick he could find, and had already snuck him into two of the movies.

Sarah had left a dress out for Isabelle. She had bought her a diaphanous pink organdy gown from the Emanuels in London, and she was sure that Isabelle would look like a fairy princess in it. She hoped that she wasn’t lying under a bush somewhere in that dress. She laughed to herself at the thought. But when she finally found her, there was no bush in sight, and she was dancing very sedately with an older man, and deep in conversation. Sarah glanced at her approvingly, and then waved to her and moved on. Her entire family looked wonderful that night, even her daughter-in-law, wearing a dress by Hardy Amies, and a hairdo by Alexandre. The Château de la Meuze looked like a fairyland. More than ever, she wished that William could see it. He would have been so proud of them, and maybe even of her … they had worked so hard on the château for so long. It was impossible to believe that it had ever been less than perfect, let alone ramshackle and rundown, as it had been when they found it. But that was all so long ago. Twenty-five years since Whitfield’s had begun … thirty-five since they had found the château on their honeymoon. Where did the time go?

The reviews of the party in the press were extraordinary the next day. Everyone agreed that it was the party of the century, and wished Whitfield’s another hundred years, as long as they were invited to the next anniversary party. And for the next few days, Sarah basked in the glory of the party. She saw very little of Isabelle during those days, who was catching up with old friends At eighteen she could drive, and enjoy greater freedom than she had in earlier years. But Sarah still wanted to keep an eye on her, and she was worried one afternoon when she couldn’t find her.

“She went out in the Rolls,” Xavier explained when she saw him.

“She did?” Sarah looked surprised. She was supposed to drive the Peugeot station wagon they kept for her, and other people at the château. “Do you know where she went, sweetheart?” Sarah asked him, thinking probably just to the village

“I think she was going to Paris,” he said, and sauntered off. There was a new horse in the stables and he wanted to see it. He still liked to pretend he was a cowboy sometimes, when he felt like it. The rest of the time he was an explorer.

She called Julian at the store and asked him to keep an eye out for her in case she came in. And sure enough, an hour later, she walked in, looking like a customer, in a very pretty emerald-green dress, and dark glasses.

Julian saw her on the camera in his office upstairs, and came downstairs to the shop as soon as he saw her.

“May I help you, Mademoiselle?” He asked in his most charming voice, and she laughed. “A diamond bracelet perhaps? An engagement ring? A little tiara?”

“A crown would be very nice.”

“But of course.” He continued to play the game with her. “Emerald, to match your dress, or diamond?”

“Actually, I’ll take both.” She beamed at him, and he asked her casually then what she was doing in town.

“Just meeting a friend for a drink.”

“You drove two hours and ten minutes for a drink?” he asked. “You must be very thirsty.”

“Very funny. I had nothing to do at home, so I thought I’d come up to town. In Italy, we used to do it all the time. You know, go to Cortina for lunch, or to go shopping.” She looked extremely sophisticated and very beautiful. She was truly a knockout.

“How chic,” he teased. “It’s a shame people aren’t as amusing here.” But he knew she was going to the South of France in a few weeks, and stay with one of her friends from school, in Cap Ferrat. She was still very spoiled, but undeniably very grown-up now. “Where are you meeting your friend?”

“The Ritz, for a drink.”

“Come on,” he said, coming around the counter. “I’ll drop you off. I have to take a diamond necklace to a viscountess.”

“I have my car,” she said coldly, “well, actually, Mother’s.” And he didn’t ask any questions.

“Then you can drop me off. I don’t. Mine is sick. I was going to take a taxi,” he lied, but he wanted to see who she was meeting. He went to the wrapping desk and picked up a very impressive box and put it in an envelope and followed Isabelle outside, and got in her car before she could object. He chatted as though it were perfectly normal for her to come to town to see a friend, and he kissed her when he left her at the front desk, and pretended to talk to the concierge, who knew him well and went along with the pretense.

“Can you pretend to take this box from me, Renaud? Just throw it away after I leave, but don’t let anyone see you.”

“I should give it to my wife,” he whispered back, “but maybe she’d expect more than the box. What are you doing today?”

“Following my sister,” he confided, still pretending to give his instructions. “She’s meeting someone at the bar, and I want to make sure it’s okay. She’s a very pretty girl.”

“So I saw. How old is she?”

“Just eighteen.”

“Oooh laaaa …” Renaud whistled sympathetically, “I’m glad she’s not my daughter … sorry …” he apologized quickly.

“Do you suppose you could go in and check if she’s sitting with anyone yet? And then I can go in and pretend to run into them by mistake. But I don’t want to waste it before he gets there.” He assumed she was meeting a man, it was unlikely she would drive two hours each way to meet a girlfriend.

“Sure,” Renaud agreed readily, just as a large bill slipped into his palm for good measure, but he was happy to help this time. Lord Whitfield was a nice guy, and a great tipper.

Julian pretended to write an extensive note at the concierge’s desk, and Renaud was back in a minute. “She’s there, and my friend, you got trouble.”