“Anyone can make a mistake. I made a big one. So did you. But eventually, I got out of it, with my father’s help. And I met your father. You’ll meet someone wonderful one day too. Wait.” She kissed her gently on the cheek and went back to the Excelsior, where she was staying.

For the next year they worked frantically on the space they rented on the Via Condotti. It was larger than the two other stores, and extremely glamorous. It was a real showplace, and Isabelle was so excited, she could hardly stand it. It was almost like having a baby, she said to friends. It was all she could eat, think, drink, talk about, and she didn’t even care anymore that she never saw Enzo. He made fun of it, and told her she was going to fall flat on her face. But he hadn’t reckoned with Sarah.

She hired a PR firm to woo the Italian press, she had Isabelle give parties, get involved in Roman society in countless ways she had never thought of. She gave to charities, gave lunches, and attended important events in Rome, Florence, Milan. Suddenly Lady Isabelle Whitfield, the Principessa di San Tebaldi, became one of the most sought-after people in Rome. And by the time they were ready to open, even her husband was paying attention. He was telling his friends about the store, talking about the fabulous jewels he was selecting himself, and the people who had already bought from him. Isabelle heard the tales, but she paid no attention. She was too busy working night and day, checking plans, talking to architects, hiring staff. Emanuelle had come to Rome for the last two months to help her, and they had hired a capable young man, a son of an old friend of hers who had worked for Bulgari for the last four years in a position of importance. They stole him easily, and he was going to help Isabelle run it. He couldn’t believe his good fortune, and he was in awe of her, but in a short time they became good friends, and Isabelle liked him. He was smart, he was good, he was nice, and he had a great sense of humor. He also had a wife and four children. His name was Marcello Scuri.

The opening party they gave was the hit of Rome, and absolutely everyone in Italy was there, and several of their loyal customers from London and Paris. People came from Venice, Florence, Milan, Naples, Turin, Bologna, Perugia. They came from all over the country. Her year of carefully laid groundwork had paid off, and Sarah’s foresight had been brilliant. Even Phillip had to grudgingly admit that it was a fabulous store, and Nigel said when he saw it that if he died at that exact moment, he would die happy. It was so totally perfect for Rome, the jewelry so beautiful and so stunning, the perfect mix of old and new, showy and discreet, merely expensive and truly astounding. Isabelle was thrilled with the success of it, and so was her mother.

The young director, Marcello, did a splendid job, and so did Isabelle. Emanuelle was very proud of both of them. And both of Isabelle’s brothers praised her for her excellent results. She had done a wonderful job. And three days later when they left her to return to their own stores, the shop was off and running.

Emanuelle had already gone back the day before, to deal with a minor crisis in the Paris store. There had been a break-in, but miraculously, due to the remarkable security system of bulletproof glass and locking doors, nothing was taken. But Emanuelle had felt she should be there to bolster everyone’s spirits. The staff at the store had been pretty shaken. Protecting their stores from theft was becoming more and more complicated. But so far, in both of their shops, they had excellent security, and had been very lucky.

Sarah was still thinking of how well the opening in Rome had gone as she and Julian boarded the plane to Paris. She asked him if he’d had a good time, and he said he had. She had seen him talking to a very pretty young principessa early on, and later a well-known Valentino model. The women in Rome were certainly beautiful, but she’d had the feeling for a while that Julian was slowing down. He was about to turn thirty, and there were times when Sarah suspected that he was actually behaving. He had been quite wild for a while, but according to what she read about him in the newspapers, not lately. And as they prepared to land at Orly, he explained why.

“Do you remember Yvonne Charles?” he asked innocently and Sarah shook her head. They had been talking about business a moment before, and she couldn’t remember if the woman he mentioned was a client.

“Only the name. Why? Have I met her?”

“She’s an actress. You met her at the anniversary party last year.”

“Along with perhaps a thousand other people. At least I know I’m not slipping.” But then suddenly she did remember her, not from the party, but from something she’d read in the papers. “Didn’t she have a very scandalous divorce a few years ago … and then marry again later? Seems to me I read something about her…. Why?”

He looked very uncomfortable for a moment as the plane came in for a landing. It was unfortunate his mother still had such a good memory. But at sixty-four she was as sharp as she had ever been, as strong, and in a softer way, just as pretty. He was crazy about her, but there were times when he wished she didn’t pay such close attention to details.

“Something like that …” he answered vaguely. “Actually, she’s getting divorced again right now. I met her between two marriages”—or possibly during, knowing him—“and we just ran into each other again a few months ago.”

“What good timing.” Sarah smiled at him, sometimes he still seemed so young to her. They all did. “How lucky for you.”

“Yes, it is” There was something in his eyes suddenly that scared her. “She’s a very special girl.”

“She must be, with two marriages under her belt already. How old is she?”

“Twenty-four. But she’s very mature for her age.”

“She must be.” She didn’t know what to say to him, or where he was leading her, but she had a feeling she wasn’t going to like it.

“I’m going to marry her,” Julian said quietly, and Sarah felt as though the bottom had just dropped out of the plane as the wheels hit the runway.

“Oh?” She tried to look nonplussed, but she could feel her heart beating too hard as they landed. “When did you decide this?”

“Last week. But we were all so busy with the opening, I didn’t want to say anything until after it was over.” How considerate of him. How wonderful for him to marry a girl who was already twice divorced, and tell her. “You’re going to love her.” She hoped he was right, but she hadn’t liked any of their mates so far. She was beginning to give up on the hope that she would ever have in-laws she could even tolerate, let alone be fond of. So far she hadn’t done well at all.

“When am I going to meet her?”

“Soon.”

“How about Friday night? We could have dinner at Maxim’s before I leave Paris.”

“That would be fine.” He smiled warmly.

And then, she dared to ask him something she knew she probably shouldn’t. “Have you made up your mind?”

“Absolutely.” She’d been afraid of that. And then he saw her face and laughed. “Mother … trust me …” She wished she could, but she had a feeling deep in the pit of her stomach that he was making a mistake. And when they met at Maxim’s on Friday night, she was certain of it.

There was no denying that the girl was beautiful, she had the cool, icy blond beauty one imagines the Swedes have. She was long, tall, thin, with creamy skin, big blue eyes, and pale blond hair that hung straight to her shoulders. She said she had been a model at fourteen, but then she got into the movies, and she had been acting since she was seventeen. She had been in five movies in seven years, and Sarah remembered vaguely that there had been a scandal involving her sleeping with a director when she was underage. And then there had been something about her first divorce, from an equally naughty young actor. Her second husband had been a more interesting choice. She had married a German playboy and she had been trying to take him for a great deal of money. But Julian insisted that a settlement had just been made. And they would be able to marry by Christmas.

Sarah did not find herself anxious to celebrate. She wanted to go home and cry. It was happening again. One of her children was blindly walking into someone else’s trap and absolutely refused to see it. Why couldn’t he have an affair with her? Why did he have to delude himself that this was a girl to marry? It would have been obvious to Helen Keller that she wasn’t. She was beautiful, and incredibly sexy, but her eyes were cold, and everything about her was calculated and planned. There was nothing spontaneous or sincere or warm, or caring about her. And Sarah suspected from the way she looked at him, that she liked him, she wanted him, but she didn’t love him. Everything about the girl suggested that she was a taker and a user. And Julian deluded himself that she was an adorable little girl, and he loved her.

“Well?” he asked happily when Yvonne went to powder her nose at the end of dinner. “Isn’t she terrific? Don’t you love her?” He was so blind, it exhausted her. They all were. She patted his hand, and said she was a beautiful girl, which was true. And the next day, when he picked up some papers from her, she tried to talk about it discreetly.

“I think marriage is a very serious thing,” she began, feeling four hundred years old and incredibly stupid.

“So do I,” he said, looking amused by his mother being so pedantic. It wasn’t like her. Usually she was pretty direct, but she was afraid to be now. She had learned that lesson once, no matter how right she had been, and she didn’t want to lose him. But with Julian, she knew, it was different. Isabelle had been hot-headed and young, and Julian adored his mother, and was less likely to reject her completely. “I think we’re going to be very happy,” he said optimistically, which gave Sarah the opening she needed.