She was wearing stilettos. Gorgeous red stilettos that made her legs look as if they went on for ever.

‘I believe I had it right,’ Erhard said softly to him, and chuckled and moved forward to greet their guest. ‘Mrs. McCray.’

‘Rose,’ she said and smiled, and her smile lit up the room. Her pert nose wrinkled a little. ‘I think I remember you. Monsieur Fritz-you were assistant to my uncle?’

‘I was,’ Erhard said, pleased. ‘Please, call me Erhard.’

‘Thank you,’ she said gravely. ‘It’s been almost fifteen years, but I do remember.’ She turned to Nick. ‘And you must be Nikolai? Monsieur de Montez.’

‘Nick.’

‘I don’t think I’ve met you.’

‘No.’

Walter was holding out her seat and Rose was sitting, which hid her legs. Which was almost a national tragedy, Nick decided. What was she about, disguising those legs in dungarees? He surveyed her with unabashed pleasure as Walter fussed about them, taking orders, offering champagne. ‘Yes, please,’ Rose said, and beamed. When the champagne arrived she put her nose right into the bubbles and closed her eyes, as if it was her first drink for a very long time.

‘You like champagne, then?’ Nick said, fascinated, and she sighed a blissful smile.

‘You have no idea. And it’s not even sherry.’ She had a couple more sips, then laid her glass back on the table with obvious reluctance.

‘We’re very pleased you were able to come,’ Erhard said gently, and looked at Nick. ‘Aren’t we, Nick?’

‘Yes,’ said Nick, feeling winded.

‘I’m sorry it took a while to contact me,’ Rose told them, glancing round the restaurant with real appreciation. ‘My family has an odd notion that I need protection.’