The Duchess of Windsor came to the opening, as did most of her friends, and suddenly le tout Paris was there, all of Paris society, and even a few curious acquaintances from London.

They sold four pieces the night of the party they gave, a lovely pearl-and-diamond bracelet by Fabergé with little blue-enamel birds, and a pearl necklace that was one of the first things Emanuelle had brought them. They sold Mrs. Wertheim’s emerald set, too, and it brought a handsome price, as did a huge cabochon ruby ring made by Van Cleef for a maharaja.

Sarah stood looking in wonder at all of it, unable to believe what had happened, as William looked on, with obvious pleasure. He was so proud of her, and so amused by what they’d done. They had bought all of it with kind hearts and the hope that they’d helped someone. And suddenly it had turned into this most extraordinary business.

“You’ve done a beautiful job, my love,” he praised her warmly as waiters poured more champagne. There had been cases of Cristal for the opening, and endless tins of caviar.

“I just can’t believe it! Can you?” She looked like a girl again, she was having such fun, and Emanuelle looked like a grande dame as she made her way among the elite, looking very beautiful in a black Schiaparelli.

“Of course I can believe it. You have exquisite taste, and these are beautiful things,” he said calmly, taking a sip of his champagne.

“We’re a hit, aren’t we?” She giggled.

“No, my darling, you are. You’re the dearest thing in life to me,” he whispered. His years as a prisoner had taught him more than ever what he held dear, his wife, and his children, and his freedom. His health hadn’t been as strong as it had once been, since he’d been home again. But Sarah took good care of him and he was getting stronger. At times he seemed as vital as he once had been, at others he looked tired and worn and she knew that his legs pained him. The wounds had finally healed, but the damage to his system never would. But at least he was alive and well and they were together. And now they had this remarkable business. It really was fun for her, and she thoroughly enjoyed it.

“Do you believe this?” she whispered to Emanuelle a few minutes later. Emanuelle had been looking very cool showing a handsome man a very expensive sapphire necklace.

“I think”—Emanuelle smiled mysteriously at her patronne—“we are going to have a great deal of pleasure here.” Sarah could see that she was, and she was doing a great deal of very subtle flirting with some very important men, and it seemed to mean nothing at all to her if they were married.

In the end, David bought Wallis a very pretty little diamond ring with a Carrier leopard on it, to match those she was already wearing, and that made their fifth sale of the evening. And at last, everyone went home, and they locked their doors at midnight.

“Oh, darling, it was wonderful!” Sarah clapped her hands again, and William pulled her down on his lap in the wheelchair, as the guards locked up, and Emanuelle told the waiters where to leave the remaining caviar. She was going to take it home and share it with some friends the next day. Sarah had said she could. She was having a little cocktail party the next day in her apartment on the rue de la Faisanderie, to celebrate her new position as manager of Whitfield’s. It was a long way from La Marolle for her, from her days in the Resistance, and sleeping with German soldiers to get information about what munitions depot to blow up, and selling eggs and cream and cigarettes on the black market. It had been a long road for all of them, a long war, but it was a good time now, in Paris.

William took Sarah back to their suite at the Ritz shortly after that. They had been talking about finding a small apartment, where they could stay when they were in Paris. It was only two hours and a little bit to the château, but it was still a long way to drive all the time. And she wasn’t going to be at the shop constantly, as Emanuelle and the other girl were. But she wanted to look for new pieces whenever she could, now that people weren’t coming to them anymore for help, and she wanted to design some new things. They were going to Paris a lot more than they used to. But for the moment the Ritz was convenient, and Sarah yawned as she walked in behind William’s wheelchair. And she was in bed beside him a few minutes later.

As she slipped into bed, he turned over, and pulled a box out of die drawer in the nightstand. “How silly of me.” He sounded vague, but she knew him well enough to know he was up to some mischief. “I forgot this….” He handed her a big, square, flat box. “Just a little trinket to celebrate the opening of Whitfield’s,” he said with a smile, as she grinned, wondering what was inside it.

“William, you are so naughty!” She always felt like a child with him. He spoiled her so much, and he was so good to her in all the ways that were more important. “What is it?” She rattled it once she had the paper off. She could see it was a jeweler’s box by then, and the box bore an Italian name. Buccellati.

She opened it carefully, with a gleam of excitement in her eye, and then gasped when she saw it. It was an exquisite, beautifully made, and very important diamond necklace.

“Oh, my God!” She closed her eyes and instantly snapped the box shut. He had given her some lovely things, but this was incredible, and she had never seen anything like it. It looked like a lace collar, all intricately woven in platinum, hung with huge drops of diamonds that seemed just to lie on the skin like enormous dewdrops. “Oh, William …” She opened her eyes again, and threw her arms around him. “I don’t deserve this!”

“Of course you do,” he scolded her, “don’t say things like that. Besides, as the owner of Whitfield’s, people are going to be watching to see what you wear now. We’ll have to buy you some really interesting jewelry, some really fabulous things,” he said with a grin, amused by the prospect. He loved spoiling her, and as his father had before him, he had always liked buying jewelry.

She put the necklace on, and lay back in bed with it, as he admired it, and her, and they both laughed. It had been a perfect evening.

“Darling, you should always wear diamonds to bed,” he said as he kissed her on the lips, and then let his mouth wander to the necklace and then past it.

“Do you suppose it’ll be a big success?” she murmured softly as she put her arms around him.

“It already is.” he said huskily and then they both forgot the shop until the morning.

The next day, the papers were full of it, stories about the people who’d been there, about the jewels, about how beautiful they were, and how elegant Sarah and William had been, the fact that the Duke and Duchess of Windsor had been there. It was perfect.

“We’re a hit!” She grinned at him over breakfast, wearing nothing but her diamond necklace. She was almost thirty-three years old, and her figure was better than it had ever been, as she sat back in her chair, with her legs crossed and her hair piled high on her head, as the diamonds sparkled in the morning sun. William smiled with pleasure as he watched her.

“You know, you’re more beautiful than that bit of flashy stuff around your neck, my dear.”

“Thank you, my love.” She leaned toward him and they kissed, and eventually they finished their breakfast.

They went back to the shop that afternoon, and things seemed to be going well. Emanuelle said they had sold six more things, and some of them were quite expensive. The curious came to ogle, too, to see the people who were there, the jewels, and the excitement. Two very notable men had come shopping, too, one for his mistress, and one for his wife. And Emanuelle had a dinner date with the last one. He was a government official, well known for his affairs, incredibly handsome, and Emanuelle thought it might be amusing to go out with him at least once. There would be no harm done. He was a grown man, and she was certainly not a virgin.

William and Sarah stayed for a little while to see what was happening, and that evening they drove back to the château, still excited about the success of the opening of Whitfield’s. And that night, Sarah sat in bed, and made sketches of things she wanted to have made. They couldn’t always count on finding fabulous existing pieces. She wanted to go to some of the auctions in New York, and at Christie’s in London. And she knew Italy was a marvelous place to have jewelry made. Suddenly she had a thousand things to do. And she always asked William’s advice. He had such good taste and excellent judgment.

By fall, their efforts had come to fruition. The shop was doing extremely well, some of her designs had been made up, and Emanuelle said people were crazy about them. She had a great eye, and William knew stones. They bought carefully, and she insisted on the finest workmanship. The things flew out of the store, and in October she was designing more, hoping to have them in time for Christmas.

Emanuelle was deeply involved with Jean-Charles de Martin, her government friend, by then, but the press hadn’t discovered them yet. They had been extremely discreet, because of his involvement in the government. They always met at her apartment.

Sarah couldn’t believe how busy she was. They were coming to Paris all the time, still staying at the Ritz, she hadn’t had a minute to look for an apartment. And by Christmas she was absolutely exhausted. They had made an absolute fortune at the store, and William had given her the most fabulous ruby ring that had belonged to Mary Pickford. They’d gone to Whitfield for Christmas again and they wanted to bring Phillip back to Paris with them, but he disappointed them no end when he begged to stay at Whitfield.

“What are we going to do with him?” Sarah asked sadly as they flew home again. “It’s incredible to think he was born in France and grew up here, and all he wants to do is stay in England.” He was her only child now, and it pained her unbearably to lose him. No matter how busy she was here, she always had time for him, but he seemed to have very little interest in them. And the only thing France meant to him were memories of the Germans, and the lonely years without his father.

“Whitfield must be in his bones,” William tried to comfort her. “He’ll grow out of it. He’s ten years old, he wants to be with his friends. In a few years, he’ll be happy back here. He can go to the Sorbonne and live in Paris.” But he was already talking about going to Cambridge, like his father, and in some ways Sarah felt as though they had already lost him. She was still depressed about it over the New Year when they went back to the château, and she caught a dreadful cold. She’d had another one the month before, and she was incredibly tired and rundown after all the dashing about they’d done just before Christmas.

“You look terrible,” William said to her cheerfully, as she came downstairs on New Year’s morning. He was already in the kitchen, making coffee.

“Thank you,” she said gloomily, and then asked him if he thought Phillip would be happier there if they bought more horses.

“Stop worrying about him, Sarah. Children have their own lives to lead, independent of their parents.”

“He’s only a little boy,” she said, as tears filled her eyes unexpectedly. “And he’s the only little boy I have.” She started to really cry then, thinking of the little girl she had lost during the war, the sweet baby girl she had loved so much, and this boy who no longer seemed to need her. She felt as though her heart would break sometimes when she thought about it. It seemed so awful to have him so far away, and not have any more children, but she had never gotten pregnant again since William had come back from Germany. The doctors said it was possible, but it just hadn’t happened.

“My poor darling,” William soothed as he held her. “He’s a naughty boy for being so independent.” He himself had never gotten close to him, although he’d tried. But it had been awfully difficult coming back from the war, meeting a six-year-old child, and striking up a relationship with him at that point. In some ways, William knew that they would never be close now. And he also sensed that Phillip would never forgive him. It was as though he blamed William for going off to war and not being there for him, just as he blamed Sarah for the death of his sister. He never said exactly those words after his outburst at the funeral, but William always sensed that those were his feelings, and he never mentioned it to Sarah.

William made her go back to bed with some hot soup and hot tea that day, and she stayed in bed and cried over Phillip, and made drawings, and eventually dozed, while he came upstairs to check on her. He knew what was wrong with her, she was absolutely exhausted. But when the cold went to her chest, he telephoned the doctor to come and see her. He was always worried about her. He couldn’t bear it when she was ill, it was as though he was always afraid to lose her.