I saw her point and took it, but that didn’t stop me arguing, “But if she doesn’t go to Saint-Germain-en-Laye, then what she’s written in this diary won’t be what Alistair Scott needs to finish his book, and I can’t take his money for doing a job on false pretenses.”

“Darling,” she told me, “you worry too much.”

“But it wouldn’t be honest. I think you should tell him at least, so he’ll know about Mary and Paris.”

“All right, then. Tell me what you’ve got from the diary so far. Tell me more about this secret mission Mary’s being sent on.”

I had read her the few entries I had deciphered, that ended with Mary’s remark about not having much hope her brother would keep his word.

“But,” Jacqui had reasoned, “we don’t know for certain he didn’t. We don’t even know that she made it to Paris, yet, do we? She’s still at the home of this Sir Redmond whomever.”

“Sir Redmond Everard. I looked him up. He came from Tipperary, and he died in France around 1740, so eight years or so after Mary first met him.” I had started a reference sheet of all the people that Mary was mentioning, for my own use, and I’d reached for it. “He was the last baronet of his family line. I couldn’t find more than that, but I didn’t search all that hard, really.” I hadn’t let myself be too distracted from the task at hand.

And Jacqui hadn’t cared much. “What I mean is, you’ve just started this. I don’t think we can leap to any judgments or conclusions yet. Why don’t you carry on, and if you find firm proof that Mary didn’t go to Saint-Germain, then I’ll tell Alistair, and we’ll let him decide what you should do. All right?”

It had seemed very logical advice. “All right.”

We’d briefly talked of other things and wished each other Happy New Year, and then I got back to work.

I hadn’t mentioned anything about Luc or his New Year’s kiss. She wouldn’t have approved. Besides, in retrospect it seemed to have been nothing too important, since it hadn’t changed the way we interacted. When he’d dropped in after lunch on New Year’s Day and I had offered him a handshake he’d accepted it without a sign of having been offended that he wasn’t being greeted by the double kiss, the bise, and when he spoke to me directly he still used the formal way of saying you—vous—rather than the more familiar tu that French speakers dropped into as a sign that your relationship was growing closer.

I’d been fine with that, I’d told myself. I didn’t like entanglements to start with, and it was enough to have his perfect face and blue eyes to enjoy when I was looking at him, even if they tended to distract me. I’d been looking at him later on that evening, while we had aperitifs in the salon and everyone, including Noah, shared their New Year’s resolutions. Claudine’s had been, to my surprise, to give up smoking, to which I’d remarked, “I didn’t even know you smoked.”

“I’m very secretive,” she’d told me, with a smile. “But it is not good for my health, and I’m not getting any younger. Noah? What’s your resolution for this year?”

He was drinking ginger ale in place of wine, but still he held his glass with a sophistication older than his years as he replied, “I’m going to learn to play tennis.”

Denise had asked, “Why tennis?”

“Uncle Thierry plays tennis.”

I’d watched Luc smile slightly. “Uncle Thierry plays all sorts of things. And this is an expensive resolution for your mother and myself, if we will have to buy you lessons.”

“But Mama can teach me. Uncle Thierry says she used to play as well as he does.”

To which praise Denise had raised her own glass in a toast and said, “Well, there you are. That will take care of my own resolution, too, for I would like to lose some weight.”

“You say that every year,” said Noah, “and you always stay the same.”

When Luc had laughed, Denise had turned the tables with, “And you?”

“I am resolved to grow a mustache.”

Denise hadn’t thought that was a good idea. “It will make you look like one of those old villains in the silent films.”

“All right, then. I will travel less, and stay at home more.”

Noah had approved that with a heartfelt nod before he’d looked at me. “Madame Thomas?”

“I don’t make resolutions,” I had told him.

“But you must. It’s a tradition.”

I’d considered it a moment, till I realized I was taking too long to decide, and since it wasn’t something I’d be bound to do at any rate, I copied what Denise had said. “I’d like to lose some weight.”

I’d seen Luc shake his head. “Too easy. That one has been claimed already by Denise, and anyway like her you hardly need to. Try again.”

I couldn’t tell if he’d been teasing or if he was serious, but on the off chance that it was the latter I had answered him more honestly, “I’m going to find a job.”

Claudine had offered me the plate of little toasts spread with pâté. “But surely,” she had said, “this is the perfect job for you to have.”

I’d guessed, from how she’d smiled, she’d meant that lightly, but again I wasn’t sure.

“It isn’t permanent,” was all I’d said, and suddenly Luc’s face across the table had seemed too distracting, and I’d looked away from it.