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The moment Marit walked through the curtain backstage, her assistant, Sophie, was at her elbow.

“You have three minutes for this change,” Sophie said, unzipping the gown Marit was wearing as she spoke.

“What about the next one?” Marit asked.

“Two,” Sophie said grimly. “That one’s going to be tight.”

A one-minute difference between outfit changes was huge. And far too big to ignore. When she’d seen Lars raise his phone, she’d known exactly what he’d meant. She also knew that he wouldn’t have signaled her during a rehearsal unless the message he had for her was important. She popped her high heels off and reached for the flats she was scheduled to wear with the loose-fitting trousers. Given half a chance, she could move fast in these.

“Quickly, Sophie,” she said. “I need to grab something from my purse before I get back in line.”

Sophie frowned. “What is it? With the number of buttons on this shirt, you’re barely going to have time as it is.”

It was now or not until the end of the rehearsal.

“My phone,” she said.

With an alarmed expression, Sophie pressed her finger to her lips. “If Mademoiselle Allard catches any of us backstage on our phones, we’re fired.”

Brilliant. It was a common practice to silence all phones while backstage, and checking them during work hours was discouraged. But not many designers enforced a total ban on their use.

“I’m expecting a really important message,” Marit said.

“More important than losing your place in the show?” Sophie asked.

“Yes.” If the message had anything to do with Ralph’s missing patterns, it trumped walking in Camille Allard’s show.

Sophie’s eyes widened. She’d obviously not expected Marit’s emphatic response. She straightened Marit’s collar and glanced over her shoulder. “The general manager’s talking to the in-line help,” she said. “Put on the jacket, and I’ll go with you. If we’re stopped, we’re looking for a safety pin.”

“Bless you, Sophie.” Marit threaded her arms through the sleeves and hurried across the waiting area.

Darting into the small room where the makeup-artist stations were lined up along the wall, she ran to the row of cubicles where the models left their personal items.

One of the makeup artists looked up from clearing her desk. “Do you need something?”

“A safety pin.” Marit had found her purse and was already rooting through it for her phone.

“Shouldn’t your assistant have tons of those?”

“I usually do.” Sophie had entered the room. The anxiety in her voice was probably due to the ruse they were undertaking, but it was exactly how a wardrobe assistant would sound if she’d truly run out of pins. “I used my last one on the first outfit.”

Marit clasped her phone. Keeping it hidden inside her purse, she pressed the screen. A message from Lars. She pressed the screen again to open it. Behind her, Sophie was asking the makeup artist if she had any safety pins. Marit scanned the message.

Rumor that Ralph helped Allard out last year with clothing manufacture. Can you find out if it’s true?

Letting her phone drop back into the bottom of her purse, Marit turned and ran for the door. “Got one, Sophie. Let’s go.”

Sophie needed no second bidding. She was right behind Marit when she reached the lineup. Isabelle was already in position, two girls from the head of the queue. She raised a questioning eyebrow, but Marit had no time to do anything but go directly to the head of the line.

The woman standing by the curtain glanced at her clipboard and frowned. “That was close, Miss Jansen. Watch for your cue.”

Sophie tugged on one of her sleeves to straighten it. Seconds later, the curtain was pulled back, and Marit stepped onto the runway again.

Grateful that traversing the catwalk was virtually second nature, Marit mulled over Lars’s message as she walked. She didn’t know Camille Allard well enough to ask her about the rumor, so her best option was to find someone who’d worked with her for over a year. Sophie would have been an ideal candidate because clothing assistants spent a good deal of time listening to talk backstage. But she’d already told Marit that this was her first time working for Allard. Her newly hired status explained her strong motivation to keep all the designer’s rules.

Marit reached the bank of photographers. Inclining her head, she smiled. The camera shutters clicked, and as she turned to go, she gave Lars a faint nod.

Sophie was waiting for her when she passed through the curtain. They exchanged only a few words, focusing instead on the clothing change. As soon as the chiffon bow was tied around her neck, Marit stepped back in line.

Isabelle appeared through the curtains. Needing to make no further changes, she headed straight for Marit. “Everything okay?” she asked softly.

Marit nodded. “I had a message from Lars.” The model directly in front of her moved onto the runway. Marit didn’t have time to explain. “See if you can find someone who’s worked for Allard for over a year,” she whispered. “I’ll fill you in when I get back.”

The clipboard-wielding woman called her forward. “You’re up, Miss Jansen.”

Sophie met Marit when she returned. “Mademoiselle Allard wants you in the first outfit for the finale,” she said, already helping Marit out of her trousers.

“How long do I have?” Marit asked.

“Eight minutes.”

Marit breathed a sigh of relief. With any luck, she could find Isabelle before they both went back out.

“Hi, Marit.” As though Marit’s thoughts had summoned her, Isabelle appeared at her elbow. “I wanted to introduce you to my assistant, Ellie. I don’t know what I would have done without her today.”

“Hi, Ellie,” Marit said. “Do you know Sophie?”

Ellie shook her head. “I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

Sophie offered her a shy smile. “I’m new, so I don’t know many people.”

“I’ve been with Mademoiselle Allard for three years, and I still don’t feel like I know people,” Ellie said sympathetically.

Marit offered Isabelle a look of appreciation. It had taken her friend less than ten minutes to come through with someone who could help them.

“You must like working for Mademoiselle Allard to have stayed on so long,” Marit said.

“I do.” Ellie lowered her voice a fraction. “She’s kinder to her workers than most designers.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Marit paused. There was no easy way to bring this up, so she might as well dive right in. “Kindness tends to cycle around eventually. I did hear a rumor that Ralph Molenaar helped her out a while ago.”

“He did.” Ellie’s brow creased. “That was a bad time for everyone in the company—especially Mademoiselle Allard. There was a fire in her manufacturing plant, and the insurance money didn’t come in for months. Without a functioning plant, there was no way Mademoiselle Allard could produce her line in time for the London show without help. Monsieur Molenaar offered her the use of his facility. I don’t know what Mademoiselle Allard would have done otherwise.”

“Monsieur Molenaar is another kind person,” Isabelle said.

“Yes. And I know Mademoiselle Allard is grateful to him. They’ll always be competitors, you know, but underneath it all, they maintain a friendship and respect for each other’s work.” She shook her head ruefully. “You don’t see that among many of the designers.”

“No, you don’t,” Marit agreed.

“Places, ladies.” The woman with the clipboard began directing all the models into the line.

“We’d better go,” Marit said.

“Of course.” Ellie stepped back. “Sophie and I will wait here for your return.”

Marit and Isabelle moved to take their positions in line.

“Thank you,” Marit whispered to Isabelle. “Ellie was exactly who we needed.”

“And who Sophie needed.”

“Yes.” Marit smiled. She’d had the same thought. “That too.”