“Back at the hotel answering letters, I’m afraid. I’m capable enough without him, when it comes to certain things.”

“Sure, sure.” Custler put a hand over her mouth, scrubbing at her jaw. “I just … ah, swineshit. He’s real young, and pretty. And I thought maybe you two were … yeah?”

Aristide turned his head a fraction of an inch and nailed her with a chilly glance, eyebrow raised. “Like you and Frye?”

“Tits.” She turned white.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m sure you’re not as obvious as we are. Otherwise someone would have clocked you when she turned the company over.”

It took her a moment to recover from that, and when she did, she came on more matter-of-fact. “I know it ain’t my business. I only ask ’cause of this mess with the DePauls.”

Aristide’s complexion would hide a blanch better than hers had. That didn’t mean his blood didn’t drain—he felt it in the coldness of his cheeks.

“Paperfolk said you used to spark a little with the brother. Maybe keep each other up. I only asked about the secretary ’cause I want to know if you’re over that.”

“It was a very long time ago,” he said.

“Good. Good.” Relief gave him an idea of what she was going to say before she said it. “You might hear some nasty things about Emmy from his sister. You two are friends, I think? I just don’t want it to turn our dealings sour.”

“Of course not,” he said. “Business is business. I stand to gain as much from this as you.”

Custler let out a long breath. “Mother and sons, I’m glad to hear you say it.”

As he was to hear her say that. He’d had to allay one set of Frye and Custler’s suspicions already, when they brought up Saeger and the Catwalk. If they thought he was pinned with them over this late-breaking news—and he was, Queen save him—he’d have a brand new round of ruffles to soothe, at greater personal cost than previously. He had no stake in Saeger, except that she had once known Cordelia and he might have liked to ask her … Well. Any number of things. But that wasn’t enough to incite him to espionage on Saeger’s behalf. Not enough to play at threats and blackmail.

Anyone less professional would have let their jaw drop open, stunned by their own stupidity.

He wanted Cyril out of the country as badly as Lillian did. Eight years ago he had simply done the work as necessary, and would have succeeded if not for Cyril himself scratching the whole enterprise. And whatever work Aristide might do for him this time around, if it was tabletop Cyril would turn his nose up at it.