Sorrow, loss, rage at Pierre; and at Sophie: glad, ferocious triumph, that the wife had no idea she was hosting the mistress.That secret, at least, she still possessed. This may have belonged to Sophie. But Pierre’s heart had not—had it?

Would it have amused him, seeing the two of them there? Wife and mistress? Or infuriated him?

Judy wasn’t sure, and didn’t care. She hated Pierre for choosing Sophie and staying with Sophie. And she hated him for dying, and leaving her.

She smiled and waved at Pierre’s wife. “Hi!” she said.

“Hi.” Sophie kissed her. “You look fabulous today. Dressed up for something special?”

She does think I’m overdressed, Judy thought with loathing. “Just summer,” she said lightly.

Her tone sounded brittle; Judy told herself to be careful. She was on edge; it had been a bad couple of days. She felt so tense she was almost cracking up. It was that English bastard, Montfort. Judy had been overcome, immediately overcome.

She hated him. Hated Mayberry. Hated Massot. Hated all of them.

Her first impulse had been to quit. But she needed money. Where the hell would she go? And so here she was, today, sucking what pleasure she could from the fact that Sophie Massot was unhappy. A breach with her boy, Pierre’s boy. And his mother. Trouble in paradise,Judy thought snidely, and although it sounded petty, she really didn’t care.

“Did you discover anything?” Sophie asked, eagerly.

“Oh, certainly. He’s staying at a rental in the Appartements Dauphin on the Rive Gauche.”

He had rented a place? But Château des Étoiles was his home!

“And the phone number?”

“That I couldn’t get you. But I know people. Firms . . . private detectives. They could find it out.”

“Is that legal?”

“Probably not. Depends how badly you want to know,” Judy said brutally, and covered it with a smile. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“I see.” Sophie’s pretty face fell.

“I’m sure it’s just a teenage whim,” Judy said. “Whatever the problem is. What is the problem, Sophie? If you feel like talking about it, of course.”

“Oh—certainly.” Sophie looked back at the forbidding height of the château. “It’s Sunday, everybody’s day off—I only have an assiette to offer you.”

“I saw a nice restaurant in the village.” Judy opened the side door to her green Porsche. “Hop in. We’ll do a girly lunch, set the world to rights. What do you say?”

That could only be Fruits de la Mer, the seafood place Lazard had wanted to go to. Sophie winced at the memory, but nodded. “Why not?” she said.

Eating out was the last thing in the world she wanted to do, but Judy had come all the way out here. Sophie could hardly say no.