The thought gave her a strange satisfaction. Tonight had been a win, and she took great joy in it. She would not duck it. Sophie obviously enjoyed business; she was naturally good at it; even with all the drama, her self-esteem had risen during her time at Massot.

“Here we are, Madame.”

Richard pulled in, and came around to let her out of the car. The butler, Junot, was opening the front door; in her bathroom her warmed towels and cashmere robe would be laid out; the silk sheets on her bed would be turned down; cook would have the milk warming, in case she wanted a hot chocolate.

“Thank you, Richard. That will be all, tonight.”

“Very good, Madame.”

He got back into the car and drove off.

“Good evening, Madame,” Junot said. “Would you like anything from the kitchen, Madame?”

Sophie ordered a glass of milk and some fruit and cheese; she hadn’t eaten at the party, she was too busy mingling.

She thought about her son as she climbed the ornate marble stairs to her room. Tom had not spoken one word to her, had not so much as kissed her on the cheek. Katherine’s sumptuous dress and icy stare flashed back to her, and Sophie felt the press of anger, of chill resentment in her heart; at least Tom would have seen for himself that she was not mismanaging his affairs.

And now that the party was over, and the threat of public scandal had passed, she would reach out to him. Sophie would not surrender her baby boy to Katherine’s bejewelled claws. If necessary she would go to his apartment and wait there for him to arrive. When all was said and done he was still a teenager—hormonal and sulky—it was the order of the day.

She reached her room and ran her bath. When her snack arrived she dismissed all the servants; the Brie was delicious, the ripe pear and lightly sugared raspberries too. Sophie ate slowly, enjoying herself, and began her nighttime ritual.

But she could not put the thought of him aside forever. Hugh Montfort was there, constantly there, at the back of her mind. As she slid into the warm water, she pictured him, and her last image, before she fell asleep, was of his dark eyes, looking intently at her.

Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Judy knew the perfect spot. She led Tom, who was weaving slightly, away from the city’s main arteries, the nightclub crowds, and the traffic; there was an all-night bistro just off quai des Augustins; it catered mostly to locals, and the food was, consequently, superb.