“I believe you,” Sophie said. Now the smile was a little warmer, and Hugh longed to be able to court her, properly. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to . . .

“Your store is doing very well,” he made himself say. “I came here hoping to see a trail off of your sales.

“And I wanted to cheer myself up. It didn’t work.”

“I hope to see you again,” Hugh said. “After the stockholders’ meeting, perhaps.”

“Perhaps.” She smiled again, looking right into his eyes, and he felt a rush of adrenaline. He was forced to say goodbye. And walk out the door.

Hugh felt the sun hot again on his back. He had no thought of Massot, or their sales. He couldn’t think of anything but Sophie. And right now he just wanted to find a restaurant, so he could sit down in air-conditioned cool and think of her some more.

The feeling had lasted all morning.

It was there when Tom woke up, alone in the comfortable sterility of his rented bed; it was there as he processed the humiliations of the night before, as he dressed, and made coffee, and called the limo service.

The behaviour of his mother—bizarre and humbling as it was—seemed to fade, a little, seemed less fresh, when he thought about the American girl.

Beautiful, and spirited. She fascinated him, sexually; he wanted to prove himself with her, as more than his age, more than just some boy.

And apparently she had a plan, as well. Something better than just voting 15 percent against Maman and hoping for the best.

He would go to see his grandmother; it was a duty visit, it had to be paid; Tom did not forget that Katherine controlled two-thirds of their stake. She had been right about Maman’s attitude, but he regretted that. Tom was not looking forward to sitting there as the old lady gloated.

But it was his mother’s fault. She had given Katherine that right.

When he thought of that pink, low-cut gown—

The telephone rang. Tom walked over to the stand, in front of his windows, overlooking the Seine; he watched the sun glitter over the water, the boats laden with tourists ploughing through it, as he picked up the receiver.

“Ici Thomas,” he said.

“Tom, it’s Judy.”

He grinned, stupidly. “Oh. Good morning.”

“Can I come round?”

He glanced at his watch. “I really want to see you, but I have to take a ride out to St.-Aude. I must visit my grandmother at the château. After that, if we could do lunch? I’ll pick the place this time.”

“If you could just defer that for an hour. Is that possible?”

“It’s something important?” he asked, catching the urgency in her tone.