“You know how to contact the correct person at Mayberry, Madame?”

“I do, Madame. His name is Pete Stockton, and he is the chairman of their board.”

Judy was slightly annoyed that neither servant nor mistress called her “mademoiselle,” but she would overlook it. Katherine Massot’s 10 percent was key to her revenge, at least, to half of it. She looked slyly under her lashes at the boy, as beautiful as Pierre, but in the prime of his vigour.

He was the key to everything.

“Tom,” his grandmother said. “Why don’t you go for a walk in the rose garden? Miss Dean and I are going to get a little better acquainted.”

Tom looked at Judy; she shrugged, minutely; Katherine Massot was not a woman to be gainsaid.

“Certainly,” Tom said. “I’ll return in a few minutes.”

He smiled encouragingly at Judy, and left the parlour by the side door. The old lady turned to Faubert.

“You may go,” she said, “and see to it that we are not disturbed.”

“Very good, Madame.” He bowed and withdrew, closing the doors behind him.

Judy squared her shoulders; the old woman sat there, like a spider, controlling; she tried to meet that watery gaze.

“Your plan is an ingenious one, my dear,” Katherine said. “It will provide my grandson with a great deal of money. And control.”

“That is what his father would have wanted,” Judy replied.

Katherine sighed delicately. “Ah yes, his father. You were his father’s mistress, of course.”

Judy started. “What?”

“You heard what I said, Madame.” Katherine’s eyes hardened. “Pray do not play games with me. I knew Pierre. I knew where he went, and with whom he spent his time. Sophie may have ignored his lovers; I, however, did not.”

Judy hesitated, but there was too much certainty in the mother’s tone.

“I loved Pierre,” she said, with a touch of defiance.

“Many people loved Pierre. Many women. You were one of several, Miss Dean.”

“Excuse me, Madame,” Judy said, gathering her strength. “But I am aware of that.”

“Now,” Katherine replied. “You were not, at the time.”

How does she know all this? Judy wondered.

The old lady’s eyes were curious. “You must have hated Sophie very much?”

Judy felt the old, stabbing pain in her heart echo. “She did not deserve him,” she said flatly.

Katherine cackled. “Ah, there, we can agree. So many women, some of them at least interesting . . . for him to choose that pudding of a girl . . .”

“Why did he not divorce her?”

Katherine moved her hand; her silk gown rustled. “No need. She never did anything wrong. And she provided him with an heir. And yet, I believe,” she added thoughtfully, “that if he should return, he might. He might divorce her. Now. For what she has done with his company, admitting the suits of other men.”

Judy’s eyes widened. “You don’t think he’s still alive?”