“That’s enough!” the priest said sharply. “You forget yourself. She is a person made in the image of God, Sophie. You will mention that remark in your next confession.”

Sophie shuddered, trying to control herself.

“You can’t understand how a mother feels. It’s like she has her talons around my heart. And she’s squeezing. Sometimes I think I can’t breathe.”

Sophie swayed on her feet and burst into tears.

“Come, sit down, sit down,” Père Sabin said. He guided her back to the chair, and Sophie allowed herself to be led. “Sophie, you must not regress.”

“I don’t understand.” She grabbed her Chanel bag, fished around for a handkerchief.

“Ever since you made the decision to have Pierre declared dead, you have been a changed woman,” the priest said. “It was slow at first, but the more you ran that company . . . you became determined, energized—I do not want to see you become a frightened little mouse again, dear girl. You must be strong. You must protect your son and yourself.”

“How?”

“No, I will not do the work for you. You know what to do. You tell me.”

Sophie blew her nose loudly. She was beyond embarrassment at this point. Why play the elegant madame? He knew her as she was.

“You’re right.”

“Usually, yes,” the priest said. “Although I did not know about Pierre. And I am sorry. Marital fidelity is vital.”

“That’s because you can never think ill of anybody,” Sophie said. “Which is why you’re a priest, and I ... wouldn’t make a very good nun.” She thought of Hugh, and she blushed.

“Tell me a plan of action. I want to see the new Sophie.”

“Very well.” He was right. “I’ll call Tom in the office.”

“Good.”

“And talk to him about Judy.”

“And what will you say?”

Sophie paused. “I can’t tell him,” she said. “About his father, I mean. Tom loves Pierre. I don’t want him to know what kind of a man his father was. It would destroy him. Tom still worships him. He believes he’s alive. What kind of a mother would I be, to ruin his love?”

“But there are other things you can say.”

“Yes. I’ll tell him Judy befriended me, in the matter of the company, and betrayed me. I’ll tell him she told me she hated me, the day she got sacked.”

“That’s reasonable,” the priest said.

“And then . . . I’ll tell him about Hugh. That I’m going to see where this leads.”

“You will risk that?”

“I love Tom,” Sophie answered, firmly. “But I’m his mother, not his daughter.”

“Bravo,” the priest replied.

“I’m a widow. I am free to marry. I believe that . . . something might come of it.”