Judy personally supervised the firing of Françoise Delmain. Françoise had gloated when Judy was sacked; it was good to return the favour.

“You can’t fire me,” Françoise had insisted, colour high in her cheeks. “For what? It’s unfair dismissal. I’ll sue.”

“For the inappropriate comments you made to another employee upon their termination. Me,” Judy said. She smiled thinly. “By all means bring a suit, Françoise. We will defend it vigorously. And as you know, House Massot has deep pockets.” She extended her hand, to let the new cocktail ring Tom had given her glitter in the sunlight streaming in from her window. It was a fine, translucent oval ruby, surrounded with pear-shaped emeralds; the reds and greens glinted beautifully together like a scarlet rose in its petals. “Besides,” she added with a sweet smile, “don’t you think you’ve made quite enough enemies?”

Françoise looked at her nervously, then dropped her head, admitting defeat.

“I’ll collect my severance on the way out,” she said.

“There is no severance. You’re being fired for cause. There’s no reference, either.” Judy smirked. “I hope you aren’t behind on your mortgage, Françoise.”

“You bitch!” Françoise exploded. She wrenched the door open, banging it on its hinges. “I’d quit anyway,” she yelled.

“Oh, yes. Sure you would!” Judy laughed.

Françoise’s eyes, which had sneered at her the day Sophie called Judy to her office, blazed with loathing. She raised her voice. “Maybe I would. Nobody wants to work for a woman who first sleeps with the father, then the son!”

Judy gasped; her entire neck and head flushed with blood.

“Ha! You’re as red as a Breton lobster!” Françoise cried. “You thought people didn’t know!”

“You’re insane,” Judy said. “Delusional.” She depressed a button. “Security? Get up here immediately—and throw Françoise Delmain into the street. Right now!”

“I’m going, you little tramp!” Françoise tossed her head, delighted that she had managed, at least, to land one blow. “And maybe I’ll call Paris Match. I’m sure the gossip hounds will pay handsomely for this story!”

Red alert. Judy summoned all her powers. She forced herself to be calm and leaned forward, saying quietly, viciously, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“And why not?”

“Because I’d hope to live a long and happy life. Quietly.” Judy held her gaze, with a threatening look. “Put it this way: I’d hope that nobody spreads such a rumour to any paper or magazine. Because if it gets out, I will blame you. And so will Tom Massot. And that would be . . . ,” she whispered, “unhealthy.”

Françoise’s defiance crumpled like a popped balloon. “I understand,” she said. “I—I will go quietly.”

“Get out,” Judy said with contempt. The elevator opened, and two burly security guards appeared. Judy nodded at Françoise, and they flanked her.