For weeks now, they had kept him strong. Massot was a bloody disaster, let’s face it, and Tom had no idea how to fix things. Judy was exhausting. Katherine was back to her usual cold self. . . .

Tom scanned the letter for the millionth time. He reread the line about Judy. Maybe Maman did know something about her.

Well—that was one barrier between them that he could dismantle.

And Tom was going to do it. Tonight.

He would walk out to the orchard and see if any of the plums were ripe. When he was younger, Tom had loved going out there with Maman, hunting through the trees for those telltale signs of purple, pulling down the branches and trying to bat off the ones that were out of reach, stuffing the sun-drenched sweetness into his mouth, laughing while Maman tickled him. . . .

No menopausal romances were going to change any of that.

The trees calmed him. The plums were still streaked with green, but he admired their beauty; it was late afternoon and a gloriously sunny day. Tom made a decision. He sat on a mossy stump, fished out his mobile, and called his mother.

“Hello?”

“Mum, it’s me.” Tom realized he was using the anglicism she preferred.

“Oh darling—darling Tom. It’s so wonderful to hear from you. I love you, angel.”

“And I love you.” Tom was embarrassed to find he had a lump in his throat. “We mustn’t let this come between us, Mum. I—I’m sorry I threw you out of the house.”

“It’s all right, darling. I understand you thought you were protecting Daddy.”

He didn’t want to talk about that.

“Hugh never felt any personal animosity towards your father. I promise. Will you give him a chance?”

“I’m going to break up with Judy,” Tom said. He wanted to change the subject.

“Oh, thank God.” Sophie heaved an audible sigh of relief. “She wasn’t right for you.”

“I agree. You see, I can see reason.” Already he felt a lot happier. “It’s always been you and me, Mum. I shouldn’t have lost sight of that.”

“I can understand why you did.” His mother started to cry. “Darling—I just want to see you. Shall I come back to Paris?”

“That’d be great,” Tom said, cheered. He didn’t want to see Montfort, especially not in his own house. Plus, he didn’t think he could spare any time away from House Massot and its sales meltdown.

“Then I’ll be there tomorrow.” There was a hesitation. “Tom—I’ve got some news. Do you think you can take it calmly?”

He laughed, despite himself. “Oh, Mum—this is going to be bad, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure you’ll think so at first. But promise me not to fly off the handle.”

Tom could hardly refuse. “Okay.”