“I know. And this way, you can share your life with me.” He gazed at her, the dark eyes fathomless. “But you will be, from this moment, my mother. Even when we are alone. Always. With no breaks. That is careless; that’s how lesser minds get caught. You must think of yourself as Katherine Massot. Mother of Pierre Massot, and sharer in his fortunes.”

She brushed her hand in front of her streaming eyes.

“I will see how much you love me,” he said. “You can leave here, and my life, as Natasha, or you can remain as Katherine. This one time, I will permit you a choice.”

She fought down the lump in her throat, dabbed away her tears, and when she raised her head she managed a haughty toss of her head.

“I am Katherine Massot.”

He took the bottle of Chablis from its ice bucket and poured her a glass.

“We will eat a fine meal here, Maman,” he said. “And then we will go to the store my uncle left to me, while he took my aunt to visit her relatives in America.” Pierre raised his glass in a toast. “We have work to do.”

Chapter 50

Chapter 50

“Good evening,” Pierre said.

Judy swayed, clutching at the door handle. She thought she might faint. Every cell in her body flooded with fear and adrenaline.

There was a rustling of chain, and M. Kelo, the old man in the apartment down the hall, opened his door. He peered at Judy.

“What is the matter?” he asked peevishly. “What is going on?”

That snapped her out of it. Judy wrenched her gaze from Pierre, and turned around.

“Noth . . . nothing,” she stammered. “I saw a spider. I’m afraid of them.”

“You should grow up,” he said, annoyed, and slammed the door.

She stepped gingerly into her apartment and closed her own door behind her.

“I am not a ghost,” Pierre said, calmly.

Judy flushed. In one wild instant, the thought had crossed her mind.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded.

“How did you get in here?”

“You did not think I would buy you a property and not retain a key.”

Her heart slowing a little, she stared, drinking him in. His body was thin beyond its usual leanness; he looked emaciated, and she saw dark welts on his skin.

“I must get you to a hospital,” she said.

“No. No hospital.” He shook his head. “I will recover here, with you. I anticipate it will take a week for me to be restored to health. You will supply me with everything I need.” His tone held an unmistakeable threat. “And you will, of course, be discreet.”

“What happened? Where have you been?”

“Your drinks cabinet was locked.”

“It’s new.” She heard her own voice, apologetic, eager to please. It was the Judy she had always been with him. “I’ll open it . . .”

“Do you still have the Château Lafitte ’68?”