“Ohhhh.” Stockton smirked. Wow. Was he actually about to put one over on somebody? Sure looked that way. “But it’s an accurate term. You didn’t know, kid, I guess, huh?”

“Didn’t know what?”

“Long time before she was banging you, she was banging your dad.”

For once, Pete got the satisfaction he was hoping for. Massot’s face changed colour. He paled, then flushed a dark red. Rage? Shame? A bit of both.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” he said laconically. “Ask around if you don’t buy it. Anybody at Massot will tell you. It was an open secret, pretty much. Pierre bought her her apartment; she was his main broad for like six years.”

Tom said nothing. Stockton revelled in his obvious pain and embarrassment.

“No wonder your mom didn’t like her,” he reflected. “Wife and girlfriend together in the same office, everybody knowing, and then Judy hooks up with you? Course, it wasn’t like she was your dad’s only lay. He was wildcatting with a bunch of other chicks.” Stockton winked. “Aren’t we all, though, right? Guess I did you a favour in slinging her out on her ass—”

Tom Massot’s eyes were ice.

“Never speak of my father or mother in my presence again. And never mention Miss Dean again, either. Or I’ll come after you. Now, you’ve got a choice. Sell me the stock tomorrow at eleven a.m. sharp—the documents will be faxed to you by ten. Or sit back as Massot plunges into liquidation and you are ruined.”

Tom turned on his heel and walked out.

Judy tried to hurry home. She was a fast driver, but the traffic was shocking; seven o’clock, and still almost gridlock in the city center. Her painted nails drummed on the wheel. Damn it! She wanted to get home to Pierre. . . .

Divorce, would there be a divorce? Surely there must be. And then, she’d get hers. Finally—Pierre, her love . . .

He didn’t even care that she’d slept with his son. Of course, she’d have to call Tom . . . finesse that a bit.

Should Judy confess that there had never been a baby?

Not for want of trying. No contraception and sex on her most fertile days, but nothing. Every month she tested, every month, negative.

Or, should she say she’d had a miscarriage . . .

No, what if he told Pierre? That his woman had been carrying his own grandchild? Of course, Pierre said he wasn’t bourgeois, wasn’t shockable. But that might just do it. . . .

Judy’d need to get Tom off her back. Better to get it over with, to crawl, suck up. To him and that witch Katherine. . . .