He would manage things perfectly. His wife’s new “marriage” would be destroyed; she was a foolish, credulous Catholic, a believer in a god; she would know her wedding to Montfort was invalid. Let them be torn apart; Sophie would have to come back to him. He would possess her, and do it brutally. He would use her nightly, and she would be under his psychological control. He thought of Sophie with contempt. No way she had changed.

Montfort could pine for his new love; he would lose her like he lost the last one.

Tom would also come to the whip. He would drag him home, in disgrace. No playing at business, no college abroad. If he didn’t want to be disinherited, he would do exactly what Papa told him, from now on. Pierre demanded obedience. Tom would learn.

There was no doubt that Katherine would be penitent. She would suffer as she always had; he was not going to give Sophie up. Or, for that matter, Judy.

Wife, mistress, son—all would go on as before. The company would revert to him.

He was going to put everything right.

There was a squeak, and the door opened; Judy had come back from her hair appointment; she looked attractive and fresh. She was wearing the dress he had told her to put on.

“You called them all?”

“They are assembled. The ballroom of the St. Louis hotel. TV is there too.” She looked anxious. “Shall we go? They’re waiting.”

Pierre smiled at her benignly. “Well, they have written about unimportant nonsense for the past year: you, Tom, Sophie, M. Stockton . . . perhaps we should give them a real story?”

Judy walked up to the podium. The room was only half full; there were gaps. Some papers thought the House Massot saga had run its course. She was anxious; would Pierre be angry?

At least two TV cameras were there, though. That would have to do. She knew that the mainstream stations could get their tape. Thankfully, the beauty parlour hadn’t let her down; her face was about to be all over the evening news.

She focussed. She imagined Sophie, watching this—watching her.

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman. As you know, I am a former director of publicity for House Massot. Some of you may be familiar with events at that company since Mme Massot had her husband legally declared dead.”

Judy arched one plucked eyebrow, and the hacks faked a polite laugh.

“A week ago I received a visitor, who has been staying at my apartment to recuperate from an ordeal. He did not wish to make this announcement until he felt well enough to deal with your questions.”

Now there was a slight murmur in the crowd. She had whetted their appetites; she looked at the newly interested faces.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Pierre Massot.”