“It was common knowledge that there were many other women. I personally did not follow the gossip.” He had agonized as to how to answer this question. “I believe that there were, but I have no proof.”

“Then why didn’t he call me?”

“His answer was that he was so hurt by what he termed your betrayal that he could not face you. He has been staying with Judy Dean, whom he denies is his lover.”

Sophie closed her eyes and tried to cope with the pain.

“He’s lying,” she said eventually, and Hugh felt one of the iron bands of grief around his heart snap. “That conversation, in my office—when I found out Judy was his mistress. She was not insane, and she was not lying. He cheated on me for eight years.”

There was a leaden silence in the room.

“Are we married?” Hugh said, eventually.

Sophie shook her head, mutely. A tear rolled down her cheek.

“He’s going to the château.”

“Tom will be there. I must go,” she said. “I must meet him.”

Hugh was silent.Would she say nothing to him? He would not ask her.

“Darling,” she said. “I am still married to Pierre. I can divorce him, though.”

“I thought Catholics didn’t believe in divorce.”

“Civil divorce for a good reason is all right—when it’s truly necessary. I think this qualifies, don’t you?”

“So we could marry—after that?”

“I would still be married to him in the eyes of God. But I will seek an annulment. I don’t think he believed he’d be faithful when we first got married. I—I did intend to love him.” She sounded despairing. “I would have to prove what he was thinking . . . at the time.”

“And can you?”

She paused.

“I don’t know.”

“I love you,” Hugh said.

“I love you, too. I always will.”

“I have nothing to say. No comment,” Tom Massot shouted.

He shoved through the throng of photographers. The bulbs pop-popped in his face; microphones and booms were shoved at him, and the bright lights of the cameras half-blinded him.

“Move!” he yelled. He wrenched open the door to his Lam borghini. “I’m driving out of here. This is private property. As is the château. If I catch you on my land I’ll call the police.”

“Isn’t it your father’s land?” some woman screeched. “Are you mad you lost your inheritance?”

Tom wrenched the door shut. His heart was pounding; he found it hard to breathe. They were banging on the windows, flashbulbs were going off, juddering the light inside the car. The adrenaline had made his palms sweaty, and he wiped them on his trousers. He took a steadying, ragged breath. He didn’t want to die in a car crash before he had a chance to see Papa.