She glanced at her secretary, who had been positively bristling with excitement ever since Mme Massot had deigned to show her face. Judy was no fool. She was well aware that as soon as she left the office for lunch, the excited buzz would have swelled around her desk.

She shrugged. She was confident that she had carried it off beautifully. Let them gossip.

“Marie, bring me the New York reviews of the last collection.”

“Right away, Mademoiselle,” her assistant said.

Judy sat proudly behind her desk as Marie brought in the sheaf of clippings and laid it in front of her. She really didn’t need to see them, but she wanted to assert her authority.

“Thank you. And a cup of coffee, please.”

“Yes, Mademoiselle,” Marie said meekly. She had the guilty countenance of one who knows she has been caught out. Judy didn’t really blame her. It would be hard not to gossip, wouldn’t it, with the widow so surprising. No, not what she had expected at all. Judy had imagined Sophie with the years thickening her, getting fat and letting herself go once Pierre had disappeared. Of course she would be able to afford the best tailoring, which can slim up to ten pounds off a woman.

But no, she had not expected Sophie Massot to be so elegant. She was, what, a hundred and eighteen, maybe a little less. Petite, at five foot five, Judy guessed, once you subtracted the heels. But gorgeous skin, glossy chestnut brown hair, and bright eyes. And simply wonderful style. She looked perfect in black, with that touch of white at her neck, the huge, lustrous pearls. It would be hard to put a value on those pearls. Certainly more than several years of Judy’s salary.

Judy silently thanked the gods of fashion that she had decided to go completely jewellery free for the encounter. Yes, she had those few, good pieces, but she had correctly guessed that nothing she owned could compete with Sophie Massot and her personal collection.

She looked down at the raspberry suit. It was bright, unafraid. She was so glad she had taken the extra time this morning with her hair and makeup. True, Mrs. Massot was much better looking than expected. But, Judy thought fiercely, she still cannot compete with me. Not then, and not now.

Let her wear those insane pearls; Judy would compete with her beauty, and let it be all the ornamentation required. She knew all the Frenchwomen in the office had been judging the two of them, and she imagined herself to be the victor.