Judy stepped out of the elevator and put her shoulders back. Another morning in her windowless cell of a room, another morning working next to that simpering idiot Sophie Massot. But she had high hopes it was all coming to an end. Sophie was spending less and less time in her “office” and more and more time being squired around by Gregoire. The pretense of work was, she hoped, finishing, and Judy would have survived—survived, again; exactly what she was so good at.

She walked briskly, smiling, to their little corner of the top floor. Marie was already there, awaiting her.

“Good morning, Mademoiselle.”

“Good morning, Marie. Coffee, please, and today’s clippings. And my call sheet.”

“Certainly, Mademoiselle.”

Judy was pleased to note Marie’s expert eyes sweep over her outfit. She could thank Sophie for one thing, she had learned to be even more stylish, even more perfectly chic, since she had arrived. Judy had to raise her game. Mme Massot always looked perfect, always in black, without a hair out of place, and with little unexpected touches thrown in that lifted her to the heights of elegance because they were so obviously unplanned. When she was rich, she vowed fiercely, she would have clothes that were just as fine, clothes cut with the precision of a diamond.

For now, she had to struggle and think. Last week, Judy had even considered writing out a little chart of what, in her carefully constructed but limited wardrobe, went with what. But she had rejected the idea. That would be letting Sophie get too deep into her head.

Today she had gone very simple: a summery dress of pale blue slub silk, a single emerald-cut sapphire suspended from a white gold chain, strappy sandals, and an ivory cashmere cardigan thrown round her shoulders. Never at any time did she wear black. She had even retired her black handbags. For now, she would be a butterfly. Judy wanted everyone in the office to see how unafraid she was of Sophie. She would dress beautifully and conspicuously, and aim for the greatest possible contrast—

“Judy!”

She pasted on her most welcoming smile. “Sophie, hello. Good to see you again!”

“Isn’t it a wonderful morning?”

Sophie threw open the doors to the office Gregoire had given her; it was three times the size of Judy’s old one, with huge windows overlooking rue Tricot towards the Seine. There was a small silver bowl on her antique walnut desk crammed with low-cut yellow roses; Gregoire had the flowers changed each day.

Judy looked at it enviously, then caught herself. Nothing unproductive, right? So she liked this office? Then make a plan; it could be her office once the widow departed and she got that senior vice presidency.

“Look at that view!”

“Yes, wonderful,” Judy said, glancing at the plain white walls of her own room.