“I think you would have done it for your son’s interests, but I also believe you wanted to do this, Sophie. For yourself.” The old man gestured to her rapidly cooling chipped mug. “Drink up, dear.”

She took an obedient sip.

“That is a good thing, you know, my child. You are allowed to want things. And you are allowed to do things.”

Sophie thought of Gregoire.

“It’s possible I may not spend much more time there, anyway. I trust the executives who run things. . . .”

“You’re not telling me something,” he remarked. “A man?”

Sophie blushed furiously. “Father!”

“Aha.” He cackled. “I thought so.”

“That’s not a sin,” she said anxiously.

“Why should it be? You are a widow; you have a death certificate. Of course, I think it’s a grave error.”

Sophie took a fortifying slug of the tea. This was not like Fr. Sabin, not at all. Usually they discussed nothing more interesting than village politics.

“The man is obviously somebody you have met at work.”

“How do you know that?” Sophie cried.

“My dear young woman,” she was hardly that, “you haven’t been anywhere else.”

“Oh.”

“And you are very rich, my dear, and also his superior—what is the English word? His boss.”

“He has money of his own. He is a rich man.”

“The rich never seem to object to more money,” Fr. Sabin pointed out. “Of course, it is up to you, my dear. But . . . some people like to think of you as incapable.”

Sophie’s mind flickered to Katherine . . . to Pierre . . . for a second, to Tom.

“Don’t prove them right,” the old man said.

She went back to the château and ordered tea and scones. Sophie was eating with great pleasure when the call came through.

Mme Delon, her social secretary, came in with the telephone.

“Excuse me, Madame; a M. Lazard to speak with you.”

“Thank you, Celine.”

“Sophie.” Gregoire’s voice, warm and comforting. She could feel the yearning start, yearning to be held, complimented, loved. Maybe she should take it slow, like Father had said . . . maybe she should be suspicious?

“I hope you are feeling well? Judy told me you left the office early.”

“I’m fine, Gregoire.”

“Listen,” he said, the words tumbling out as though in a rush. “Judy was very upset. She came to see me. She thinks she said too much to you.”

“Judy needn’t worry.”

“You must know that what she said is nonsense,” Gregoire went on. “I don’t feel you mistrust me . . . don’t let that keep you from us. I want you to be happy, Sophie. I want you to stay at House Massot until you are quite comfortable with the job I’m doing. Or longer! Stay forever, as far as I am concerned.”