“It will be difficult,” Hugh conceded. The mother had stock of her own, too. “But they do not have fifty-one percent even if they all vote the same way. We need to convince the shareholders.”

“You’re confident.” It was a statement, rather than a question.

“They have no sentiment about the name; they care about their portfolios. Yes, I’m absolutely confident. I want authorization to proceed with a bid; assemble the financing, legal, everything.”

“I got my Blackberry with me.” Of course you do, Montfort thought. “I’ll have it faxed to you within twenty minutes.”

The only good thing he could say about Pete, Hugh reflected, was that where his own money was concerned, he knew how to move fast. Montfort had convinced the board completely that buying House Massot would lift them to the level of Tiffany. Pete Stockton now wanted this deal almost as much as he did.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m much obliged.”

Hugh hung up and went into the marble-clad retreat of his sumptuous bathroom to brush his teeth. By the time he had finished, an envelope had been slid discreetly under his door. It contained the signed authorization from Pete Stockton.

Montfort smiled and put it beside his bed. He slept well, as he always did before a fight.

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Sophie couldn’t concentrate. She thanked God, for once, for Katherine. Her mother-in-law’s rigorous social training came in useful at a moment like this, when she had to smile and dance—avoid offending anyone, even though her thoughts were otherwise engaged.

How dare he?

She could hardly believe it. How dare he! Her husband’s long-time enemy, to come up to her at a charity ball and try to take advantage of her? Just because Gregoire had to work tonight. Hugh Montfort must have planned it, have known she was going to be alone. He must think me as dumb as a rock, Sophie told herself. What, I wouldn’t know about him? That I would sign over Tom’s 30 percent to some takeover shark?

It occurred to her that she in fact wouldn’t have known about Hugh Montfort, if it hadn’t been for Judy Dean; and she felt a rush of gratitude at the thought.

Gregoire had never mentioned him. But most likely he didn’t want her to be bothered.

Sophie fought to keep her composure.

“Sophie, you are not eating?”

Richard de Belfont, Baron de Fosin, her neighbour, bent over her solicitously. Sophie regarded her plate: duck with a bitter apple sauce.

“Oh, yes, delicious,” she said faintly, forcing down a forkful.

“Sophie never eats, Richard,” said Margot, his wife, with a thin smile. “How else do you think she stays so slim?”