She opened her mouth, tried to form words, but they would not come. After a minute she regained some control. "My God, Jean-Pierre," she managed, hiding her face in her trembling hands. "That amounts to millions."
"Greta," he said, pulling her from him, "You have earned your share. You have worked for it."
"Yes," she said. "Yes," an emphatic whisper. "I have worked hard for it, haven't I?"
"Yes," Jean-Pierre assured her, petting her hair. He smiled. "You have indeed."
* * *
"That's right, as much of it as I can sell," Peter said into the telephone. With a disbelieving expression he shook his head at Byron, who crossed his arms and shot him a mildly disturbed look.
"Okay, Peggy, thanks," Peter said, then hung up the phone.
"You sure you want to do that?" Byron said carefully, turning his coffee cup in his palm.
"You bet I am! Byron, I can't believe this! I can't believe
Matthew has formed an alliance with them!" Peter said, batting
his hand at the "Wall Street Journal," whose headline announced,
"ICP, Wallaby Announce Strategic Venture."
"Petey, don't forget that 'them' is where this old timer comes from."