Page 55 of Meet Me at Sunset

‘Yes, unfortunately. We flew out as soon as New York Fashion Week was over for some much-needed R&R, and now we’re heading back to the city – via a brief stopover in Rome for some meetings. Duty calls. This is Jennifer, by the way,’ he said, indicating the woman beside him, as she smiled broadly and stepped forward to air-kiss Camille. ‘Jennifer, this is Camille and Andre Fontaine, the geniuses behind the Camille Andre label, and my long-time friends. And this is their son, Lucas.’

‘Oh, the Camille Fontaine! I adore your new bag,’ Jennifer gushed, in a nasal, New York accent.

‘Thank you,’ Camille said, trying to regain her composure. She couldn’t work out why she was so thrown by the unexpected meeting. After divorcing Lisa, Nicolas had fallen back into the same pattern of dating successful women, rotating them every few months before either side got too attached. Camille hadn’t expected that he’d live like a monk, pining for her in his penthouse apartment. But there was something about being confronted with him and Jennifer like this – proof that he was leading a fulfilling life without Camille. She realized that the two of them had probably just had an incredibly romantic vacation, falling in and out of a rose-petal-strewn bed, falling in love … The notion pained her.

The concierge approached, interrupting the moment, and Camille was grateful. ‘Mr and Mrs Fontaine, your plane is now ready.’

‘Thank you,’ Andre replied. ‘Good to see you, Nicolas. Let’s catch up soon.’

‘Of course,’ Nicolas smiled, shaking hands with Andre, before giving Lucas a backslapping hug. Lucas had cheered up immensely at the sight of Nicolas, who he liked and respected.

Nicolas leaned in to kiss Camille on both cheeks, and the physical proximity was almost too much. It was a sensory overload – the familiar scent of him, the feel of his stubble lightly grazing her skin. Images came rushing back – the two of them, around the same age that Lucas was now, making love with a youthful urgency, unable to get enough of one another. Then another memory – in the old Camille Andre offices, Nicolas’s hands on her body, the taste of his lips, the feel of him inside her …

Camille closed her eyes for a second, grateful that she was wearing dark glasses. ‘Goodbye, Nicolas. It was nice to meet you, Jennifer,’ she said, fighting to control her emotions as she watched them walk away hand-in-hand. She realized her heart was pounding, her pulse racing.

‘Camille?’ Andre asked, touching her lightly on the arm. It was enough to break the spell, but she was still distracted as they boarded the seaplane and took off once again over the stunning Indian Ocean.

Yes, she’d lived an exciting life with Andre, and they’d built something incredible together. But their marriage had been plagued with arguments and infidelity, and Andre had never let her forget her humble origins. They’d never had the same connection, the same deep, unbreakable bond or unconditional love that she shared with Nicolas.

Before, Camille had always wondered, but now she had her answer – Nicolas was her soulmate, and she should never have let him go. She’d chosen Andre because she’d been young and foolish, blinded by lust. She’d let Nicolas get away, and he’d gone on to forge his own path without her. Now it was too late, and Camille would have to live with the consequences of her choices for the rest of her life.

Part 3

Chapter 26

Mallorca, June 2001

For the next couple of days after she had received the letter, Camille had tried to bury herself in her work, but it had felt like there was a black cloud hanging over her. Every time there was knock at her hotel room door, or someone was walking behind her in the corridor; every time she caught someone’s eyes at dinner, or passed someone in the lobby, she wondered, is it you?

Camille felt like she was cracking into a million tiny pieces.

Then Nicolas came to her with news late at night.

‘I think I know who is sending the letters,’ he told her, over a drink in her suite. ‘Amongst other leads, I’ve been able to gain access to the guest list.’

‘How?’

‘By telling them a partial truth – that you’d had a threat, and we needed to look at the list for security purposes. I’ve had my team run a few checks on the guests, and we’ve turned up a person from your past.’

‘Please, Nicolas,’ Camille begged. ‘Just tell me.’

Nicolas paused, his face serious as he looked at her, a furrow forming between his eyebrows. ‘We believe her name is Isobel MacFarlane – or at least it is now. She was Isobel Murdoch when she interned for Camille Andre about a decade ago.’

It took Camille a moment to place the name, but then her jaw dropped. ‘Isobel? But I …’

‘She’s staying here, at the hotel, this week. She befriended you, yes? She was at the yacht party, and her name is on the VIP list for the show.’

‘How do you know all of this?’ Camille stared at him with shock and wonder and open admiration.

‘I have my sources, mainly a big company legal department who are good at digging.’

Camille was in a state of shock. It felt incredibly sinister that this woman knew who she was and had targeted her deliberately when Camille had been nothing but welcoming this week. She’d even invited Isobel to dine with them at Il Paradiso, not to mention extending invitations to the yacht party and the fashion show.

What was Isobel’s reason for sending those threats? Had she taken a dislike to her for some reason, all those years ago? But why pursue this vendetta a decade later? Perhaps it related to Andre in some way – oh God, she hoped her late husband hadn’t slept with this young intern, promised her the world, maybe even got her pregnant … Camille’s mind was racing.

‘Do we know anything about her? About her motives? I just don’t understand why …’

Nicolas shook his head. ‘It seems too much of a coincidence that she’s here this week. Right now. The week of our big show.’