Nanette switched off the radio alarm on her bedside table and lay in bed for a few moments, thinking and planning the day ahead. Once she’d walked the twins to school, she was going shopping for a dress to wear to the evening’s cocktail party with Jean-Claude. All her posh frocks were hanging in the wardrobe in her room at Blackberry Farm. She hadn’t bothered to pack any, not anticipating joining the social scene while she was here. Early that afternoon, she had an appointment at the hairdressers, so fingers crossed she’d quickly find a dress she loved, leaving her plenty of time to get back for that.
Knowing how immaculate the women who attended these parties always looked, Nanette wanted to make an effort, not just for herself, but also for Jean-Claude’s sake. She didn’t want to let him down with his business acquaintances. Slipping her feet into her slippers, she stood up, stretching her arms above her head as she did so, only to freeze in mid-action as she glanced out of the window.
Several yachts were about to enter the harbour and one of them looked uncomfortably familiar. Pulling her dressing gown tight, Nanette stepped out on to her balcony and watched as the boats motored in.
The crew of Pole Position worked quickly and efficiently and it was only a matter of minutes before the yacht was secured in her berth – directly opposite the block of apartments. Once the boat was tied up and the gangway lowered to the quay, Nanette held her breath, waiting to see if Zac would appear.
A lone crew member ran down the gangway and disappeared along the embankment in the direction of the supermarket, reappearing minutes later with several baguettes and a bag bulging with what Nanette guessed were croissants for the crew’s breakfast.
She stood watching for a few moments before turning away and heading for the shower. If she didn’t get a move on, the twins would be late walking to school and she’d miss the train connection to take her to Cap 3000 at Saint-Laurent-du-Var – the largest shopping centre in the area. Not only would she get more choice there, but a new dress wouldn’t hurt her credit card like it would if she shopped in one of the trendy Monaco boutiques.
An hour later, she was sitting on the train as it sped westwards along the coast on the half-hour journey, debating with herself about the kind of dress she needed to buy. Too glitzy and it would only end up hanging in her wardrobe for months before she wore it again as cocktail parties really weren’t on her radar these days. On the other hand, she didn’t want to play too safe by opting for a boring little black dress.
She knew the moment she slipped on the royal blue dress with its three-quarter-length sleeves, round neckline and a fitted midi skirt with a fluted ruffle hem at the front that it was the one. As she looked at her reflection in the changing-room mirror, for the first time in months, years, she felt a small burst of confidence returning to both her abused body and mind. The dress was glamorous in an understated way and suited her to perfection.
At the thought of the evening ahead of her with Jean-Claude, a frisson of excitement sneaked into Nanette’s mind and she realised she was looking forward to it. And to dinner afterwards, just the two of them.
But the excitement was instantly doused by worry. The cocktail party was an important business get-together for Jean-Claude and she prayed she wouldn’t let him down. It was so long since she’d had to make small talk with strangers that she wasn’t sure she remembered how.
Once back in Monaco, Nanette hung the dress in the wardrobe and got on with the rest of her day before nervously leaving the apartment for her afternoon hairdresser’s appointment in nearby Rue Princess Caroline. She’d deliberately not booked a rendezvous in the salon near the Casino, where years ago she’d been a regular client, in case anyone remembered her. Thankfully, a quick glance around as she entered reassured her that she didn’t recognise any of the stylists or customers and soon her head was being gently massaged as her hair was washed by an un-named efficient teenager.
Minutes later, as the stylist – Adam, according to the badge pinned to his pristine designer-label shirt – was carefully blow-drying her hair, Nanette stiffened. The mirror she was sat in front of not only reflected her head and shoulders and Adam working away but also the coming and goings of the busy salon behind her. Quickly, Nanette looked down at her hands in her lap and half closed her eyes, hoping to avoid catching the gaze of the woman who had just entered, Frances Scott.
The one and only time Nanette had met Frances had been the night of the accident. As the current girlfriend of one of Zac’s fellow racing drivers, she’d been his ‘plus-one’ for Nanette’s birthday dinner at the Mougins restaurant. Nanette, who normally didn’t judge anyone on their appearance, had been stunned by the woman’s over-the-top appearance and, later, her behaviour. She remembered whispering to Zac at some stage of the evening, ‘Is she on something?’ Zac had shrugged and grinned at her.
Peering at the reflection in the mirror as Frances sashayed across the salon, following one of the receptionists towards a washing unit, Nanette could see that the woman, unlike herself, hadn’t changed. She still dressed in the skimpy clothes that drew attention to her surgically enhanced figure. Nanette knew that while she had no difficulty in recognising Frances after three years, Frances was unlikely to recognise her. The long hair, highlighted with streaks of blonde on the night of the party, was no more. Brutally cut short in the aftermath of the accident, Nanette had kept it short ever since. Memories of that birthday party had been soured by the way the evening had ended. Long hair had had no place in Nanette’s new life.
She released the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding as she saw Frances submit to the ministrations of the same teenager who had washed her own hair.
Nanette knew it would be impossible for her to make even the smallest of small talk about the evening when her life had changed forever with a woman she barely knew if she was recognised. Adam was tweaking her hair now with the final touches after her blow-dry. With luck, she’d have paid and be long gone before Frances Scott was able to cast her eyes around the salon in search of any new or old acquaintances.
Early evening and a thoughtful Nanette added a generous amount of rose essence oil to the bath as the water gushed out of the taps. With his yacht back in the harbour, it could only be a matter of time now before Zac appeared in Monaco. Fleetingly, she wondered what his reaction to her being in town would be. She didn’t for one moment imagine it would be unadulterated delight, which, thinking about it, would suit her fine. Letting Zac back into even the fringes of her life whilst she was here in Monaco was not in the plan. Ignoring each other’s presence would be ideal.
Stepping into the tub and sinking into the hot, scented water, Nanette tried to drown out all thoughts of the past and Zac from her mind. Just because his yacht was here didn’t mean he was likely to be out and about this evening.
‘Mmm, you smell nice, Netty,’ Olivia said, when Nanette appeared in the sitting room an hour later, where Jean-Claude was waiting. ‘Your dress is cool.’
‘Thank you. I hope it’s the sort of thing people wear to cocktail parties. It’s years since I’ve been to one, so I’m a bit out of touch these days,’ she said, glancing anxiously at Jean-Claude for reassurance. ‘You’re looking extremely smart yourself.’ Nanette smiled. She’d forgotten how de rigueur the wearing of a bow tie was in Monaco. In his charcoal grey suit, crisp white shirt and black leather dress shoes, he looked the picture of the successful businessman she knew he was.
‘You look lovely,’ Jean-Claude said. ‘The taxi is waiting, so shall we go? Is Mathieu home for the twins?’
Nanette shook her head. ‘No. He rang earlier to say it will be late tonight before he gets back. Florence is here. I’ll just tell her we’re leaving.’
Early-evening traffic was heavy and the taxi crawled up the hill towards Place du Casino.
‘You’re very quiet,’ Jean-Claude said, glancing at her. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine. Just a bit nervous. I haven’t done much socialising recently.’ She didn’t like to admit to Jean-Claude that this event tonight would be the first time in years she’d ventured into any sort of social gathering not made up of family and known, personal, friends.
‘It’s not a particularly big gathering tonight,’ Jean-Claude said. ‘And if you’re worrying about Pole Position being back on its mooring, I happen to know Zac Ewart isn’t in town this evening,’ he added quietly.
Nanette looked at him, surprised.
‘When I saw the yacht this morning, I knew you’d be worried, so I made enquiries. Zac is busy testing in Jerez with his team for the next two days.’
‘Oh, JC, thank you for that,’ Nanette said gratefully, feeling the tension drain from her body. ‘Now I can relax and help you with whatever you want me to do. Do you hope to promote your business tonight? Or is it a case of other businesses wanting you to use them? What’s the matter?’ she asked anxiously, as Jean-Claude stared at her, a strange look on his face.
‘My late wife was the only person who ever called me JC,’ Jean-Claude said slowly.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It slipped out, without me even thinking about it,’ Nanette said, embarrassed at her first faux pas of the evening. She hadn’t even realised that she’d called him JC rather than Jean-Claude. ’I’ll stick to your full name in future.’
‘No. It’s fine. It was just the shock of hearing you say it. Please, I’d like you to call me JC, only perhaps not in front of my business associates tonight.’ He smiled at her. A smile Nanette returned, happy in the knowledge she hadn’t upset him, or brought back sad memories.
As the taxi drew up in front of the Hotel de Paris, the uniformed doorman opened the door and ushered them up the steps into the opulent foyer with its chandeliers, deep carpets, marble stairs and enough fresh flowers to stock a florist’s. Once inside, where the head maître d’ greeted Jean-Claude personally, they made their way to the Salon Berlioz, already buzzing with people.
Accepting glasses of champagne from an attentive waitress, Jean-Claude said, ‘Right. Better start mixing. Let’s start by talking to Robert, one of the vineyard owners I buy from. Normally I have to drive down to his chateau in the Var to meet him.’
For the next hour, Jean-Claude circulated, introducing Nanette to so many people she forgot their names instantly. There was only one person with whom she had any sort of rapport and that was Evie, personal assistant to Luc, a formidable bear-like man who, Evie assured her, despite appearances, ‘is a real sweetie’.
‘Been in Monte long?’ Evie asked, taking a smoked-salmon blini from a passing waiter and gesturing to Nanette to do the same.
‘Just a few weeks,’ Nanette said non-committedly. ‘You?’
‘Six months. I love it. It’s all so glamorous. I can’t wait for the Grand Prix.’
Nanette smiled at her infectious enthusiasm, recognising and remembering similar feelings when she’d first arrived.
‘Are you Jean-Claude’s new assistant?’
‘Sort of. Officially I’m his grandchildren’s nanny.’
‘Really? Gosh, he doesn’t look old enough to have grandkids,’ Evie said, looking across at Jean-Claude who was chatting and laughing with Luc. ‘You know that old black and white photo of Princess Grace and that popular actor she made a film with – Cary Grant? That’s who he reminds me of.’
Nanette followed her gaze and nodded in agreement. ‘Definite resemblance. Fancy meeting up for a coffee sometime?’ she said impulsively. ‘I’m missing my sister and girlfriend from back home and could do with some girly chat.’
‘Love to,’ Evie said. ‘Take my card and give me a ring next week. Better go, I think Luc wants me. Ciao.’
‘Ciao,’ Nanette answered, smiling.
She was still smiling when Jean-Claude joined her a couple of minutes later.
‘Shall we go? I booked a table for nine o’clock at my favourite fish restaurant on Boulevard Grande-Bretagne.’ He stopped suddenly and looked at her anxiously. ‘You do like fish, don’t you? I didn’t think to ask!’
‘Yes, JC, I do,’ Nanette laughingly reassured him.
A crowd of paparazzi had gathered on the pavement outside the Casino and flashbulbs started to pop as they walked past. Nanette, glancing briefly across to see if she recognised the blonde celebrity posing in the Casino entrance, failed to notice a lone photographer moving backwards.
Jean-Claude’s warning shout to the man, ‘Hey, mind where you’re going,’ and his attempt to pull her out of the way were both too late. The photographer collided with her heavily and they both fell over the small hedge that separated the pavement from the parkland grass in the middle of the Place du Casino.
Dazed, Nanette sat on the ground, taking deep breaths for several moments and trying in vain to ignore the cameras that were now aimed in her direction.
‘Are you all right?’ asked a concerned Jean-Claude. ‘Do you think you’ve broken anything?’
Nanette shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m just winded. I could do with a hand to get up though.’
Gently, Jean-Claude helped her to her feet.
‘Mademoiselle, I am so sorry,’ the photographer said.
‘It’s OK,’ Nanette replied. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going either.’ She looked at Jean-Claude. ‘Could we just get to the restaurant please? I’d like some water.’
‘Hey!’ the photographer said suddenly. ‘I recognise you. Aren’t you the woman who nearly killed Zac Ewart?’