Sunday morning of Grand Prix weekend and Monaco was buzzing in anticipation of race day. Yesterday had seen thousands of spectators descend on the Principality to watch the qualifying rounds for this morning’s all-important grid positions. As well as in the stands around the harbour, people had gathered early on the steep wooded slope between the port and the Grimaldi palace on the headland, ready to picnic and enjoy the day’s racing against the clock.
Actual race day would be no different. Thousands of spectators were already in town and more were arriving by the minute. Like yesterday, the slope below the palace was filling with eager racegoers and people were finding their seats in the stands. Celebrities taking time off from the Cannes Film Festival were out in force, nonchalantly strolling along the pit lane, there to be seen as much as to watch the race, eager too, for photo opportunities with the drivers.
Mid-morning and Nanette stood for a few moments on the sitting-room balcony, watching the crowds of people making their way to their highly prized seats in the harbourside grandstands. She’d been away for so long, she’d almost forgotten the frenzied excitement Monaco generated on race weekend, both on the track and off, as the jet set indulged themselves with a combination of high-octane living and fast cars. The sound of highly tuned engines being revved was beginning to fill the air – a sign of the frenzied activity that Nanette knew would already be taking place out of sight in the garages at the back of the pit lane.
Looking out across the starting grid, Nanette could see cameramen and journalists milling around with the crowds in the pit lane, eager to get an exclusive early interview with anyone willing to express an opinion on the way they thought the day’s race would go. Who was tipped to win today on the dangerous circuit that was a favourite with the drivers? The one they all wanted the honour of winning.
Down in the harbour, yacht crews on the luxury boats, moored so close to each other their fenders were barely able to keep the gleaming hulls apart, were busy serving strong coffee and croissants to guests who had partied the night away on board.
Nanette, glancing towards Pole Position, knew that Zac would have been up early to prepare for the day and wasn’t surprised to see just the crew moving around the boat’s foredeck. It had always been one of Zac’s unwritten rules – no guests on board the Saturday night before the Grand Prix – even if, like last night, he would have been celebrating pole position on the grid. Maybe the F1 experts and pundits were right and this year would see Zac crowned world champion. She knew, though, that his thoughts this morning would be focused on today’s race. He’d certainly have the crowd behind him this afternoon, if the cheers that had greeted his pole position yesterday were anything to go by.
She turned as she heard the apartment door open and close. Mathieu.
‘That’s Olivia sorted for the day,’ he said, joining Nanette on the balcony. ‘A day at the Aqua Splash Park with friends is much more to her liking than watching a boring car race.’
He leant on the balcony rail and surveyed the crowds and the activity down below him.
‘Make you nostalgic for your old life?’ he asked, glancing at her. ‘All those VIP parties and events you and Zac used to go to.’
‘No, not really,’ Nanette answered. ‘It seems a lifetime away, so much has happened. It was fun at the time, but things change – I’ve changed.’
‘Things certainly do change,’ Mathieu said, so quietly that Nanette barely heard him. He was silent for a few moments, simply staring down into the pits area.
‘Mathieu, is everything all right?’ Nanette eventually dared to asked. ‘Is there anything I can help with?’ She realised the answer was likely to be no, but having spent the last couple of days since he and Jean-Claude had rowed worrying about what was going on, she wanted Mathieu to know that if she could help, she would.
‘Thanks,’ Mathieu said. ‘Things are a bit difficult at the moment, but everything is under control.’ He smiled at her before changing the subject, effectively stopping her from asking any questions. ‘Should be a good race today. Zac did well, qualifying for pole yesterday – let’s hope he can stay out in front for the race. Monaco is one circuit he hasn’t won.’
‘A win today would be put him well in the lead for the championship too,’ Nanette said. ‘We all know he’s desperate to be world champion,’ she added drily. She hesitated before continuing. ‘Mathieu, I have to ask, are you sure it’s okay with Boris that I stay today?’
Mathieu looked at her, surprised. ‘Why on earth wouldn’t it be?’
Nanette shrugged. ‘It’s just that I thought Boris wanted the place for him and his cronies. The plan originally was for Olivia and me to go to Jean-Claude’s, if you remember.’
‘It’s fine for both you and Pierre to be here. Papa is coming down too,’ Mathieu said. ‘So relax and enjoy the day.’
Nanette thought it best not to tell Mathieu that it was Jean-Claude who had decided to change their plans, wanting to keep an eye on his son and try to suss out how involved he was with Boris.
The apartment bell rang at that moment and Mathieu turned to greet the first of his guests.
Boris acknowledged Nanette with a ‘Bonjour, mademoiselle’ and a tilt of his head before roughly ruffling Pierre’s hair – an action that had the boy dodging out of his way. Within minutes, the rest of Boris’s party had arrived and Nanette and Pierre were ignored for the next hour.
To Nanette’s relief, Jean-Claude arrived just as lunch was being served and together they sat at one of the small round tables that Florence had set up at the far end of the long balcony. Pierre, more interested in watching the scenes below than eating his lunch, had the binoculars trained on the pit lane.
The atmosphere on the balcony appeared to be one of genial conviviality. Florence was handing food around and Mathieu was busy organising drinks for everyone.
‘Mathieu seems in good spirits today,’ Jean-Claude said, glancing across at him.
‘Yes,’ Nanette agreed. ‘Although something is definitely worrying him, he’s very stressed.’
Jean-Claude raised his eyebrows questioningly.
‘I don’t know what, JC, but his repeated “everything is under control” earlier this morning seemed to be a mantra he was repeating to reassure himself as much as anything,’ Nanette said quietly, with an anxious glance at Pierre.
‘Any news from Vanessa and Ralph?’ Jean-Claude asked, taking the hint and deftly changing the subject.
‘We had a letter from Mum yesterday,’ Pierre said, without removing his gaze from the cars lining up on the grid. ‘She’d given it to someone in the first eco-camp they stayed in to post when they went back to civilisation. It’s taken ages to get here. Wish we could email her, but the village they are in doesn’t have electricity and the solar charger for the satellite phone doesn’t work that well in the jungle.’
‘Did she say how things were going?’ Jean-Claude asked.
‘Just that she was seeing some amazing things and would write again and phone when possible.’
The cars took off for their formation lap at that moment and Pierre pulled the official ear-protectors Zac had given him over his ears. By the time the warm-up lap was completed and the cars were back on the grid ready for the off, Boris and his guests were crowded on the balcony, waiting for the start. Nanette, a F1 fan long before she’d worked for Zac, felt the first stirrings of a rush of excitement that she’d always experienced at the beginning of a race. Not watching any races since her accident, she’d forgotten how exciting it always was watching the cars speed away.
Everyone gazed as, one by one, the red starting lights went out and then the ear-shattering sound of high-performance cars making for the Sainte-Dévote bend at high speed before disappearing up the hill towards the Casino blasted through the apartment.
A loud cheer went up as Zac, making a perfect start, kept his lead, and within seconds had disappeared from view, leaving the cars behind him to juggle for better positions as best they could.
Now everyone’s attention switched to the large TV screen set up by the Sainte-Dévote corner. As Nanette watched the screen, Zac flew past the Hôtel de Paris on his way towards the Horseshoe Bend for the first time.
Nanette hoped that the race would be trouble-free. Monaco Grand Prix might be a firm favourite with the drivers because of the challenges the street circuit gave them, but Nanette knew that simple fact alone made it one of the most dangerous racetracks in the world. There was simply nowhere to go if something went wrong – a puncture or driver error here could have serious consequences and these modern cars were so fast.
Racing out of the tunnel and coming back down towards the harbour, Zac was continuing to pull away from the cars behind him and had already put five seconds between himself and the rest of the field when he roared past the apartment again starting his second lap.
Boris and two of his guests moved back into the sitting room soon after the start and began talking quietly amongst themselves, occasionally glancing at the race on the small television on the sideboard. Nanette, fetching a bottle of water from the kitchen, strained to hear what they were saying as she walked past but caught only the words ‘money’ and ‘yacht’.
Zac stayed comfortably ahead for the race, his team providing him with two perfect pit stops to keep him in the lead. Nanette, watching him climb the hill past the Hérmitage Hotel on his sixty-ninth lap, knew that with just nine laps left, he was finally on target to win the Monaco Grand Prix with a nineteen-second lead over the car in second place.
It was lap seventy-two when disaster struck. The driver in fourth position misjudged La Rascasse corner and drove into the wall. The uninjured, but frustrated driver, climbed out of his car, shaking his head sadly at the crowds. Yellow flags were waved and the safety car was soon out on the track and the drivers were forced to slow down to stay behind it. Under racing rules, all cars were forced to keep to their current positions – overtaking was not allowed whilst the safety car was on the race track.
By the time the track was cleared of the crashed car and its debris, there were only two laps of the race left, all the remaining cars had bunched up behind each other - and Zac’s unbeatable nineteen-second lead had disappeared. As the safety car left the track, everyone watching held their breath, willing Zac to stay out of danger – and out front, knowing that he would now have a real fight on his hands to win the race that before the crash he’d led from the start.
As he negotiated the chicane before the swimming pool complex for the final time, the second and third cars were just seconds behind him, but it was Zac who rounded La Rascasse and roared across the finishing line first to take the chequered flag.
Nanette joined in the spontaneous cheering that erupted along the balcony. Despite all that had happened between them, she couldn’t help but be pleased for him.
‘Can I go down and watch the presentation?’ Pierre asked, excitedly.
‘We’ll come with you,’ Jean-Claude answered, knowing Nanette wouldn’t let Pierre go alone and Mathieu wouldn’t leave his guests.
Downstairs, the mechanics and other team members were crowding around the barriers, watching Prince Albert, Princess Charlene and the rest of the royal family who had appeared, ready to present the trophies.
Nanette, Jean-Claude and Pierre managed to squeeze into a small space alongside the presentation stand. Standing there watching the ceremony as a jubilant Zac received his trophy from Prince Albert and held it aloft, Nanette felt a certain sense of déjà vu washing over her. How many times had she watched similar ceremonies and then been at Zac’s side as he’d partied through the night? Now, as the champagne was shaken and sprayed everywhere, she joined in with the general noise of the victory celebrations, but her feelings were somehow detached from what was going on around her.
Running across the track to give the champagne bottle to his mechanics, Zac waved to Pierre and saw Nanette and Jean-Claude standing alongside him. Immediately, he changed course and came over to them.
‘Congratulations, Zac,’ Nanette and Jean-Claude said together.
‘Thanks.’ Zac looked at Nanette. ‘Dinner, tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock. No excuses. I need to talk to you urgently.’
And he was gone back to his mechanics, leaving Nanette no time to refuse – and angry with his assumption that, of course, she would accept his invitation. An invitation that had sounded more like an order she had to comply with.
‘That man is bloody impossible,’ she muttered under her breath.
‘I agree,’ Jean-Claude said. ‘I tell him no for you if you like? And you come to the villa with me tomorrow evening? In case he…’ Jean-Claude left the rest of the sentence hanging in the air as he looked at Nanette seriously.
‘Thank you, JC. Maybe,’ Nanette answered gratefully. ‘I need to think about how to handle this.’