Nanette was silent, scarcely noticing the kilometres flying past as she sat, immersed in her own thoughts, as Jean-Claude expertly negotiated their way back to Monaco along the A8 autoroute.
Jean-Claude had tuned the car radio into the Monte Carlo station frequency hoping to hear some more information about the arrests, but there were no further news bulletins before they arrived back in the Principality.
A worried Florence met them at the apartment door, hysteria in her voice as she said something rapidly to Jean-Claude. The only word Nanette caught and understood was ‘Mathieu’ and she looked on anxiously as Jean-Claude’s expression became grimmer and grimmer before the housekeeper paused for breath.
‘She thinks Mathieu’s among the men who have been arrested,’ Jean-Claude said, turning to Nanette. ‘I must go and find out; see if there’s anything I can do. I’ll be back when I can.’
‘I need to meet the twins,’ Nanette said. ‘I’ll walk down with you.’
Leaving a clearly worried Jean-Claude at the entrance to the underground garage, Nanette made her way towards the twins’ school, where Pierre and Olivia were already waiting for her in the playground.
The old port was busy that afternoon with yachts and boats continually making their way in and out of the harbour. Tourists strolled along the embankment taking in the atmosphere and trying to get a glimpse of the celebrities sunbathing on the decks of their large yachts.
Stopping to buy the twins an ice cream at one of the pavement cafés, Nanette watched hundreds of passengers as they disembarked from one of the large ships that spent the summer months cruising the Mediterranean and regularly berthed in the harbour.
Wandering back along the embankment they passed a deserted Pole Position – its gangway raised and the No Entry sign firmly in place. With Zac not due back until shortly before the French Grand Prix, the crew would be enjoying having time to themselves.
Briefly, Nanette found herself wishing she didn’t have to wait so long to talk to Zac. She desperately needed to discuss her returning memories with him, tell him what she’d decided to do. She wanted to be free to get on with the rest of her life.
Stifling a sigh, she shepherded the twins across the road and back to the apartment, hoping to find Jean-Claude and Mathieu there. Florence, though, was still alone and shook her head when Nanette asked quietly, ‘Any news?’
When the phone rang at eight o’clock that night, Nanette snatched it up instantly, hoping it was Jean-Claude.
‘Hi, Sis,’ Patsy’s voice said.
‘Oh, hi,’ Nanette answered, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice as she realised it wasn’t Jean-Claude.
‘Just ringing to tell you the bump is behaving itself and I’m home safely,’ Patsy said.
‘Great. You take care now for the next few weeks.’ Nanette hesitated before adding, ‘Patsy, can I ring you for a chat tomorrow? Right now I’m waiting for Jean-Claude to phone.’
‘Is everything all right down there?’
Nanette crossed her fingers before answering. ‘Everything is fine. I’ll phone you tomorrow and we’ll have a chat.’
Once the twins were settled and in bed for the night, Nanette wandered out on to the balcony, unable to concentrate on anything as she waited for news from Jean-Claude. Down below, Monaco nightlife was buzzing with its usual mid-evening intensity. Yacht crews were welcoming guests on board for dinner, glamorous couples were walking arm in arm along the embankment and groups of men and women were making their way into the various restaurants for an enjoyable evening with friends. The cruise liner Nanette had seen earlier, Reine Soleil, was slowly manoeuvring its way out of the crowded harbour, beginning its overnight journey to Corsica.
As darkness began to fall, the twinkling reflections of yacht and town lights in the harbour water seemed to Nanette to add a poignant romanticism to the familiar scene. A brief stillness in the night air, though, filled her with apprehension.
Unexpected tears pricked at the back of her eyes as she suddenly felt very alone and incredibly vulnerable for no real reason that she could fathom. She longed for Jean-Claude to come as she struggled to compose her thoughts.
A matter of minutes later, when he did arrive, Nanette surrendered herself totally to the joy of being held in his arms.
‘You seem unhappy, ma chérie?’ Jean-Claude said. ‘Have you been crying?’
Nanette shook her head. ‘Not really. I just felt sad and lonely for some reason. I’m better now you’re here.’ She stayed happily in the circle of his arms, glancing up at him. ‘Now, tell me – is Mathieu in jail?’
‘Non,’ Jean-Claude said. ‘I don’t know where he is. I’ve contacted everyone I can, even people I wouldn’t normally talk to, in the hope that someone would know something, but nothing.’ He sighed. ‘Maybe tomorrow we’ll have some news.’ He hesitated. ‘I’ve brought the package with me,’ he said quietly. ‘I think we open it tonight.’
‘Do you think we should?’ Nanette said. ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d just done as Zac asked and put it in his safe.’
‘But, for whatever reason, you didn’t,’ Jean-Claude said. ‘If we open it, it may provide a clue to what is going on. If not…’ He shrugged.
‘I think, whatever we find, I ought to put it in the safe before Zac returns,’ Nanette said slowly, as she followed Jean-Claude into the sitting room.
‘Does Florence have any rubber gloves in the kitchen?’
Nanette nodded. ‘Do we really need gloves? I’ve already handled the package and so have you. Our fingerprints will be all over it anyway.’
‘Yes, our prints will be over the outside of the package, but we have a legitimate excuse for that. It wouldn’t be so easy to explain how your, or my, fingerprints happened to be on the inside.’
‘I’ll fetch the gloves.’ Nanette said.
It was Nanette who pulled on the gloves when they turned out to be too small for Jean-Claude’s hands.
Jean-Claude had placed the package on the table and they both looked at it thoughtfully for several seconds before Nanette picked it up and examined it.
‘Look, if I pull this Sellotape off gently and open it carefully, I can reseal it and Zac need never know we’ve opened it.’
As she spoke, she gently ran her finger under the seal and carefully eased the package open. Nanette, biting her lip in worried concentration, felt her mouth forming an astonished ‘oh’ as she saw the contents slide out of the packaging: a piece of A4 paper with a handwritten list on it and two bottles of shampoo.
Nanette shook her head in disbelief as she looked at Jean-Claude and went to pick up one of the bottles.
‘Non! Don’t touch them,’ Jean-Claude said.
Nanette looked at him, shocked. ‘It’s just bottles of shampoo, JC,’ she protested.
‘No, I don’t think it’s as simple as that,’ Jean-Claude said. ‘Leave the bottles for a moment and put the paper on the table where we can both see it.’
At first glance, it appeared to be a jumble of dates, some crossed through, with a single word – either Pepi or Cruz alongside, followed by two initials – RS or MW.
‘The dates from April are each roughly a fortnight apart,’ Jean-Claude said thoughtfully.
‘The exception is May the thirteenth which is only a week after the preceding one. That’s the only date to have Cruz and MW after it – all the others have Pepi and RS. Is there some sort of pattern here?’
‘The crossed-out dates have all gone,’ Jean-Claude continued. ‘We’re in the middle of June now and there are only two dates left, the twenty-fourth of June and then a gap to July the fifteenth.’
There was a short silence before Nanette said slowly, ‘Think about it, JC. It’s sort of following a Grand Prix timetable. The thirteenth of May was the day after the Spanish Grand Prix, the twenty-fourth of June is the day after the French GP and July the fifteenth is the day after Silverstone.’
Jean-Claude looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Could that indicate Zac’s involvement? Days when he would expect to be here? But what or who are Pepi, Cruz and what do the initials stand for?’
Mathieu’s voice answered him before Nanette could speak. ‘I can tell you that. Pepi is a crew member on the Reine Soleil and Cruz is on the Mediterranean Wanderer.’
Jean-Claude and Nanette spun round to see a dishevelled Mathieu regarding them tiredly from the doorway. Carefully, Nanette placed the paper on top of the shampoo bottles, forlornly hoping to hide them from Mathieu’s view for some reason. Too late. He’d already seen them.
‘Where did those come from?’ he demanded.
‘Never mind those,’ Jean-Claude snapped. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
Mathieu looked at his father. ‘It’s a long story that will have to keep until tomorrow.’ He held his hand up to stop Jean-Claude’s protestations. ‘I promise, you and I will get together tomorrow when I will finally tell you everything I know.’
‘Everything?’
Mathieu nodded. ‘I promise. Now, will you please move that paper and let me see those bottles properly.’
Silently, Nanette picked up the paper.
‘Where did you get these?’ Mathieu asked again, as he looked at them.
Nanette hesitated before telling him. ‘I was supposed to put them in a secret safe on Pole Position.’
Jean-Claude looked at his son. ‘These bottles contain something other than shampoo, don’t they?’
Mathieu nodded. ‘I wondered how they were doing it. I had a good idea how the money laundering was being done but not the actual diamond smuggling.’
‘Money laundering? Diamond smuggling?’ Nanette said, looking from Jean-Claude to Mathieu. ‘Zac?’
‘Yes,’ Mathieu answered. ‘I guarantee, if you were to unscrew one of those bottles, more diamonds than you ever thought to see in your life would flow out with the shampoo.’