Nanette lay on the airbed, her fingers dangling in the cool water as she drifted aimlessly around the pool. Jean-Claude had urged her to go for a swim, but she simply didn’t have the energy.
She’d felt so positive that evening, walking on the beach with Jean-Claude, watching the setting sun, believing against all odds that Zac was going to recover now he’d regained consciousness and making plans for his future care.
The numbness that had descended over her as Mathieu told them the sad news had drained her of all rational thought and energy. Only Jean-Claude’s quiet, loving presence had kept her focused on the things that needed to be done.
Nanette knew that the F1 world would want to pay their respects to one of their own, but in the middle of a busy racing season, it would throw up all sorts of logistical problems for drivers and their teams to attend. Jean-Claude had helped her set up the small private funeral service for Zac that would take place tomorrow in the church at the cemetery. They’d announce details of the memorial service they planned to hold in December at the end of the racing season.
An unknown Monsieur Mille had phoned, wanting an urgent meeting with her that afternoon. Jean-Claude had been strangely reticent about the man, saying simply that the name seemed familiar, but he wasn’t sure, and, as Monsieur Mille had declined to give details over the telephone, she’d have to wait and see what it was all about.
Reluctantly, Nanette paddled the airbed towards the pool steps. The mysterious Monsieur Mille would be here soon. She needed to shower and get dressed. Maybe she’d start to shake off this stupor after tomorrow when the saga of her and Zac would finally be laid to rest alongside his poor burned body.
Monsieur Mille, when Jean-Claude introduced them half an hour later, turned out to be a lawyer. Zac’s lawyer.
‘Mademoiselle Weston, I am here to offer my condolences and my services. I have to tell you that you are the only beneficiary of Monsieur Ewart’s estate.’ He handed Nanette a legal document and an envelope containing a set of keys.
A stunned Nanette looked at him in disbelief as Jean-Claude took charge and began to question him.
‘There is no mistake. Monsieur Ewart lodged his Will with me three years ago, with the instructions that, in the event of his demise, I was to contact Mademoiselle Weston with the news and offer her my services.’
‘It’s just that three years ago…’ Nanette’s voice trailed off.
‘I believe you had a bad car accident about that time,’ the lawyer said. ‘Monsieur Ewart was concerned for you.’ He stood up and held out his business card. ‘I will leave you to read Monsieur Ewart’s Will. If you have any questions, this is my number. These things take time, but you will need to come to my office to sign papers – perhaps next month.’
Nanette stayed in the sitting room while Jean-Claude saw the lawyer out, her thoughts in turmoil. Why hadn’t Zac changed his Will since then? Was it his way of trying to make amends? Or was it just a mistake on his part? Whatever the reason, it was too late now.
Her fingers were shaking as she unfolded the heavy document. There was no mistaking her name in bold letters six or seven lines down the page, identifying her as the beneficiary of Zac Ewart’s estate. Pole Position, the apartment in Fontvieille – those were the keys the lawyer had thoughtfully put in the envelope – and Zac’s bank account were now hers. Silently, she handed the paper to Jean-Claude when he returned.
‘You’re going to be a wealthy woman,’ he said.
‘I don’t want all this,’ she replied, looking up at Jean-Claude.
‘I don’t think you can refuse,’ Jean-Claude said gently. ‘Once you’ve signed all the legal documents, you can do what you like with it.’
‘I’ll give it away then. I certainly don’t deserve it.’
John-Claude regarded her thoughtfully. ‘The package you put in the safe – I think we should take a look and see if it’s still there. I don’t want you implicated in Zac’s criminal activities simply because you now own the yacht.’
‘I need some fresh air – shall we go now?’ Nanette asked. ‘Get it over with. I’ll just get my bag.’
Nanette’s mobile phone rang as they were leaving the villa. Vanessa.
‘I just wanted you to know that I’m coming down for the funeral tomorrow. Mathieu is meeting me in Nice tonight and I’ve booked a room at the Columbus.’
‘Are the twins coming too?’
‘No. Ralph is taking them to his parents in the country for a couple of days. I thought they were a bit young – although Pierre in particular is terribly upset about Zac. I think he was looking forward to boasting that Zac was a friend when he won the Formula 1 World Championship.’ There was a pause before Vanessa said, ‘You coping? We’ll have a long talk tomorrow.’
‘Yes,’ Nanette answered. ‘I’m fine. There’s a lot to talk about when you get here.’
The harbour was busy as Nanette and Jean-Claude made their way to Pole Position. As they walked, they saw Mediterranean Wanderer negotiating its way to a quayside berth, scores of cruise passengers lining her decks for their first look at Monaco.
Several police cars were parked along the embankment road, effectively blocking a lane of traffic. A loud blaring of car horns from exasperated drivers forced into gridlock competed with the noisy siren from the liner as it warned smaller craft to get out of its way.
Nanette nudged Jean-Claude. ‘Isn’t that Boris sitting at that café? Oh, and there’s Mathieu.’
Jean-Claude followed her gaze. ‘Wasn’t Mediterranean Wanderer on Zac’s list? Maybe Boris is waiting to meet someone. As long as Mathieu isn’t doing his dirty work for him.’ Jean-Claude gave an anxious look in his son’s direction.
‘Shall we wait and see?’ Nanette suggested.
Jean-Claude shook his head. ‘No. I have to do as Mathieu says and trust him. I still feel bad at the way I doubted him. Let’s go look at the safe.’
Phil, the skipper, was alone on board and eager to offer his condolences to Nanette. ‘It’s hard to believe. Such a tragedy. Away from the racetrack too,’ he said. ‘Have you heard anything about what happens next?’
‘The funeral is tomorrow – very low-key and private. We’re planning a memorial service in early December,’ Nanette answered, unwilling to tell Phil yet that she was the new owner of Pole Position. He’d find out soon enough. ‘Remember those things I had to put in Zac’s private safe? I need to see if they are still there. We won’t be five minutes,’ Nanette said, taking Jean-Claude’s hand, compelling him to follow her into the master cabin, where she closed the door.
Kneeling in front of the cupboard in the bathroom, she took out the towels and the shelf. Carefully, she twisted and turned the number into the combination lock and pulled the door open. The package and the gun were still there.
A muttered ‘Merdé’ escaped from Jean-Claude. ‘Désolé. I was hoping that Zac had already moved the stuff on. OK, the gun isn’t too big a problem – we can simply hand it in to the authorities. It’s not illegal to own a gun. The package, though, does give us a problem. We certainly can’t leave it here.’
‘I’ll put it in my bag, shall I?’ Nanette asked. ‘Take it back to the villa and talk to Mathieu. He may be able to suggest something.’
‘D’accord,’ Jean-Claude said, picking up the gun and making sure the safety catch was on before he slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket.
Phil was waiting for them in the stem. ‘Safe empty, then?’ he asked, giving them a curious look.
‘Yes,’ Nanette said. He wasn’t to know that it was empty because the contents were now nestling in her bag.
Passengers from the cruise liner were thronging the pavements as Nanette and Jean-Claude stepped ashore. Traffic along the harbour road was still at a virtual standstill and a large crowd was watching the gendarmes frogmarch somebody off the Mediterranean Wanderer.
Passing the pavement café where they’d seen Boris earlier, Nanette glanced around in time to see him disappearing into the crowd, with a thoughtful Mathieu watching him go.
Mathieu raised a languid hand in greeting as he saw them and walked towards them. ‘Cruz has been arrested. I expect things to start happening now,’ he said. ‘You’re looking very serious, Nanette. Has something happened?’
‘We need you to come up to the villa,’ Jean-Claude answered before Nanette could. ‘We urgently need to decide what to do with a certain package.’
Zac’s funeral service was as private as Nanette had hoped it would be. Altogether there were just nine people in the congregation to hear the vicar’s eulogy of Zac’s life and the brave actions that had taken it away from him.
The Oliviers had travelled down and were seated with the woman whose life and baby Zac had saved. Phil was there and Monsieur Mille slipped into a seat at the back. Mathieu and Vanessa sat behind Nanette and Jean-Claude.
Listening to the words of praise for a man who had been a part of her life for several years and who would continue to be a never forgotten presence by virtue of his legacy to her, Nanette found herself fighting back the tears. Silently, Jean-Claude handed her a handkerchief.
After the short service, everyone was invited back to the villa. The Oliviers, Monsieur Mille and the rescued woman all declined, citing various reasons, but Phil accepted.
‘So, if the rumours are to be believed,’ he said, awkwardly, as Nanette offered him a drink, ‘you’re my new boss. Are you going to keep Pole Position?’
‘Phil, I’m sorry, but it’s too soon to know. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do about a lot of things, Pole Position included. When I do, I promise I’ll keep you informed. In the meantime, I’d appreciate you staying on as her skipper.’
Across the room, she could see Mathieu in earnest conversation with Jean-Claude and Vanessa, but it wasn’t until after Phil had left and the four of them were alone that Nanette heard what they were talking about.
‘Boris has had his bail revoked,’ Mathieu told her. ‘Once the police got Cruz into custody, he sang like a bird. Apparently, he was more than just a courier. He was able to supply missing contact names, routes and some other information the police needed. They didn’t wait for Boris to do his daily sign-in – they rearrested him last night and got a judge to revoke his bail.’
‘Did Cruz implicate Zac in any way?’ Nanette asked quietly.
Mathieu shook his head. ‘No.’
Nanette sighed before asking, ‘What did you do with the shampoo?’
‘Told the police where it had come from and handed it over. Don’t worry,’ he continued, seeing her anxious look. ‘It won’t be used as evidence. Seeing there are enough people willing to testify against Boris, now he’s in custody and can’t threaten them any more, I’ve “lost” my dossier on Zac’s activities. I can’t see the police bothering with a dead hero. I shall have to give evidence against Boris, of course.’
‘Does he know yet that you were double-crossing him?’ Jean-Claude asked.
‘No. The police are keeping that little bit of information for the trial. I really hated deceiving you.’
‘Now I know the truth, I have to say I’m proud of you,’ Jean-Claude said. ‘You did the right thing. And I’m sorry I doubted you – I’ll know better next time.’
Mathieu shook his head. ‘There won’t be a next time, I promise you. I’m just glad it’s all over and I can get back to a normal life,’ he said, looking at his father.
There was a short pause before Jean-Claude spoke again. ‘Does getting back to a normal life mean getting more involved in my business as well as your own? I was hoping that we could combine them both, with me taking a sabbatical for a few months.’
‘Shall we have a business meeting tomorrow morning and start to sort things out?’ Mathieu said.
Jean-Claude hesitated. ‘I was going to suggest I took Nanette down to Zac’s apartment, but when we get back would be fine.’
‘JC, don’t worry about that,’ Nanette said. ‘I’ll drive myself down. Leave you free to discuss business with Mathieu. Vanessa will come with me, won't you?’ Nanette turned to her friend.
‘Of course.’
‘Are you sure?’ Jean-Claude asked.
‘Definitely. My convertible has been sitting in your garage far too long. It’s time I got mobile again.’
Nanette knew unlocking the door to Zac’s apartment for the first time and realising whatever it contained now belonged to her was going to be an emotional experience and would likely bring back a lot of memories, both happy and sad. Having Vanessa at her side as she discovered the contents of the apartment, in case she struggled to contain the tidal wave of sadness for the way Zac’s life had ended that was lurking just below the surface, would be better than breaking down in front of the new man in her life.