Page 23 of Meet Me at Sunset

It had been another hectic day. Camille was used to it – her life had been lived at breakneck speed for the past thirty years – but she was only human and at times the exhaustion caught up with her.

It was late at night and she was sitting in her suite, sipping hot water with lemon, running through the events of the past few weeks in her mind.

She needed to focus on the show and be on top form for the dozens of interviews she’d been asked to do; the press release had gone out that morning revealing Catherine Zeta-Jones as the new face of Camille Andre, and it was making headlines around the world.

But Camille couldn’t stop thinking about Andre’s accident, about the chilling letters she’d been receiving, and the blackmail threats, and about Nicolas …

They’d exchanged a few words after Camille’s speech, but the conversation had all been focused on business.

Camille was so used to being able to tell him anything, and she badly wanted to confide in him about the notes she’d received since arriving on the island.

She was starting to realize just how much he was part of her life; how much he was a part of everything she did; how much she had loved him …

Her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.

Camille glanced at the clock; almost one a.m. Then she smiled.

She’d asked Nicolas to come and see her tonight, but when he hadn’t shown up, she accepted that he’d turned down her invitation.

Now, as she rose from her seat, she imagined him wrestling with himself, debating what the right decision would be, before finally agreeing to grant her request.

Camille opened the door and the sight of Nicolas made her catch her breath.

It was almost as though she’d summoned him with her thoughts.

He’d clearly been working late, most likely staying on New York time and catching up with his office there.

Now he was off duty, he’d undone the top buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, and Camille felt a sharp stab of desire shoot through her. She’d missed him.

They looked at each other for a long moment. There was a wariness in Nicolas’s eyes, as though uncertain how she’d react, and Camille hated to see it, hated the distance that had sprung up between them.

Camille fought to keep her composure, to keep her expression neutral, though if she was being honest with herself, all she wanted to do was embrace Nicolas and sink into his arms, to feel his strong, solid body against hers and fall into bed with him.

She longed to lay all her troubles at his door, as she had done for the last three decades, to listen to his words of advice and know he would take care of everything.

But she couldn’t do that any more. She’d made her choice and turned him down.

‘I thought you’d still be awake,’ he replied, and his eyes were soft as he looked at her.

‘Would you like to come in?’

Nicolas nodded and Camille stepped aside, closing the door behind him. Her heart was racing. She knew this man so well, yet everything had changed between them and she didn’t know how to navigate their new relationship.

‘Would you like a brandy?’

Nicolas nodded. ‘Yes, please.’

‘I’ll join you.’ Camille distracted herself by fixing the drinks, splashing Courvoisier into two crystal glasses, and handing one to Nicolas.

They sat down side by side in the lounge area of the suite, and both began to speak at once.

They laughed, easing the tension. ‘No, you go first,’ Camille insisted.

‘The yacht party was a real success,’ Nicolas congratulated her.

‘Thank you. I think everyone had a lot of fun, and the press have gone crazy since I announced Catherine as the new face of the brand.’ Then Camille’s face darkened.

‘Although Elle made a real show of herself. I knew I should never have invited her. The silver lining is that she and Lucas broke up. Hopefully for good.’

‘He’s a sensible boy. You raised him well,’ Nicolas said quietly. ‘He’ll make the best decision for him.’

Camille gave him a long, searching look. ‘I’m glad you came. I didn’t know if you would.’

‘Of course. This is business. Like I said yesterday, whatever happened between us doesn’t change that.’

Just business. Camille wasn’t sure how she felt about Nicolas’s new hardness – relieved that he’d taken a step back? Or devastated that he’d finally given up on her, cutting ties once and for all. Recklessly she asked, ‘Is that the only reason you came? The business?’

A muscle flickered in Nicolas’s jaw, and he seemed annoyed suddenly.

‘What do you want from me, Camille? You made it clear that the only relationship between us was professional so I’m trying to keep it that way.

Don’t toy with me. It’s not fair.’ He drained his glass and slammed it down on the table.

Camille was shocked by his outburst – he was usually so contained, so in control of himself – but she knew that what he’d said was true.

It wasn’t fair of her to ask those questions, but the truth was that her feelings were all over the place.

‘I’m sorry,’ she apologized. ‘It’s just hard, after all this time. ’

‘This was your choice, Camille,’ Nicolas reminded her. His eyes were firm, but she heard the emotion in his voice again.

Camille stood up. ‘I have something to show you. Wait a moment …’ She went into her bedroom and returned with a letter and a package. She handed both to Nicolas, her face ashen.

‘What’s this?’

‘They’ve both arrived since I’ve been here. Someone knows.’

Wordlessly, Nicolas opened the envelope, taking in the photograph, the accident report, the newspaper article, and the note attached to the top: I know you lied .

He swallowed, placing the pile down on the side table.

Then he reached for the package, frowning as he saw the handbag stained by a rust-red liquid.

‘Open it,’ Camille said.

Nicolas’s eyes flickered to hers and he did as she said. ‘ Putain ,’ he swore, with a sharp intake of breath, as he saw the smashed wing mirror and the second, menacing warning:

Now it’s time to pay, once and for all

Camille began to tell Nicolas everything: how the letters had started arriving; how she’d been so scared by them that she had just got her accountant to pay the money blindly.

‘Why didn’t you come to me before?’

‘I don’t know, I was afraid. I just wanted it to go away.’

‘This is serious,’ Nicolas said.

Camille shivered, glancing around her as though she expected to see someone hiding in the room. ‘I’m scared, Nicolas.’

She felt close to tears. Usually Camille was impenetrable, keeping her fears and emotions tightly bound, but lately she felt under so much pressure that she worried this could break her.

She longed for Nicolas to put his arms around her and tell her everything was going to be all right, but neither of them moved an inch.

‘I’ve got contacts in the police,’ Nicolas began.

‘We must try to find out who is sending these; it’s already dangerous.

’ Nicolas sighed heavily, running his hands through his dark hair.

It was late, and he looked tired, Camille realized.

In her mind, he was still the youthful 22-year-old he had been when she’d first met him, but she saw now the deep lines around his eyes, the increasing grey in his hair.

He’d been at the top of his industry for a long time now, age was catching up with of them … and their secrets.

‘But what do they know, Nicolas? Who could it be, do you think …?’ Camille’s nerves were in threads. ‘Who is it?’

Nicolas’s brown eyes were grave. ‘What can they know? It is only you and I who …’ He opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment there was a light knock on the door. The two of them exchanged glances, their faces taut with anxiety, and Camille marched across the suite, her adrenaline racing.

‘Camille, wait—’

She wrenched open the door before Nicolas could stop her, almost expecting to find the suspect standing there. Instead, it was a uniformed concierge with an apologetic expression on his face.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you so late, Senora Fontaine. This just arrived for you. It was marked as urgent.’

He held the nondescript brown envelope out to her, and Camille recoiled, taking it as gingerly as if it contained a bomb.

‘Thank you,’ she managed, and her voice sounded faint. She closed the door without another word and Nicolas was instantly at her side. They looked at one another, the tension unbearable.

‘Do you want me to open it?’

Camille shook her head. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Be careful,’ Nicolas warned, and Camille knew his head was full of terrible ideas like razor blades secreted in the opening, or a letter laced with anthrax.

Slowly, she opened the envelope, finding nothing more deadly than a single piece of paper. She pulled it out, read the words on there and gasped.

‘What is it? Show me.’

Camille handed the note to Nicolas, her head spinning, her vision swimming in and out of focus. It was what she knew had been coming all along – a blackmail demand:

I knew what you did. One million dollars is the price of my silence or I’ll reveal the truth about Andre’s death to the world.

On the back was the same untraceable bank account number.

‘Holy shit,’ Nicolas breathed. He raced to the door, wrenching it open, but the concierge had gone and right now Camille needed his attention.

‘What are we going to do?’ she asked, her eyes wide and terrified.

Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

It was as though a huge weight was pushing down on her lungs.

‘They know, Nicolas. Someone knows! I’m going to lose everything.

My business, my reputation … And what about Lucas? My God, Nicolas, I can’t …’

She sank to the floor, her legs refusing to hold her any more. Her breathing was shallow, and she was beginning to hyperventilate. It felt as though someone had punched her hard in the solar plexus, and she doubled over, clutching her stomach.

And then Nicolas was there, his strong arms around her, cradling her against his broad chest, as she collapsed against him gratefully.

Camille closed her eyes as he stroked her hair, murmuring words of comfort.

She trusted him implicitly. He was the one person that she knew would always be there for her and never let her down, even more than Lucas.

He was always so cool and calm, so practical and capable, knowing what to do in every situation and never fazed by the unexpected.

In his arms she was safe, and she wanted to stay there for ever.

She could feel his heart beating against hers, the fabric of his shirt soft against her cheek as she inhaled the scent of his Guerlain cologne – the same one he’d worn for over thirty years.

He was constant and unchanging, her stalwart in life.

It was true that, as a young woman, she’d found his calm and reliable nature rather dull and unsexy.

It was why she’d chosen Andre, who was everything Nicolas wasn’t – bold, passionate, exciting.

But Nicolas had been her stalwart. He’d never stopped loving her, even after everything that had happened …

Gradually, Camille’s breathing slowed. Her vision cleared and her tears dried up. But she knew that they weren’t over the worst. Whoever was threatening her was still out there, and this was just the beginning. The blackmail note had changed everything.

She pulled back and looked up at Nicolas, searching the face that she knew so well. ‘God help us, Nicolas …’