Page 25 of Meet Me at Sunset

That first drink was just the beginning. Camille and Andre met almost daily after that. She found him irresistible, unable to stay away from him.

She was aware that she couldn’t stop talking about him to Nicolas. It was as though she wanted to share how extraordinary Andre was with the most important person in her life: Nicolas. She knew it made no sense, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

The two men met one evening, unexpectedly, in a bar.

‘That’s Andre,’ Camille said, gripping Nicolas’s arm as his rival walked in the door. Nicolas couldn’t fail to notice the way she lit up when she saw him, excitement written across her face as her almond eyes followed him across the room.

Andre spotted her within seconds, coming over to introduce himself to Nicolas.

Camille felt giddy, as though her parents were meeting her new date for the first time.

It was a completely messed-up situation, and Camille knew it.

She was undoubtedly in love with Nicolas, but falling hard for Andre at the same time, and she had no idea what to do about it.

She was barely eating, hardly sleeping, unable to focus on her studies for the first time.

Her head was all over the place. She was young, beautiful and in love – with two men simultaneously.

Nicolas was as polite as ever. He shook Andre’s hand and said warmly, ‘Good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.’

‘You too. You’re a very lucky man,’ Andre replied.

‘I know,’ Nicolas said evenly. Camille could see that he was determined not to fall into the trap that Andre had set.

Nicolas wouldn’t try to compete with Andre, or one-up him, or indulge in over-the-top displays of affection towards Camille that hinted at hidden insecurities.

He was dignified and honourable, and Camille loved him for that.

But the chemistry between her and Andre was sizzling.

She could feel how every eye in the room turned to him, how every woman gravitated to him, and it roused Camille’s competitive instincts.

She longed to be the one he desired, the one he took home at the end of the night.

Andre outshone Nicolas in every way – he was taller, broader, more handsome, and immaculately dressed – and Camille was dazzled by him, yet at the same time she felt horribly guilty.

She loved Nicolas, but the sparks between her and Andre were impossible to ignore.

‘I’ll go get some more drinks. What are you having?’ Nicolas asked Andre pleasantly.

‘I’d love a beer,’ Andre smiled. Nicolas nodded and left, and Andre turned to Camille. ‘ That’s the famous Nicolas? I don’t get the attraction. You might as well be dating your accountant.’ He slid his arm around Camille, one hand splayed across her bottom as he leaned in to nuzzle her neck.

‘Andre, stop,’ Camille protested weakly, but his touch sent electricity through her body, sparks intensifying in her stomach and moving lower.

She pulled away when Nicolas came back through the crowd, though she knew her cheeks must be flushed, her face betraying her desire.

‘So, Andre, I hear you know everything there is to know about the fashion world,’ Nicolas began, and Andre smiled in response.

Camille watched their conversation, each gently testing the other, but she could see that Nicolas was winning Andre over, the latter forming a grudging respect for his rival.

A few evenings later, Camille came home late from the part-time waitressing job that helped fund her studies to find Andre in her apartment, the two men sharing a bottle of brandy and discussing investment strategies.

The sight threw her – the two of them together, and her attraction to both.

There was Andre with his good looks and easy charm, then Nicolas with a quiet determination, and the inexplicable, unbreakable connection between him and Camille.

She felt her stomach flip with excitement and confusion.

How French! She knew this situation couldn’t continue indefinitely.

It was as though she was walking a tightrope and would inevitably fall, but she didn’t know who would catch her.

‘Camille.’ Nicolas noticed her, and she walked over to kiss him, aware of Andre’s eyes on them.

‘ Bonsoir ,’ he smirked, his wolfish eyes flashing over her, though he didn’t alter his relaxed pose. ‘I was having a little trouble with our latest essay from Professor Henry – the finer points of finance are not my strong point. I have to say, Nicolas is a genius.’

‘Isn’t he?’ Camille beamed, stroking his hair affectionately.

‘Between the three of us we could take over the world. Maybe we should all go into business together after we graduate.’

Camille laughed, but the idea was appealing and lodged in her brain. This was why she adored Andre – he was bold and driven, his ambition unstoppable.

She knew that Nicolas loved her unconditionally, that he would always support her and never let her down.

When she envisaged their future, she saw them as comfortable and secure, with Nicolas working in a steady job, the two of them living in a nice apartment, hosting dinner parties at the weekend and spending their summers in Provence or on the ?le de Ré.

With Andre, however, the possibilities felt limitless.

He promised her the earth, and she believed he’d deliver it.

One day after lectures, Andre approached her in the corridor. ‘You’ve been avoiding me, Camille.’

It was true. Being around him weakened her resolve, and she’d vowed to stay true to Nicolas. But the physical pull between her and Andre was impossible to ignore. She looked up at him and knew she was lost. ‘Andre, please, it’s not fair …’

Andre pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply.

Electricity went racing through her body, and thoughts of Andre consumed her.

It was as though she couldn’t think straight, couldn’t behave rationally, didn’t care about anything else when she was with him.

Her judgement was clouded by lust, pure and simple.

‘I want you, Camille. Leave him for me. You said you’d do it before. Promise me. We can be so good together. We’ll have an amazing life, and you’ll have everything you ever wanted, I promise you.’

Camille stared back into his dark eyes and felt as though she was falling. ‘All right,’ she promised, feeling that she would have agreed to anything in that moment. ‘I’ll do it.’

Telling Nicolas was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

She couldn’t shake the feeling, deep in the pit of her stomach, that she was making a huge mistake.

She’d been determined not to cry, but she broke down in floods of tears.

Nicolas was stoic, and she hated to be the one who was crying when she was the one who was breaking them up.

She wanted Nicolas to fight for her – she might even have changed her mind if he had – but Nicolas had too much dignity for that. He wasn’t going to plead and beg.

Camille tried to justify her behaviour by telling herself that she had finally found her grand amour , her true love, and she was helpless in the face of fate.

Yes, she loved Nicolas, and felt overwhelming guilt at what she was doing, torn between the two men.

But ultimately, Camille knew that what she had with Andre was different.

Andre himself was like no one she’d ever met before.

Nicolas took the news with good grace, as though he’d never expected that Camille would stay with him, always knowing that one day she would leave.

‘I love you, Camille, and I always will. If you ever need anything at all, come to me. I’ll be here for you, I promise.’

‘Thank you, Nicolas.’ There were tears in Camille’s eyes as she hugged him goodbye, preparing to leave him alone in the apartment they’d once shared. Andre was waiting downstairs in the car, which was filled with Camille’s things. ‘You’re a good man. You’ll find someone better than me.’

‘No,’ he shook his head. ‘I won’t.’ As Camille turned to go, Nicolas said, ‘I hope he makes you happy. That’s all I want for you.’

Camille stayed silent, unable to reply. Then she walked out without looking back.

It was harder to move on from Nicolas than she’d imagined.

They had friends in common, they hung out in the same bars and cafés, and she found herself grabbing coffee with him from time to time.

A platonic friendship grew between them, as Camille discovered that she valued his advice and appreciated his calm, rational way of thinking when Andre was being hot-headed.

The three of them had grown close over the past few months.

Andre had come to like and respect Nicolas, learning that beneath his sensible exterior, he had a wry sense of humour, and offered a balanced approach to Andre’s volatility.

Nicolas dated occasionally, but there never seemed to be anyone serious or permanent, no one he moved into his apartment within weeks in a giddy flush of romance, the way he had with Camille.

On New Year’s Eve, the last day of 1969, the trio found themselves at the same party, in an elegant, expansive apartment in the eighth arrondissement, with a stunning view across the Seine to the Eiffel Tower.

It belonged to a mutual friend whose wealthy parents were ringing in the new year at their chalet in Val d’Isère, and right now there was dancing on the parquet floors, the remains of joints stubbed out in the pot plants, and the drinks cabinet had been raided and depleted.

Camille made her way out onto the balcony, in search of fresh air and a break from the mass of bodies and thumping music inside.

The night was freezing, the pavements twinkling with frost, as boats packed with revellers ploughed up and down the river.

In the distance, near the Tour Montparnasse, someone had let off fireworks early, and the inky sky was lit up with explosions of red and green stars.

‘Cigarette?’