Page 26 of Meet Me at Sunset

Camille turned to see Nicolas. He was wearing a moss-green sweater paired with tan-coloured trousers, and looked somewhat out of place amidst the bright colours and crazy patterns sported by the rest of the partygoers.

‘I didn’t realize you were out here. It’s crazy in there,’ Camille smiled, gratefully accepting a Gauloise. She leaned in close as he lit it and saw his eyes skim over her.

‘You look beautiful, by the way,’ he told her. She was wearing a flared jumpsuit in crushed red velvet, and she grinned at him.

‘Thanks. Designed and made it myself.’

‘Naturally. Was that at work?’

Camille pulled a face. Since graduating from university, she’d found a job with a small atelier catering to the bourgeois set.

There was little creative freedom, and it was a long way from the design career she’d dreamed of.

‘Of course not. All I get to do there is make dreary dresses for society girls or twin sets for old ladies.’

‘It’s a start.’

Camille raised her eyebrows, unconvinced. ‘How about you? How’s your new job?’

‘Long hours, lots of detail. It’s … fine,’ Nicolas shrugged. ‘Uninspiring.’

Camille took a drag on her cigarette, watching the smoke curl into the night sky. ‘Not quite where we thought we’d be, hmm?’

‘Hey, there’s still time to take over the world,’ Nicolas grinned.

‘There you both are!’ Andre emerged onto the balcony, bringing a blast of noise and warmth from the inside as he opened the door. He was carrying an unopened bottle of Dom Pérignon, and was clearly in a jovial mood, full of energy. It appeared he’d partaken of more than just alcohol.

He looked devastatingly handsome in a fitted floral print shirt that was unbuttoned to the waist, and yellow flared trousers that fitted snugly round the crotch, leaving little to the imagination.

He kissed Camille and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her close. ‘What are you two talking about?’

‘How life hasn’t turned out the way we expected.’ Nicolas didn’t take his eyes off Camille and she felt a shot of regret, suspecting that he was referring to more than just his career.

‘Tell me about it,’ Andre sighed dramatically, as Camille held her cigarette to his lips and he took a drag.

He’d been working in a men’s clothing store since graduating, an upmarket boutique at the smart end of the Rue de Rivoli, but – like the rest of them – he was hungry for more.

‘But it’s a new year. A new decade. 1970,’ he exhaled, gazing out over the city. ‘We can be anything we want to be.’

Camille smiled wanly, while Nicolas said nothing.

‘I mean, screw it,’ Andre exclaimed, letting go of Camille to gesture with his hands, waving the bottle of champagne wildly. ‘Why not start our own company? Our own fashion house? Camille designing, Nicolas the numbers guy, me … everything else.’

‘You always were a dreamer, Andre,’ Nicolas said ruefully.

Andre looked indignant. ‘I’m serious! Why not?’

Nicolas frowned, glancing across at Camille.

A slow smile spread across her face. ‘Maybe we could …’ she began, her excitement rising.

This was why she loved Andre – he was so passionate and ambitious, and it felt as though they could do anything together.

But there was one more person she needed to consider. ‘What do you say, Nicolas?’

Uncertainty and indecision flickered across his face, and Camille knew that Nicolas would be wrestling with himself. He liked certainty and security, to consider every angle before making a decision.

Camille leaned into him, squeezing his arm. ‘Come on, Nicolas. What do you say? You know we can’t do it without you.’ She gazed up at him through long lashes, pouting gently as he hesitated.

‘All right, I’m in,’ he declared recklessly. ‘Let’s do it.’

Camille began to laugh as Andre whooped, picking her up and spinning her around.

‘The Three Musketeers,’ he roared joyfully, shaking the bottle of champagne with abandon and releasing the cork, letting the spray fly off the balcony, falling like rain onto the street below.

He took a swig from the bottle then passed it round to the others, as they drank to seal the deal.

Inside, they could hear cheers of excitement, and Camille heard someone cry, ‘One minute!’ She checked her wristwatch and saw that it was almost midnight.

‘There’s one more thing we have to celebrate tonight,’ Andre announced, holding the champagne bottle out to Nicolas.

‘What’s that?’ he asked.

Camille’s gut twisted, and she found that she couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘I haven’t had a chance to tell him yet,’ she murmured to Andre.

‘No time like the present,’ Andre insisted. ‘Nicolas, Camille has made me the happiest man alive. She’s agreed to marry me.’

‘ Trois … deux … un … ’

The noise of the countdown came from inside.

Across Paris fireworks exploded, revellers cheered and church clocks chimed, in a nationwide celebration.

Andre swept Camille into his arms and kissed her passionately.

She didn’t see how the colour drained from Nicolas’s face, as he made no attempt to hide the utter shock written across his features.

All around him, people joyfully embraced, but Nicolas stood alone, drinking champagne from the bottle to welcome the new decade.