Page 29 of Meet Me at Sunset

‘Are you OK, Camille? Can I get you anything? A cushion? A cold drink?’

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ Camille said, trying to hide her irritation as she waved Mathilde away.

She was eight and a half months pregnant, and had had pains in her abdomen all morning, but she was telling herself it was far too early.

Besides, she needed to finish their latest collection – the baby couldn’t come before that.

Camille exhaled slowly, trying to gather her energy.

Paris was currently gripped by a heatwave, and the second-floor room was stifling.

The windows were flung wide open, and the fan in the corner was whirring, but it barely made a dent in the thick, humid air.

Camille had been wearing voluminous smocks in the lightest cotton, which she’d run up herself, but she couldn’t take much more of this.

She was sleeping badly, needing to pee every five minutes, and it felt as though the baby was practising karate inside her.

Camille sat down heavily at her desk, pushing tendrils of her dark hair away from where they’d escaped her topknot and were clinging to her forehead. Her skin felt clammy, beads of perspiration dotting her face.

‘Actually, a glass of water sounds good,’ she said, getting to her feet once again, stopping dead as another deep pain gave her cause to pause. Mathilde was by her side in an instant.

‘I’ll get it. You stay there.’

‘Thank you.’ Camille smiled appreciatively, secretly rather pleased that Mathilde was looking out for her. Movement now was cumbersome, and she felt permanently exhausted, yet Camille’s days were as full as ever and there was no let-up in her schedule.

The label was growing, little by little – though not fast enough for Andre’s liking – and they’d been able to offer Mathilde a full-time design position after her internship.

Camille Andre was gradually making a name for itself, and Camille felt under pressure to keep up the same pace, despite her pregnancy.

She had no plans to slow down when the baby arrived either.

They had already engaged a nanny, and she intended to take a very short maternity leave, hoping to be back at her desk in a couple of weeks.

She wasn’t sure how realistic that would be when the time came, but for now she was telling herself everything would be fine and keeping focused on her plan.

Andre was encouraging her to take more time off, to bond with the baby.

That was fine for him to say, Camille thought in frustration.

He wasn’t the one in danger of having his position usurped, and besides—

Camille gasped, as she felt a gentle gush of warm water trickle down her legs.

Her first, mortified thought was that she’d wet herself; that the pressure of the baby on her bladder had caused an unexpected leak.

Mathilde raced back over with the glass of water, in time to catch Camille staring down at the floor, wetness pooling around her sandals.

‘Your waters have broken,’ Mathilde stated, and Camille almost laughed in relief. Of course, how had she not realized what had happened? Her mind had been so foggy recently. And then, a few seconds later, she was hit by the reality of what that meant.

‘The baby’s coming,’ Mathilde said, panic crossing her usually unflappable face. The other employees turned to stare, whispers of excitement and uncertainty buzzing through the office. ‘We need to call an ambulance.’

‘Don’t worry, there’s plenty of t—’ Camille broke off as her face twisted in pain, the shock of the contraction taking her breath away. ‘Call the hospital,’ she managed. ‘And call Andre.’

‘Shit,’ Mathilde swore, her eyes widening.

‘The details of his hotel are in the big diary on his desk,’ Camille explained, a sense of unreality sweeping over her. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. She had too much to do, and Andre was hundreds of miles away.

She had told him it wasn’t a good idea to take a business trip so close to her due date, but he’d insisted that first babies were always late. ‘Besides, I’m only going to Italy. I’ll catch the next plane and be back in a couple of hours,’ he’d insisted. ‘First babies take forever to come anyway.’

‘How do you know so much about first babies?’ Camille had grumbled, knowing that Andre wasn’t going to change his mind. Now she found herself wishing she’d pushed harder to make him stay.

‘Can you do me a favour?’ she asked Mathilde, who was already on the phone.

‘Anything.’

‘Here’s my key. Go to my apartment and grab my hospital bag, it’s next to my bed. Can you get it and bring it to me.’

‘Of course. Where are you going?’ she asked, fresh alarm written on her face as Camille stood up and moved slowly towards the door.

‘To catch a taxi. I’ll meet you at Saint Joseph’s.’

‘You’re doing so well, Camille. Breathe, deep breaths, don’t push yet, it’s too early …’

Camille reached for the gas and air, and took another deep lungful, exhaling in relief as the pain lessened temporarily, her thoughts fuzzy and incoherent.

She was dimly aware that the effects of the drugs were wearing off more quickly and were no longer as effective against the surging contractions.

Camille felt that she was becoming primal, going deep inside herself as it became impossible to focus on anything except the next contraction and the brief moments of peace between each one.

It was like waves pummelling the shore, and right now a storm was raging.

One thought pushed through the fog: Andre wasn’t here yet.

She didn’t know how much time had passed since she’d left the office – it felt like days, but she knew it could only be a matter of hours – and she sensed it was too early for him to arrive from Italy.

Assuming Mathilde had even been able to get hold of him.

Distantly, Camille realized that this was not the way she wanted the birth of her child to unfold.

She had never dreamed that she would be alone, save for the patient, encouraging midwife – who’d introduced herself as édith – by her side.

She’d sent Mathilde away. It had been tempting to ask her to stay, but Camille hadn’t wanted a junior staff member to see her during possibly the most intimate and private moment of her life.

Another powerful contraction surged, pushing all thoughts from Camille’s mind. When it subsided, she became aware of raised voices outside her door – a man and a woman – and saw a shadowy outline through the small, opaque window. Both the voice and the silhouette looked familiar …

‘Nicolas,’ Camille called out weakly, feeling a rush of relief.

The midwife followed her gaze towards the door. ‘Is that your husband?’

Camille avoided the question, unsure whether they would allow him into the room. But all she knew was that she wanted Nicolas with her. She didn’t want to be alone, and God only knew where Andre was. ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Let him in.’

édith opened the door and Nicolas rushed to her bedside. Camille realized how she must look from his shocked expression; far from her usual poised and immaculate self, clothed in a hospital gown, her hair wild, her face clammy. But right now she didn’t care.

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she gasped, grabbing his hand.

‘Mathilde called me at my meeting. I came straight here.’

‘Have you heard from Andre?’

‘Not yet. Mathilde is trying …’ Nicolas began, but trailed off as Camille gripped his hand more tightly, another contraction bearing down on her.

‘You’re doing brilliantly, Camille,’ Nicolas said, awed by how strong and powerful she was in this moment, literally about to bring life into the world. ‘Not long now.’

‘He’s right,’ said édith. ‘I can see the baby’s head. So when I tell you to, you’re going to push down as hard as you can. OK?’

Camille looked up at Nicolas, fear and pain etched on her face. Nicolas didn’t let go of her hands. ‘You can do this, Camille. You can do anything.’

Then Camille’s expression changed as the next contraction began to build and all she could do was follow her instincts, her body urging her to push, knowing that she was just moments away from meeting her baby.

The taxi pulled up outside Saint Joseph’s hospital and Andre threw some money at the driver then leapt out.

‘ Bonne chance! ’ the driver called after him, but Andre was already sprinting across the pavement and through the front door. He looked around him, wild-eyed, trying to make sense of all the signs directing him to different departments, before yelling at a passing doctor, ‘Maternity ward?’

The doctor indicated a corridor to his left, and Andre was off again.

He was furious with himself for travelling to Italy; Camille had told him not to go, but he hadn’t listened.

If he was being honest, perhaps he’d been in denial.

He didn’t want to think about how a baby would change their lives, or how he might have to step up with the responsibility of being a father.

He’d blithely carried on as though everything would remain the same.

When Mathilde’s call had been put through to him at the hotel, he’d been in the middle of a steamy liaison with an eighteen-year-old aspiring model, whose youthful flexibility allowed her to contort herself in ways that took Andre’s breath away.

He’d ignored the telephone at first, but it had been insistent and off-putting, and he snatched it up irritably.

On the other end was a breathless Mathilde, and he had been given the news that his wife was in labour with his first child.

Andre figured he was already late, so he might as well finish what he’d started – a final fling before fatherhood.

Andre had kicked the girl out straight afterwards, showered quickly, then raced to Linate Airport and paid a small fortune for a seat on the next flight back.

When he finally landed at Charles de Gaulle, he hailed a taxi straight to the hospital, cursing the Parisian traffic.

The long queues gave him time to think, his conscience gnawing at him as he thought of his wife, alone without him.

Even in this day and age, he knew childbirth could be risky; he’d heard stories of emergency c-sections, of blood transfusions, of being rushed into surgery for unexpected complications …

If anything had happened to Camille or the baby, he’d never forgive himself.

Andre burst through the doors onto the maternity ward and ran up to the young woman on the front desk. ‘My wife is having a baby! Camille Fontaine. Where is she?’

A frown crossed the woman’s face. ‘ You’re her husband?’ She looked him up and down, as though trying to make her mind up about something. ‘Follow me.’

She led him along the corridor, stopping outside one of the many identical doors and knocking on it gently. Andre heard Camille’s voice say, ‘Come in.’

Without needing to be told twice, Andre rushed inside.

It took a moment for him to take in everything he was seeing.

Camille was sitting up on the hospital bed, looking exhausted but elated.

In her arms, she was holding a tiny baby, swaddled and apparently sleeping soundly.

Perched on the bed beside her, gazing at the newborn, was Nicolas.

The tableau took Andre aback; they looked for all the world like an idyllic family, as though the three of them were a unit and he was the interloper.

Nicolas looked up as he heard the door; was that guilt flashing across his face, or did Andre imagine it?

Andre’s gaze slid from Nicolas to Camille, and then to the perfect baby she was holding in her arms. Tentatively, he took a step forwards. Nicolas leapt to his feet, relinquishing his place beside Camille, but Andre was focused on the baby.

‘Are you …?’ He began. ‘Is it …?’

Camille beamed, and the smile lit up her face. She looked tired but radiant. ‘It’s a boy. Darling, we have a son.’