Page 34 of Meet Me at Sunset

From the window of the private plane, the ocean was the most dazzling blue. It was made up of myriad shades – turquoise, aqua, sapphire and cerulean – and lush, green islands were scattered like emeralds across the water.

Seated opposite Camille was Andre, and across the aisle was Lucas, now a strapping young man of nineteen. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, his brown hair flopping over his forehead, and there was a moody expression on his face as he looked out at the view.

It was the first time Camille had taken a holiday for over a year.

After Naomi Campbell had been pictured with the ‘Camille’ bag, life had gone crazy.

They couldn’t produce stock fast enough to keep up with demand, and nor did they want to – Andre said exclusivity was the key to success.

The scarcity made great headlines, with women clamouring to get the ‘Camille’, dubbed the first ‘It’ bag.

Their clothing collection – which had been panned by the French critics – slowly won over their fashion-conscious clientele.

The British and Americans loved its cool, urban, sexy take, and slowly the French were captivated too.

It felt wonderful to be celebrated on their home turf.

Camille and Andre had had offers right, left and centre for loans, for investment, or for an outright buyout.

Whilst the sums of money on offer were eyewatering, neither of them wanted to give up the company at this stage.

Nicolas’s advice had been invaluable – although Camille hadn’t let Andre know just how much influence he’d had – and eventually they’d agreed to sell a minority stake to LVMH, the huge conglomerate that owned Louis Vuitton, Celine and Givenchy amongst others.

It meant they could retain creative control, whilst still having the investment, supplier contacts and distribution channels of a multinational corporation.

Last week, Camille Andre had shown their spring/summer ’94 collection, and it had been their most successful to date, with gushing reviews and record-breaking pre-orders.

Their label was widely recognized, and they were now a household name.

Camille and Andre were riding the crest of a wave, hitting the heights of their career – and they were both utterly exhausted, close to burnout.

They’d decided to take a private jet to an island in the Maldives, where they could completely switch off and do nothing apart from sleep, swim, and eat delicious fresh food prepared by a personal chef.

Camille had seen pictures of their accommodation, and it wasn’t simply an overwater bungalow – it was more like an overwater mansion, set in a perfectly calm, clear sea, close to a pristine white sand beach fringed by palm trees.

She hoped it would be a relaxing family holiday – memorable for all the right reasons – and that none of the cracks that were beginning to show between them would split open.

Camille glanced across at Lucas, who was still staring sulkily out of the window.

He’d been reluctant to even come on this trip, preferring to spend time with his friends – including the ever-present Paulo – and the stream of beautiful young women who seemed to permanently surround her son.

Camille had pulled the guilt card, telling Lucas how much it meant to her for him to accompany them, and had managed to persuade him.

She knew he’d enjoy it once they were there – he and Andre were adrenaline junkies, and had a packed itinerary of scuba diving, jet skiing, even swimming with reef sharks – whilst Camille looked forward to sunbathing and getting stuck into a good book.

‘We’ll be landing soon, darling,’ she called across to Lucas, as the stewardess came to clear his plate.

They’d had a delicious meal of filet mignon with fondant potatoes, followed by tarte tatin, then a cheeseboard, all washed down with a fine Burgundy.

Flying private was even more luxurious than Camille had imagined, and she realized she could get used to this; Andre had already been making noises about them buying their own plane.

Lucas’s eyes followed the stewardess as she walked away, and Camille raised her eyebrows.

She understood that her son was becoming quite the player.

He was rich and good-looking, and she knew the possibilities open to him would be endless – certainly far more than she’d had as a young woman from rural Normandy, with no money and no connections.

Lucas grunted in reply, barely responding. He’d been like this since they left Paris, and she was frustrated by his behaviour. She wasn’t the only one.

‘Come on, Lucas, answer your mother properly,’ Andre said sharply. ‘You’re behaving like a spoilt child.’

‘I didn’t want to come anyway,’ Lucas shot back resentfully.

Camille sighed, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘I wanted us all to do something together – something special and fun. We’re all so busy these days, especially now you’re away at university. This is a chance to spend some quality time together.’

Lucas snorted. ‘It’s a bit late for that. You shipped me off to boarding school the first chance you got, and I spent practically every holiday with Abuela so you could pursue your business. Now you want to spend time together?’

Camille was stung by the barb – all the more so because she knew it was true. She was trying to make up for lost time with her son, but feared it was too late. Andre rolled his eyes irritably.

‘Stop being so stroppy, Lucas. Your mother’s planned this amazing trip and I don’t want you to spoil it for her. What will it take to cheer you up, hmm? A new Rolex when we land at the airport? Or how about a car? Your Audi’s a year old now, maybe it’s time we upgraded to a Ferrari?’

Lucas brightened, but Camille frowned. Andre had always spoilt Lucas materially, and now that money was no object, Andre was throwing it around recklessly.

She understood that he also felt guilty for the years they’d put Lucas second to their own needs, but she didn’t think lavishing gifts on him was the best way to make up for that.

‘Come on, let’s toast,’ Andre was saying, as he waved for the stewardess to refill his champagne glass with vintage Krug. ‘We have everything we’ve ever dreamed of, so let’s enjoy ourselves. To success!’

Camille raised her coupe, the bubbles fizzing on her tongue as she took a sip. Andre was right – they’d achieved everything they’d ever wanted, and all because of a leather bag, named after her, which was nestled on Camille’s lap right now.

But despite the private jet and vintage champagne and stunning view outside her window as the plane descended, something didn’t feel right. Camille couldn’t put her finger on why, but it troubled her that, if she had the world at her feet, why did she feel so unhappy?

They landed at Malé Airport and were whisked through the terminal by the hotel concierge, who was taking them to a private seaplane that would transport them directly to their island.

This was the hub every traveller passed through when arriving in the Maldives; the airport was busy but no one was in a rush, there was just a relaxed holiday vibe in the air.

Camille was walking out of the terminal towards the jetty, feeling the welcome tropical warmth of the sun on her skin, and she pulled down her sunglasses against the bright light.

She saw the white seaplane glistening in the sunshine, the crystal-clear water gently lapping at the wooden jetty, when she heard Andre greet someone.

She turned in curiosity and Nicolas was standing there.

Camille’s heart leapt. She saw Nicolas whenever he was in Paris, or when she was in New York, and they spoke on the phone regularly.

But right now she was heading for a family vacation and he was the last person she expected to see.

The unexpectedness of the encounter caught her off guard, and she inhaled sharply in surprise.

Nicolas looked more handsome than ever, a relaxed confidence radiating from him.

He was wearing shorts and a white polo shirt, which contrasted with his light tan.

His hair was starting to show a few flecks of grey, but they only served to make him look more distinguished.

Camille had known this man for twenty years now, and the connection between them only grew deeper.

She tore her eyes from him to take in the woman holding his hand.

She was slim, blonde, immaculately presented – and age appropriate.

Nicolas had never been interested in trophy girlfriends or vacuous arm candy, and this woman was chic and elegant, wearing a pale blue Ralph Lauren sundress and tan leather sandals.

‘Camille,’ Nicolas smiled, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Fancy running into you here.’

‘Nicolas …’ For a moment Camille couldn’t speak. ‘Are you on your way home?’

‘Yes, unfortunately. We flew out as soon as New York Fashion Week was over for some much-needed R&R, and now we’re heading back to the city – via a brief stopover in Rome for some meetings.

Duty calls. This is Jennifer, by the way,’ he said, indicating the woman beside him, as she smiled broadly and stepped forward to air-kiss Camille.

‘Jennifer, this is Camille and Andre Fontaine, the geniuses behind the Camille Andre label, and my long-time friends. And this is their son, Lucas.’

‘Oh, the Camille Fontaine! I adore your new bag,’ Jennifer gushed, in a nasal, New York accent.

‘Thank you,’ Camille said, trying to regain her composure.

She couldn’t work out why she was so thrown by the unexpected meeting.

After divorcing Lisa, Nicolas had fallen back into the same pattern of dating successful women, rotating them every few months before either side got too attached.

Camille hadn’t expected that he’d live like a monk, pining for her in his penthouse apartment.

But there was something about being confronted with him and Jennifer like this – proof that he was leading a fulfilling life without Camille.

She realized that the two of them had probably just had an incredibly romantic vacation, falling in and out of a rose-petal-strewn bed, falling in love … The notion pained her.

The concierge approached, interrupting the moment, and Camille was grateful. ‘Mr and Mrs Fontaine, your plane is now ready.’

‘Thank you,’ Andre replied. ‘Good to see you, Nicolas. Let’s catch up soon.’

‘Of course,’ Nicolas smiled, shaking hands with Andre, before giving Lucas a backslapping hug. Lucas had cheered up immensely at the sight of Nicolas, who he liked and respected.

Nicolas leaned in to kiss Camille on both cheeks, and the physical proximity was almost too much.

It was a sensory overload – the familiar scent of him, the feel of his stubble lightly grazing her skin.

Images came rushing back – the two of them, around the same age that Lucas was now, making love with a youthful urgency, unable to get enough of one another.

Then another memory – in the old Camille Andre offices, Nicolas’s hands on her body, the taste of his lips, the feel of him inside her …

Camille closed her eyes for a second, grateful that she was wearing dark glasses. ‘Goodbye, Nicolas. It was nice to meet you, Jennifer,’ she said, fighting to control her emotions as she watched them walk away hand-in-hand. She realized her heart was pounding, her pulse racing.

‘Camille?’ Andre asked, touching her lightly on the arm. It was enough to break the spell, but she was still distracted as they boarded the seaplane and took off once again over the stunning Indian Ocean.

Yes, she’d lived an exciting life with Andre, and they’d built something incredible together.

But their marriage had been plagued with arguments and infidelity, and Andre had never let her forget her humble origins.

They’d never had the same connection, the same deep, unbreakable bond or unconditional love that she shared with Nicolas.

Before, Camille had always wondered, but now she had her answer – Nicolas was her soulmate, and she should never have let him go.

She’d chosen Andre because she’d been young and foolish, blinded by lust. She’d let Nicolas get away, and he’d gone on to forge his own path without her.

Now it was too late, and Camille would have to live with the consequences of her choices for the rest of her life.