Page 45 of Meet Me at Sunset

Every pair of eyes in the room turned to look at Camille.

She felt sick suddenly, her pulse racing, her palms sweating.

It was as though she had been plunged into the middle of a nightmare, but she knew she wouldn’t wake up from this.

Everything she’d fought so hard to keep buried for so long was tumbling out, and there seemed to be no way to stop it.

How did Paulo know all of this? How long had he been keeping secrets, harbouring resentments, concocting his plan?

Camille glanced across at Lucas, then at Nicolas.

They were both looking at her intently, waiting to see what she would do next.

She opened her mouth to speak, not knowing what she was going to say, but then she was transported back to the night of the accident, the night her whole life had been turned upside down …

It was almost one a.m. and Camille was preparing for bed, slipping off her high heels and her gown, removing her make-up and brushing her teeth.

She was exhausted. As the guest of honour at a dinner held by the Fédération de la Haute Couture de la Mode, at which she’d been presented with an award, it wasn’t the done thing to slip away early.

Camille had stayed to mingle and socialize, declining invitations to the after-parties and leaving just after midnight.

She was sad to miss Andre’s birthday party in St Moritz, she just hoped he had behaved himself, she knew anything could happen when he was on one of his hedonistic trips.

Camille climbed in between the cool, crisp, Egyptian cotton sheets and had just turned off the lamp when the telephone by the bed began to ring. She groaned, flicking the light back on. Who was it, and what did they want at this hour?

‘Madame Fontaine? I’m afraid there’s been an accident …’

Camille went into shock. She didn’t scream or cry, just calmly listened to what she was being told before replacing the receiver. Her priority was to get to Switzerland as quickly as possible to be with her son and her husband. Hysteria could wait.

Camille picked up the phone once again and instinctively found herself calling Nicolas. It felt entirely natural to reach out to him at this terrible moment. She heard the click as the call was redirected, and he sounded groggy when he came on the line.

Briefly, Camille relayed what had happened, and Nicolas was composed and focused, just as she’d hoped.

‘I’m in Milan,’ he told her. ‘I’ll go by chopper – I can be there in less than an hour. Call a taxi to Le Bourget then pack an overnight bag. I’ll have a jet there waiting for you.’

‘Thank you, Nicolas,’ Camille said, hanging up and following his instructions. If she allowed herself to think for even a moment, she would shatter like crystal.

It was shortly after four a.m. when Camille arrived at the hospital in St Moritz. Nicolas was waiting for her as she exited the taxi and ran through the main door.

‘What’s happening?’ she demanded, her pale face etched with fear.

Nicolas looked grave as he reached out for her. ‘I’m so sorry, Camille. Andre isn’t going to make it. He’s on life support, but … they’re waiting for you.’

Camille gasped, her hands flying to her face in shock. ‘No,’ she murmured, shaking her head. Her husband of more than twenty-five years, her partner in everything … Her stomach was churning as she asked the question, ‘And Lucas?’

‘He’s in a bad way. They’re operating on him right now.’

‘My God …’

Nicolas steered Camille to a seat as her legs threatened to buckle.

‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘The officer on the phone said there’d been a car accident, but I don’t know the details …’

‘It was a couple of miles from the chalet … Andre and Lucas were driving back from a lunch. I don’t know exactly what happened either – the police are still investigating. The car spun out of control apparently. Perhaps there were icy conditions …’

The news propelled Camille to her feet. ‘Show me where Lucas is. Andre too. I need to see them, I want to speak to the doctors.’

Nicolas led her along a corridor that was perfectly white and clean. At this time in the morning, there were few people around and the hospital was eerily silent, save for the occasional nurse or doctor, their expressions formal and serious.

‘Lucas is in here. But we have to wait outside,’ Nicolas told her.

Hysteria was starting to build inside Camille, as she looked at the closed door separating her from her Lucas.

‘I want to see him, Nicolas. I want to see my son. And Andre too. Where is he? Oh God, I need to put out a statement before the story hits the press, I need to make some calls, I don’t think I can cope right now, I … ’

She broke off as a surgeon in scrubs stepped out of the room, pulling down his mask. He was dark haired and dark skinned, and his manner was calm and reassuring.

‘I’m Camille Fontaine, Lucas’s mother,’ she said urgently, stepping towards him.

‘Madame Fontaine, I’m glad you’re here. I’m Dr Bachmann. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened.’

‘Thank you,’ Camille managed. ‘But tell me about Lucas. Can I see him?’

The surgeon looked from Camille to Nicolas. ‘Just for a moment.’

He led them through into the hospital room, where Lucas lay, surrounded by machines that were bleeping and flashing, his arms hooked up to fluid and plasma. His head was a mass of bandages. A dark stain of bruising ran down the upper left side of his body from his neck right across his sternum.

Dr Bachmann saw her looking at it. ‘That’s a stress fracture, from his seat belt, but he’s a fighter, and he is young and fit,’ Dr Bachmann said gravely.

‘We’re expecting him to pull through, but his injuries may be life-changing.

He’s sustained considerable damage to his cranium, he has multiple breaks in his upper body including his collarbone, and his facial wounds are extensive, he’ll need reconstructive surgery. ’

‘But he’s alive,’ Camille whispered. ‘That’s all that matters.’

‘He is,’ Dr Bachmann nodded. Camille touched her son’s hand and whispered, ‘I love you.’ Nicolas led her from the scene, and the surgeon pointed them to a small annex room off the corridor.

‘There’s something else I need to discuss with you.’ He told them as Camille sat, shellshocked. ‘The injuries your husband sustained were catastrophic. He won’t regain consciousness, you’re aware of this?’

Camille glanced at Nicolas, her eyes wet and shining. ‘Yes, I’ve been told.’

‘I’m very sorry, I know this is hard. Currently, he’s being kept alive artificially, but his brain is no longer functioning.’

‘I understand. Are you asking for my consent to switch off the machine, is that it? I need to see him …’

‘Yes, of course, but that’s not what I’m asking right now.

Your son has lost a lot of blood and needs a transfusion.

His blood type is rather rare – AB negative.

We are running low on stocks of that and it may not be sufficient for Lucas’s imme diate needs.

One of his parents could have been a donor for his son, but we now know his father is not a match, perhaps you …

perhaps we should talk privately,’ he added, glancing at Nicolas.

But Camille didn’t hear anything further. There was a roaring sound in her ears, as though a tsunami was heading her way, ready to destroy everything in its path, and there was nothing she could do to escape it. She had to tell Nicolas the truth.

Camille swallowed. ‘Dr Bachmann, could you give us a moment alone?’

‘Of course. I’ll be back in a few minutes,’ he said, looking from one to the other, before heading back into the operating room.

The door swung shut and the corridor was silent.

But before she could speak, Nicolas lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Lucas was driving.’

‘What? How do you know?’

‘The stress fracture on his collarbone. It runs from left to right across his body, he must have been sitting in the driver’s seat when the car crashed.’

Camille’s eyes widened and she inhaled sharply as she realized the implications of what he was saying. Andre was in a coma, on life support, and was not expected to live. Lucas was responsible for that. ‘Nicolas, this will destroy him, it—’

‘It’s OK.’ Nicolas took Camille’s hands in his, trying to calm her down. He didn’t want her to become hysterical in the hospital, or draw attention to them. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

Camille’s forehead creased as she searched his face for answers. ‘What will you do?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll do whatever it takes for Lucas.’

Her hands were still nestled in his. They felt small and protected, Nicolas’s hands large and warm and strong. ‘Thank you,’ she said sincerely, but she felt dread in the pit of her stomach at what she was about to tell him.

‘Nicolas, the blood transfusion … Andre isn’t a match for his blood group and … neither am I.’

Camille hardly dared to meet Nicolas’s eyes, and when she finally looked up, the expression on his face was a mixture of heartbreak and anguish.

‘Camille,’ he said, his voice ragged with emotion. ‘What are you telling me?’

‘I should never have kept it from you,’ Camille whispered. ‘You’re the only one who can give him blood, Nicolas … but I always thought you knew, deep down …’

‘Yes,’ Nicolas whispered. ‘Lucas is my son.’

In the backstage area of the palacio, Lucas had turned pale. ‘You knew,’ he said, turning to Nicolas, shock and betrayal written across his scarred features.

Nicolas swallowed. ‘I’d suspected it long before it was confirmed, but it wasn’t my place to—’

‘You two had an affair?’ Lucas’s voice was growing louder. ‘Behind my father – behind Andre’s back?’

‘It was one night,’ Nicolas said gently. ‘It should never have happened. Though I’ve loved your mother as long as I’ve known her. Andre didn’t always treat Camille well, and—’

‘So you thought you’d step in?’ Lucas shot back. His eyes were blazing with indignation and confusion, uncertain where his loyalties lay.