Page 49 of Meet Me at Sunset

Nicolas was standing at the window of his corner office at American Athletics.

It was on the thirty-seventh floor of the skyscraper on Madison Avenue, and the city was spread out beneath him.

From here he could see Bryant Park and the Empire State Building, all the way from the East River to the World Trade Center towers in Lower Manhattan.

He felt like a master of the universe up here, indisputable proof that he’d made it to the very top of his profession.

He’d been in this role for more than twenty years now and it still fired him up, giving him a reason to get out of bed in the morning.

The collaboration with Camille Andre had been a smash hit, both critically and commercially.

There had been rumours in the press of some backstage drama, but the details were scant and the speculation only served to fuel the public’s interest. The old saying seemed to be true – there was no such thing as bad publicity – and the collection had sold out as soon as it hit the shelves.

Yet, despite his professional triumphs, Nicolas had been plagued by a feeling of restlessness in recent weeks.

A sense that he’d achieved everything he could in the corporate world, and perhaps it was time to find fulfilment elsewhere.

The confirmation that Lucas was his son had changed things for Nicolas.

He’d always had a sense of being alone; relationships came and went, with no one staying permanently in his life.

Now he had someone he could call family, a blood tie that could never be severed.

Nicolas was finally realizing that there was more to life than work, and he was eager to make up for lost time.

Turning away from the panoramic view, Nicolas tried to shake himself out of his introspective mood. He had a meeting to chair in ten minutes, and it wouldn’t do to be melancholy.

There was a knock at his door and his assistant, Erin, entered.

Erin was a New Yorker born and bred. She didn’t stand for bullshit, and she guarded Nicolas’s diary like a pit bull.

She’d worked for him for over a decade now, and he knew that her husband’s name was Robert, that she had two teenage sons, that she lived in Brooklyn and liked to watch the Yankees play at the weekend.

Sometimes Nicolas envied her that simple life.

‘You have a message from Camille Fontaine,’ she said, holding out a piece of paper. ‘I wrote it down – she was very specific.’

Nicolas took the note and read it:

Meet me at sunset. I’ll be at Bow Bridge.

Nicolas stared at the words for a moment. ‘Erin, do I have any meetings this evening?’

‘You have dinner at Nobu with a journalist from Forbes magazine.’

Nicolas looked thoughtful. ‘Cancel it.’

The shadows were lengthening across Central Park.

It had been a scorching summer’s day, but the heat was finally fading, and New Yorkers were making the most of it.

There were groups of friends relaxing on the grass with picnics, teenagers listening to music, virtuous joggers panting their way around the edge of the lake, dog walkers, roller bladers, and people from all walks of life enjoying this oasis in the heart of the city.

Camille was nervous. She had dressed carefully in a chambray shirt dress, with a cream belt that accentuated her slender waist, and had added a spritz of the latest Camille Andre fragrance. The whole effect was chic and feminine, the style she knew Nicolas loved.

Right now, she was standing in the centre of Bow Bridge, an elegant cast-iron structure dating back to the Victorian era, which spanned the lake from Cherry Hill to the Ramble.

Rowing boats drifted on the water, which was bordered by sprawling trees, the skyscrapers of Fifth Avenue soaring beyond.

The sky was streaked with colour as the sun began to set, deep hues of pink and purple blending into fiery orange and dazzling yellow.

It was going to be a spectacular one tonight.

Camille had got there early, wanting to take a moment and calm her nerves, ensuring she was there before Nicolas arrived. If he arrived.

But she needn’t have worried. A few minutes later, she saw him striding across the bridge towards her and her heart soared, her stomach doing somersaults.

She felt like a teenager meeting her crush for a first date.

He was wearing navy suit trousers with a tan belt, and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up in a concession to the heat.

His look was formal, for the fashion industry, but Nicolas had always done things his own way, and Camille adored him for that.

After all these years she still loved him, more than she ever had.

She realized now that he had always been the one.

She should never have left him for Andre.

They had gone their separate ways but always found their way back to one another, like two rivers flowing to the same sea.

She just had to hope that he still felt the same. That it wasn’t too late.

‘Camille.’ Nicolas smiled as he approached, a warmth in his eyes as they crinkled at the corners.

He stepped forwards to embrace her, and for a moment his sudden proximity took her breath away.

She wanted to hold him and never let go.

But it was too soon for that. Her pulse was racing, and she forced herself to calm down and behave normally.

‘I didn’t know you were in town,’ Nicolas said, and she could detect the faint frown denoting his confusion. She knew his features so well, understanding every fleeting expression, every slight nuance.

‘Walk with me,’ Camille said softly, taking his hand as they strolled southwards across the bridge.

She wondered briefly what they must look like to onlookers.

Was it obvious that she was madly in love, that something big was about to happen and she was moments away from taking the biggest risk of her life?

Or did they simply look like an unremarkable, middle-aged couple, taking time out to catch up at the end of the working day?

They made small talk for a while about their mutual connections, about business, and the success of the collaboration. Camille filled him in on Isobel’s progress at Camille Andre, adding, ‘I want to take some time out. I’m thinking of naming a successor.’

‘That’s a big step. You are the brand – hell, it’s literally your name above the door. And you’ve always been so hungry for success.’

‘Things have changed. I’m not twenty-five, I don’t need to prove myself. I’m starting to think there’s more to life,’ Camille said, unknowingly echoing Nicolas’s thoughts from earlier.

‘I feel that too,’ Nicolas nodded. ‘You can’t take it with you, isn’t that what they say? I want to travel to distant places, see the world, have new experiences … fall in love all over again.’

He looked intently at Camille, and her stomach flipped as she tried to read what he was saying.

Did he mean he was ready for solo adventures, to make a fresh start and get away from the life he knew?

To meet someone new? Or were they on the same page, finally contemplating a future together with nothing to stand in their way?

‘How’s Lucas?’ Nicolas asked, before Camille had the chance to question him.

‘Madly in love with Stephanie,’ she beamed. ‘They’ve been through a lot, but they’re good for one another.’

‘He talks about her often. It sounds serious.’ Camille looked surprised, and Nicolas explained, ‘We speak on the phone – most days, in fact. It was a little strange at first, but I think we’re both enjoying building the connection.

We’re getting to know one another again and figuring out how to navigate the future. ’

‘I’m glad,’ Camille said, with genuine feeling.

‘The past is in the past,’ Nicolas said gently. ‘Whatever mistakes were made, we can’t change them. We can only move forward.’

‘You’ve always been the best thing that ever happened to me,’ Camille said, emotion in her voice now. ‘I was just too selfish to see it.’

‘Camille—’

‘No, let me finish. I need to say this. I could never have got through these past few months without you. I couldn’t have got through the past thirty years without you.

I shouldn’t have reacted as I did when you proposed, and I’ve been haunted by what you said to me on the yacht in Mallorca, about you not wanting just a small part of me. ’

‘I told you a long time ago – too long ago to even think about, when we were both young and foolish and didn’t have lines on our faces or any grey hairs – that I would always be there for you. I meant it. I still do.’

‘Nicolas, I’ve been a fool. All those years with Andre, I should never have …

You were always there for me. My guiding star.

The love of my life.’ Camille paused, hearing the weight of those words, giving Nicolas time to take them in.

‘I want you to have all of me, my heart, and my soul. Nicolas. I love you, more than I ever realized.’

‘I love you too, Camille. But you know that already. Always have, always will.’

The sun had dipped below the horizon, but its influence could still be seen as it lit up the sky in spectacular colours, from thick velvety blue to blushing rose to burnished gold.

The skyscrapers were silhouetted dramatically against the brilliant display, shadows of the grand sycamore trees reflected on the water, as a waxing moon rose in the heavens.

Memories flooded back to Camille of the sunsets they’d seen together over the years – from Montmartre in Paris when they were both penniless students, to the ones over the paradise island off the Mallorcan coast that they’d visited on the yacht just a few months ago.

But none had been as perfect as this one.

Camille stopped walking and turned to Nicolas.

They had reached Bethesda Terrace, with its magnificent fountain.

People were sitting on the low stone wall, dipping their hands in the cooling water, enjoying the light spray of mist as the water spilled over the stone basins.

It was an idyllic clash of the ordinary and the extraordinary.

‘Marry me, Nicolas,’ Camille said. ‘You said you’d never ask me again, so now I’m asking you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Marry me.’

Nicolas swept her up in his arms, kissing her softly at first but growing in passion, neither of them caring who might be watching.

There was a fizzing in her belly, sparks shooting through her veins, and a deep pulse of desire that she couldn’t hold back.

Nicolas slowly pulled away and gazed deep into her eyes, and she saw the love reflected there.

Then he lifted her into the air and swung her around joyfully and Camille threw her head back, laughing, her head spinning as the heavens whirled above her, before he gently brought her feet back to earth.

‘Yes, Camille,’ he whispered. ‘Yes. There could only be one answer.’

The sky was growing dark, the myriad colours fading into blackness as pinprick stars emerged scattered across the inky night sky. Tomorrow was a new day, but right now they had their glorious sunset, one which seemed to stretch into forever.