One Summer in Monte Carlo Read online

  ‘Nanette, Jean-Claude, I’m sorry you’re leaving. Can’t you both stay longer? I haven’t even had a chance to dance with you yet, Nanette. Another glass of champagne perhaps?’

  Nanette glanced at him sharply. The last thing she wanted was to dance with Zac.

  ‘Non,’ Jean-Claude said brusquely. ‘I need to find Mathieu. Perhaps you tell me where he’s gone?’ Jean-Claude glared at Zac.

  ‘How would I know?’ Zac said.

  ‘Because I believe you’ve involved my son in one of your suspect business enterprises,’ Jean-Claude said angrily.

  Zac looked at him steadily. ‘Mathieu is a businessman – he makes his own decisions as to the deals he gets involved in. Nobody twists his arm.’

  ‘So, he is mixed up with you and the Russian in something then?’ Jean-Claude demanded.

  Zac sighed. ‘Jean-Claude, if Mathieu has chosen not to confide in you about his business, I can’t help you. Now, are you sure I can’t persuade you to stay?’ and he looked at Nanette hopefully.

  She shook her head and moved away to retrieve her high-heeled sandals from the jumble of footwear now in the basket at the head of the gangway.

  Slipping them on, she saw Jean-Claude move closer to Zac and place a hand on his shoulder before leaning towards him and saying something that was clearly intended for his ears alone.

  Zac’s face darkened and he vehemently shrugged Jean-Claude’s hand off his shoulder before turning away and making for the bar in the main cabin.

  Both Nanette and Jean-Claude were silent as they made their way along the embankment to the apartment, each lost in their own thoughts.

  Jean-Claude took her arm as they prepared to cross the road. ‘Join me for a coffee, please, before I see you home,’ he said.

  The pavement café at the bottom of Rue Princess Caroline was noisy with late-night revellers as they sat at a small table and ordered their cafés noisettes.

  ‘Try not to worry too much about Mathieu,’ Nanette said gently. ‘Didn’t he tell you that things were under control and everything would be sorted soon?’

  Jean-Claude nodded.

  ‘So try to trust him for a bit longer. Difficult, I know.’

  As Nanette looked at him sympathetically, he reached out and squeezed her hand.

  ‘I know you’re right,’ he said, shaking his head as he looked at her. ‘I just wish I didn’t have fear in the pit of my stomach.’

  19

  Mathieu wasn’t home when Nanette took the twins to school the next morning. Strolling back to the apartment, Nanette wondered where he was. When her mobile rang, she answered it quickly, half expecting it to be him, but it was Jean-Claude.

  ‘Have you seen Mathieu?’

  ‘No. According to Florence his bed hadn’t been slept in,’ Nanette said. ‘Have you heard anything more about the raid?’

  ‘Apparently the police did find something, but nobody knows what exactly – although rumour has it as a case full of money.’

  ‘Did they arrest anyone?’

  ‘A couple of the truck drivers have been spoken to, but the motorhomes and transporters were all allowed to park up without any problems. The Formula 1 circus keeps to a very tight schedule, as you know, and nothing must interfere with race week. The police are still up on site searching some of them.’ There was a short pause before Jean-Claude continued. ‘Will you let me know when Mathieu returns?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Replacing the phone in her bag, Nanette wandered slowly along a side street filled with various stalls selling Formula 1 racing paraphernalia and fast food. Even at this early hour there were fans strolling around, mixing with the locals trying to go about their normal lives despite the inconvenience of barriers and streets filled with seating stands. Tomorrow – a practice day – the road around town and along the harbour would be closed to traffic as the drivers began to get to grips with driving around the narrow winding street circuit at a crazy speed.

  Although it was several years since Nanette had been in Monaco for the Grand Prix, it was still all so familiar. Walking past the souvenir stands and the touts already up and about trying to sell tickets for lunch on practice day at restaurants with views of the circuit, she even recognised one or two people and smiled briefly in their direction.

  Ferrari red was the dominant colour of the bunting hanging from balconies and the smell of socca cooking on a mobile catering stall on the corner, competing with the usual breakfast smell of fresh croissants from the boulangerie, was hard to resist.

  Nanette pushed open the glass door of the foyer to the apartment building and pressed the lift button. The two concierges behind the reception desk stopped in mid-conversation as she entered, but not before Nanette heard the words ‘Monsieur Mathieu’.

  As she walked into the sitting room, Florence appeared and pointed to Mathieu’s bedroom.

  ‘Mathieu has returned. He is sleeping and asked not to be disturbed,’ she said quietly.

  Quickly, Nanette rang Jean-Claude to tell him the news.

  ‘I’m on my way down,’ he said.

  Nanette and Jean-Claude spent the morning drinking coffee and waiting for Mathieu to surface. A couple of times, when a frustrated Jean-Claude threatened to go and wake him, Nanette managed to persuade him it wasn’t a good idea.

  At one o’clock, the two of them ate the salad lunch that Florence had prepared for them, sitting out on the balcony. Jean-Claude, Nanette could see, had a hard time eating anything.

  It was another hour before Mathieu appeared and Jean-Claude was immediately firing questions at him about the raid. Nanette felt increasingly uncomfortable witnessing the mounting row between father and son and wondered if perhaps she should leave them to it. But if it did turn out that Mathieu was involved with something dodgy she needed to know the facts so that she could protect the twins.

  ‘So, they found a suitcase of money? It’s not a crime to keep your money in cash,’ Mathieu said, going to the fridge and pouring a glass of milk.

  ‘Depends on where the money came from – and where it’s going,’ Jean-Claude replied.

  ‘One of the mechanics in one of the smaller teams apparently had a lucky bet on the Spanish Grand Prix. He simply hadn’t had time to bank his winnings,’ Mathieu said.

  ‘OK. We’ll accept that story – for now. Just tell us why you ran from Zac’s party when you heard about the police raid.’

  Jean-Claude’s face was impassive as he watched Mathieu, waiting for his reply.

  ‘I didn’t run anywhere.’

  ‘Let’s say you left Zac’s party in a hurry then. We were there and saw you.’

  ‘Coincidence. I was about to leave anyway. I’d arranged to meet someone at the Automobile Club and I was late.’ Mathieu simply shrugged as Jean-Claude stared disbelievingly at him. ‘Interrogation finished? I need a shower and then I promised Pierre I’d meet him from school, take him down to the pits and Zac would introduce him to a couple of the drivers.’

  ‘Non. It is not finished,’ Jean-Claude shouted at his son. ‘Not until you tell me the truth about what is going on.’

  Mathieu shook his head as he looked at his father. ‘I can’t tell you anything, but if it’s the family reputation you’re worrying about, don’t.’

  ‘It’s you I’m worried about, not the family name. Scandals can be lived through, but the repercussions can never be underestimated.’

  Nanette gnawed on her bottom lip as she silently watched the two of them. Neither of them seemed prepared to back down, with Mathieu unprepared to tell his father anything, or even to apologise for the worry he was clearly causing.

  ‘Oh, believe me,’ Mathieu said grimly, ‘the repercussions in this case will be catastrophic for certain people in Monaco.’ With that cryptic remark, he disappeared back into his room to get ready to go out.

  Jean-Claude looked at Nanette, worry lines etched on his face. ‘At least he’s finally admitted to being involved in something,’ he sighed. ‘Did you bel
ieve him – about the money and the Automobile Club?’

  ‘The mechanic’s gambling winnings? It’s possible. It’s always a mad dash to pack things up and move on to the next race. As for Mathieu having an appointment…’ Nanette shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I’ve got an appointment of my own tomorrow,’ Jean-Claude said quietly, glancing at Mathieu’s closed bedroom door. ‘I’m meeting a private detective to have Mathieu followed for a couple of weeks. I need to know what is going on.’

  ‘Oh, JC – please be careful. If Mathieu discovers what you are up to, he’ll be furious.’ Nanette reached out and touched his arm.

  Jean-Claude took hold of her hand and held it tight. ‘I have to risk it. I’m not convinced he’s not in real trouble. I just want some reassurance that he’s not getting out of his depth with the wrong crowd. I also want to be prepared in case of…’ Jean-Claude left the sentence unfinished, as he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in despair.

  Nanette looked at Jean-Claude in silence, not knowing what to say or do that could possibly help. Like him, she too was starting to feel that whatever Mathieu was involved with was a serious matter. All she could do was to somehow let Jean-Claude know she was there for him and she squeezed his hand hard in sympathy.

  20

  ‘That stuff tastes vile,’ Ralph said, as Vanessa handed him some diluted Sangre de Grado to swallow. ‘Do I have to?’

  Vanessa nodded. ‘Yes, you do. I need to rub some of the ointment on to the last of your bruises, too.’

  Nearly a week after his accident and, to Vanessa’s relief, Ralph was a lot better. Whether it was the smelly concoctions that the head shaman had given her to administer on a regular basis or whether he hadn’t been as badly injured as it was first feared, Vanessa didn’t know. She was just relieved he was alive.

  ‘I don’t know what’s in this stuff,’ Vanessa said, as she rubbed the reddish sticky ointment into Ralph’s body, ‘but it’s certainly worked.’

  ‘Seems to take the pain away, too,’ Ralph said. ‘Can’t believe that something so primitive has such great healing properties.’

  ‘Don’t forget the TLC I’ve given you will have made a difference as well,’ Vanessa teased.

  Ralph caught hold of her hand. ‘I know,’ he said seriously. ‘I’m sorry things haven’t worked out as we planned. Nick and Harry were in here earlier saying that as they can’t do any filming near the dam, they’ve persuaded Luigi to take them to film the young pink dolphins. I know it’s a long trek, but why don’t you go too?’

  Vanessa shook her head. ‘I’d rather be here with you. Besides, I’ve promised Angela I’ll help her and the other women this afternoon.’

  ‘If you’re sure. With a bit of luck, we might see some dolphins on our own trek northwards when we finally leave here anyway. Ah, here comes Matron and the consultant doing their rounds,’ he added sotto voce as Angela and the head shaman appeared at the entrance to the hut.

  After the medicine man had pronounced himself happy with Ralph’s progress, he said something urgently to Angela before leaving.

  ‘He says you can get up today,’ Angela said. ‘There will be a feast in the village soon to celebrate your recovery.’

  Early that afternoon, Vanessa left Ralph writing in his journal and reviewing the plans for the next part of their adventure. Making her way towards the hut where the women were working at the far end of the village compound, she listened to the, now familiar, exotic chorus of birdsong from high in the surrounding trees.

  She stopped to watch a crowd of yellow crowned Amazon parrots squawking and bickering over some spilt seeds whilst the village pig rooted in some undergrowth just metres away. The small monkey who’d taken her banana the very first day they’d arrived in the village ran towards her, chattering excitedly, weaving in and out of her legs as she approached the hut.

  Angela was busy sorting through a haphazard pile of muddy boots and dangerous-looking machetes and smiled her welcome at Vanessa. Standing in the entrance of the hut, Vanessa watched as several of the village women began sorting through the remains of the Brazil nut harvest. She was surprised by how few nuts there were.

  ‘We have to sell most of the harvest,’ Angela explained. ‘This year was not very productive. I hope next year will be better, but then the aviamento will have changed too.’ She shrugged. ‘We know already we will be paying a higher price before the next harvest.’

  Vanessa looked at her questioningly. ‘Aviamento?’

  ‘It’s the system that provides these,’ Angela said, gesticulating towards the boots and machetes. ‘We get the stuff necessary to do the harvesting on the understanding that this go-between will buy the nuts from us at a low price. He will sell them on and take any profit we should have had.’

  ‘That’s terrible.’ Vanessa looked at Angela, shocked. ‘Can’t you sell the nuts direct?’

  ‘No. We need the equipment to gather them and don’t have the money to buy it.’

  ‘The government farm where you got the seedlings from – can’t they help?’

  Angela shook her head. ‘In the past they talked about helping us to change the system, but nothing happened. Now this foreign guy’s man from Rio has muscled in on the dam as well as the nuts. Apparently, he “helped” a village over to the west dam their river last year and wants to do the same for us.’ She glanced up. ‘Luigi thinks we’ll end up being forced to leave. We don’t need much money to survive here, but we do need land and food. Brazil nuts give us both our flour and oil.’

  ‘Is there enough there for the villagers until the next harvest?’ Vanessa asked.

  Angela shrugged. ‘Depends on how well they keep. It’s difficult to stop them going mouldy in this humidity as we don’t have proper storage.’

  There was a short silence as both women looked around, each lost in their own thoughts. It was Vanessa who broke the silence.

  ‘Do you want a hand cleaning those machetes then? Or is there something else you want me to do?’

  ‘Be careful how you handle them,’ was all Angela said, as she handed her a piece of rag.

  As she carefully cleaned the lethal tools, Vanessa couldn’t stop thinking about the problems the villagers faced. There had to be an answer.

  Ambling back through the compound after the work was finished, deep in thought, Vanessa found Ralph waiting for her outside the large communal hut. Pleased to see him outside on his feet she gave him an absent smile.

  ‘Don’t overdo things,’ she cautioned. ‘You still have to take things easy for a bit.’

  ‘I will, I promise. You don’t look very happy,’ Ralph said, taking her hand as they walked towards their own hut.

  Vanessa sighed. ‘I just feel so sad for this place. Everyone knows the rainforest is dying because of the way agriculture is taking over and clearing the land, but the people are dying too – if not physically, by being forced to move out of their villages, give up their traditional way of life. Even Angela is talking of leaving.’

  Ralph was silent as a frustrated Vanessa aimlessly scuffed up some earth with her foot.

  ‘I’m hoping my film will make people sit up and take notice. Do something about the problems,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I know you came to film the true story of the Amazonians,’ she said, squeezing his hand. ‘I just hope it isn’t too late and it just serves as archive material for the way it all was.’ There was a short pause before Vanessa deliberately changed the subject. ‘How are you feeling? It’s lovely to have you up and about again, but you mustn’t overdo it. I must ask Angela to show me how to make that ointment before we leave and take some home with us. The twins are always falling over, getting bruises and…’ She stopped in her tracks and pulled Ralph round to face her. ‘That’s it,’ she said excitedly.

  ‘What?’ Ralph asked, confused.

  ‘I’ve thought of something we can do to help the villagers and preserve their way of life – if they’ll let us. We could help them form
a cooperative to sell their natural remedies and their produce, including the Brazil nuts. With a cooperative, at least the villagers would be in control themselves and not some sleazy middleman.’

  21

  Sunday morning of Grand Prix weekend and Monaco was buzzing in anticipation of race day. Yesterday had seen thousands of spectators descend on the Principality to watch the qualifying rounds for this morning’s all-important grid positions. As well as in the stands around the harbour, people had gathered early on the steep wooded slope between the port and the Grimaldi palace on the headland, ready to picnic and enjoy the day’s racing against the clock.

  Actual race day would be no different. Thousands of spectators were already in town and more were arriving by the minute. Like yesterday, the slope below the palace was filling with eager racegoers and people were finding their seats in the stands. Celebrities taking time off from the Cannes Film Festival were out in force, nonchalantly strolling along the pit lane, there to be seen as much as to watch the race, eager too, for photo opportunities with the drivers.

  Mid-morning and Nanette stood for a few moments on the sitting-room balcony, watching the crowds of people making their way to their highly prized seats in the harbourside grandstands. She’d been away for so long, she’d almost forgotten the frenzied excitement Monaco generated on race weekend, both on the track and off, as the jet set indulged themselves with a combination of high-octane living and fast cars. The sound of highly tuned engines being revved was beginning to fill the air – a sign of the frenzied activity that Nanette knew would already be taking place out of sight in the garages at the back of the pit lane.

  Looking out across the starting grid, Nanette could see cameramen and journalists milling around with the crowds in the pit lane, eager to get an exclusive early interview with anyone willing to express an opinion on the way they thought the day’s race would go. Who was tipped to win today on the dangerous circuit that was a favourite with the drivers? The one they all wanted the honour of winning.