One Summer in Monte Carlo Read online

  Jean-Claude was looking at her anxiously, waiting for her answer. It was only a cocktail party after all, not the Red Cross Ball, one of the major social events of the season’s calendar. With still over a month to go to the Monaco GP, it was extremely unlikely that there would be anybody from the motor-racing world at the party.

  She smiled at Jean-Claude. ‘I’d love to come with you.’

  ‘Très bien. Now we have lunch.’

  Lunch, cooked and placed on the table by Anneka, was a delicious mixture of spicy fried chicken, ratatouille, a green salad and a bowl of crispy frites especially for the twins, although neither Jean-Claude or Nanette could resist helping themselves to some. Dessert was individual pots of raspberry mousse served with meringues.

  ‘That was a delicious meal, thank you,’ Nanette said. ‘I’d forgotten how seriously home-made food is taken down here.’ She’d also forgotten it was the first European Grand Prix of the season that afternoon until Pierre mentioned it as they were eating dessert.

  ‘Papa Jean-Claude, may I watch the San Marino Grand Prix, please? Zac is on pole position.’

  At the mention of Zac, Nanette’s heart lurched and she inwardly chided herself. He was miles away in Italy and besides he didn’t mean anything to her these days.

  Olivia gave an exaggerated groan.

  ‘Sure you can, and I’ll keep you company for a while,’ Jean-Claude said. ‘If you want to watch the introduction and driver interviews, hurry up and finish your mousse. The programme, it starts in five minutes,’ he added, looking at his watch.

  ‘Can I go in the pool again, please?’ Olivia said. ‘I don’t want to watch the stupid race.’

  ‘You can’t go swimming straight after lunch. You’ll have to wait for a bit,’ Nanette said.

  ‘That’s OK. I’ll read The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe until then.’

  ‘How about you, Nanette? Are you going to watch the race with us?’ Jean-Claude asked.

  Nanette shook her head. It was years since she’d watched a Grand Prix, her interest in Formula 1 having hit an all-time low when Zac had abandoned her. Silly really, when it was her love of F1 and her PA job that had brought them together in the first place.

  ‘No thanks. I’ll go for a wander around the garden if that’s all right,’ she said. ‘Then maybe I’ll join Olivia in the pool.’

  Strolling around the garden, Nanette found herself thinking about the race Zac had always called his home Grand Prix. Although there were two more races before the Formula 1 circus arrived in town for the most glamorous race on the calendar, Monaco streets were already in the process of being barricaded into a race circuit. During the next few weeks, the streets would be transformed with steel safety barriers and huge tiers of seating would appear around the racetrack.

  Nanette knew that day-to-day living would become increasingly difficult as everything became geared to the smooth running of the biggest money-spinning event of the year. She also knew that the chances of her avoiding people from her past were slim when she went out and about during the week leading up to and including Grand Prix weekend. Returning to the terrace, she sank down onto one of the wicker chairs and tried to banish her negative thoughts about being in town for the Grand Prix.

  Moments later Jean-Claude appeared on the terrace with cups of coffee for them both. ‘Thanks. How’s the race going?’

  ‘Usual procession,’ Jean-Claude said. ‘Need a few pit stops to start changing the order of cars and liven things up a bit.’ He glanced at her. ‘Nanette, I know it’s none of my business, but are you going to be okay being in town for the Grand Prix next month? You know, better than most people I suspect, how invasive the whole Formula 1 thing is. It takes the Principality over completely. Escaping certain people will be difficult.’

  Nanette nodded, knowing that what he was saying was true. Hordes of people descended on the place, not just the drivers and their teams, but also the TV crews, the hospitality caravans, the photographers, journalists and, of course, tens of thousands of fans. She gave Jean-Claude a grateful smile, realising that he was looking out for her. He really was a lovely man. Before she could say anything, Jean-Claude continued.

  ‘Vanessa tells me you have the nightmares. You also still have no memory of how the accident happen. Perhaps you should not be in town for the Grand Prix. If you want to stay up here, or even go back to the UK for a few days, I can take care of the twins if Mathieu happens to be away.’ Jean-Claude regarded Nanette anxiously as she took a sip of her coffee

  ‘Thank you,’ Nanette said, ‘but I think I have to stay.’ She was silent for a few seconds before adding quietly. ‘It’s the third anniversary of my accident the week after the Grand Prix. I still have no clear recollection of what exactly happened that evening. Perhaps coming back to the scene of the crime will jerk my memory into action. Like the police doing reconstruction scenes in the hope of finding new witnesses.’ She hoped her words sounded optimistic and didn’t betray the fear she felt inwardly at the prospect.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Nanette,’ Jean-Claude said. ‘It could do more harm than good to put yourself through something like that. All I can say is, if you ever need a… I think the English say a shoulder to cry on? Then I’m here.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said gratefully. He really was one of the kindest men and she knew instinctively that if she was ever in trouble, he would be the first to come to her aid.

  ‘Olivia and I may well take you up on the offer of spending the actual race day up here.’

  8

  Vanessa trembled as she stood in the circle of Ralph’s arms, longing to whisper, ‘Yes, I do want to go home right now – with you. I don’t want anything to happen to either of us. I want to stay safe for the twins.’ As Ralph’s calm voice assured her that it was extremely unlikely another plane would be shot out of the sky in the near future because ‘lessons will have been learnt,’ she prayed that he was right.

  Back in the UK nothing had daunted her enthusiasm at the thought of joining the expedition, not the poisonous bites from insects or snakes, twisted or broken bones from a fall due to the uneven jungle floor, the heat, torrential rain, or fever, Ralph had mentioned. But the reality was very different and they weren’t even in the jungle proper yet. She knew how important this expedition and her presence on it was to Ralph though – could she really let him down at the first hint of danger? No.

  She took a deep breath and steeled herself to continue as planned on their adventure. Clutching his hand tightly, she climbed into the small plane.

  To her surprise, once they were airborne, she relaxed and began to enjoy the long flight. José flew them over volcanoes, rivers and acres and acres of jungle. Ralph, quickly realising he was extremely knowledgeable about his country, spent most of the journey quizzing him about life in the jungle.

  From her vantage point in the small plane high above, the green jungle canopy below looked to Vanessa like nothing more than giant knobbly heads of broccoli that had been allowed to grow and grow.

  Eventually, José landed on a dirt runway that appeared to be in the middle of a native village. As the door of the plane opened and she stepped out, the heat and the humidity enveloped Vanessa completely and a sudden wave of nausea threatened to overcome her. Horrified and embarrassed, Vanessa knew if she didn’t find some shade quickly, she was in danger of being publicly sick.

  Seeing her discomfort, José immediately summoned one of the native women who had clustered around to take her to the shelter of a small hut and give her a cool drink. Ten minutes later, after watching José take off safely for his return journey, Ralph joined Vanessa in the hut.

  ‘How are you feeling now?’ he asked anxiously.

  Vanessa nodded. ‘I think I’m fine now. It was just the heat.’

  ‘Ready for the next part?’ Ralph asked. ‘The boat is waiting.’

  Taking her hand, he helped her down a short flight of rickety wooden steps to a small jetty, where a large motorised wooden canoe was
moored.

  Once on board, a canopy almost the length of the boat shielded the passengers from the intense heat and, as the canoe began to chug through the water, Vanessa appreciated the light breeze that fanned her face. As they made their way upriver, the noise of the boat’s engine mingled with the squawking of a large flock of parakeets. With the rainy season well underway, the river was high and much of the surrounding lowland was flooded.

  ‘Look,’ Ralph said, laughing, as he pointed to a log floating downstream. It took Vanessa a couple of seconds before she too, saw the family of turtles hitching a lift on the water-sodden trunk. Quickly, she held up her new satellite phone and took a picture for the twins, wondering as she did so whether the charge on her phone would last until the solar charger was set up in the next camp.

  Gazing out across the wide expanse of water, Vanessa tried to see the way ahead, but the river appeared to snake its way forever through lush jungle, giving no hint of what lay beyond.

  The journey took over two hours and by the time they reached the camp where they were due to spend a couple of days acclimatising themselves to their surroundings, Vanessa’s clothes were damp and sticking uncomfortably to her body. The canoe was tied up alongside a small quay and suddenly native Amazonians were all around, helping them to climb out of the boat and then to negotiate a bridged wooden walkway that led to the village.

  Built by the villagers using traditional materials and techniques, there were several thatched wooden structures of various sizes, all on stilts, giving the appearance of an authentic and indigenous rainforest village. It was only when she saw the western touches that had been added in the form of private bathrooms with sun-heated showers to the guest cabins that Vanessa realised the place was purpose-built for tourists. So civilised.

  Exhausted, Vanessa climbed into the hut allocated to her and Ralph, determined to at least shower and change her clothes before joining the others for a meal.

  Served in the communal dining-room, they met the other guests, who were amazed to learn of Ralph’s plans to take his new wife on a trek through the unchartered, inhospitable jungle.

  As they tucked into a hearty local soup, followed by fish baked in vine leaves, Vanessa heard one earnest man tell Ralph quietly, ‘Remember, all the money in the world won’t get you and your wife out of the jungle in a hurry.’

  ‘Well, I don’t have all the money in the world, so I’d better hope I don’t need to get out in a hurry,’ Ralph answered.

  Making their way back to their hut at the end of the evening, Vanessa asked Ralph what the man was warning him about.

  ‘Usual stuff about drug barons and gold smugglers.’ Ralph shrugged. ‘He didn’t seem to grasp the fact that my interest is in what remains of the ecological system, not the people who have ruined it. I have no intention of crossing swords with the local bandits.’

  That first night in the eco-tourism camp, Vanessa struggled to sleep under the mosquito net in the hammock slung between two beams of the traditional native hut, reliving the last few hours over and over in her mind, And worrying about what horrors the next days and weeks would throw her way.

  She smothered a sigh, what had she been thinking, wanting to join Ralph on this expedition into the jungle. At home, excursions into the tame Somerset countryside had always been taken on a daily basis, returning home every evening or to a hotel guest house. She’d never spent a night under canvas, let alone under a roof made of vegetation from the jungle.

  She shifted in her hammock, trying to shut out the jungle’s night-time noises of howler monkeys and raucous insects. What other animals were out there, unheard, going about their nocturnal lives close to the encampment?

  She shivered apprehensively. While they were getting ready for this first night in their hammocks, Ralph had told her about his decision to bring their departure from this camp forward by a day. In twenty-four hours, she wouldn’t even have the comfort of the hut in an eco-camp between her and the jungle inhabitants.

  ‘Harry and Nick have everything organised, so no point in hanging around in this pseudo environment,’ he’d said disparagingly, waving his hand around the campsite. ‘I know it is helping to remedy years of destruction to the jungle, but I want to get to where the real jungle is. Join some natives living in the traditional way.’

  So tomorrow they would leave the comforts of the eco-camp behind them and then, ‘Our adventure really will begin,’ Ralph had said excitedly, as they’d kissed each other goodnight.

  Vanessa glanced across at Ralph gently snoring in his hammock. With no real idea of what the next few months might bring, she simply had to trust the man she loved enough to marry and have faith it would be an adventure she’d never forget – for all the right reasons.

  9

  Nanette switched off the radio alarm on her bedside table and lay in bed for a few moments, thinking and planning the day ahead. Once she’d walked the twins to school, she was going shopping for a dress to wear to the evening’s cocktail party with Jean-Claude. All her posh frocks were hanging in the wardrobe in her room at Blackberry Farm. She hadn’t bothered to pack any, not anticipating joining the social scene while she was here. Early that afternoon, she had an appointment at the hairdressers, so fingers crossed she’d quickly find a dress she loved, leaving her plenty of time to get back for that.

  Knowing how immaculate the women who attended these parties always looked, Nanette wanted to make an effort, not just for herself, but also for Jean-Claude’s sake. She didn’t want to let him down with his business acquaintances. Slipping her feet into her slippers, she stood up, stretching her arms above her head as she did so, only to freeze in mid-action as she glanced out of the window.

  Several yachts were about to enter the harbour and one of them looked uncomfortably familiar. Pulling her dressing gown tight, Nanette stepped out on to her balcony and watched as the boats motored in.

  The crew of Pole Position worked quickly and efficiently and it was only a matter of minutes before the yacht was secured in her berth – directly opposite the block of apartments. Once the boat was tied up and the gangway lowered to the quay, Nanette held her breath, waiting to see if Zac would appear.

  A lone crew member ran down the gangway and disappeared along the embankment in the direction of the supermarket, reappearing minutes later with several baguettes and a bag bulging with what Nanette guessed were croissants for the crew’s breakfast.

  She stood watching for a few moments before turning away and heading for the shower. If she didn’t get a move on, the twins would be late walking to school and she’d miss the train connection to take her to Cap 3000 at Saint-Laurent-du-Var – the largest shopping centre in the area. Not only would she get more choice there, but a new dress wouldn’t hurt her credit card like it would if she shopped in one of the trendy Monaco boutiques.

  An hour later, she was sitting on the train as it sped westwards along the coast on the half-hour journey, debating with herself about the kind of dress she needed to buy. Too glitzy and it would only end up hanging in her wardrobe for months before she wore it again as cocktail parties really weren’t on her radar these days. On the other hand, she didn’t want to play too safe by opting for a boring little black dress.

  She knew the moment she slipped on the royal blue dress with its three-quarter-length sleeves, round neckline and a fitted midi skirt with a fluted ruffle hem at the front that it was the one. As she looked at her reflection in the changing-room mirror, for the first time in months, years, she felt a small burst of confidence returning to both her abused body and mind. The dress was glamorous in an understated way and suited her to perfection.

  At the thought of the evening ahead of her with Jean-Claude, a frisson of excitement sneaked into Nanette’s mind and she realised she was looking forward to it. And to dinner afterwards, just the two of them.

  But the excitement was instantly doused by worry. The cocktail party was an important business get-together for Jean-Claude and she prayed she wou
ldn’t let him down. It was so long since she’d had to make small talk with strangers that she wasn’t sure she remembered how.

  Once back in Monaco, Nanette hung the dress in the wardrobe and got on with the rest of her day before nervously leaving the apartment for her afternoon hairdresser’s appointment in nearby Rue Princess Caroline. She’d deliberately not booked a rendezvous in the salon near the Casino, where years ago she’d been a regular client, in case anyone remembered her. Thankfully, a quick glance around as she entered reassured her that she didn’t recognise any of the stylists or customers and soon her head was being gently massaged as her hair was washed by an un-named efficient teenager.

  Minutes later, as the stylist – Adam, according to the badge pinned to his pristine designer-label shirt – was carefully blow-drying her hair, Nanette stiffened. The mirror she was sat in front of not only reflected her head and shoulders and Adam working away but also the coming and goings of the busy salon behind her. Quickly, Nanette looked down at her hands in her lap and half closed her eyes, hoping to avoid catching the gaze of the woman who had just entered, Frances Scott.

  The one and only time Nanette had met Frances had been the night of the accident. As the current girlfriend of one of Zac’s fellow racing drivers, she’d been his ‘plus-one’ for Nanette’s birthday dinner at the Mougins restaurant. Nanette, who normally didn’t judge anyone on their appearance, had been stunned by the woman’s over-the-top appearance and, later, her behaviour. She remembered whispering to Zac at some stage of the evening, ‘Is she on something?’ Zac had shrugged and grinned at her.

  Peering at the reflection in the mirror as Frances sashayed across the salon, following one of the receptionists towards a washing unit, Nanette could see that the woman, unlike herself, hadn’t changed. She still dressed in the skimpy clothes that drew attention to her surgically enhanced figure. Nanette knew that while she had no difficulty in recognising Frances after three years, Frances was unlikely to recognise her. The long hair, highlighted with streaks of blonde on the night of the party, was no more. Brutally cut short in the aftermath of the accident, Nanette had kept it short ever since. Memories of that birthday party had been soured by the way the evening had ended. Long hair had had no place in Nanette’s new life.