Early evening and a thoughtful Nanette added a generous amount of rose essence oil to the bath as the water gushed out of the taps. With his yacht back in the harbour, it could only be a matter of time now before Zac appeared in Monaco. Fleetingly, she wondered what his reaction to her being in town would be. She didn’t for one moment imagine it would be unadulterated delight, which, thinking about it, would suit her fine. Letting Zac back into even the fringes of her life whilst she was here in Monaco was not in the plan. Ignoring each other’s presence would be ideal.
Stepping into the tub and sinking into the hot, scented water, Nanette tried to drown out all thoughts of the past and Zac from her mind. Just because his yacht was here didn’t mean he was likely to be out and about this evening.
‘Mmm, you smell nice, Netty,’ Olivia said, when Nanette appeared in the sitting room an hour later, where Jean-Claude was waiting. ‘Your dress is cool.’
‘Thank you. I hope it’s the sort of thing people wear to cocktail parties. It’s years since I’ve been to one, so I’m a bit out of touch these days,’ she said, glancing anxiously at Jean-Claude for reassurance. ‘You’re looking extremely smart yourself.’ Nanette smiled. She’d forgotten how de rigueur the wearing of a bow tie was in Monaco. In his charcoal grey suit, crisp white shirt and black leather dress shoes, he looked the picture of the successful businessman she knew he was.
‘You look lovely,’ Jean-Claude said. ‘The taxi is waiting, so shall we go? Is Mathieu home for the twins?’
Nanette shook her head. ‘No. He rang earlier to say it will be late tonight before he gets back. Florence is here. I’ll just tell her we’re leaving.’
Early-evening traffic was heavy and the taxi crawled up the hill towards Place du Casino.
‘You’re very quiet,’ Jean-Claude said, glancing at her. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine. Just a bit nervous. I haven’t done much socialising recently.’ She didn’t like to admit to Jean-Claude that this event tonight would be the first time in years she’d ventured into any sort of social gathering not made up of family and known, personal, friends.
‘It’s not a particularly big gathering tonight,’ Jean-Claude said. ‘And if you’re worrying about Pole Position being back on its mooring, I happen to know Zac Ewart isn’t in town this evening,’ he added quietly.
Nanette looked at him, surprised.
‘When I saw the yacht this morning, I knew you’d be worried, so I made enquiries. Zac is busy testing in Jerez with his team for the next two days.’
‘Oh, JC, thank you for that,’ Nanette said gratefully, feeling the tension drain from her body. ‘Now I can relax and help you with whatever you want me to do. Do you hope to promote your business tonight? Or is it a case of other businesses wanting you to use them? What’s the matter?’ she asked anxiously, as Jean-Claude stared at her, a strange look on his face.
‘My late wife was the only person who ever called me JC,’ Jean-Claude said slowly.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It slipped out, without me even thinking about it,’ Nanette said, embarrassed at her first faux pas of the evening. She hadn’t even realised that she’d called him JC rather than Jean-Claude. ’I’ll stick to your full name in future.’
‘No. It’s fine. It was just the shock of hearing you say it. Please, I’d like you to call me JC, only perhaps not in front of my business associates tonight.’ He smiled at her. A smile Nanette returned, happy in the knowledge she hadn’t upset him, or brought back sad memories.
As the taxi drew up in front of the Hotel de Paris, the uniformed doorman opened the door and ushered them up the steps into the opulent foyer with its chandeliers, deep carpets, marble stairs and enough fresh flowers to stock a florist’s. Once inside, where the head maître d’ greeted Jean-Claude personally, they made their way to the Salon Berlioz, already buzzing with people.
Accepting glasses of champagne from an attentive waitress, Jean-Claude said, ‘Right. Better start mixing. Let’s start by talking to Robert, one of the vineyard owners I buy from. Normally I have to drive down to his chateau in the Var to meet him.’
For the next hour, Jean-Claude circulated, introducing Nanette to so many people she forgot their names instantly. There was only one person with whom she had any sort of rapport and that was Evie, personal assistant to Luc, a formidable bear-like man who, Evie assured her, despite appearances, ‘is a real sweetie’.
‘Been in Monte long?’ Evie asked, taking a smoked-salmon blini from a passing waiter and gesturing to Nanette to do the same.
‘Just a few weeks,’ Nanette said non-committedly. ‘You?’
‘Six months. I love it. It’s all so glamorous. I can’t wait for the Grand Prix.’
Nanette smiled at her infectious enthusiasm, recognising and remembering similar feelings when she’d first arrived.
‘Are you Jean-Claude’s new assistant?’
‘Sort of. Officially I’m his grandchildren’s nanny.’
‘Really? Gosh, he doesn’t look old enough to have grandkids,’ Evie said, looking across at Jean-Claude who was chatting and laughing with Luc. ‘You know that old black and white photo of Princess Grace and that popular actor she made a film with – Cary Grant? That’s who he reminds me of.’
Nanette followed her gaze and nodded in agreement. ‘Definite resemblance. Fancy meeting up for a coffee sometime?’ she said impulsively. ‘I’m missing my sister and girlfriend from back home and could do with some girly chat.’
‘Love to,’ Evie said. ‘Take my card and give me a ring next week. Better go, I think Luc wants me. Ciao.’
‘Ciao,’ Nanette answered, smiling.
She was still smiling when Jean-Claude joined her a couple of minutes later.
‘Shall we go? I booked a table for nine o’clock at my favourite fish restaurant on Boulevard Grande-Bretagne.’ He stopped suddenly and looked at her anxiously. ‘You do like fish, don’t you? I didn’t think to ask!’
‘Yes, JC, I do,’ Nanette laughingly reassured him.
A crowd of paparazzi had gathered on the pavement outside the Casino and flashbulbs started to pop as they walked past. Nanette, glancing briefly across to see if she recognised the blonde celebrity posing in the Casino entrance, failed to notice a lone photographer moving backwards.
Jean-Claude’s warning shout to the man, ‘Hey, mind where you’re going,’ and his attempt to pull her out of the way were both too late. The photographer collided with her heavily and they both fell over the small hedge that separated the pavement from the parkland grass in the middle of the Place du Casino.
Dazed, Nanette sat on the ground, taking deep breaths for several moments and trying in vain to ignore the cameras that were now aimed in her direction.
‘Are you all right?’ asked a concerned Jean-Claude. ‘Do you think you’ve broken anything?’
Nanette shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m just winded. I could do with a hand to get up though.’
Gently, Jean-Claude helped her to her feet.
‘Mademoiselle, I am so sorry,’ the photographer said.