The weather for the May Day holiday was perfect – blue sky, a gentle breeze and warm sunshine. Joining the throngs of tourists, they began making their way up towards the Palace.
Saint Nicholas Square was in the labyrinth of busy narrow streets that clustered around the cathedral in the old town. Choosing an outside table at one of the restaurants, they sat down under a gaily striped umbrella. Snatched conversations in French, English, Italian, Japanese and Chinese floated in the air around them.
An attentive waiter handed them a menu and took their aperitif order. A glass of cool rosé for both of them.
‘Avez-vous décidéz… Ah, pardon, Nanette. I forget. I will speak English,’ Jean-Claude said. ‘Have you decided what you’d like to eat?’
‘JC, please speak in French,’ Nanette answered. ‘Not using it for three years, mine’s a bit rusty, but I do still understand. I need to start speaking it again too.’ She glanced at the menu. ‘I think I’ll have the plat du jour, s’il vous plait.’
Sipping her glass of ice-cold rosé, Nanette looked at Jean-Claude.
‘Something else I haven’t used for three years arrived today,’ she said quietly.
Jean-Claude gave her a puzzled look.
Nanette pictured the envelope in the drawer before saying quietly, ‘My driving licence has been returned. My driving ban is finished.’
‘That is good, isn’t it?’ Jean-Claude said. ‘Now you can truly put the past behind you and start driving again.’
‘I’m not sure that I have the confidence to get behind the wheel of a car again.’ Nanette fiddled with her wine glass.
‘If you are nervous, I come with you for the first few times,’ Jean-Claude offered.
‘I don’t know that it’s that simple, JC.’ Nanette hesitated. ‘What if—’
Jean-Claude stopped her in mid-sentence. ‘Non. No what ifs, Nanette. You’ve been punished for the accident. Now you put it behind you and get on with your life. I forbid you to let it blight the future.’
In spite of herself, Nanette smiled at the stern look on Jean-Claude’s face. ‘I know you’re right, but I don’t have a car at the moment anyway, so…’ she shrugged. ‘I shall avoid the issue for at least a few more weeks. Maybe when I go home.’
After an exasperated ‘Tch’, Jean-Claude changed the subject. ‘I hope Mathieu has invited you to the lunch he’s hosting on Vintage Grand Prix weekend?’
‘I’m looking forward to it. Will you be there?’
‘Yes, and no. I’ve been persuaded to get my Lotus out of mothballs and give it an outing, so I shall be spending most of the weekend in the pit lane with the mechanics before the race on Sunday. Be interesting to drive in a race again after so long. Especially here in Monaco, my home circuit.’
‘I didn’t know you’d been a racing driver,’ Nanette said, surprised. ‘You kept that very quiet.’ Although there was a lot she didn’t know about Jean-Claude, she realised.
‘Only very briefly. It was at the time the sport was changing rapidly into big business with the manufacturers taking over. It simply became too expensive without a sponsor; I found myself priced out of the market.’ He shrugged. ‘If I’m honest, I lacked the competitive edge that all successful F1 drivers need. But I kept the car, which has been under wraps for a good few years. I’ve got the next few days or so to finish checking it over mechanically and prepare it. Of course, I don’t expect to be placed, but I admit I look forward to driving in a race again.’
‘Who have you got supporting you on the day?’ Nanette asked. ‘You’ll need someone in the pits to help.’
‘Not a problem. There are always young lads wanting to get involved and I’ve got a mechanic called David coming over from Le Cannet to help. He used to work the circuit, so he knows the ropes.’ He glanced at her. ‘Zac, he also offer me the expertise of one of his mechanics if I need it. The Formula 1 circus will be arriving in town by then, with only a week to go to the Grand Prix proper. Looks as though it might be Zac’s year,’ he added casually. ‘I see he’s leading the championship and is favourite to win next week in Germany.’
Nanette nodded. Despite herself, she’d been keeping an eye on the results since early in the season when the drivers had arrived back in Europe after the first few races.
‘My offer still stands by the way,’ Jean-Claude said. ‘You’re more than welcome to use the villa as a hideaway anytime – not just on race day. After the Spanish race, Zac is certain to be in town in the run-up to the Grand Prix.’
‘I know,’ Nanette said diffidently, remembering previous years when Zac had used the run-up to the Monaco Grand Prix to do a lot of socialising. She sighed inwardly. The inevitable meeting was getting closer.
‘You will have to meet him face to face one day, Nanette. What will you do then?’ Jean-Claude asked gently.
Nanette shook her head before looking at him and saying slowly, ‘I honestly have no idea, JC.’
‘Perhaps it would be better for you to make the arrangement to meet him first,’ Jean-Claude said. ‘That way it will be easier, I think, for you to cope.’
Nanette bit her lip as she looked at him. Maybe Jean-Claude was right, but the mere thought of having to contact Zac to arrange a meeting made her feel ill.
13
Vanessa stumbled over some exposed roots of an immense tree that towered above her as she followed their machete-wielding guide along the muddy track, taking them deeper and deeper into the forest with its dense undergrowth. After that one night in the eco-camp they’d left the relative comforts it offered behind and set off for the remote village in the jungle that was to be the focal point of Ralph’s documentary.
All day, they had hacked their way into the depths of the steamy, lush forest. Now their destination, a native village, was only an hour away. Trudging in single file behind Ralph and the others, Vanessa felt both tired and exhilarated.
The clean, oxygen-filled air, heavy with moisture, had initially somehow bestowed a feeling of euphoria and excitement on her, but now her clothes were beginning to smell and feel damp from all the humidity. Her skin was itching where unknown insects had feasted on her. Her head was sweaty from the wide-brimmed hat she was wearing to deflect the sun and to stop the legions of creepy-crawlies above her in the rainforest’s canopy from falling into her hair. She longed for the day to end.
Their trek had taken them between columns of trees so tall their tops disappeared from view, with long liana vines hanging down and wrapping themselves around the trunks. Vast spiderwebs had spanned the green vegetation, where some leaves were as huge as the parasol Vanessa dreamily imagined sitting under and relaxing.
At ground level, everything appeared to be in a state of flux. Strange smells wafted up from where plants were growing, decaying, dying, surrounded by bugs, snakes and other things that Vanessa just knew were waiting to take a bite out of her.
As the day wore on, the sounds of the jungle had become familiar. Sloths shaking the treetops looking for a resting spot, the echoing cries of the howler monkeys as they swung through the trees and the ever-present noise of the cicadas mingling with birdsong became background noises to the group as they hacked their way through the rainforest.