She undid her seatbelt and began to gather their things. The twins were already on their feet, excited at the prospect of the next part of the journey. Normally transfer to Monaco for them was via tram from the airport and then a train from Nice, but as a special treat, Vanessa had arranged a helicopter flight for the three of them.
Walking through the arrivals hall, Nanette put on her large sunglasses. She knew from experience that there was always the odd photographer, or even a group of paparazzi, lurking around the airport in the hope of snapping someone famous on their way out to the helicopter pad for transfer to Monaco. She knew she was unlikely to be of any interest, but hiding her eyes and obscuring her face behind the dark glasses made her feel better.
It wasn’t the paparazzi who greeted her, though, as she walked towards the helicopter check-in desk: it was a large billboard advertising the Monaco Grand Prix in May.
But it was the smaller poster featuring a film-star-style close-up of the man regarded as the local hero, with the words ‘Is this Zac’s year?’ emblazoned over it that took her breath away. Seeing Zac’s familiar face smiling out at her made Nanette want to do the impossible: run and catch the next flight back to the UK and safety. Impossible though; she’d given Vanessa and Ralph her word. She just had to spend one summer in Monte Carlo, as she’d agreed, and then she need never return again.
Turning her back on the poster and trying to shut the images and the memories it invoked out of her mind, Nanette handed over the flight reservation tickets to the desk clerk.
‘Great,’ Pierre said excitedly. ‘We’ll be here for the Grand Prix. Do you think Dad will be able to get us some passes for the pit lane?’
‘I shouldn’t be surprised,’ Nanette said, with a sinking feeling. She’d totally forgotten their time in Monaco would clash with the race. That a certain person would obviously be in town. Pierre, being a typical boy, would naturally be fascinated by the racing cars and their drivers and would want to go out and about at race weekend to see as much as possible.
‘Well, I don’t want a pass,’ Olivia said. ‘I hate the noise those cars make. It hurts my ears.’
Inwardly, Nanette agreed with Olivia. Not because of the noise, but the last thing she wanted too, was a ticket to anything that involved contact with Zachary Ewart. Maybe Mathieu would be around at Grand Prix time and would take Pierre down to the pit lane while she and Olivia stayed well away.
The twins clambered happily into their seats in the helicopter, leaving Nanette to sit alongside the pilot. As the turbines screamed and the rotors beat the air, the helicopter took off in a rush of noise, and Nanette took several deep, steadying breaths.
The pilot glanced at her sympathetically. ‘First helicopter trip? You look a bit nervous. It’s only fifteen minutes.’
Nanette shook her head. ‘No. It’s not my first trip, but I am nervous.’
Staring out through the window at the coastline that had once been so familiar to her, Nanette didn’t add that it wasn’t the flight she was nervous about, but the fact that she was returning to Monaco.
After landing at the helipad in Fontvieille, a downtown extension of Monaco which had been built on land reclaimed from the sea, Nanette and the twins took a taxi to Mathieu’s apartment on Boulevard Albert 1er, overlooking the old port. As the taxi took them through one of the many tunnels that made their way, mole-like, under the Principality’s roads, Nanette remembered how surprised she’d been the first time she’d arrived by the existence of this underground road system, hewn out of the rocks that lined the walls. She’d never suspected such a labyrinth of tunnels under Monte Carlo even existed.
Within minutes, they were back above ground and the taxi was stopping outside Mathieu’s apartment block. Moments later and the twins were knocking on the door of his ninth-floor apartment.
To Nanette’s surprise, it was Jean-Claude, Mathieu’s French father, who opened the door to them.
‘Bonjour mes petits and welcome,’ he said, hugging the twins before turning and giving Nanette a light kiss on each cheek.
She liked Jean-Claude and they had always got on well on the few occasions they’d met, although secretly Nanette wondered how on earth he could really be Mathieu’s father. Older brother, yes, but father? He simply did not look or behave old enough.
‘Where’s Daddy?’ Olivia asked, disappointedly.
‘He’ll be here later, ma petite,’ Jean-Claude said. ‘He has to take care of some business this afternoon. You two can take your things through to your rooms while I show Nanette hers. Lemonade and biscuits on the balcony in ten minutes.’
Once the twins were safely out of earshot, Jean-Claude turned to Nanette hesitantly.
‘Mathieu offers apologies, but something came up that he couldn’t get out of. He hopes to be here later this evening. In the meantime, I take care of things. Help you settle in, give you keys and things. I stay tonight in case he doesn’t return.’ Jean-Claude picked up Nanette’s suitcase. ‘You haven’t been to this apartment before, have you?’
Nanette shook her head. ‘No, Mathieu had a place up near the casino itself the last time I was here. It was a lot smaller than this one.’
‘Come on then, I show you around.’
The apartment, with its five bedrooms, all with en-suite bathrooms, a large sitting room with doors opening out on to the balcony, was as sumptuous as any Nanette had ever been in. Fleetingly, she wondered how Mathieu could afford such luxury, she’d never really known what sort of business he had, but maybe Jean-Claude, who she knew ran a successful wine business, had helped him out.
Her own room was charming – with a mixture of French Provençal furnishings blending in with some more modern pieces, its own balcony with a view out over the harbour and a bathroom with marble and gold fittings.
‘It’s a very grand apartment,’ Nanette said slowly.
Jean-Claude smiled. ‘I have the feeling having the twins living here permanently for a few months rather than simply visiting will turn it into more of a home. Now, I’m sure Florence will have tea and biscuits ready on the balcony. We join the twins?’
‘Who is Florence?’ Nanette asked, as they made their way back to the sitting room.
‘Mathieu’s housekeeper.’
Nanette turned and looked at Jean-Claude in surprise. ‘But that’s partly what I thought I was here to be. Mathieu doesn’t really need me if he’s already got a housekeeper and you to help.’
‘You’re here simply to look after the twins – organise them when they are not at school, including evenings and weekends, of course.’
‘That’s still going to leave me with an awful lot of time on my hands,’ Nanette protested. ‘With nothing to do.’
Jean-Claude didn’t answer. He simply raised his eyebrows at her quizzically. ‘I’m sure you find plenty to do once you settle in. Merci, Florence,’ he said as the housekeeper arrived with a tray. ‘We manage now.’
Distractedly, Nanette accepted the cup of tea Jean-Claude handed her.
‘Vanessa and Ralph got away all right yesterday?’ Jean-Claude asked.
Nanette nodded, forcing herself to focus. ‘The twins and I went to Heathrow to wave them goodbye at the crack of dawn. They should be sleeping off their jet lag right now. Vanessa said she’d try to phone tonight to make sure everything was OK this end.’