Page 42 of Meet Me at Sunset

Andre looked indignant. ‘I’m serious! Why not?’

Nicolas frowned, glancing across at Camille. A slow smile spread across her face. ‘Maybe we could …’ she began, her excitement rising. This was why she loved Andre – he was so passionate and ambitious, and it felt as though they could do anything together. But there was one more person she needed to consider. ‘What do you say, Nicolas?’

Uncertainty and indecision flickered across his face, and Camille knew that Nicolas would be wrestling with himself. He liked certainty and security, to consider every angle before making a decision.

Camille leaned into him, squeezing his arm. ‘Come on, Nicolas. What do you say? You know we can’t do it without you.’ She gazed up at him through long lashes, pouting gently as he hesitated.

‘All right, I’m in,’ he declared recklessly. ‘Let’s do it.’

Camille began to laugh as Andre whooped, picking her up and spinning her around. ‘The Three Musketeers,’ he roared joyfully, shaking the bottle of champagne with abandon and releasing the cork, letting the spray fly off the balcony, falling like rain onto the street below. He took a swig from the bottle then passed it round to the others, as they drank to seal the deal.

Inside, they could hear cheers of excitement, and Camille heard someone cry, ‘One minute!’ She checked her wristwatch and saw that it was almost midnight.

‘There’s one more thing we have to celebrate tonight,’ Andre announced, holding the champagne bottle out to Nicolas.

‘What’s that?’ he asked.

Camille’s gut twisted, and she found that she couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘I haven’t had a chance to tell him yet,’ she murmured to Andre.

‘No time like the present,’ Andre insisted. ‘Nicolas, Camille has made me the happiest man alive. She’s agreed to marry me.’

‘Trois … deux … un …’

The noise of the countdown came from inside. Across Paris fireworks exploded, revellers cheered and church clocks chimed, in a nationwide celebration. Andre swept Camille into his arms and kissed her passionately. She didn’t see how the colour drained from Nicolas’s face, as he made no attempt to hide the utter shock written across his features. All around him, people joyfully embraced, but Nicolas stood alone, drinking champagne from the bottle to welcome the new decade.

Chapter 18

Mallorca, May 1971

Camille looked radiant. It was the evening before her wedding, and her hair hung loose and glossy, her skin glowing as though she was lit from within. She was wearing a golden slip dress that draped over her body like flowing water, rippling lightly in the evening breeze.

Nicolas watched her, feeling like an outsider. He’d known this woman so well, and tomorrow she would become Andre’s wife. Nicolas had loved her – he still loved her – but now he was about to lose her and there was nothing he could do about it.

The three of them now worked together every day. They’d founded their own atelier, just like Andre had suggested, though it was still a fledgling company, and trying to get a foothold in the fashion industry felt like climbing Mont Blanc. For Nicolas, being around Camille every day was torture. Seeing her, talking to her, laughing with her – but not being able to be with her. He’d grown almost numb to it, closing himself off as a form of self-preservation, but the recent flurry of activity in the run-up to the wedding seemed to have heightened every emotion. His heart felt like it was breaking all over again.

So much had changed for them since that New Year’s Eve party. They’d founded their business in 1970, which they’d christened Camille Andre – Nicolas was content to take a back seat – but after their initial rush of optimism and energy, the reality was hard.

Nicolas had succeeded in raising some initial investment, but they were all living on a shoestring and margins were tight. Camille adored being able to design and create all day long – it was what she’d always dreamed of – but Andre and Nicolas were less idealistic and often clashed over the practicalities. Andre always wanted the best, regardless of the cost, and Nicolas would encourage him to make a realistic decision – not compromising on quality, but not blowing their budgets either. Nicolas also highlighted environmental and ethical concerns when choosing their suppliers; Andre disparagingly called him a hippy, arguing that the world was unjust, and a fashion label could do little to change that. The two men had developed a grudging mutual respect, but there were always underlying tensions – not helped by the fact that Nicolas was in love with Andre’s fiancée.

Tonight, he was unable to take his eyes off Camille as she mingled with the guests at the pre-wedding party, laughing, smiling, perfection. Andre was never far behind, their eyes and hands instinctively finding one another, always a touch or a glance that kept them connected. Each one was like a dagger blow for Nicolas. As Camille leaned up to kiss her future husband, Nicolas averted his eyes.

‘Here, try some of this dessert, it’s delicious.’

Nicolas turned to see Juliette holding a forkful of cardenal de Lloseta out to him enticingly. She looked at him teasingly, her eyes full of hope. Not wanting to embarrass her, Nicolas went along with the moment, feeling ridiculous as she fed him the dessert as though he were a child. There was nothing sexy in it at all, and he turned away before she could see his distaste, not wanting to see the disappointment written across her face. Nicolas wished he wasn’t here, wished he hadn’t brought Juliette.

No, that wasn’t fair. Juliette was beautiful, vibrant and charming – but she wasn’t Camille. Nicolas and Juliette had been dating casually for months, but he knew he was going to have to end it soon. He always did. He would start feeling guilty, unconsciously stepping back, and they would put pressure on him to commit. To onlookers, he was the eternal bachelor, a smooth-talking playboy with a different girl on his arm every week, his rented apartment a rotating carousel of attractive, intelligent women. The truth was different: none of his girlfriends ever measured up to Camille, and so he swiftly moved onto the next before he had time to break their heart. Each assuaged his loneliness for a short time, filling a space in his bed if not his heart, and ensuring he was never without a partner for parties and events.

Juliette was the latest in a long line, and she’d drawn the short straw to be his date for Camille and Andre’s wedding, held at Andre’s mother’s spectacular villa in Mallorca. Tonight the soon-to-be-wed couple were hosting a dinner for their family and friends, who’d flown in from all over the world ahead of tomorrow’s nuptials. Camille had said that the wedding was going to be a relaxed, casual affair, celebrating love with everyone they loved, but if tonight was anything to go by, then the wedding itself would be spectacular.

A long table, seating around sixty people, had been set up in the garden beneath an archway draped with roses. Fairy lights twinkled in the oleander trees, and candles flickered softly in hurricane lamps, casting the scene in a warm glow. The table itself was dressed in white linen with a profusion of flowers running down the centre, hydrangeas and peonies giving off a heady scent beneath the starlight. The wine was flowing, the food was delicious, and everyone looked relaxed and happy against a background of music and laughter. Camille was the most stunning of all.

As Nicolas swallowed the creamy dessert, feeling nauseous at the way it slipped down his throat, he glanced over at Camille. Andre moved across to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, the gesture completely natural between two lovers. Camille gazed up at him adoringly, and Andre leaned down to plant a kiss on her lips.

Nicolas looked away, feeling like a voyeur, as though he’d been spying on an intimate moment. But that look between the two of them – complete and utter adoration from Camille – was killing him inside.

Nicolas noticed that Juliette had put her fork down and sat back in her seat. ‘Have you finished?’ he asked, the words coming out more gruffly than he’d intended. Juliette nodded, the whisper of a frown crossing her pretty face. ‘Then let’s go.’ Nicolas pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.

‘Back to the hotel? Already?’ Juliette looked at him in confusion with those luminous green eyes, and Nicolas felt a stab of guilt. It wasn’t her fault, but once more he regretted having invited her.