Page 48 of Meet Me at Sunset

Nicolas walked in and Camille stood up to greet him, kissing him on both cheeks. Her feet were bare, and she wore wide-legged trousers with a paisley-print blouse. Nicolas was dressed formally, even though it was the weekend, his clothes a neutral palette of greys and browns. He certainly didn’t look as though he represented a fashion house, she thought affectionately, though the plain clothes couldn’t hide his toned physique and handsome face.

He held out a bottle of Moët & Chandon and a large paper bag. ‘I stopped off at the bakery and bought pastries,’ he explained. ‘I know it’s early – I didn’t know if you’d have eaten breakfast yet.’

‘You saved me a trip,’ Andre grinned, taking the bag from him and heading over to the small, open-plan kitchen.

‘Hello, Lucas,’ Nicolas grinned. He bent down to him, and Lucas burbled and giggled, reaching for the champagne. ‘That’s not for you, I’m afraid,’ Nicolas laughed.

‘Is that for breakfast too?’ Camille wondered.

‘Yes, if you think it’s appropriate.’

Camille caught the excitement in his voice, as Andre came back through, placing the plate of pastries on the coffee table. They both looked at Nicolas curiously.

‘I only had it confirmed last night,’ he began. ‘We were on a late call, trying to finalize the details. But the good news is … Galeries Lafayette have agreed to stock Camille Andre.’

Camille’s hand flew to her mouth as she let out a cry of delight. Andre punched the air, with a ‘Yes!’, and even Lucas clapped his hands, making excited squawking noises.

‘That’s amazing. Incredible job, Nicolas,’ Andre said, pulling him in for a bear hug and clapping him on the back.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Camille gasped. ‘Nicolas, you’re a genius. This could be the break we’ve been waiting for.’

Galeries Lafayette was an enormous, historic department store on the Boulevard Haussmann, set in a grand Art Nouveau building. Its stocked everything from fashion to homeware, toiletries to furniture, and in recent years it had developed a reputation for working with up-and-coming designers. Sonia Rykiel’s career had taken off a decade earlier, after being stocked in Galeries Lafayette. She was an idol of Camille’s, and now it looked as though Camille Andre would follow in her footsteps.

Until now, the label had been solely stocked by independent boutiques, which placed small, infrequent orders. The dream was to have their own store, but Andre wanted a prestigious Parisian address and wouldn’t settle for anything less. Now, the income from Galeries Lafayette might allow that to become a reality, and Camille felt both excited and relieved. At times, she’d questioned whether she’d chosen the right career path, and Andre’s criticism weighed heavily on her. But this deal felt like a vindication of her choices and her talent, and she was so grateful to Nicolas for making it happen.

Andre popped the cork on the Moët and poured it into three coupes, handing them round.

‘It’s only ten a.m.,’ Camille laughed.

‘Who cares – you don’t get news like this every day! Seriously though, Nicolas. This wouldn’t have happened without all your hard work.’

‘Or your talents, congratulations to both of you,’ Nicolas replied, as they clinked glasses. ‘Here’s to the continued success of Camille Andre.’

Camille felt a warm glow inside her that wasn’t just from the champagne bubbles. Her business was a success, they were climbing the ladder, and the two men she cared about most in the world were getting along, professionally and personally. But when she turned to Nicolas, she noticed something in his expression that didn’t tally with her own happiness. ‘What is it?’ she asked, noticing that he wouldn’t meet her gaze.

Nicolas smiled ruefully. ‘I could never hide anything from you, could I? I have some news. Possibly not as welcome as my last announcement … I’ve had a job offer, from American Athletics. And I’ve decided to accept it.’

‘Son of a bitch,’ Andre swore, and Camille glanced at him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’ he demanded. ‘You’re leaving us?’

Nicolas nodded slowly. ‘I don’t start until the end of next month, and it’ll be a gradual transition, so I’ll have time to help you find someone else. I thought perhaps—’

‘American Athletics?’ Camille interrupted. ‘Isn’t that based in—’

‘New York, yes,’ Nicolas finished. ‘I’m being brought on to assist with their European expansion, so I’ll be back and forth, but I’ll be based out of New York. They’ll pay me a relocation fee, rent an apartment for me, and sort all the visa paperwork.’

‘Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,’ Andre said coldly.

‘This was never the plan,’ Nicolas insisted, putting down his champagne glass; the mood dying quicker than the bubbles. ‘But they approached me, it was too good to refuse, and it feels like the right time …’

‘It was supposed to be the three of us. It was always the three of us,’ Camille whispered. The colour had drained from her face, and she looked stunned.

‘It’s called Camille Andre,’ Nicolas said softly, but with steel in his eyes. ‘I’m not sure there was ever room for me.’

‘We can change the name if that’s what you want,’ Camille suggested desperately. ‘Give you a salary rise, a higher percentage split, whatever you want …’

‘I’ve made up my mind. Look, you’re well established now, turnover and revenue are increasing year on year – you don’t need me. I was thinking of Charles Cazeneuve over at Pierrot. He could be a great replacement, and I know he’s looking to jump ship.’

‘I don’t want Charles Cazeneuve, I want you,’ Camille exploded, her voice shaking. The two men stared at her, astonished by her outburst. Lucas began to cry, and Camille closed her eyes, as though it was all too much to deal with. ‘He’s tired,’ she said quietly, as Andre scooped up Lucas. ‘Can you put him down for his nap?’