Page 6 of Meet Me at Sunset

It seemed that Isobel wasn’t the only one taken by the mysterious stranger; heads swivelled in the woman’s direction, and she was attracting a lot of attention. Then she turned, and as Isobel caught a glimpse of the woman’s face, she gasped.

It’s her!

‘What is it?’ Stuart asked in alarm.

Isobel sat up, her face alight with excitement. ‘You see the woman in red across the pool,’ she nodded discreetly.

Stuart followed her gaze, immediately finding the woman Isobel was referring to. ‘Yes. What about her?’

‘It’s Camille Fontaine!’ Isobel exclaimed gleefully. Seeing Stuart’s blank expression, she explained, ‘You know – the designer. I have all of her “Camille” bags. You bought me the limited-edition red python-skin last Valentine’s Day.’

Stuart frowned. ‘Are you sure? Why would she be here?’

‘Of course I’m sure,’ Isobel replied, annoyed by his question. Then her mood swung back to excitement. ‘Oh, I can’t believe it’s really her.’

‘Well don’t make a fool of yourself,’ Stuart retorted, unhappy with the way Isobel had spoken to him, and by the fact that his wife seemed more interested in some fashion designer than in going for a siesta with him. ‘The woman has a right to privacy. She’s on holiday.’

‘I know that, Stuart,’ Isobel shot back. ‘What do you think I’m going to do? Run over and greet her like a long-lost relative? Don’t be so ridiculous.’

Isobel snatched up her book and lay back on her lounger, pretending to read. But she was silently seething at her husband’s comments, and didn’t take in a single word of her Jilly Cooper novel. Instead, she gazed over the top of the pages, watching Camille Fontaine as she sashayed around the pool, greeting admirers and graciously accepting a drink from a waiter.

Isobel would make herself known to Camille, there was no doubt about that. But she would bide her time and do it her way.

Chapter 3

Stephanie Moon finished her gruelling workout with a series of yoga stretches, feeling the muscles in her body lengthen and relax, her breathing slow and deep.

Inhale … exhale …

As she leaned into warrior pose, she focused on the stunning view through the gym’s floor-to-ceiling windows, where dappled morning light pooled through the citrus trees in the courtyard area at the rear of the striking villa. A Mediterranean garden stretched away into the distance, bursting with brightly coloured flowers, sprawling shrubs and prickly succulents, as water trickled over a stone fountain and cicadas hummed their incessant tune. Beyond lay a tantalizing glimpse of the Balearic Sea, a wide strip of ever-changing shades of blue, dazzling in the sunshine like a diamond reflecting light. It was hard not to feel motivated when you had such an incredible location to inspire you, Stephanie reflected.

She’d come so far in the last few months, and was still acclimatizing to the glamour and grandeur of her new life. It was a complete contrast with everything she’d known growing up in Brighton.

Following a final sun salutation, Stephanie brought her hands together in the prayer position. Opening her eyes, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirrors on the opposite wall and couldn’t resist checking out her reflection. All her hard work was paying off, she thought happily, and she was more than satisfied with what she saw. In black Lycra shorts and a minuscule crop-top, her body was slim yet strong, slender yet toned. Her new training regime had whittled her into the best shape of her life – her waist was tiny, her bottom high and toned, her small breasts perfectly proportioned. Her shining copper-coloured hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, highlighting her dewy skin and deep blue eyes that were framed by pale lashes.

Her agent kept impressing on her how important it was to be on top form, how she was hot property right now and they needed to capitalize on that. Stephanie was ready. The buzz around her next movie, Fields of Barley, was intense, and she was already being tipped for Oscar success – an idea which seemed crazy for a twenty-two-year-old from East Sussex who’d been practically unknown this time last year.

Stephanie felt the familiar crunch of anxiety in her stomach when she thought about the current situation.

Frowning, she forced herself to make a final, deep exhalation, then picked up her water bottle and walked out of the gym, contemplating whether to shower first or make herself a smoothie to quell the rumbling in her stomach. She decided on the former, and was about to head to her room when she heard female voices coming from one of the reception rooms at the front of the house. They were speaking in Spanish, and she could identify one as the housekeeper, Maria, but not the second woman.

Curious, Stephanie moved closer, her feet quiet on the tiled floor. There was no door on this room – just a double-width, open archway that led directly from the expansive entrance hall to the immaculately decorated lounge – and Stephanie peered in. Sitting elegantly on one of the pale blue damask sofas was a woman in her fifties, with a sleek, long bob in a deep shade of chestnut brown. Her posture was excellent, her back straight and her chin tilted slightly upwards, and she was immaculately dressed in a crisp white T-shirt and slim-fit navy trousers.

‘Sí, claro,’ the housekeeper was saying, as the woman replied, ‘Gracias,’ and Maria walked away, acknowledging Stephanie as she passed. ‘Oh, señora, you have a telephone call, I was just coming to tell you.’

‘Oh,’ Stephanie said, her voice wary, ‘who is it?’

‘The same woman who called before … Her name is Victoria Hyde-Williams, you will take the call?’

Stephanie blanched, her heart fluttering at the sound of her agent’s name. ‘Please tell her I’ll call her back, thank you.’

Maria hesitated for a moment then shrugged and said, ‘OK, bien.’

Stephanie glanced towards the elegant woman on the sofa, who glanced up, her almond eyes following Maria out of the room. In that instant, Stephanie realized who she was.

‘Oh!’ she burst out, before she could stop herself. ‘Camille Fontaine! Oh my God, I love your bags! And your dresses!’

Camille smiled at Stephanie’s enthusiasm, seeming genuinely pleased with the compliment. ‘Thank you,’ she replied in English, with a French accent.