Page 70 of Meet Me at Sunset

Then his mother’s sharp voice jolted him back to the present.

‘Get everyone out of here now. Call the police …’ Camille stared at Paulo, slowly shaking her head in shock and anger and disbelief. ‘I should have known … I should have realized all along … It was you.’

Chapter 32

Within minutes, the backstage area was cleared. Acting under Camille’s instructions, René expertly shepherded everyone through to the bar and terrace area where a drinks reception had been set up, and the VIP guests were none the wiser that anything out of the ordinary was taking place. A couple of journalists attempted to linger, having heard raised voices and sensing something was amiss, but the burly security guards soon dealt with them.

‘I’ve called the police. They’ll be here shortly,’ Nicolas said discreetly to Camille, who nodded in thanks.

Paulo was pacing the room like a caged animal, fury and self-righteousness emanating from him.

‘You could have just paid me the money, Camille,’ he said, rounding on her, his eyes wild and his face contorted. ‘And all this would have gone away. But now everyone will know, and your reputation will be ruined.’

‘What is he talking about?’ Lucas frowned. ‘What money?’

‘It would have been a drop in the ocean to you, Camille. But you were as tight-fisted as ever and couldn’t bear to part with it. Maybe you thought I was bluffing, but you underestimated me. I’ll tell the world!’

‘What’s going on?’ Lucas demanded, looking as though he might explode in frustration.

‘So it was you, Paulo. I should have guessed as much, you were always spiteful and jealous of my family,’ Camille said, turning to her son. ‘It appears Paulo has been blackmailing me for some time, until he got greedy.’

‘Blackmailed?’ Lucas burst out. ‘About what? Wait, is this to do with the restaurant?’

Paulo laughed loudly. ‘Lucas, you really are pathetic. You think this was all about your little restaurant? No one cares about that. Just go back to being a spoilt little rich boy, it’s what you do best. You don’t need to pretend to earn a living, Mummy will bail you out, just like she always has.’

Lucas looked shocked by the venom in Paulo’s voice. ‘But what was the blackmail about?’

Paulo, seething with rage, stared straight at Camille. ‘Why don’t you tell him?’

Everyone turned to her, and Nicolas put a steadying hand on her arm.

‘It’s about the accident,’ Camille said carefully. ‘Andre’s accident.’

‘Tell him the truth,’ Paulo heckled. ‘Tell him what really happened that night.’

‘Stop it … I already know …’ Lucas began, his voice coming out as a whisper. ‘At least I think I know. It was me, wasn’t it?’ He looked up at Camille, his hazel eyes – which were so like her own – filled with anguish, and she felt as though her heart would break for him. She’d tried to protect him from the truth for so long, and now she’d failed.

‘It was an accident, darling,’ she insisted. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

‘I’ve been having flashbacks. I …’ He trailed off, piecing together what had happened that fateful night.

‘Happy birthday, Papa,’ Lucas grinned, pulling him into a hug, as he toasted Andre with a glass of champagne.

‘Thanks, Lucas,’ Andre grinned, taking a slug from his own glass, before Lucas topped it up.

‘Paulo?’ Lucas offered, holding out the vintage magnum of Dom Pérignon. It had cost the equivalent of most people’s monthly salary, but Andre had wanted to push the boat out on his birthday, with no expense spared.

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Paulo said, as he stared round the room at the wealthy-looking patrons, the beautiful women, the low-key décor that screamed old money. ‘You Fontaines certainly know how to throw a party.’

‘You fit right in,’ Lucas laughed. ‘Even if you are wearing one of my tuxedos.’

‘I never needed my own. There’s not much call for formal wear in Cala de la Belleza,’ Paulo replied, before draining his coupe.

They were celebrating Andre’s forty-ninth birthday at Badrutt’s Palace in St Moritz. It was a legendary five-star hotel, beloved by celebrities and socialites, a stunning building in the centre of Saint Moritz that looked like an ancient castle. It overlooked Lake Sankt Moritz, and offered stunning views of the snowy Swiss Alps surrounding it. The Fontaines loved mountain sports and ski season was one of their favourite times of year.

Camille hadn’t been able to attend Andre’s birthday weekend – she was being honoured with a prestigious design award at an event in Paris – so for Andre, this expensive lunch party was a culmination of a boys’ weekend of skiing at a luxurious rented villa, and three days of après-ski hedonism with a dozen of his friends and his beloved son, and with Paulo invited along to keep Lucas company.

Everyone downed their glasses and cheered. Lucas was starting to feel drunk, his vision blurring, as Andre clapped his arms around Lucas and Paulo.