Luc was scrawling his signature on theNDA. ‘Camberwell.’
The name echoed in Sophie’s brain. Some random neuron fired and retrieved a snippet of information from the distant past – quite possibly the first seed of Sophie’s decision that Luc didn’t fit into her world.
‘He was brought up by a single mum… on one of the worst housing estates in Camberwell…’
‘Where you grew up?’ The words were out before she could stop them.
Luc handed her the paper he had signed. ‘Yep.’
Sophie swallowed, her good intentions of not stepping on any more personal ground forgotten.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Why what?’
‘Why would you want to live there again?’
‘I don’t.’
Luc was meeting her puzzled stare without blinking. It was a challenging gaze that almost felt like a warning. Because he didn’t want to be judged on where he had come from? To her shame, Sophie knew she had fostered an element of exactly that kind of prejudice, perhaps because it had been a more acceptable reason to find him disturbing than any undeniable but dark physical attraction?
‘The house is going to be a youth centre.’ Luc’s tone told her it was none of her business and he wouldn’t welcome any further interrogation. ‘It’ll be run by a registered charity. I’m just involved, that’s all.’
Accepting the message that the matter was closed was fine by Sophie. She opened the folder again and began passing some glossy photographs to Luc.
‘This is Natalia Morozov.’ The image was of a young woman with long black hair and almond-shaped eyes. ‘Russian heritage but she was born and raised in Monaco. And this is Henri Ducasse, her French fiancé.’
Sophie took a deep breath. ‘I’ll try and keep the backstory as succinct as possible. Henri’s family have been in the shipping industry in the South of France for more than a hundred years and are enormously wealthy. Back in the middle of last century, Henri’s great-grandfather Didier went into business with Natalia’s great-grandfather with a grand scheme to build a five-star Riviera retreat. Didier lived in Marseilles but bought a notable belle époque mansion on the Cap d’Antibes as a summer retreat and named it after his wife, Céleste.’ Sophie riffled through the stack of photos in the file. ‘Here. This is the house – which is relevant because it’s the venue for this wedding. I can give you interior shots of the rooms that will be used.’
Luc took in the three-storied, warm-cream stuccoed walls of a massive house, tall windows with curved tops and matching French doors opening on to iron balconies. One end of the mansion was hexagonal, the third floor topped at roof level with a terrace that was open above an ornamental parapet and had a glass roof shaped like a fully open sun umbrella. The photo had been taken from above to include the setting of a classically formal garden with hedged pathways, fountains and a large pond. Statues were dotted amongst the immaculate topiary of buxus and yew trees shaped into balls, cones and spirals.
Luc gave a silent whistle. ‘Nice.’
‘It’s the poshest house I’ve ever been in,’ Sophie confessed. ‘I love castles but a private house like this that’s only ever been used for holidays is kind of intimidating – especially when it comes with the kind of security the Ducasse family has in place and the pressure to keep this wedding totally under wraps. It has a helipad along with a private beach and jetty. The bride will be arriving secretly by tender from a private yacht.’
‘Waouh… they’re very determined to protect their privacy, aren’t they?’
‘It’s bigger than that.’ Sophie lowered her voice, as though she was imparting a secret. ‘As I said, the great-grandfathers went into business together but it collapsed in a rather spectacular scandal when Didier discovered some major financial discrepancies and accused Natalia’s great-grandfather of using the project to launder money. Not long after that, Didier died in a boating accident. The accusations got buried along with Didier as nothing could be proven but the scandal was never resolved, along with the suspicion that the death was not accidental. The families have been sworn enemies ever since but Natalia and Henri met each other, by chance, at university and they fell madly in love with each other. They still are, after years of keeping it secret for their families’ sake.’
Sophie couldn’t help noticing the flicker in Luc’s eyes before she broke the contact.
‘Very Romeo and Juliet,’ he murmured.
‘Tout à fait…’ Sophie’s agreement was no more than a whisper. She couldn’t meet his gaze again. The echoes in their own lives were palpable. Maybe that undercurrent had been there from the first moment she and Luc had laid eyes on each other because it was already forbidden territory on her part. For Luc, that would have happened the moment his closest friend staked his claim. But whatever could have been, if things had been very different, had died along with Tom and had been buried for long enough that it should be forgotten.
Or at least forgiven?
‘Henri’s father died when he was a teenager,’ Sophie continued, thankful that her voice didn’t betray her with any wobble of inappropriate empathy. ‘But he has a very devoted mother who’s not going to stand in the way of him marrying the love of his life. She and one of Henri’s sisters were their witnesses to the legal part of the marriage that actually happened months ago. It was supposed to be no more than a discreet visit to themairieto take care of the paperwork – an elopement, really – but they came back here afterwards and it was the sister, Camille, who came up with the idea of a real wedding. Here. A secret. No more than a dozen or so guests. A beautiful dress, a romantic ceremony and a dream honeymoon. That’s when they contacted me and asked whether I was able to handle a secret wedding.’ Sophie smiled. ‘Tilly was so excited by it all. The secrecy, the story behind it. The romance of love that is strong enough to overcome every obstacle.’
‘This wedding is not simply thela cerise sur le gâteau, then.’
‘Apparently not.’ Sophie laughed. ‘Perhaps because there’s still a chance the Morozov family will find out about it and all hell will break loose. That could happen if the paparazzi get wind of what’s going on and the old scandal is stirred back into life, hence theNDAs for every single person who’s involved in this event.’
Luc nodded. ‘Understood. I’d prefer not to be caught up in the collateral damage of a media circus myself, to be honest.’
The beat of silence felt far too close to a cliff edge that neither of them would approach voluntarily. They had both been caught up in the media circus that had followed the tragic death of the Auto d’Or heir on the eve of his wedding. Sophie did not want to be pulled any closer to the deliberately blurred memories of that pack of journalists who seemed to be feeding on the grief of those left behind. To the agony of that funeral and the graveside ceremony that Luc had not been allowed to attend. Sophie cleared her throat, shuffling photographs like cards as she searched for something to say that would steer them away from danger.
‘The ceremony will take place on the main terrace, which has the best sea view. Or inside, if the weather doesn’t cooperate. Probably in this room that opens to the terrace.’
