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‘I don’t know, I was afraid. I just wanted it to go away.’

‘This is serious,’ Nicolas said.

Camille shivered, glancing around her as though she expected to see someone hiding in the room. ‘I’m scared, Nicolas.’

She felt close to tears. Usually Camille was impenetrable, keeping her fears and emotions tightly bound, but lately she felt under so much pressure that she worried this could break her. She longed for Nicolas to put his arms around her and tell her everything was going to be all right, but neither of them moved an inch.

‘I’ve got contacts in the police,’ Nicolas began. ‘We must try to find out who is sending these; it’s already dangerous.’ Nicolas sighed heavily, running his hands through his dark hair. It was late, and he looked tired, Camille realized. In her mind, he was still the youthful 22-year-old he had been when she’d first met him, but she saw now the deep lines around his eyes, the increasing grey in his hair. He’d been at the top of his industry for a long time now, age was catching up with of them … and their secrets.

‘But what do they know, Nicolas? Who could it be, do you think …?’ Camille’s nerves were in threads. ‘Who is it?’

Nicolas’s brown eyes were grave. ‘What can they know? It is only you and I who …’ He opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment there was a light knock on the door. The two of them exchanged glances, their faces taut with anxiety, and Camille marched across the suite, her adrenaline racing.

‘Camille, wait—’

She wrenched open the door before Nicolas could stop her, almost expecting to find the suspect standing there. Instead, it was a uniformed concierge with an apologetic expression on his face.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you so late, Señora Fontaine. This just arrived for you. It was marked as urgent.’

He held the nondescript brown envelope out to her, and Camille recoiled, taking it as gingerly as if it contained a bomb.

‘Thank you,’ she managed, and her voice sounded faint. She closed the door without another word and Nicolas was instantly at her side. They looked at one another, the tension unbearable.

‘Do you want me to open it?’

Camille shook her head. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Be careful,’ Nicolas warned, and Camille knew his head was full of terrible ideas like razor blades secreted in the opening, or a letter laced with anthrax.

Slowly, she opened the envelope, finding nothing more deadly than a single piece of paper. She pulled it out, read the words on there and gasped.

‘What is it? Show me.’

Camille handed the note to Nicolas, her head spinning, her vision swimming in and out of focus. It was what she knew had been coming all along – a blackmail demand:

I knew what you did. One million dollars is the price of my silence or I’ll reveal the truth about Andre’s death to the world.

On the back was the same untraceable bank account number.

‘Holy shit,’ Nicolas breathed. He raced to the door, wrenching it open, but the concierge had gone and right now Camille needed his attention.

‘What are we going to do?’ she asked, her eyes wide and terrified. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. It was as though a huge weight was pushing down on her lungs. ‘They know, Nicolas. Someone knows! I’m going to lose everything. My business, my reputation … And what about Lucas? My God, Nicolas, I can’t …’

She sank to the floor, her legs refusing to hold her any more. Her breathing was shallow, and she was beginning to hyperventilate. It felt as though someone had punched her hard in the solar plexus, and she doubled over, clutching her stomach.

And then Nicolas was there, his strong arms around her, cradling her against his broad chest, as she collapsed against him gratefully. Camille closed her eyes as he stroked her hair, murmuring words of comfort. She trusted him implicitly. He was the one person that she knew would always be there for her and never let her down, even more than Lucas. He was always so cool and calm, so practical and capable, knowing what to do in every situation and never fazed by the unexpected. In his arms she was safe, and she wanted to stay there for ever.

She could feel his heart beating against hers, the fabric of his shirt soft against her cheek as she inhaled the scent of his Guerlain cologne – the same one he’d worn for over thirty years. He was constant and unchanging, her stalwart in life. It was true that, as a young woman, she’d found his calm and reliable nature rather dull and unsexy. It was why she’d chosen Andre, who was everything Nicolas wasn’t – bold, passionate, exciting. But Nicolas had been her stalwart. He’d never stopped loving her, even after everything that had happened …

Gradually, Camille’s breathing slowed. Her vision cleared and her tears dried up. But she knew that they weren’t over the worst. Whoever was threatening her was still out there, and this was just the beginning. The blackmail note had changed everything.

She pulled back and looked up at Nicolas, searching the face that she knew so well. ‘God help us, Nicolas …’

Part 2

Chapter 16

Paris, September 1968