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Briefly, Camille relayed what had happened, and Nicolas was composed and focused, just as she’d hoped.

‘I’m in Milan,’ he told her. ‘I’ll go by chopper – I can be there in less than an hour. Call a taxi to Le Bourget then pack an overnight bag. I’ll have a jet there waiting for you.’

‘Thank you, Nicolas,’ Camille said, hanging up and following his instructions. If she allowed herself to think for even a moment, she would shatter like crystal.

It was shortly after four a.m. when Camille arrived at the hospital in St Moritz. Nicolas was waiting for her as she exited the taxi and ran through the main door.

‘What’s happening?’ she demanded, her pale face etched with fear.

Nicolas looked grave as he reached out for her. ‘I’m so sorry, Camille. Andre isn’t going to make it. He’s on life support, but … they’re waiting for you.’

Camille gasped, her hands flying to her face in shock. ‘No,’ she murmured, shaking her head. Her husband of more than twenty-five years, her partner in everything … Her stomach was churning as she asked the question, ‘And Lucas?’

‘He’s in a bad way. They’re operating on him right now.’

‘My God …’

Nicolas steered Camille to a seat as her legs threatened to buckle.

‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘The officer on the phone said there’d been a car accident, but I don’t know the details …’

‘It was a couple of miles from the chalet … Andre and Lucas were driving back from a lunch. I don’t know exactly what happened either – the police are still investigating. The car spun out of control apparently. Perhaps there were icy conditions …’

The news propelled Camille to her feet. ‘Show me where Lucas is. Andre too. I need to see them, I want to speak to the doctors.’

Nicolas led her along a corridor that was perfectly white and clean. At this time in the morning, there were few people around and the hospital was eerily silent, save for the occasional nurse or doctor, their expressions formal and serious.

‘Lucas is in here. But we have to wait outside,’ Nicolas told her.

Hysteria was starting to build inside Camille, as she looked at the closed door separating her from her Lucas. ‘I want to see him, Nicolas. I want to see my son. And Andre too. Where is he? Oh God, I need to put out a statement before the story hits the press, I need to make some calls, I don’t think I can cope right now, I …’

She broke off as a surgeon in scrubs stepped out of the room, pulling down his mask. He was dark haired and dark skinned, and his manner was calm and reassuring.

‘I’m Camille Fontaine, Lucas’s mother,’ she said urgently, stepping towards him.

‘Madame Fontaine, I’m glad you’re here. I’m Dr Bachmann. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened.’

‘Thank you,’ Camille managed. ‘But tell me about Lucas. Can I see him?’

The surgeon looked from Camille to Nicolas. ‘Just for a moment.’

He led them through into the hospital room, where Lucas lay, surrounded by machines that were bleeping and flashing, his arms hooked up to fluid and plasma. His head was a mass of bandages. A dark stain of bruising ran down the upper left side of his body from his neck right across his sternum.

Dr Bachmann saw her looking at it. ‘That’s a stress fracture, from his seat belt, but he’s a fighter, and he is young and fit,’ Dr Bachmann said gravely. ‘We’re expecting him to pull through, but his injuries may be life-changing. He’s sustained considerable damage to his cranium, he has multiple breaks in his upper body including his collarbone, and his facial wounds are extensive, he’ll need reconstructive surgery.’

‘But he’s alive,’ Camille whispered. ‘That’s all that matters.’

‘He is,’ Dr Bachmann nodded. Camille touched her son’s hand and whispered, ‘I love you.’ Nicolas led her from the scene, and the surgeon pointed them to a small annex room off the corridor.

‘There’s something else I need to discuss with you.’ He told them as Camille sat, shellshocked. ‘The injuries your husband sustained were catastrophic. He won’t regain consciousness, you’re aware of this?’

Camille glanced at Nicolas, her eyes wet and shining. ‘Yes, I’ve been told.’

‘I’m very sorry, I know this is hard. Currently, he’s being kept alive artificially, but his brain is no longer functioning.’

‘I understand. Are you asking for my consent to switch off the machine, is that it? I need to see him …’

‘Yes, of course, but that’s not what I’m asking right now. Your son has lost a lot of blood and needs a transfusion. His blood type is rather rare – AB negative. We are running low on stocks of that and it may not be sufficient for Lucas’s immediate needs. One of his parents could have been a donor for his son, but we now know his father is not a match, perhaps you … perhaps we should talk privately,’ he added, glancing at Nicolas.