India Grey - Her Last Night of Innocence

‘To the Campano party? Bien, mademoiselle . Enjoy your evening.’

That, thought Kate, going carefully down the steps of the hotel in her high-heeled shoes, was extremely unlikely. But then, she hadn’t come here to enjoy herself. She’d come here for closure.

The square was quieter now. The party inside the Casino had already started, and the photographers Lisa had watched gathering around the entrance earlier, to capture the arrival of celebrities and sports personalities, had dispersed, leaving only a few ambling, curious tourists. Blue lights from the Casino’s entrance bounced off the shiny paintwork of the Bentleys and Ferraris and Lamborghinis that were lined up outside like the forecourt of Alexander’s fantasy garage.

As she picked her way across the wet cobbles, holding her skirt up so it didn’t drag on the ground, she could see through the open doors to rows of marble columns, glowing like gold in the lamplight inside, and hear music—the sexy, high-tempo whine of electric violins.

Oh, God. And now she had to go in there…

It would almost be funny if it weren’t so awful. This wasn’t her world, and she didn’t even want it to be. Much as she grumbled about Hartley Bridge, and the fact that its one shop closed for an hour at lunchtime and sold malt vinegar rather than balsamic, it was where she belonged.

Where she felt safe.

The shivering had turned into a violent trembling that was nothing to do with the cold. High above Monte Carlo, beyond the lights and the noise, the hills were barely distinguishable from the black sky. Somewhere up there was the big empty villa where, on a warm, pine-scented evening in May, her whole life had changed in ways she could never have imagined.

Resolutely she raised her chin. Dominic was right. It was time to take control of things. Things had a habit of happening to her—things out of her control—that served to remind her time and time again of how precarious life was, how fragile and fallible. It was high time she took matters into her own hands for once and faced up to her fears.

Clutching her evening bag in front of her like a shield, she went up the steps and into the gilded and opulent interior.

‘So, what do you think? Do you like it?’

Handing him a glass of champagne, Suki came to stand beside Cristiano at the gallery rail. Above the frantic swell of electric violins he could hear the note of triumph in her voice as she looked down on the scene below.

Like it?

A pulse beat in Cristiano’s temple, out of time with the music. He felt sweat break out on his forehead.

The party was well underway, and the ornate and imposing salon was filling up with guests—some of whom Cristiano knew well from the racing circuit, and others whose faces he knew only from glossy magazines. At the foot of the wide staircase that swept down from the gallery a raised platform had been erected, on which four ravishing beauties with Perspex electric violins prowled and writhed around two cars.

The Campano car that the team would be running during the forthcoming Grand Prix was being unveiled to the public for the first time tonight. A study of design and engineering perfection, its paintwork glittered in the light of the chandeliers like polished emeralds, and its sleek lines were reminiscent of some crouching, predatory beast.

But it was the other one that people had gathered to look at. The obscene lump of distorted metal that had once been a car and had nearly been his coffin.

‘Whether I like it is irrelevant,’ Cristiano said tonelessly, dragging his gaze away from it. ‘Everyone else seems to be fascinated.’

With a hiss of scarlet satin Suki turned, looking at him from under lashes that were too thick and black to be real. ‘They’re glad that you’re back, that’s all,’ she said throatily, reaching up to straighten his collar unnecessarily. ‘You’re a hero. Everyone remembers the accident, but seeing the car like that will bring it home to people how amazing you are to have come back from it.’

Her musky perfume caught in the back of his throat, combining with the despair that lodged there, choking him. Everyone remembered the accident except him . And if Dr Fournier was right that might mean that, no matter how strong he was, it would never come back.

He knocked back a slug of champagne. It had cost Silvio a fortune, but to him it tasted like battery acid.

‘I’m not back yet.’

‘But you will be,’ Suki purred, trailing a scarlet-tipped finger down the silk lapel of his dinner jacket. ‘You were three times World Champion. You just need to get a couple of races—a couple of wins—under your belt. I know it must be hard—’

With a muted sound of disgust Cristiano broke away from her, thrusting both hands through his hair. Apart from Francine Fournier, Suki was the only person who knew about his memory loss, but even she had no idea about the flashbacks and the panic attacks and the palpitations that plagued him when he was driving.

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he said bitterly.

Below them Silvio was moving swiftly from group to group, beaming as he shook hands with the men and kissed the women, most of whom towered above him in high heels. In a moment he would make a speech, and then after that the guests would disperse into the adjoining salons and take their places at the gaming tables to play poker and roulette. Suki’s theme for the evening had been decided apparently without irony, and the guests were looking forward to celebrating Cristiano’s return by gambling with Campano money.

For him, the stakes were much higher.

‘I’m here for you—you know that,’ Suki said in a low voice. ‘If there’s anything—’

‘The twenty-four hours before the crash,’ he interrupted through tightly gritted teeth. ‘Tell me again. What happened?’

She stiffened slightly, and suddenly her perfectly made-up face was as hard and expressionless as a Venetian mask. ‘I’ve told you,’ she said carefully. ‘There’s nothing more.’

Cristiano’s gaze was inexorably pulled back to the shredded metal and blackened paintwork of the ruined car.

‘Again,’ he said with lethal softness.

He heard her give the merest hint of an impatient sigh. ‘You qualified in pole position. Some girl had come over from Clearspring Water to interview you and I took her to the press suite to wait for you while you went back to have a shower and rest.’ Her tone was nonchalant, almost as if the events of that lost evening were completely inconsequential. ‘One of Silvio’s friends was having a party on a yacht, so most of us had left the Campano building by six. I’m guessing that you must have finished your interview with the Clearspring girl by seven and gone home soon afterwards.’

‘What about the next morning?’

Suki picked an imaginary bit of lint from the front of her very tight red satin dress. ‘Normal race day routine. You arrived at the track—’

‘According to the newspapers I missed the drivers’ parade.’

‘Maybe you were a bit late.’ Suki shrugged. ‘Four years is a long time. I can’t remember exactly what happened that day—none of it seemed to matter compared to what came afterwards.’

The throbbing in his head intensified. The music was building to a crescendo, the violinists thrusting their hips and their bows more and more feverishly as the guests kept coming. Cristiano’s gaze flickered restlessly over all of them, as if he was looking for someone in particular.

‘Was I alone?’

‘When you arrived?’ she said casually. ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t you have been?’

He gave an icy smile. ‘Because the night before a race I usually wasn’t.’

It seemed like another lifetime. When he had driven fast and won races and seduced women all with the same effortless arrogance.