Page 69 of One Summer in Monte Carlo
At her words, Jean-Claude stopped walking and turned Nanette to face him. ‘You are going to help nurse him?’
‘No, not nurse him, but I’ll organise his day-to-day needs. He has no one else. He was an only child and his parents died years ago – long before he became a racing driver.’
Jean-Claude nodded thoughtfully. ‘How do you think he will react to the scars he is clearly going to have? Modern plastic surgery can do so much, but I’d hazard a guess that Zac’s good looks have gone forever.’
‘He’s never been a bitter man – arrogant and self-seeking, maybe,’ Nanette answered slowly. ‘I think once he knows the extent of his injuries, he’ll get on with improving what he can and simply accept what he can’t. He’s always been very strong like that.’
‘And you,ma chérie?’ Jean-Claude gazed at her intently. ‘How strong are you? How will you deal with a damaged Zac Ewart in your life?’
‘JC, I can’t just walk away from him.’ The thought,like he did to me, she mentally squashed.
‘I wouldn’t ask you to. I just don’t want you to be hurt again.’
‘I won’t be, I promise.’ Nanette put a hand up and gently stroked Jean-Claude’s face. ‘Can I tell you something? Sitting at Zac’s bedside, I thought about you and me and wondered how I’d feel if it were you in that hospital bed.’ Reaching up, she kissed him. ‘I couldn’t bear it. I would really be hurting then.’
He hugged her tightly for several seconds before releasing her. ‘Come on, let’s walk.’
* * *
Dusk was falling as they returned to the villa. Mathieu met them at the door, his face serious.
‘The hospital rang. Zac suffered a stroke shortly after you left. Nanette, I’m sorry, they did everything possible, but they couldn’t save him.’
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Nanette lay on the airbed, her fingers dangling in the cool water as she drifted aimlessly around the pool. Jean-Claude had urged her to go for a swim, but she simply didn’t have the energy.
She’d felt so positive that evening, walking on the beach with Jean-Claude, watching the setting sun, believing against all odds that Zac was going to recover now he’d regained consciousness and making plans for his future care.
The numbness that had descended over her as Mathieu told them the sad news had drained her of all rational thought and energy. Only Jean-Claude’s quiet, loving presence had kept her focused on the things that needed to be done.
Nanette knew that the F1 world would want to pay their respects to one of their own, but in the middle of a busy racing season, it would throw up all sorts of logistical problems for drivers and their teams to attend. Jean-Claude had helped her set up the small private funeral service for Zac that would take place tomorrow in the church at the cemetery. They’d announce details of the memorial service they planned to hold in December at the end of the racing season.
An unknown Monsieur Mille had phoned, wanting an urgent meeting with her that afternoon. Jean-Claude had been strangely reticent about the man, saying simply that the name seemed familiar, but he wasn’t sure, and, as Monsieur Mille had declined to give details over the telephone, she’d have to wait and see what it was all about.
Reluctantly, Nanette paddled the airbed towards the pool steps. The mysterious Monsieur Mille would be here soon. She needed to shower and get dressed. Maybe she’d start to shake off this stupor after tomorrow when the saga of her and Zac would finally be laid to rest alongside his poor burned body.
* * *
Monsieur Mille, when Jean-Claude introduced them half an hour later, turned out to be a lawyer. Zac’s lawyer.
‘Mademoiselle Weston, I am here to offer my condolences and my services. I have to tell you that you are the only beneficiary of Monsieur Ewart’s estate.’ He handed Nanette a legal document and an envelope containing a set of keys.
A stunned Nanette looked at him in disbelief as Jean-Claude took charge and began to question him.
‘There is no mistake. Monsieur Ewart lodged his Will with me three years ago, with the instructions that, in the event of his demise, I was to contact Mademoiselle Weston with the news and offer her my services.’
‘It’s just that three years ago…’ Nanette’s voice trailed off.
‘I believe you had a bad car accident about that time,’ the lawyer said. ‘Monsieur Ewart was concerned for you.’ He stood up and held out his business card. ‘I will leave you to read Monsieur Ewart’s Will. If you have any questions, this is my number. These things take time, but you will need to come to my office to sign papers – perhaps next month.’
Nanette stayed in the sitting room while Jean-Claude saw the lawyer out, her thoughts in turmoil. Why hadn’t Zac changed his Will since then? Was it his way of trying to make amends? Or was it just a mistake on his part? Whatever the reason, it was too late now.
Her fingers were shaking as she unfolded the heavy document. There was no mistaking her name in bold letters six or seven lines down the page, identifying her as the beneficiary of Zac Ewart’s estate.Pole Position, the apartment in Fontvieille – those were the keys the lawyer had thoughtfully put in the envelope – and Zac’s bank account were now hers. Silently, she handed the paper to Jean-Claude when he returned.
‘You’re going to be a wealthy woman,’ he said.
‘I don’t want all this,’ she replied, looking up at Jean-Claude.
