Perfect Strangers

She noted his momentary disappointment. Had he been thinking of tonight as a real date?

‘Don’t pin too much on tonight,’ he said quietly. ‘We don’t know if we’re going to find any answers. We don’t know if this woman will even be there . . .’

‘You’re right, we don’t know anything,’ said Sophie, surprised at her own passion. ‘But I want to find out. I want to get to this party and start putting the pieces together, because I want my life back, Josh. I just want to go home.’

31

The somewhat ordinary address on the invitation – 134 Rue de Rivoli – hadn’t prepared Sophie for what she saw as the taxi drove through the iron gates.

‘Bloody hell,’ she gasped, looking towards the end of the palm-tree-lined drive where the Villa Polieux stood like a glorious neoclassical full stop. ‘It’s like something out of Tender is the Night.’

‘I think that was set at the Hotel du Cap down the road,’ smiled Josh. ‘But you’re right. It’s pretty incredible.’

Painted a shimmering white, with wings either side of the main house, the villa had pale grey shutters at every window and was surrounded by sculpted hedges and neatly trimmed flower beds.

‘Who owns a place like this?’

‘It belongs to the Polieux family; it’s their summer retreat,’ said Josh. ‘They’re one of the oldest and most prestigious wine merchants in France, and I’m not talking about selling a few bottles of plonk to rich Russians here. I mean these guys are into wholesale distribution, wine bottling and retail; they’ve got a grape merchant division as well as owning some of the top estates in Bordeaux. If you drink a bottle of wine in France, there’s a decent chance the Polieuxs have had something to do with it.’

‘You seem to know a lot about them,’ said Sophie, giving Josh a sidelong glance.

‘You have a suspicious nature, Sophie Ellis,’ said Josh. ‘I haven’t been sunbathing while you were getting your hair done. It pays to know where you’re going and who you’re likely to bump into.’

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just thought . . .’

‘I know what you thought. Anyway, you can see why Nick got involved with this world, can’t you?’

They were met at their car by a uniformed waiter who handed them flutes of champagne and wordlessly led them into the house. The high entrance hall was lit by dozens of the tallest candles Sophie had ever seen. Even in the flickering light, she could see that the floor was intricately patterned with marble and the furniture was gold and ornate. As the waiter turned to the left, they could hear music and excited chatter. They walked out into a ballroom that made Sophie gasp, despite herself. It was the size of a tennis court and was brilliantly lit by three dazzling chandeliers. As she looked up in wonder, she saw that the entire ceiling was painted in one vast depiction of the heavens: the Holy Mother surrounded by angels, and at the centre, a half-clothed figure she suspected was Marie Antoinette.

‘Try to close your mouth,’ said Josh with a smirk. ‘Sophisticated people like us aren’t impressed by things like that, remember?’

‘Sorry,’ she hissed, and tried to look more regal. It wasn’t easy when she was clearly surrounded by some of the most elegant people in France. The ladies were all wearing flowing gowns – every colour from shimmering silver to peacock blue – the men, beautifully cut dinner suits. Sophie was glad Josh had been shopping; if she had worn her day dress purloined from Josh’s garage, people would have been handing her their empty glasses.

But the more she looked at the women here, the more Sophie began to despair of ever finding the elusive A. If everything she had been hearing about Nick was true, it could be any one of them: young, old, glamorous or even elderly and wizened. Nick’s modus operandi suggested he went wherever the money was; and this party was dripping in money.

‘How the hell are we going to find this woman, Josh?’ she whispered.

Josh looked irritated.

‘I’m working on it, okay?’ he hissed.

‘Seriously, we don’t know anything about her except she’s been invited to this party and her name begins with A,’ pressed Sophie. ‘It’s not exactly much to go on, is it? What are we going to do, get our clipboards out and question everyone here if they’ve seen or heard of Nick Beddingfield, otherwise known as Nick Cooper, or maybe even something else?’

‘I’ll think of something, stop worrying.’

They followed the flow of the party out on to the terrace overlooking the lights of Antibes harbour. The sky was mottled pink and purple, and the Mediterranean shimmered like mercury in the dusk. It was as if they were in their own private world, just the two of them, where everything was good and safe and happy.

‘Can you smell that?’ she said, touching Josh’s arm. ‘It’s roses and pine trees. Oh Josh, I could live here.’

‘I thought you wanted to find Nick’s mystery woman and then leave immediately,’ said Josh sharply. Sophie glanced at him, desperately wishing she could read his mind. He was definitely pissed off about something. Was he simply being his usual moody self, or was he really upset because she wanted to go home? Did he want to stay with her in this strange limbo for ever? She could ask herself the same question. Of course she wanted all this to be over; she hated the constant anxiety of not knowing what was happening, the prospect of prison, while the idea that someone might want to kill her was alien and terrifying. And yet despite the danger, the threats and the fear, there had been something quite exhilarating about the past few days.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

He looked at her in surprise.

‘Thank you? For what?’

She gestured around the terrace.