The St. Tropez Lonely Hearts Club (38 page)

Meanwhile the hordes of holidaymakers that normally swamped the village in July and August had drained to a trickle. Not so the press and the paparazzi who, sensing one of the biggest stories of the decade, were making hay while the sun shone.

‘Saint-Tropez: Murder Capital of the World,’ screamed one tabloid, while other press outlets and media revelled in every juicy detail. They rehashed stories about Mina and Spencer’s deaths and the tragedy on the funicular at Sophie’s house, and generally made up articles arguing that every high-profile denizen of Saint-Tropez could be a suspect.

‘Business is terrible,’ confided Patrick, owner of the popular Tahiti Beach, to Charlie. ‘They’re cancelling reservations in droves – look at the beach, it’s almost empty.’

Charlie surveyed the vast expanse of golden sand with only a few orange loungers and parasols on it.

‘And the mistrals we’ve been having all year only make it worse,’ he sighed. ‘Well, things can only get better,’ he added optimistically. But they didn’t.

Lara opened the door on her way to Sénéquier for her morning vodka cocktail and almost tripped over a package that had been left outside. Without thinking she opened it. Inside the box, which was strangely wrapped in Christmas wrapping papers, lay a dead rat oozing with maggots on top of black tissue paper, with a scrawled note that read, ‘You’re next, bitch’.

Fabrizio found the shabby little caravan easily. It was parked in a scrubby piece of land next to several others on the camping site. Two women sat outside on broken beach chairs. The vestiges of prettiness still clung to their faces, but they looked tired and worn out. When they saw Fabrizio tanned, toned and handsome in white linen pants and black silk shirt, their faces lit up.

‘Fabrizio,
caro
,
mio amore!
’ they cried and ran towards him.

‘
Guarda, guarda i tuoi bambini
! Look at your children!’ said Raimunda, as two strapping young boys shyly approached. Fabrizio shook hands solemnly with his sons, whom he could see had inherited his dark good looks.

‘
Piacere
,’ he said as the boys studied him with interest.

‘Sit, sit,’ said Raimunda, eagerly brushing imaginary dust off the rickety chair. ‘Sit down and talk to us, Fabrizio. We’ve missed you so much.’

‘Yes, we still love you,’ said Carina wistfully. ‘We want to be with you again.’

Oh, God! Fabrizio felt totally out of his depth. That two girls he had slept with and impregnated by mistake when he was eighteen or nineteen and then never seen again had come back into his life was a major pain in the ass, to put it mildly. He had to get this farce over with as quickly as possible. He was raring to go to work on Carlotta. As for these women, my God, they didn’t even shave their armpits, let alone their legs!

He tried to explain that anything to do with them in the future was out of the question.

‘You see, I’m off to Kazakhstan tonight,’ he said desperately, ‘to be on
The X Factor
.’

‘Oh! You gonna be a star, Papà?’ asked one of the boys innocently.

Fabrizio winced. The word ‘Papà’ made him feel old.

‘Yeah, well, I hope so.’

One of the women later brought out a huge steaming bowl of spaghetti and calamari. Fabrizio realised he hadn’t eaten since the previous night.

‘
Mangia
,
mangia
,’ said Raimunda as Carina brought out a platter of delicious-smelling garlic bread. Second to sex, good food was one of Fabrizio’s passions, and he dug in while the women watched him, cooing with delight.

Fabrizio sped on his Harley through the darkened hilly streets of Saint-Tropez, towards Carlotta’s villa, which was owned by a French banker who had never used it and only rented it out. A small modern mansion, it was next door to Roberto LoBianco’s villa. It was nine o’clock but the nights were drawing shorter now that it was July. Fabrizio hadn’t realised how fast the time had flown while he was with Carina and Raimunda and his sons. Following the excellent meal, he had presented the women with a big stack of euros and they were delirious with joy. After promising to come and visit them in Rome, he let each boy ride pillion with him on his motorcycle, which he really quite enjoyed. Lara called him on his cell twice but he didn’t pick up. He was actually having fun.

Fabrizio parked on the street and then moved swiftly through a garden full of parasol pines, hibiscus, hydrangeas and rose bushes. There were so many bushes and plants that he got entangled and tripped over a couple of times, cursing under his breath. Finally he found the thick gravelled path that led to Carlotta’s house. Lights were glowing from the ground floor and he could hear mood music emanating from there, something mellow by Diana Krall. She has good taste in music, he thought, but then – having observed her for the past few months – he realised Carlotta had good taste in just about everything.

He noticed a nondescript cheap rental car in the driveway. So, she had a visitor – who could it be? Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. The adrenalin rush that had led him to race off to Carlotta’s house was wearing off. He was tired and he was angry with himself for spreading himself so thin with so many women, and even angrier with the person who had killed Zarina and Sin causing him to have to confess his infidelity to Lara.

He peered through the window of the living room. Carlotta and Nick were entwined on the sofa listening to the music. There was a bottle of champagne on the table in front of them and they seemed totally engrossed in each other. Nick was wearing a white terry-cloth robe and she was in a silky clingy negligee.

So the rumours were true – he was definitely her boyfriend.
The body language was intimate – obviously that of a couple who had just made love. Fabrizio stared for a few moments then shrugged to himself, thinking,
What the hell, she’s taken. No use barking up that tree. Time to start a new life. Kazakhstan, here I come.
Then his cell vibrated and Lara’s name came up on the screen with a plaintive message.

So she wanted him back, huh? Well, she can fucking think again
, he thought. Let her stew. He had given CRAP ten thousand euros so he still had seventeen left. That should last until Kazakhstan
X Factor
started paying.

As Fabrizio clambered back down the hill, he noticed a motorbike zooming up the drive to Roberto LoBianco’s house. Was he having a party? No one was giving parties in Saint-Tropez now, not with the threat of a savage murderer at large, but Fabrizio’s curiosity was piqued. He quickly scurried across Carlotta’s lawn and, crawling on his hands and knees, peered through the window into LoBianco’s living room. What he saw took his breath away.

Carlotta and Nick had been growing closer and closer. After her chat with Sophie, she had called Nick and asked him to dinner ‘
à deux
’ at her villa.

‘It will be just you and me,’ she said. ‘I hope you won’t be bored,’ she added shyly.

‘Never with you, my darling. You know I adore you.’

Nick had been incredibly understanding about Carlotta’s reticence to consummate their relationship. They had spent many evenings together at quiet, out-of-the-way bistros, well away from the Saint-Tropez gossips, but this would be the first time they would be spending the whole evening alone at her house.

Nick had brought a bottle of vintage Cristal and an enormous tin of beluga caviar, which he knew Carlotta loved. She answered the door wearing a long, cream-coloured satin caftan embroidered with tiny seed pearls. Behind her ear she’d placed a gardenia and her dark hair fell in a profusion of tumbled curls. She smelled utterly delicious and looked even better.

As soon as she saw him she was on him. She threw herself into his arms, covering his face with kisses and breathed, ‘I want to wake up next to you tomorrow morning and every morning, Nick, my darling.’

‘Whoa, whoa! You won’t get any arguments from me on that score,’ he laughed, then embraced her in a long and passionate kiss, which they held until they almost ran out of breath. He pulled back for a second and looked quizzically into her eyes, ‘Why this change of heart?’

‘There’s been no change, no change at all. My heart just got bigger and let you in. I’ve realised I’ve been a fool for not seeing that you’re the most wonderful, terrific, greatest man I’ve ever met.’

‘C’mon now, Carlotta,’ he said with pretend modesty. ‘How about handsome, witty and clever?’

‘Oh, that too – that too!’ She kissed him harder and more passionately, then whispered in his ear, ‘Come with me; follow me.’

‘I’m following you to the ends of the earth.’

Carlotta held Nick’s hand and led him down the hallway into her bedroom. Golden candles flickered and gleamed on every surface, the air was thick with some exotic aromatic scent and pink rose petals had been scattered on the floor leading up to the bed, which was covered in pure white Porthault sheets.

‘Oh, my God,’ said Nick. ‘I do believe you are seducing me, Contessa.’

‘You bet I am.’ Carlotta pulled him towards her by his shirt and started undoing it, button by button. Then she pulled it off gently and started kissing his tanned chest all over until he couldn’t stand it any more. He took her face between his hands and gazed into her eyes.

‘I want you, Carlotta. You’re the woman of my dreams – my soul mate. Will you marry me?’

‘Yes, yes, yes, oh yes!’ she whispered as she moved them closer to the bed. ‘But first . . .’

She took off her cream silk caftan and Nick drew in his breath as he saw her exquisite caramel-skinned body for the first time.

‘First . . . this.’