Chapter 12
The day of the Villa Céleste wedding had dawned with a cloudless blue sky and the waters of the Mediterranean as still as the proverbial millpond.
It was still picture-perfect as Sophie left her pared-back team with the preparations in the house and kitchen and walked across the terrace where the ceremony was to take place, heading for the stairs that would take her down to the private beach.
She cast a glance over her shoulder and up, as if she would be able to see far enough past the enormous house to catch a glimpse of the patch of sky over the arrière-pays – the back country villages like Grasse, Vence and her own home of Saint Jeannet – that sat below the baous and the mountains beyond.
Keeping a close eye on weather forecasts was part and parcel of being a wedding planner and Sophie had taken particular notice of the alert Météo-France had issued forty-eight hours ago.
It had been upgraded from a low-level yellow vigilance alert to an orange one late last night and the risk of strong thunderstorms was only predicted for inland areas and at a time when it would no longer be a threat to this event, but…
there was something in the air that was giving Sophie the slightest prickle of embryonic goosebumps.
She rubbed at the skin of her bare arms as she passed Tilly, who was tying wide white satin ribbons around all the wrought-iron chairs that would be positioned to see the bride and groom exchanging their vows beneath an archway of white peony roses against the stunning backdrop of the endless sea and sky.
‘C’est génial, oui?’ Tilly called. ‘Parfait.’
Sophie smiled and nodded. It was perfect.
Perhaps it was the extra pressure of keeping this wedding so private that was making her nervous.
Forbidden lovers, who were going to pledge their lives to each other in front of a very select few friends and family members and then slip away to start their married life in total seclusion on an island in the Seychelles that only catered for one guest group at a time.
A private jet was already parked at Nice airport ready for their honeymoon departure.
It was late morning now. The sky was still completely cloudless, the temperature was thirty degrees Celsius and the tiny puffs of a sea breeze were nothing more than a caress – not even enough to lift a bride’s veil from the flagstones of this terrace.
Sophie kept moving, hearing cicadas in the trees around her as she followed the staircase on to the beach terrace that housed the pavilion.
Shading her eyes against the glare of the sun, she focussed on the sleek superyacht that had floated into view a short time ago.
Sophie had been briefed to watch for the vessel flying the maritime version of the Cayman Islands’ flag, a red ensign with a Union Jack in the corner, presumably for the privacy that this place of registration afforded.
This had to be the Morozov family yacht.
As far as Natalia’s father was aware, the vessel was being used by his daughter and her closest friends for nothing more than a girls’ weekend on the C?te d’Azur.
A paparazzi-proof tender with a totally enclosed cabin was gliding swiftly through the smooth sea towards the beach.
‘Bonjour, Sophie.’
Good grief… she was really on edge today, wasn’t she? The sound of Luc’s voice startled her.
‘Bonjour, Luc. You’re nice and early.’
He was wearing his alter-ego uniform today. The sunglasses, the wide-brimmed black hat. The close-fitting jeans and a matching black tee shirt, the only ripples of which were caused by the definition of the muscles beneath the soft fabric.
If the sound of his voice had startled her, the impact of Le Phénix appearing beside her was enough to bring those goosebumps back, big enough to make her skin feel rough this time.
He wasn’t looking back at her. He had his digital camera in his hands and was watching the unfolding scene below on the viewfinder.
This black camera fitted right in with his image, unlike the scuffed tan leather case, shaped to fit the antique camera inside it, that was hanging from his shoulder by a long, thin strap.
Charismatic… it was the only word that could capture everything about the appearance and presence of this man.
And sexy. So, so sexy.
No wonder Raven Vale had been so instantly smitten but, if he was hunting for Luc in the hope of his interest being returned, Sophie knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was barking up the wrong tree. Luc Moreau was as straight as a die.
Not only with regard to his sexuality, either.
From nowhere, a tiny voice in the back of her head was reminding Sophie that she’d once believed that Luc’s unwavering loyalty, honesty and trustworthiness were just as precisely defined.
She pushed the errant thought back from where it had snuck free.
He had proved otherwise. And yes, maybe it had been no more than a disastrous decision on his part and perhaps he was trying to make amends now, by doing something Tom would approve of, but that couldn’t turn the clock back.
Nothing could.
Inexplicably that thought didn’t rekindle even a fragment of the antipathy that Sophie had nurtured for so long.
It simply generated a waft of sadness, like an echo of the sea breeze that was carrying a lilt of feminine laughter as Natalia and her friends were helped from the tender on to the jetty.
A crewman from the yacht had an oversized umbrella ready to shelter the young women but there was no sign of other boats in the vicinity or the sound of an approaching aircraft.
Even if local curiosity had been aroused by the visit of a prestigious pleasure boat and someone was using a marine tracker app to find out the name of the yacht and possibly its owner, the link would be long gone before anyone could investigate further.
The wedding ceremony on the terrace would be too far away from any boats or even helicopters to be able to identify the bride, and once they had been pronounced man and wife, the pressure would lift.
The lovers would have achieved their dream.
Death would be the only thing that could part them after this.
The tension created by a potential intervention of some kind, along with the busyness of coping with a minimal team for security reasons, seemed to be taking the normal anticipation and excitement of a wedding day to a whole new level, and the hours flew past for Sophie.
Henri’s mother and sisters arrived in the early afternoon along with Henri and his groomsmen.
With a dozen bedrooms in the house, it was easy to keep the preparations for each party separate.
Guests began arriving by private limousine or boat by mid-afternoon and it wasn’t until Natalia was almost ready to make her grand, but very exclusive, entrance by way of the floating staircase that Sophie remembered to check the weather bureau for any updates on the storm alert.
The orange warning had been extended. Violent thunderstorms were possible late this evening that may reach coastal areas.
Sophie didn’t pass the warning on. There was no wedding breakfast being catered for in the villa or elsewhere.
A champagne cocktail party after the ceremony was the only delay that the bridal couple had wanted.
By nine, when the golden hour was done and dusted, they would be escaping the unpredictable summer storm, en route to arrive on their private island as the sun was rising again tomorrow morning.
The only adverse effect an approaching storm might have could be on the sunset photos Luc was hoping to take, down on the rocks of the lower beach terrace, but who knew?
Maybe the eerie kind of light that preceded a thunderstorm would provide something even more unique than anything the Phoenix could hope to engineer?
‘You look stunning,’ she told Natalia, who was standing in front of a full-length mirror in the dressing room of the master bedroom’s suite, fitting the butterfly clip to the back of a diamond stud earring.
Her ivory Vera Wang mermaid wedding dress was strapless, the beaded Chantilly lace motifs over a soft lining hugging her body until the skirt flared out into soft folds at knee level and then puddled on to the floor in a profusion of floral lace.
‘Those earrings are perfect. Understated but elegant – just like you.’
Natalia’s smile was misty. ‘These are Henri’s wedding gift to me,’ she said, softly. ‘I love that they’re not too dressy. It means I can wear them, every day, for the rest of my life.’
‘It’s your something new.’ Sophie smiled, picking up the wedding bouquet to hand to Natalia. ‘And the rosary that’s been woven into your flowers is the something old, yes?’
Natalia nodded. ‘It belonged to Henri’s grandmama.’ Her glance was curious. ‘You’re English, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘It’s that saying. It’s not a French thing. What does it mean?’
‘It dates back to Queen Victoria in England. I think it’s supposed to ensure protection. And good fortune.’
‘How does it go?’
‘Something old, something new. Something borrowed, something blue,’ Sophie recited. ‘And a silver sixpence in her shoe, but nobody bothers with the sixpence these days.’
‘That’s what we need,’ Natalia said wistfully. ‘Protection.’ The glance she gave Sophie looked almost fearful. ‘I don’t have anything blue.’
‘Look outside,’ Sophie said gently. ‘You have the entire sea and the sky. They couldn’t be more blue.’
‘But…’ Natalia’s eyes shone with tears forming. ‘I have nothing I can borrow.’
Sophie could see the hairdresser waiting patiently to secure Natalia’s veil to her hair.
They were due to descend the staircase in less than a minute.
Henri would be waiting for the love of his life by the doors to the terrace and they would walk out alone, hand in hand, to where their guests were already seated and waiting.