that one,’ and she pointed to a white Aston Martin convertible. ‘I know it’s an incredibly naff thing to do, but,’ she laughed, ‘it’s Anthony’s dream car.’
Chelsea took the phone. ‘You can take one of me afterwards. I fancy the red Ferrari.’
‘I’m going to join Matilda,’ Amy said. ‘I’ve just spotted her over there,’ and she waved to Matilda sitting at one of the tables on the pavement outside the Café de Paris.
Quarter of an hour later, the four of them were enjoying chatting and people watching when Amy saw her worst fear coming down the Casino steps, hand in hand with a woman. How could she have forgotten how high the chances were here in Monaco of bumping into the one man she’d been avoiding for the past five years? He always spent a lot of the summer there, in his small studio in one of the modern apartment blocks down by the heliport in Fontvieille. She hadn’t forgotten really. Simply pushed the possibility to the back of her mind in her eagerness to give the others a day out.
The knot in her stomach tightened and, too late, she tried to shrink out of sight. His glance across the crowds caught hers, and she saw him start before saying something to the woman and leaving her as he ran down the rest of the steps, making his way over to Amy.
‘Hello, Amy. This is an unexpected surprise.’ The smile he gave her failed to reach his eyes.
‘Hello.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m on holiday with my friends,’ Amy gestured towards the others, praying that they wouldn’t interrupt and tell him the truth.
‘You could have rung the theatre. Left a message to say you were in town. We could have had lunch. We need to talk.’ He stared at her before brusquely demanding.
‘Where are you staying?’
‘Not in Monaco,’ Amy said quickly. ‘Further along the coast. Your friend is waiting.’ Pointedly, Amy looked at the woman now opening the door of the white Aston Martin. ‘Goodbye.’
He sighed and shook his head as he looked at her. ‘You can’t run away forever, Amy. There are things that need sorting. You should have answered my calls. But right now is not a good time. I have to go. Just make sure you reply to the next letter.’ He turned and strode purposefully to his car and slid into the driving seat.
They all watched as he edged the car out into the traffic and, with a wave of his hand in Amy’s direction, drove off.
Vicky looked at Amy. ‘Are you going to tell us who that was – or shall we all be terribly polite and British and talk about other things?’
Amy smothered a deep sigh and looked at the other three. ‘That was my husband. Kevin Peake.’
‘You mean your ex-husband?’ Vicky said.
Amy shook her head. ‘No. We’re still married. And he’s right. I did run away.’
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