rococo pink boathouse with its turrets and rusty-coloured tiles.
There would be gay and brilliant company under the colourful umbrellas.
Pierre and Mimi sailed across from Cannes for the day. Pierre was the
son of the largest manufacturer of civil and military jet aircraft in
Europe. And Robert Below the terrace was the private jetty and small
beautifully equipped yacht basin. Her visitors would have moored their
craft there, the bare masts nodding lazily against the sky and the small
Mediterranean-blue wavelets lapping the stone jetty. Nicholas could
hear the laughter and the tinkle of glasses in the background, and he
cut short the recital of the guest list.
Is Duncan there? No, he's still in London - he won't be out until next
week. I have news. Can you get up to Paris? It's impossible, Nicky.
Strange how the pet name did not jar from her. I must be at Monte Carlo
tomorrow, I'm helping Grace with the Spring Charity It's important,
Chantelle. Then there's Peter. I don't like to leave him. Can't you
come here? There is a direct flight at nine tomorrow. I'll get rid of
the house guests so we can talk in private.
'All right, will you book me a He thought quickly, then, suite at the
Negresco?
Don't be silly, Nicky. We've thirteen perfectly good bedrooms here - we
are both civilized people and Peter would love to see you, you know
that. The Cote d'Azur was revelling in a freakish burst of early spring
weather when Nicholas came down the boarding ladder at Nice Airport, and
Peter was waiting for him at the boundary fence, hopping up and down and
waving both hands above his head like a semaphore signaller. But when
Nicholas came through the gate he regained his composure and shook hands
formally.
It's jolly good to see you, Dad. I swear you've grown six inches! said
Nicholas, and on impulse stooped and hugged the child.
For a moment they clung to each other, and it was Peter who pulled away
first.
Both of them were embarrassed by that display of affection for a moment,
then quite deliberately Nicholas placed his hand on Peter's shoulder and
squeezed.
Where is the car? He kept his hand on the child's shoulder as they
crossed the airport foyer, and as Peter became more accustomed to this
unusual gesture of affection, so he pressed closer to his father, and
seemed to swell with pride.
Characteristically, Nicholas wondered what had changed about him that
made it easier for him to act naturally towards those he loved.
The answer was obvious, it was Samantha Silver who had taught him to let
go.
Let go, Nicholas-'He could almost hear her voice now.
The chauffeur was new, a silent unobtrusive man, and there were only the
two of them in the back seat of the Rolls on the drive back through
Nice, and along the coast road.
Mother has gone across to the Palace. She won't be back until dinner
time. Yes, she told me. We've got the day to ourselves, Nicholas
grinned, as the chauffeur turned in through the electric gates and white
