Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

BEYOND ANY DOUBT

iUniverse, Inc.

Contents

Chapter 1. Evita......................................3Chapter 2. Two Years Earlier..........................14Chapter 3. The Will...................................37Chapter 4. Masquerade.................................51Chapter 5. Retribution................................69Chapter 6. The Confession.............................87Chapter 7. Guilt......................................104Chapter 8. The Truth Unravels.........................120Chapter 9. Good Old Santa.............................130Chapter 10. A Sad New Year.............................150Chapter 11. Valentine's Day............................170Chapter 12. A New Beginning............................180Chapter 13. Treading The Boards........................199Chapter 14. The Wedding................................209Chapter 15. The Aftermath..............................234Chapter 16. The Trial..................................258Chapter 17. The Verdict................................288Chapter 18. Dashed Hopes...............................313Chapter 19. Duped......................................337Chapter 20. A Mountainous Epilogue.....................349

Chapter One

As the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.

Chantelle Petoire, a classical French actress stood outside the foyer of Le Ciel Theatre in Paris, France. She gazed at the display board depicting her portrait, along with other cast members of Evita. Every night during the last three months she had given a passing glance on her approach to the stage door. Tonight however, she paused to reflect on her stardom. Her portrait was centrally positioned. Staggered either side were photographs of the other cast members. This production of Evita had been a success. Chantelle Petoire's role as Eva Peron had given her the break she needed. Numerous write-ups had heralded her stardom, a stardom she had yearned for all her life. It had inaugurated fame and fortune to be within her grasp. When she thought of the auditions she had attended and the cities she had travelled to in her quest for stardom, it had all been needless. Her hometown was where she finally hit the headlines. Town being a metaphor, for she lived in a city, the romantic French city of Paris, where she was born and raised.

Tonight was the last performance of their three-month run. It had been a theatrical schedule that began May 10th, and would end today, August 5th. It had been exhausting, but Chantelle would not have swapped it for the world. The show was then going on tour across Europe, visiting many theatres within the major European cities. However, the cast now had a six-week sabbatical before the tour began, opening in Munchen in mid September. Although Chantelle would miss the show during the interim period, she looked forward to having a holiday and a well-earned rest. A chance to have some time to oneself, to reflect and be apart from the other cast members. After spending so much time together one felt a compulsion to go separate ways. It was not a question that the cast did not get on, they were like one big happy family, but a complete change of scenery was essential to retain perfection and professionalism. Ironically, one always missed one's fellow actors, but it made the reunion that more exciting. The cessation enabled one to recharge and produce a performance that the audience had paid to see.

Chantelle sighed as she looked at her photograph. Had she really hit the big time? It seemed almost unbelievable how quickly she had shot to fame. It was exhilarating. In the wake of the opening night she had relished the limelight. The many press interviews, the forthcoming contracts that were waiting to come to fruition after the European tour. Not forgetting her first song album, singing many dramatic ballads. All of this was lining up in the wings once Evita had run its course. Chantelle Petoire would be a household name like Marilyn Monroe and Judy Garland.

The time was 6pm, time to be making a move. Only an hour and a half till curtain rise on the final show. Chantelle walked away from the foyer entrance, her stilettos clacking on the pavement. Most famous stars dress incognito when walking about in public, not wanting to be recognised and often wearing a sweatshirt, jogging pants, and dark glasses. But that was not Chantelle's style. This August afternoon she wore a sapphire blue dress. Her back was exposed to the summer air and her neck embraced by a diamond choker. Even though it was imitation it looked stunning, and gave her the confidence that suited her rise to fame. Her short blonde hair suited the sapphire blue garment. Chantelle wanted to appear glamorous at all times, not in the least bit perturbed from any public attention. Her neighbour Colette Dupont, who had designed the outfit especially for her, regarded Chantelle as a Hollywood celebrity. Colette profusely prophesised her rise to fame and was eager to be a part of it.

"The winner of the Oscar is Chantelle Petoire," she often said. Being a fashion designer, Colette Dupont seized the opportunity of using Chantelle to display her creations. Colette was in awe.

Chantelle turned the corner and headed for the stage door. She conscientiously applied herself to the theatrical profession, and was generally the first person to arrive. It was important to be early and relax before stepping into character. Similar to a caterpillar changing into a butterfly, she would transfer from Chantelle Petoire to Eva Peron.

"Bonsoir Chantelle," said Marcel, the stage door attendant. "Good luck with your last performance."

"Merci," she replied. The thin middle-aged man gave her a bouquet.

"These arrived for you earlier," he said. Chantelle received the colourful display of flowers and inhaled the scented aroma. The bouquet was one of many she had received over the past three months from various people, including the producer, her male co-star, and close friends. Naturally, her family had been very supportive but had preferred to keep a low profile. Chantelle managed to pluck the attached card and read it. As predicted, it was a token gesture from the company, expressing their gratitude for the success that she had brought to the show.

"It is so thoughtful of them," she said to Marcel as he gave her the key to her dressing room. "I have had the best three months of my life."

"I am glad you have enjoyed being at the theatre. I have welcomed the extra overtime the last three months," he said. Chantelle laughed at Marcel's apparent humour.

"Too many encores is it? Keeping you here later than it should," she stated jovially.

"Not at all. You give as many encores as you like," reacted Marcel cordially.

"Tonight is the last performance and I know I shall not want the encores to finish, but I will try and bear you in mind. After all, you do have a home to go to unlike us thespians, for the stage is our home," she said. Marcel smiled. He was a sweet guy, of the camp effeminate type and always pleased to see you.

The smell of lingering grease paint was all too evident as Chantelle made her way to her dressing room. She looked into the serene stage as she passed by the wings. The lights were down and the scenery ready for the opening act. In less than an hour and a half the silent subdued stage shall be buzzing with speech, song and drama. Hopefully entertaining the audience that sat before it.

In contrast...