‘Shit, I’m sorry.’ Shauna could see that, beneath the bravado, Roxy’s feelings had been bruised.
Roxy waved her sympathy away. ‘Plenty more where he came from, and no chance of Marco doing the same thing – he’s got to go back to university in a couple of weeks, so we’re on a timer and making the most of it.’ Roxy grinned mischievously. ‘Anyway, enough about me. It’s time to talk. I need a drink?’
‘Dry martini?’
‘You know me so well.’
‘That’s what I call a proper welcome,’ Roxy said as they settled themselves into the Spanish colonial style chairs that looked out over the view. Plonking her stilettoes on the low table, she took a sip of the viscous clear liquid, fished out the olive and popped it in her mouth. ‘Divine. OK, spill.’
‘Is Marco all right out there in the car? Shouldn’t we invite him to join us?’
‘Don’t change the subject. Marco’s fine – he’s listening to the soundtrack for the next Ralph Lauren show on the car stereo. He’s got the gig in Paris.’ She took another sip of her drink while observing Shauna closely. ‘So how are you? How did it go in Ireland?’
Shauna stared into her whiskey mac, swilling the drink without taking a drop. ‘Da’s gone. The funeral was last week.’
‘Oh, honey, no.’ Roxy was immediately out of her chair and kneeling beside her, hugging her fiercely. ‘Shauna, why didn’t you call me? You know I would have dropped everything and come.’
Finally with a friend she could unburden herself to, Shauna couldn’t find the words. Roxy held her, soothing her while she sobbed.
‘You poor thing. I can’t believe what a shitty year this has been for you. As if you hadn’t been through enough already with Dan.’
‘I’m just sorry Da had to hear about all that before he died. He loved Dan, it must have broken his heart.’
‘He loved you more, you were his princess. He’d have sent Dan packing if he’d been well enough.’
Shauna winced.
‘Sorry, honey.’
‘It’s OK, maybe you’re right. I just wish Ma could have let up. She spent the whole time reminding me of how much I’d let them down.’
‘Jesus, come on! Two Emmys, a shedload of award-winning TV series and movies, more money than she could ever dream of – some of which you used to buy the house she’s living in and the car she’s driving – and still your mother can’t bring herself to acknowledge that you’re a success story? Sometimes I think she’d rather you’d stuck to accountancy at university, then gone home and got yourself a boring little job in Galway.’
Shauna managed a laugh, but immediately teared up again. ‘Do you ever wish you could turn back the clock, go back to when we were students with it all before us?’
‘Living in student halls in Manchester?’ Roxy raised her eyebrows ironically. ‘God, that seems a lifetime ago now, doesn’t it? But deep down, we’re still the same, aren’t we?’
Shauna stared out over the rooftops of LA to Santa Monica in the distance, lost in thought. Then she shook her head sadly. ‘The last couple of months have changed me, Roxy. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again.’ Then the effort of trying to hold it together became too much and she shut her eyes tightly, willing the tears not to come, but unable to hold them back.
Roxy squeezed her hand tightly. ‘Hey, you’re going to get through this, do you hear me? We’ve got through worse.’
Shauna was shaking her head again. ‘I promised myself I’d never be hurt like this again, not after—’
‘Hey, we got through that and we’ll get through this. You’re not some naive nineteen-year-old whose world is going to fall apart because you’ve been screwed over. OK, Dan behaved like a prick, but there’s no question that he loved you. Forget about that nasty bitch who got her greedy little fingers into him – she meant nothing to Dan. You know the drill: you grieve, you learn, and then you move on – it’s what we’ve always done.’
‘Have we? Can I really move on from this, any more than either of us could move from that summer in Greece? No matter what we do, that’s going to be with us forever.’
Roxy nodded but didn’t concede. ‘I’m not saying you should forget what happened – that’s not in your nature. The trick is not to let it eat you whole.’
Shauna took a deep breath and then threw the whiskey back in one shot.
‘Easy, girl.’
‘Don’t try and stop me, I needed that.’ Shauna took a deep breath. ‘Look, Roxy, I know you’re right, I have to move on. But I don’t know how. I mean, what’s next for me?’
‘Baby steps, that’s how we’ll do this. Right now, you need to focus on getting through the next few weeks, facing down the press and the gossip columns. Remember that old saying: Today’s news, tomorrow’s chip paper. You ride it out, hold your head high.’ She paused. ‘And then maybe we set about slaying a demon or two.’
‘I’ve got quite a few of those now.’
‘Me too. So, we take them one at a time, pick them off.’
Shauna nodded, but her green eyes were filled with uncertainty. ‘You and me against the world?’
‘You betcha. Same as always – only this time, we’re better dressed.’
Shauna couldn’t help but smile, buoyed up by Roxy’s boundless strength and confidence.
‘We’ve got to get you working again, too – can’t have some back-stabbing cow stealing the juicy roles, not when all the best directors would give their right arm to have you starring in their movies. And then …’ Roxy held Shauna’s eyes with her own, ‘maybe it’s time for you to go back …’
‘Back where?’ Shauna asked the question, but her heart already knew the answer.
Chapter 3
Monaco, June 1982
With the delicious warmth of the Mediterranean sun heating her shoulders, which were already covered in tiny freckles, Shauna smiled, thinking of home. Summer here was a lot more reliable than on the west coast of Ireland. Her da would be pleased that she was enjoying herself, though she was less sure about her mother. She’d made it abundantly clear that she thought her daughter should be spending the holidays studying rather than ‘gallivanting’. Shauna wondered if her mother knew what it was to have fun, so keen was she to make sure nobody else ever had any. She shrugged off the thought, determined not to let anything spoil this moment. Here she was, finally, in the place that she’d dreamed of coming to ever since she was a little girl, enchanted by the poise and beauty of Grace Kelly after watching High Society on their battered old television.
Shauna looked out across the rock of Monaco, picking out the famous landmarks: the Musée Océanographique, the prince’s palace, the Palais de Justice and the cathedral. Monaco was every bit as beautiful as she’d imagined, and she was abuzz with the thrilling prospect that around the next corner she might catch a glimpse of Princess Grace herself. From here she could see the white stone turrets of the palace, the terracotta tiles of the roofs. Was the princess somewhere within the cool stone walls? The family were in residence at the moment, as Shauna had found out when she’d made her pilgrimage to the palace two days ago. She’d even managed to drag Roxy along, suggesting that they might cross paths with the young playboy, Prince Albert.
With a happy sigh, Shauna leaned on the railings. She had the whole summer ahead of her. It felt like a miracle, waking up to sunshine each morning and not to having to worry about carrying a cardigan or a raincoat everywhere. Wearing flip-flops day in, day out was bliss.
Up here in the botanical gardens, the spectacular view was well worth the heart-thumping fear she’d endured, sneaking her way in with a coachload of tourists. How many Hail Marys would she have to say in penance for ducking the entrance fee? Surely God wouldn’t begrudge her this sun-kissed panorama?
The atmosphere was intoxicating. Everywhere she looked there was wealth and luxury. Shauna had never seen anything like it and was dazzled by the beautiful people who frequented the cafés and restaurants in the harbour, with thei
r fabulous designer clothes and tastefully expensive jewellery. She envied the glamorous wives accompanied by attentive husbands dressed in white slacks and navy-blue espadrilles, their Armani blazers slung over the backs of their chairs. Everyone seemed to be dining on fruit de mer and sipping red glasses of iced Campari. She longed to be one of them.
The unfortunate reality was, they were only ten days into the trip and already their stash of francs was dwindling fast. Monaco was beyond expensive. Now she understood why it was called the playground of the rich; this place wasn’t intended for mere mortals like her on a backpacking budget. She and Roxy had done what they could to save money, hitching to Dover and across to Paris, but they’d still had to pay for the ferry crossing, as well as food, accommodation and bus fare to Monaco. For all her grand plans and Liverpudlian cockiness, Roxy had turned out to be pretty clueless; she’d even managed to leave their tent in a service station en route. But thanks to her cajoling and guile, they’d made it to Monaco, laughing and revelling in their freedom all the way. They were currently sharing a single attic bedroom in a dilapidated hostel just off the Rue Bel Respiro, but they couldn’t afford to stay there for much longer. Their bubble was about to burst if they didn’t find a way to earn some money.
Shauna sighed, remembering this morning’s conversation with Roxy …
‘Oh, my head hurts.’ Roxy Lennon ducked her head back under the sheets, even though it was almost noon. Her black hair was standing up in spikes, and her bloodshot eyes still bore the traces of last night’s eyeliner.
‘Serves you right for gallivanting until the wee small hours and then keeping me awake going on about how wonderful Thierry is.’
‘Thierry, Thierry. Thierry. Oh, Shauna, he is so gorgeous. Like a Greek God – Zeus, or is it Apollo? Like one of these fellas you see in the clouds of a Renaissance painting. And his kisses … Mind blowing.’
‘Well, do you suppose he could use some of his godly powers to help us find work?’
‘Work?’ Roxy’s tousled head reappeared and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘Why do you have spoil things?’
Shauna grinned. ‘’Fraid so. Anyway, don’t you think he’s a bit too old for you? He must be in his forties at least.’
‘Darling,’ Roxy rolled her eyes dramatically, ‘you have no idea, the benefits of dating a man with experience.’ She fluttered her eyelashes.
Shauna laughed and threw a towel at her friend’s head. ‘I’m going to ask at that restaurant on the corner. They had a card in the window. And I’ll enquire at the hotels near the station.’
Roxy swung her golden-brown legs out from under the crisp white sheets and was about to spring from the bed when the hangover struck again. ‘Oh, God, I think I’m dying! Bring me a croissant or a French stick … and one of those nuclear coffees they all drink around here,’ she moaned, flopping back onto the bed and flinging her arm across her eyes.
‘A baguette to share is as much as we can afford!’ Shauna said as she slipped her feet into flip-flops and grabbed her canvas bag.
It was impossible to get cross with Roxy. It was a beautiful morning and they were in Monaco for goodness’ sake; they could always sleep on the beach if they had to. She and Roxy had met the previous October, next-door neighbours in one of the university’s halls of residence. The first time she had seen Roxy, she seemed the embodiment of cool, wearing the shortest denim shorts over stripy tights, a tatty T-shirt slashed across the chest revealing a busty black bra underneath, with thick black eyeliner and blood-red lipstick. Shauna felt like a timid country mouse by comparison, with her safe plain woolly jumper and her Debenhams jeans.
‘The name’s Roxy.’ She’d gone on to explain that she was studying Textiles and Fashion. ‘I’m going to be a famous designer one day,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘All the great designers are great tailors, so I’m making sure I get the skills I need. What about you?’
Shauna hesitated before answering, ‘I’m going to be an accountant.’
Roxy had looked from the overflowing suitcase she was unpacking. For a moment she didn’t speak, staring in wide-eyed astonishment at her new roommate before bursting into laughter.
‘What are you laughing at?’
‘I can’t think of anyone less like an accountant than you.’
‘What do you mean?’ Shauna laughed, too.
‘You look like a Rubens painting with that red hair and those green eyes – you should be a model or a movie star or something, not a bloody accountant.’
It wasn’t long before Shauna had started to believe that her friend was right; poring over numbers all day was leaving her feeling like something was missing. Luckily, she had acted as an impromptu model for many of Roxy’s creations and her wardrobe was now less Marks and Spencer and more Vivienne Westwood. Now that she was here in Monaco, she could feel her true self opening up. A sense of anticipation, of being on the cusp of something exciting.
She gazed out at the view of the distant boats moored in Port Hercules and shook her head. Maybe it was just that holiday feeling and the sense of freedom at being away from dreary old Manchester that was making her tingle.
If they didn’t find some work soon, they would be back home before their trip had even begun, and she wasn’t feeling quite so confident as she had first thing this morning. She’d visited the cheaper hotels down by the station and the railway line but found that few of the hotel staff spoke English, or if they did they weren’t letting on. They seemed unimpressed with her limited French, shaking their heads at her and waving her away as soon as they realized she was looking for work rather than a room. Her usual sunny positivism had been dampened but not defeated, and she’d come up to the gardens to regroup and plan her strategy.
Picking up her bag, she followed the path down the hill, exiting the gardens and walking down towards Port Hercules. She was fascinated by the boats, most of them bigger than the house she’d grown up in. Lined up along the pontoons, they offered an intriguing window into the lives of the wealthy. Woman with svelte, perfect figures in tiny bikinis – which she guessed must cost a fortune despite the scarcity of fabric – padded from deck to deck, parading their privilege with conspicuous awareness, carrying crystal flutes of champagne that glinted like diamonds in the sunshine. Groups of people in gauzy wraps and designer T-shirts gathered on the rear decks to eat, served by staff in crisp white and navy uniforms. It was another world and one that seemed impossibly sophisticated and exciting to Shauna. These boats belonged in films and magazines.
She skirted the lively marketplace, her stomach grumbling at the sight of the colourful stalls piled high with the rich red of ripe tomatoes, the glossy greens of salad leaves and the creamy yellow of so many different cheeses. She’d noticed the day before that the traders would toss less than perfect fruit into piles of rubbish at the back of their stalls, so she sauntered as casually as she could into the gap behind the stalls and made her way to one of the broken wooden fruit boxes. Casting a furtive glance to make sure no one was watching, she snatched up a couple of badly bruised oranges and some apples that were rather squished on one side. The traders might not be able to sell them, but she could certainly eat the good halves. At home nothing was ever thrown away. Squirrelling her booty away into a plastic bag inside her canvas bag, she moved along a few stalls and was about to pick up a rather battered head of lettuce when a voice drawled, ‘Tu as faim?’
Shauna looked up, startled, and shrugged with a smile, remembering her schoolgirl French. ‘Un peu.’
An attractive, dark-haired woman regarded Shauna with amused eyes.
‘I’m not doing anything wrong.’ She jutted out her chin, determined she wasn’t going to be shamed out of her lunch. ‘They’re throwing it away.’
The woman appraised her and then addressed her in English, ‘You do not look like a beggar.’
‘I’m not … just a little short of funds, that’s all … I’m looking for a job.’
‘In the gutters?’
&nb
sp; Shauna shrugged and gave the woman a wry grin.
‘What sort of work?’
‘Anything,’ Shauna said. ‘I’m a hard worker. I’m studying at university, I’ve worked in a bar, as a chambermaid and I can …’ What could she do? ‘I can clean, peel potatoes and I can type … a little.’
‘Ever worked on a yacht?’
Shauna, eyes widening, shook her head. ‘No, but I’m a quick learner.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Shauna O’Brien. I’m from Ireland. County Galway.’
The woman smiled and patted her overflowing basket. ‘I’m Chantelle, I work on the St Helena, I’m the chef on board. One of the crew jumped ship this morning, leaving us short-handed.’ She paused, scrutinising Shauna from head to toe. ‘I like your face, it’s one I can trust.’ She smiled. ‘If you come back with me, I can get you an interview with the boss.’
‘You can?’ Shauna couldn’t believe her luck.
‘That’s all I can do, though; he will have to decide.’ She indicated the basket and the two bags at her feet. ‘I could do with a hand just with the shopping. Viens, we must go.’
Shauna immediately picked the two bags up. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Maybe the good lord was keeping an eye on her after all. No doubt she had her mother to thank for that.
Chapter 4
Chantelle skipped nimbly back on board, putting down her basket and reaching for the bags Shauna carried. With her heart in her mouth, she handed them over, too dumbstruck to say a word. This wasn’t a yacht; it was a floating palace. Virtually a cruise liner.
‘Allons,’ called Chantelle, nodding towards the gangplank as she skipped up a tiny flight of steps. ‘It’s quite safe.’
Nodding, Shauna stepped forward, still not quite believing that she was boarding a yacht in Port Hercules in Monaco. She couldn’t wait to tell Roxy.
‘Wait here a moment.’
‘OK.’ Her nerves suddenly kicked in as she looked around. On either side of the boat was a set of steps leading to the upper decks. In front of her was a shady seating area with wide white leather seats piped around the edges in smart navy blue, arranged around a low glass table. It was easy to imagine glamorous people assembling here in the early evening, dressed in their finery, sipping at pre-dinner cocktails before disembarking to visit one of the many expensive restaurants on the quayside.
Under a Greek Moon Page 2