Ask Amy Green: Summer Secrets

by Sarah Webb

  “I do. But Ed’s fun too, in a different way. He seems more like the boys back home; he loves kidding around and making everyone laugh. Matt’s only sixteen but he’s very mature. I find it hard to talk to him sometimes. But of course, I still like him. I’ve seen those pecs up close and personal, remember?”

  “So which is it to be?” I ask. “Matt or Ed?”

  Mills clicks her tongue. “I can’t decide. I think I like them both. Matt, well, Matt’s Matt – what can I say?” She shrugs. “But Ed’s cute too. But he’s a bit immature compared with Matt. He’s always splashing me in the pool and throwing lumps of ice down my back. Things like that.”

  “So many boys,” Clover quips, “so little time. But hey, if Ed’s throwing ice at you he definitely likes you.”

  “You think?”

  “One hundred per cent.”

  Mills smiles. “Wait till you meet Matt. Then you’ll see my dilemma.” She closes her eyes and sighs dreamily.

  I snort loudly. “Mills! I think the heat’s getting to you.”

  “You just wait, Amy Green,” she says, opening her eyes. “Matt Munroe will make even you melt, Miss Ice Queen. I guarantee it.”

  Chapter 31

  On Friday morning I wake up at four a.m., five a.m., and again at six-twenty a.m. At six-forty I finally creep out of bed. I’ve been lying ramrod straight, trying not to toss around and wake Clover – but if I have to lie still any longer I’ll go crazy. My watch may read six-forty, but my body clock is saying, “Get up, girl; it’s nearly eleven and I want to explore Miami. You’re wasting precious US of A-mazing time!”

  I was so exhausted last night that I didn’t even hear Clover snoring and fell asleep as soon as my jet-lagged head hit the pillow.

  We hung out with Mills at the Costigans’ place for as long as I could stay awake. Clover insisted on having a dip in the pool in her bra and knickers – until Mills caught Marlon spying on her and taking snaps with his mobile.

  Creeping out of the bedroom, I spot Clover’s copy of The Goss lying on the floor. I pick it up and head for the balcony. The sun is already up, playing hopscotch on the turquoise water, which stretches out as far as I can see. The palm trees in the hotel’s grounds sway gently in the early morning breeze. Just offshore there’s a series of small, sandy islands; you could easily swim out to them. Hundreds of expensive-looking white and navy yachts are moored at the marina, their tall masts soaring up into the clear blue sky. It’s stunning, and it’s already warm.

  I sit on the lounger and open the magazine to the Efa interview. Clover wanted me to wait to read it until it was printed in The Goss and properly laid out with photographs. She picked up a copy, hot off the press, at Cork Airport and I’ve had a quick look but haven’t had the chance to read it properly until now.

  Ireland’s Hottest New Star – Efa Valentine

  Exclusive interview by Clover M. Wildgust

  Efa Valentine, 17, is best known for her recent Oscar-nominated role as Joan of Arc. I caught up with her in her native Cork.

  Efa has been acting for most of her life. She landed her first role at the tender age of six, when she played Colin Firth’s stepdaughter in Miracle Walk.

  “I went to a drama school on Saturday mornings,” Efa explains, “and an Irish casting agent, Rex Costigan, spotted me – that led to my first film.”

  Like any ordinary teenager, Efa goes to school – Bandon Grammar – and is taking her Leaving Certificate next year. During filming she has a tutor. “Big exams next year, all right.” She groans. “But I want to go to college, in case the acting doesn’t work out. I’d like to do English at Trinity College, I think. Or maybe history.”

  When she’s at home Efa keeps fit by running with her rescue dog, Miley. She keeps in touch with her friends when she’s filming abroad but she doesn’t find being miles from home easy. “My friends are really supportive,” she says. “But when I’m away I miss things – birthdays, parties, that kind of thing.”

  And has she encountered any jealousy? “Not really. My friends are pretty cool about everything. They slag me all the time about the awards and stuff. They’re always asking me about my co-stars too. If I’m doing a film with a boy, it’s always, ‘Did you kiss him, Efa?’”

  And does she? Kiss her co-stars, I mean. She laughs. “No way! On a film set you’d never get a chance – there’d always be someone watching. And after filming I’m so wrecked I just fall straight into bed.”

  But what about back home? Anyone special? “I wish,” she says with a grin. “Any cuties out there, please apply. Seriously, though, at the moment I’m just having fun hanging out with my friends.”

  Efa was delighted by her Oscar nomination. “It’s about time us Irish girls started to make a splash in Hollywood. And I had a ball at the Oscars. I even got to keep the Chanel dress I wore – yeah!”

  After a hectic year, Efa’s currently reading a couple of possible scripts and catching up with her friends. But watch out, Hollywood: Efa Valentine’s here to stay!

  “Morning, sunshine.” Clover grins at me and rubs her eyes. “You’re up early. It’s not even seven.” She looks down at the magazine pages. “What do you think?”

  “It’s brilliant, Clover. Really professional. And you got in the question about boyfriends.”

  “I certainly did. Thanks to you, Beanie.” She smiles. “I’m pleased with it all right. And the pics look great, don’t they? That red Oscar dress is really something.” Her stomach rumbles loudly. “I’m starving. Let’s have brekkie. Pull on some clothes, Beans; we can grab a shower later. How’s the stomach? Any period cramps?”

  “No, I’m OK.”

  “Good, then let’s mush, husky.”

  Even the breakfast is spectacular. Clover has an omelette specially cooked for her by a cute guy in a sparkling white chef’s outfit. I think she only said “Yes, please” because he was so attractive; she only picks at it. She also has a large bowl of fruit and a chocolate muffin.

  I devour two heaped bowls of the sweetest and juiciest watermelon I’ve ever tasted, some scrambled egg, a sausage (not as tasty as an Irish sausage, but nice all the same), two slices of Swiss cheese and a pastry thing with apricot jam and a rich dark yellow custard in the middle. I feel like the Very Hungry Caterpillar, eating and eating and eating until I practically burst.

  “We’d better skip lunch or we’ll go back like heffalumps,” Clover says, rubbing her stomach and sipping her latte slowly. She likes the idea of coffee more than the actual coffee itself – she thinks it makes her look sophisticated.

  At twenty past ten we’re still sitting on a red leather sofa in the lobby, waiting for Ria. Clover is rereading her Matt Munroe notes. She’s getting a little obsessive now – she practically knows them off by heart.

  We hear a loud parp-parp outside and look through the window. Ria is waving from a sleek grey convertible Mercedes.

  Clover grins. “That’s our ride, Beanie.”

  I climb into the back and Clover sits beside Ria.

  “Sorry I’m late, girls,” Ria says. Her hair is beach-babe blonde and her make-up is perfect. “Betty was a bit clingy this morning. So how was your flight? Good? And the hotel? It’s rather plush, isn’t it? And I hear they gave you a suite. How cool is that?” (She doesn’t bother waiting for an answer to any of her questions before ploughing on.) “Now, Clover, I know you’re a bit of a novice at this interviewing malarkey, but don’t worry, you’ll be fine. You’ve got plenty of notes, I see” – she nods at Clover’s blue folder – “so you’ll only need a few quotes to bung into the piece and make it interesting for your teen audience … which is just as well, as they’ve cut your interview time down to ten minutes.”

  Clover looks aghast. “Ten minutes? But I was promised thirty. I’ll never get all my questions asked in ten minutes.”

  Ria smiles at her. “You’ll be fine. Ask the most import-ant ones first and then just keep the questions rolling. They may give you some extra time, if you’re lu
cky.”

  I check out Clover’s face in the rear-view mirror. She’s not happy. She catches my eye and raises her eyebrows. I hope we have time to carry out our carefully hatched plan.

  “Here we are,” Ria announces, pulling up outside a huge hotel. “The Coconut Grove Plaza. Uptown Pictures have hired a suite for the interviews. I’ll introduce you to Matt’s people and then I’ll buzz off, if you don’t mind. I have urgent emails coming out of my ears. Everyone wants a piece of me, like yesterday.” She yawns. “I’m utterly wiped.”

  The hotel is bright and glossy, and a little bit tacky, with lots of shiny black marble and loads of chrome fittings. There are lamps in the shape of coconut trees, and in the immense lobby, a waterfall splashes from one of the walls. It is lit from underneath by pink lights in the shape of flamingos.

  “Tasteful,” Clover says, nudging me in the ribs.

  I giggle.

  “Clover and Amy, this is Vim Kruger,” Ria says, introducing us to a woman holding a clipboard. “She’s the publicist for Uptown Pictures. I’ll leave you in her capable hands.”

  Vim looks scary. Her dark brown bob has a razor-sharp fringe, and she’s wearing a tailored black suit, black fishnet tights and black court shoes.

  “Nice to meet you.” She throws out her hand and grasps the tips of Clover’s fingers in a very odd handshake before giving me a funny look and then pretty much ignoring me. She obviously doesn’t think I’m very important. She looks down at her clipboard. “You must be from the London Times.”

  “No,” Clover says. “The Goss magazine.”

  Vim squints at her clipboard, runs a long pointy red nail down the list and then stops. “Found you.” She puts a neat tick beside both our names. “If you’ll just take a seat in the restaurant” – she nods towards a door to the right – “I’ll call you in about twenty minutes. Matt’s with the Chicago People at the moment, followed by Movie Emporium; then you’ll be up.” She tilts her head at Clover, ignoring me again. “OK?”

  “Yes. Thank you,” Clover says calmly, as if she does movie-star interviews every day of her life.

  We sit down in the restaurant and look around. There are dozens of men and women barking into mobiles, tapping on laptops and playing with BlackBerrys. They all look ultra busy and organized.

  Clover starts to look nervous. “I’m way out of my depth here, Beanie. What was I thinking? I can’t do this.” She makes as if to get up.

  I push her down with my arm. “You’ll be fine. You have all your questions prepared and I bet half of these people have never even watched a Matt Munroe film. They’re far too old. Matt is going to love your questions. And besides, there’s no way anyone else knows about the Irish connection.”

  Over breakfast earlier, we went over our plan. Kit had called into Haven House just before we left for the airport to say he’d remembered where he’d seen Matt Munroe before. I haven’t said anything to Mills yet, just in case Kit has it wrong – but if he is right, our information is Hollywood dynamite.

  “I’m not sure I’ll go there, Beanie. I think I’ll just play it straight. I don’t want to get thrown out or anything,” Clover says nervously. “There must be a reason why he doesn’t talk about his Irish background.”

  “Don’t you dare chicken out! It’s breaking news, Clover. Saffy will be so impressed. You have to be brave – what’s the worst that can happen?”

  “She might just kill me with her razor talons.” Clover points at Vim, who is tottering towards us.

  “You’re up, Goss,” she says. “Movie Emporium are late. They’ll have to slot in after you.”

  We follow Vim into a lift at the side of the lobby; she operates the controls with a key. “Now, remember, ten minutes, OK?” she says. “His agent will be in there with him. And you’ve studied the list of recommended questions, yes?”

  The lift door pings open and she hustles us out. “The Flamingo Suite. Knock once and then wait.”

  The lift door pings closed again and she’s gone.

  “Recommended questions?” Clover looks at me, baffled.

  I shrug.

  As we head down the corridor, a door at the end opens and a middle-aged man in a cream linen suit walks out. He’s stuffing a Dictaphone into his briefcase. “You here for Matt?” he asks us.

  We nod.

  “Good luck. You won’t get much past his agent. Pity – Matt seems nice.”

  Clover grabs my arm. “I can’t do this.”

  “Yes, you can. I’ll be with you, Clover. And I think we should play up our Irishness. Complete with your five-year-old’s grasp of Irish. See if Matt bites. Agreed?”

  “Great idea, Beanie. But we only have ten minutes, remember.”

  I push Clover though the door. And there he is, standing in the hallway of the suite, ready to greet us – Matt Munroe, in person! I instantly go pink and completely forget our plan. Mills was right; he’s even better-looking in real life. I want to reach out and touch his tanned cheek, but I stop myself. He smells gorgeous too – a fresh citrus smell, like lemons.

  Clover’s gawking at him as well. So much for her professionalism.

  “Top o’ the morning to you,” I say, talking control. “I’m Amy and this is Clover. We’re friends of Mills’s, and are here on behalf of The Goss. It’s an Irish magazine. To be sure, to be sure.” (I’m laying the plastic Paddy act on pretty thick.)

  He looks a little taken aback but recovers quickly and says, “Hey, Amy! Great to meet ya.” He grins and kisses my cheek. “Mills has told me all about you. Best buds, right?” When I get over the shock, I realize Matt Munroe has just kissed me. I know it’s only on the cheek but my knees buckle and I almost keel over. Luckily, Clover rights me.

  “Clover,” she says, propping me up. “Another close friend of Mills’s.” She steps forward, twisting her head a little, obviously waiting for her kiss. He obliges.

  Despite almost demanding her kiss, Clover is as taken aback as me. We both stand there, speechless. There’s an open door to the right through which I spot a king-size bed and I’m instantly undone. I blush even more furiously. Then Clover notices it too and her cheeks start flaming. We’re like a pair of lobsters.

  “Who’s up next?” a deep American voice calls from the bedroom.

  “That’s Gabe,” Matt explains. “My agent. Let’s see if I can get rid of him and kick back a bit. I do love the Irish brogue.” He winks at me, his famous green eyes twinkling, and I melt. He doesn’t seem to notice. Or else, like Clover, he’s immune to adoration from the opposite sex. Maybe he thinks all girls are practically mute and have glowing pink cheeks.

  “I wonder what it’s like to be that good-looking?” Clover whispers as Matt talks to his agent, a tall, olive-skinned man in a black polo shirt and beige trousers.

  “We’ll never know,” I say with a shrug.

  “Speak for yourself.” Clover grins.

  “Ladies,” Gabe says, walking towards us. “You’re friends of the Costigans, I believe. Great couple; really know their stuff. Still – no tricky questions, y’hear?” He grins before adding, “You got the list, right?”

  “Of course,” Clover says smoothly. “We’ll be sticking to it rigidly.”

  “Great, great.” He runs his hand over his bald head. Then he turns to Matt. “I have a couple of calls to make. Back in ten, OK?”

  “Can we make it longer?” Matt asks. “They’ve travelled all the way from Ireland.” (He pronounces it Eye-are-land.)

  “Ireland?” Gabe asks, looking at Matt nervously.

  Clover nods. “A wee teen mag called The Goss, full of ceol agus craic and a wee smattering of shiny celebs. Our Irish colleens just love Matt.” Clover is layering on the Irish blarney pretty thick.

  Gabe smiles. “I’ll talk to Vim about getting you some exclusive stills.” He’s obviously decided we’re harmless.

  “Now you’re sucking diesel,” Clover says with a wink.

  Gabe laughs. “I have no idea what you’re saying, but I�
��ll see what I can do.”

  As soon as he’s gone, Matt leads us to some swish leather armchairs and we sit down. “Can I get you guys a drink?” he asks politely, hovering behind Clover’s chair.

  “No, we’re fine, thanks,” Clover says. Her folder is open on her knees and she’s setting up the Dictaphone on the coffee table in front of her.

  “How’s Mills?” he asks. “Things have been kinda hectic. We haven’t been over for a few days. But it’s tough keeping Ed away.” He beams.

  “Ah,” Clover says. “Thought so. Your friend has a bit of a crush, does he?”

  Matt just keeps smiling. “I couldn’t possibly say.”

  “And what do you think of Irish girls yourself?” Clover asks. “Our readers are dying to know.”

  Matt laughs. “You cut to the chase, don’t ya? If Gabe was here he’d tell me not to answer that one. It might annoy fans in other countries. The official line is that I like girls of all nationalities, and no, I’m not seeing anyone special right now. I’m waiting for the right girl to come along. And you’re supposed to be asking me about Just Add Water.”

  “Look,” says Clover, “I’ll come clean. I never got the recommended questions Vim and Gabe were talking about, so you’re going to have to help me out here. I only have my own questions.”

  Matt sits down. “What kind of questions?”

  She takes a deep breath. “When did you leave Ireland? Why did you change your name?”

  Chapter 32

  “What?” Matt’s face is ashen and his hands are shaking. “I think we’d better take this off the record.” He points at the Dictaphone.

  Clover reaches over and clicks it off. “Do you remember Kit Harper? From Lough Ine village in West Cork?”

  Matt’s eyes flicker for a second, but then he says, “No, sorry. Never heard of him. Or is it a her?”