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‘You can’t hide anything from me.’

‘I feel silly, to be honest. I’m going to have to give them up. The hours are too long at work and I keep missing lessons – the teacher has completely lost faith in me.’

Roxy shook her finger at Shauna and tut-tutted. ‘Never give up on your dreams, honey.’

For a moment, Shauna was taken back in time, to a moment when someone else had told her that. Her face clouded but she shook away the memory, then looked at her watch.

‘Oh, Lord, is that the time? I have to be back at the office. We’ve got another crisis budget meeting. The film is about to move locations and the producer, Jerry Bruckheimer, is worried about overspending. I think we’re going to get hauled over the coals.’

‘Shit, that bad?’

‘We’ll put up a good fight – I’ve learned not to get walked all over here, they’ll eat you for breakfast.’

‘Fighting talk.’

‘You bet, though what Jerry says goes. What are you doing this afternoon?’

Roxy leaned in conspiratorially. ‘I can’t believe I’m telling you this – it’s my Cinderella moment! I’m going with one of the head designers to a fitting. You’ll never guess who.’

‘Tell me immediately!’

‘It’s only Kathleen Turner – she wants a dress for the Oscars.’

Shauna’s mouth dropped open. ‘She’s gorgeous!

‘Doesn’t seem real, huh? I’ll just be making notes and measurements, but I hope they’ll let me make the dress! Well, maybe cut some of the fabric and do some stitching at any rate.’

‘There’ll be no dress and no job for either of us if we don’t get going, eat up!’

Roxy shovelled in another couple of mouthfuls.

‘It was so much fun today, Roxy,’ Shauna said. ‘I’m glad we found the time before you go back to Milan.’

‘I’m sorry you didn’t find Grace’s handprints though.’

‘Me too.’ Shauna paused. ‘I still can’t believe she’s gone.’

In September 1982, Grace Kelly had been killed in a car accident; her daughter Stephanie had been lucky to escape with her life. It felt as if the whole world was in shock, unable to absorb the tragedy that had cut short such a glittering and extraordinary life. Shauna had nursed her own private grief, one more terrible blow in that awful year of sadness and heartache.

‘Did I ever tell you I met her once?’

‘Sure, you did, and only about a million times …’

It had been wonderful to see Roxy, and Shauna had felt the familiar pang of separation as they hugged goodbye a few days later. Roxy was going back to Milan and who knew when they would see each other again. But Roxy had left her something beautiful to remember her by. It was a trouser suit, wide-legged pants matched with a double-breasted jacket made of oatmeal wool that felt as light as a feather. She felt so grown-up and sophisticated in it and the tailoring was beautiful.

‘Sometimes I get to use off-cuts for my own designs. I made this for you – I wanted you to have something fabulous to wear in your new job.’

She’d thanked Roxy with over-zealous hugs, but Roxy had waved away her thanks. ‘You’re my muse – this is only the start. Keep taking those acting classes and soon I’ll be making your Oscar dress!’

Shauna headed to the studio, knowing that she’d be in for another fourteen-hour day. The crew had recently returned from a location shoot in the Rocky Mountains, where everyone’s skills and patience had been put to the test filming a lengthy scene in which the star and his nemesis engaged in a life-and-death struggle while descending from a mountain pass into a spectacular ravine. It had been fraught with difficulties and tempers had frayed, but Shauna’s admiration for Dan Jackson had grown with each stressful and exhausting day. She and her boss, an Englishman called Terry Sullivan, had been charged with keeping a tight rein on costs while making sure everyone was safe. It often meant having to say no to people who were used to getting their own way, and this didn’t endear them to directors as a rule, but Dan had been a complete pro, handling the situation with patience and good humour while always remaining true to his vision.

As usual, she spent the day assisting Terry while the cast and crew filmed a couple of interior scenes. Terry was coming down with flu after weeks of working too hard, and by evening he was feeling too ill to continue. He called her over and asked her to take over the reins.

‘Jerry wants a detailed breakdown of location costs for the New York shoot. The whole thing is a fucking nightmare and the mayor’s office are breaking my balls about closing off Times Square for the final scene. Can you type me up a state of play so I can get my head around it before I talk to him tomorrow?’

‘Sure, chief, I’ll get started now. Go home and make sure you have a hot toddy – Irish whiskey and lemon with a shot of honey.’

‘Thanks, love. I can do the whiskey, not sure about the rest.’