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‘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 their 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.