Page 5

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?’

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.

Beyond was a light, airy salon, so huge that she blinked at the sight of it. Sunlight streamed in through the vast windows on either side, illuminating what looked like half a dozen plush sofas interspersed with glossy wooden tables adorned with perfectly placed lamps with heavy bases. How many people could sleep on this boat, she wondered. Who could afford to own a place like this? There were plenty of grand yachts in the harbour, but this was possibly the biggest and most impressive.

Shauna was suddenly seized by nerves. She had no experience of this kind of lifestyle or the people who led it. She was considering bolting for the gangplank and the safety of the quayside before Chantelle returned with the boss, when she heard voices approaching and light steps on the stairway curving away to the right. She straightened, lifting her chin, hoping to make a good impression.

A slim girl appeared, her deep golden tan emphasizing her platinum-blonde hair. She was wearing the tiniest of bikinis that left nothing to the imagination, above the longest, brownest legs Shauna had ever seen. She moved with the natural confidence of someone who had the world at her feet and knew it. Her head was turned, laughing back up at a man who paused on the steps, Shauna could make out a pair of strong, tanned muscular legs, though his torso was just out of sight.

‘Come on, Demetrios. They’ll take forever. Let’s just go now.’