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‘I can’t think that far ahead.’

He laughed. ‘Isaac can. By the way, he called a couple of times. Says he really needs to speak to you.’

‘He always says that.’ Shauna shook her head and leaned back in her chair ‘Right, let’s get to work.’

After Dan’s death, Shauna had sold the big house in Malibu and downsized to something a little less ostentatious. It was a much smaller, classic Art Deco home in West Hollywood. Shauna loved its classic design and the vintage features, it was the perfect setting for her antique collection. Somehow the place had immediately felt like home, the intimate size more suited to her than the house in Malibu, especially now that she was living alone. As she closed the heavy oak door behind her, she paused for a moment to savour the calm ambience of the house. This was her sanctuary now; though she’d hung on to the apartment, she hadn’t used it in months, perhaps because she no longer needed a bolthole to escape to. Maybe it was time to let it go.

So much had changed since Dan died. She was still feeling her way, trying to come to terms with it all. Overnight she had gone from being a wife to a widow, and though almost two years had passed, she found it a struggle to recognize herself in that role. She was no longer sure who Shauna Jackson was. As for Shauna O’Brien, she was so far removed from her old self, all that remained were a collection of faded memories.

She’d had little contact with her mother since her father died. While he was alive, Shauna had made the effort to play happy families, keep up the pretence. Now they only called one another on birthdays and Christmas, and even then the conversation was stilted. Shauna was convinced her mother felt the same way she did: they were too tired of each other to keep trying.

Shauna kicked off her shoes, poured herself a drink and took it outside, debating whether to take a dip in the heart-shaped pool to unwind. In the end she decided to postpone her swim until later. There was admin to catch up on, and she needed to return Isaac’s calls – judging by the last message he’d left, he was on the brink of apoplexy. He wanted a decision on the two scripts that were currently sitting on the desk in her office, and would no doubt have another try at getting her to write her memoirs – a couple of international publishers had expressed an interest.

‘About damn time, too,’ he barked when his secretary put her through. His crotchety tone amused her; he liked to forget that he actually worked for her and not the other way around.

‘I haven’t decided on either of the scripts – I’ll be honest, they aren’t giving me that tingle. When do you need to know?’

‘Yeah, yeah, maybe you’re right.’ There was an uncharacteristic pause at the other end.

‘What’s up, Isaac?’

‘Look, you’re not going to like this …’

‘Isaac, not that again. I told you, the lawyers took care of it all. I have no intention of speaking to her.’

‘Just hear me out—’

‘No, I don’t want to talk about that woman again.’ Shauna felt her voice rising in anger; why did he have to keep raking this up? It was done.

‘Shauna, listen … Frankie Ferreira is sick. Real sick.’

‘I’m still not going to see her. Please, Isaac, this is my final word. I don’t want anything to do with her.’

‘The woman’s dying, Shauna. She’s called, collect, five times in two days. She’s desperate to speak to you.’

‘How do you know she’s telling the truth?’

‘I called the clinic, spoke to her physician, Dr Scott, he didn’t pull any punches. It’s cancer – terminal.’

Despite herself, Shauna felt a jolt of shock. Frankie was a young woman, with a child. Whatever the woman had done, there was no denying how cruel a prognosis that was.

‘Did she say what she wanted to speak to me about?’

‘She said it wasn’t money.’ Isaac cleared his throat. ‘She … she said she wants to talk to you about the child.’

Shauna closed her eyes. She’d done her duty in that regard. The child was provided for. Generously so. What more could the woman want? ‘I’ll have to think about it, Isaac. I can’t promise anything …’

Shauna sat in the hospital corridor sipping the dark liquid masquerading as coffee and feeling incongruously out of place with her immaculate make-up. A couple of the nursing staff shot her curious glances as they squeaked past in their sensible shoes on the glossy rubberised floor. She had spent a few sleepless nights since Isaac’s phone call, her slumber troubled by dreams of Dan trying to reach out to her, jumbled with the cries of a child just out of reach that stayed with her when she awoke, drenched in sweat, and left with a profound sense of loneliness that she couldn’t shake. Torn by indecision and an unwanted feeling of responsibility, she called Isaac in the middle of the night and demanded the name of the hospital where Frankie was a patient.

And now here she was. She’d been waiting over an hour, buried in melancholic thoughts, when a doctor came to speak to her.

‘I’m afraid it is not good news. Miss Ferreira is very unwell.’

‘Can you tell me what’s wrong with her?’

‘She has a very aggressive type of breast cancer. It was very advanced before she sought treatment; we tried chemotherapy, but there is little more we can do for her.’ His staff ID said his name was Dr David Scott. His kind, grey eyes bored into her and she understood the unspoken message. ‘Are you a friend?’

Shauna couldn’t bring herself to say yes. ‘Um, we have a friend in common. What about her family?’ she asked.