‘It’s a bit early for champagne,’ she says to me.
‘Nonsense. They drink champagne in France from the moment they get up,’ says Soraya.
‘Do they?’ Carol asks me.
‘Umm, I don’t think so.’
Carol rolls her eyes, and I laugh in the back while Soraya places her hand on Andrew’s knee.
‘Ooh, I’m so excited. A couple more hours and we’ll be in a beautiful apartment in the sunshine,’ says Soraya.
‘Sounds bliss,’ says Carol.
I think of the pile of dirty bowls the girls left behind and the state of the spare room when they last left for uni. This break sounds like heaven. Apparently, Gianni’s apartment comes with a housekeeper too.
I have lost count of the number of glasses of champagne we have gone through by the time we say goodbye to Andrew and board our flight to Nice. With a delay to our afternoon flight, which we spent at the airport bar, I am not surprised that Soraya and Carol doze in their seats when we finally take off. Meanwhile, I watch the clouds go by as the sun starts to shine on the horizon. I tried to stay a bit sensible as I thought I might be able to work on the plane. However, when I open my laptop to start my new book in the peace and quiet, despite all the excitement of a holiday, no words will come out. I begin to worry that it will always be like this. Maybe there won’t be any new book updates from me to the group after all.
I lean back onto my headrest and think about the break we are about to have. My tummy does somersaults with the combination of nerves and excitement. If anywhere is going to inspire me to write, this must be it.
Sipping on the last drip of my inflight glass of wine, I imagine myself by the pool, having fun with my besties and coming home from the holiday of a lifetime with not only a tan but the start of a dream too.
Chapter Four
Getting from the airport to Gianni’s apartment is straightforward as Soraya spots the driver as soon as we walk out of arrivals. She recognises him from a photo she’s seen and says that’s the uniform he wears, which is a smart grey suit. He also has a big sign with an address in Monaco that we can’t miss, so we follow her lead. He takes us to the car park and off to a waiting Mercedes. I take in the aroma of a new car as Soraya sits in the front, while Carol and I jump in the back.
We make our way out of the airport past palm trees, their fronds waving at us in the gentle breeze. The delay to our flight has meant we have arrived later than expected, but it’s still warm, even though it’s early evening. According to Soraya, the region is experiencing higher than normal temperatures for this time of year. I’m happy to hear it; I have been looking forward to the sunshine, and the last thing I wanted was the drizzle we had back home. I watch as convertible cars zoom past us with their roofs down, their sophisticated-looking drivers speeding off onto the highway.
Carol nudges me as we pass a Ferrari.
‘Look at the cars around here. I wonder if that driver’s famous,’ says Carol.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised. Although I bet he’s the owner of some big yacht conglomerate, or the CEO of a private Swiss bank,’ I say.
‘I’m sure I saw Michael J. Fox once when I was leaving an airport in Toronto. This big limo pulled up beside us, and I could have sworn it was him in the back,’ says Soraya.
She turns around to look at us for dramatic effect.
‘That’s amazing. You forget celebs have to go places and aren’t only on movie sets,’ laughs Carol.
A beautiful silver vintage Mercedes passes us, and I can’t help thinking how much my ex-husband Michael would love this place. Shame he spoilt everything between us. There was a time I would have been excitedly recalling everything back to him whenever I was somewhere without him. Now he’s just an annoying stranger in a loud shirt who keeps coming around asking for a screwdriver. It’s strange how you can love someone so much, then they break your heart, and one day you feel nothing for them.
‘Look at this tunnel, girls. It’s like the one in Newport,’ says Soraya.
As we go through a tunnel under a mountain, we all laugh at the comparison.
‘Umm, I think it’s a bit bigger than that one and more mountainous around here,’ I say.
Before long, we pass a toll, and Paulo hands over a couple of euros. Carol can’t help compare this with the former toll for the bridge into Wales, when it was known as the Severn Bridge.
‘You can take the girl out of Wales, but you can’t take Wales out of the girl,’ I tease.
After driving on a highway, we watch as the signs for Monaco show that we are getting closer. Finally, the sea comes into view and is illuminated under the sunset. I catch my breath at the sight. With pretty buildings perched in an arch around the bay, the sea glistens under the pink-tinged sky. I have never seen such a beautiful sunset.
‘Wow, look!’
Carol leans over me to look out of my side of the window.
‘Oh, that’s the most gorgeous view ever. What a beautiful place! We’re going to love it here.’
