I can see that just by being on the outside edges of my life, Shane is already subtly changing me. Yes, there is a lot of terrible pain trapped inside my body, but when I am with him, it hides away, as if it is afraid of him. It is afraid he will banish it away forever.
That evening I listen to music and go to bed early, but I am too excited about my trip with Shane to sleep.
Finally, just when I have fallen asleep, I am awakened by the sound of a key in my door. I freeze with fear. Then I hear the familiar sound of Lenny’s footsteps. He comes into the bedroom and silently walks over to the bed. He stands over my prone body and watches me. I keep my breathing even and deep, and pray that he will not wake me up.
To my relief, after a few minutes he quietly slips out of the flat.
After I hear the door shut, I sit up then go over to the window. From the darkness of my window, I watch him walk to his car. The driver opens the back door and Lenny gets into it. Feeling unnerved, I return to bed. It has been a long time since he did that. He used to do that a lot when he first found me, when I was almost mad with grief and horror. I wonder why he did that today.
Does he on some level sense that another man has strayed into his territory?
Ten
SNOW
Shane comes to collect me at 9.00 p.m. because that is when Lenny’s plane takes off and there will be no more calls from him after that. A man in a peaked cap opens the back door of a blue Mercedes and I slide in. Shane introduces him as the driver of the family’s company car.
‘Mostly only my brothers use this car. I can get anywhere faster on my bike,’ he says.
‘We’re not going to Heathrow Airport?’ I ask when I notice the car going on a different route.
‘No, we’re flying out of Luton,’ Shane says.
‘Oh,’ I say, and settle back against the plush seat while Shane gives the man instructions to bring his car to the airport on Sunday. I don’t listen. A ball of anxiety sits at the base of my stomach. I feel as if I am cheating on Lenny, even though I don’t love Lenny and he cheats on me all the time, and anyway, I am not going to do anything with Shane. Shane and I are friends, and we are just going to see the fireflies.
At the airport I am in for a shock. We are walking toward a private plane!
‘Wow! Whose plane is that?’ I ask, astonished.
‘My brother bought it about two years ago for the family’s use.’
‘Is he the ex-gangster?’
‘Yeah. Jake was a gangster, but don’t judge him too harshly. He had no choice. He did it for us. It was a great sacrifice for a man who wanted to be a vet.’
‘You love him very much, don’t you?’
‘We’re blood. I’d give my life for him.’
And his eyes shine with sincerity.
Then the pilot is introducing himself to me and we are walking up the steps into the jet. It is another world. The inside of it is beautiful, with heavy, wooden doors, red, luxurious carpets, and huge cream seats facing each other with tables in between. There are fresh flowers everywhere and it smells of perfume. Farther along, closer to the cockpit, there are two single beds with furry slippers tucked at one end. The table we are invited to occupy has a white tablecloth spread over it and is set as if in a fancy restaurant.
We sit and the smiling air stewardess pops open a bottle of champagne.
I can’t help being wide-eyed with wonder. ‘Oh my God, how amazing,’ I gasp. ‘This is exactly what I imagined it must be like to be a film star.’
He laughs softly, his handsome face indulgent, and we clink glasses then drink.
Fruit and tiny little canapés are served on a mirrored platter.
It takes us an hour and forty minutes to arrive in Cannes, a town so exclusive that there is no commercial airport and only private jets are authorized to land. There are no queues, Immigration and Passport Control, or baggage to worry about. Instead, our passports are checked by two policemen, and then we step onto the runway.
‘Welcome to France,’ Shane says.
I marvel at how easy and smooth travel is for the rich. ‘I can’t believe we’re actually in another country.’
‘Come on. We’ve got dinner reservations,’ he says, and leads me to a waiting car.
Full of excitement, I look around me as the palm-tree-lined boulevards swish by as we get into the town. I gaze in awe at all the beautiful old buildings. In twenty minutes I am ushered into one of Cannes’ famous seafront restaurants, Le Palais Oriental. It is brightly decorated with blue seats, white tables, and mirrors on the ceilings.
The place is in full swing, heaving with belly dancers and huge groups of noisy party-goers. We are greeted by a friendly Moroccan waiter who shows us to our table. The tables are low, and Shane has to sit with his knees spread far apart. He catches my grin and acknowledges the funny side. I love that he is able to laugh at himself. There is something so endearing about a man like that. My father couldn’t. My brother will never be able to, and Lenny will tear your head off before he’d even contemplate doing such a thing.
Shane and I order tagine of lamb with prunes and couscous, which our cheeky waiter claims is terrific because it is cooked on the bosoms of angels.
We drink mint tea and watch the dazzlingly graceful belly dancers as they advance, retreat as they snake their arms sinuously in the air, and shimmy their hips so hard and fast their luxurious costumes swim about their feet. I feel an instant affinity with them—the colorful costumes, the sun-drenched skin, and the bells on their bra tops remind me of the beautiful Indian dancers of my childhood.
Like those Indian dancers, they twist their bodies into shapes that express joy, laughter, sadness, grace, lust. This story is one of entrapment and beauty. One woman wears a veil and over it her dusky black eyes flash enticingly. Not only her body, but her eyes speak.
I look around me and there are different reactions to them. To some, these women are cheap meat, but there are others who see what I do. All dancers are dreamers. There is no such thing as a sinful dancer.
‘I’ve never seen a belly dance in the flesh,’ I tell Shane.
‘Do you like it?’ he asks.
‘It’s simply beautiful,’ I say, watching a woman in a blue costume. Her personality and her sensuality flow through the timeless moves her body makes.
‘I agree.’
I turn to look at Shane. He is watching me. ‘The one in the blue costume is so seductive.’
‘Yes, she’s so seductive,’ he says softly, but he does not turn to look at her.
When the lamb comes, it is succulent, and the couscous could indeed have been cooked on the bosom of an angel. We eat our food and drink our wine, and slowly the beat of the Arabic music makes me tingle, and my body moves in tune with it.
‘Do you want to dance?’
I shake my head. ‘Perhaps I could dance under a moonless sky, or if I was on my own and no one could see me.’
‘Great: Moonless Sky is my chosen Red Indian name,’ he says cheekily.
‘Forget it,’ I say.
‘Never say never.’
We leave the restaurant late, our bellies full and the scent of adventure beckoning us as we drive to Shane’s chateau. In thirty minutes we arrive at a set of arched black iron gates. We drive up a road for a few minutes in total darkness and then, suddenly, we have reached our destination.
Saumur.
My mouth drops open with astonishment. This is no farmhouse or dilapidated chateau! How is it possible that Shane could own something so magnificent? Built from pink stone and trimmed in white, it rises from the ground in a truly imposing and majestic structure.
‘Wow,’ I exclaim opening the car door. ‘But this is a palace!’
‘How astute of you. It used to belong to an Iraqi prince, so it’s architecturally more royal palace than chateau.’
The gravel crunches under my feet as we walk up to the chateau. He unlocks the tall door and switches on the light and it is breathtaking. I look around in awe. My father was very rich once, but, even then, our mansion house was nothing like this. I have to seriously re-evaluate Shane’s financial worth. And to think I had been expecting a ruined chateau or a farmhouse! God, it never crossed my mind that he could afford such extraordinary splendor. This pile must be worth millions and millions of pounds.
‘All this belongs to you?’
‘Yes,’ he says staring curiously at me.
‘You’re so young. How could you be so rich?’
‘I have my brother to thank. He started us off early. He got us into the property market, investing in Internet start-ups, bought us all citizenships in Monaco, and put us into every tax saving scheme available.’
I look around in wonder. ‘It’s absolutely stunning, Shane. You’re so lucky.’
‘Come, I’ll show you the best part of the house.’ He winks at me. ‘Just in case you want a midnight swim.’
Stunned by the grandeur of the place, I follow him through the rooms with their high ceilings and the lovely marble floors. In the main salon there are stupendous art deco chandeliers and superb antiques. He leads me toward the pool, which has been uniquely situated in the center of the property.
I gasp when we reach it.
It is like suddenly finding yourself in a different world—the sumptuous, luxurious, precious, lost world of an Oriental potentate. Lit by softly glowing lamps, it must be seen to be believed. Massive and round, it is surrounded by tall double Corinthian marble columns that form a veranda around the pool. The stone columns are slightly submerged, giving the illusion that they are rising from the water.