Escape to the French Riviera

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.’

As the road begins to narrow, the area becomes more built up. Eventually we pull up outside a plush apartment block and drive down to a basement where there is parking. Paulo leads us upstairs, where security watches us.

‘Bonsoir,’ says the security man sitting behind a large desk. I can’t help but admire the beautiful flower arrangement to the side of him which is filled with birds of paradise. They are the perfect exotic flower for this marble-filled lobby. It’s certainly not the kind of place you’d see a few limp carnations. Everything here signifies elegance, from the large white vase to the portraits of posh people that hang on the walls. Meanwhile, the white marble floor sparkles like a diamond of the highest clarity. This is going to be some pad, if the entrance is anything to go by.

Paulo says something in French to us, and we head off in a private lift.

‘It’s posh here, innit?’ says Carol.

I wink at her. ‘Shh. We have to pretend we’re used to this sort of thing.’

Gianni’s Monaco apartment is absolutely stunning. The hallway has navy wooden panelling, and the most enormous crystal chandelier greets us as we open the door. Hanging on the panelling are artworks that look as though they cost millions. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a Van Gogh hidden amongst the collection.

The only problem is that we seem to be missing the housekeeper. Paulo hands over the key as the three of us sneeze simultaneously. We look around, unable to tell what is beneath the white sheets that are covering most of the furniture.

‘How long has Gianni been away?’ I ask Soraya.

‘Oh, I don’t know. He’s always somewhere. He spends most of his time in Dubai. Maybe he hasn’t been back for a while. Perhaps he gave the staff some time off. At least Paulo is here.’

Paulo hasn’t been much help, but I am just glad he was at the airport waiting for us. Our French isn’t good enough to converse with him, and when we mention the name Paulo, he just keeps saying d’accord . At least I know there won’t be any risk of me regretfully snogging the chauffeur on this trip.

‘It’s fine. We can clean this place up. At least the jacuzzi isn’t neglected,’ says Carol, looking towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that lead out onto the huge balcony.

‘What a shame the apartment hasn’t been cleaned. I’m allergic to dust mites,’ says Soraya. Her eyes are already going a little red, although I can’t decide whether this is the effect of the dust mites or the champagne hangover kicking in.

‘Let’s get some fresh air,’ I say.

Since Paulo has already left us to our own devices, we open the large glass patio doors that give us views over Monaco. Yachts are moored for the night in the marina below and buildings crowd around with a dramatic backdrop of a rocky outcrop. Flags on board some of the boats, bearing the Monaco livery, sway gently in the light wind. I’m not surprised they call this the playground of the rich and famous.

‘Well, this is stunning. You know me, I’m never speechless, but I have no words,’ says Carol.

‘Yeah, I know. It’s so gorgeous, isn’t it? Ooh, look! Down there… Is that where they do the Grand Prix? Are those the roads you see on the telly?’ I ask.

Michael was always watching the Monaco Grand Prix when it was on, and the view is very recognisable, although thinking of him while I am here is annoying me.

‘Amazing, isn’t it? I knew it would be fabulous. I’m just sorry that the housekeeper seems to be missing. I thought it would be spick and span. Oh, well, at least the temperature of the jacuzzi is perfect,’ says Soraya, as she dips her hand into the jacuzzi.

We soon come to the conclusion that Gianni must have special chemicals in there to keep it clean since the housekeeper is nowhere to be seen. Unless Paulo takes care of the jacuzzi and the driving.

‘It’s a waste of electricity, though. Leaving that on when nobody’s here. Imagine the bills this Gianni guy gets,’ says Carol.

‘I don’t think he’s bothered about his bills if he can leave a place like this empty for months on end,’ I say.

As the lights of Monaco twinkle below us, I can’t get over how close we are to the centre. This place must have cost millions. A view like this would command zillions alone, without the grandeur of the apartment.

‘You know, I might sleep out here tonight. Stop me sneezing,’ says Soraya.

‘You can’t sleep on the balcony.’

‘Well, those sunbeds look comfy.’

‘Don’t be silly. I’ll clean up inside, after all, it’s your birthday trip. You stay outside and enjoy the views. We’ll pull off all the dust sheets and arrange everything. It can be a thank you for giving us a free holiday,’ I say.

‘Yeah, I’ll help you. Let the birthday girl relax out here and we’ll sort it all out,’ agrees Carol.

‘Aww, are you sure? It’s just my eyes will be puffy for days.’

‘Of course. Now put your feet up on one of those sun loungers.’

Soraya sits down and makes herself comfortable on one of the oversized rattan wicker beds.

With Soraya relaxing, we pull off the dust sheets in the living room to find Louis XVI cream sofas hiding underneath.

‘Wow, this furniture looks expensive. We’d better not put our feet up on this,’ says Carol.

‘Yes indeed,’ I say, marvelling at how the chandelier lights reflect on the Louis XVI marble coffee table as I remove the next dust sheet.

‘You wouldn’t want to put your tea down on this without a coaster,’ I say.

‘I could really do with a cuppa now, couldn’t you? I’ve got a bit of a headache coming on,’ says Carol.

Although Paulo left us with the key for this place, he hasn’t left us with much else.

‘At least I brought tea bags with us. Although I’m not sure there’ll be any milk here. Let’s check the fridge,’ I say.

We move to the open-plan kitchen where I find that the fridge is completely empty.

‘He hasn’t had that fridge on for ages,’ says Carol.

‘No. Soraya said that he’s definitely been in Dubai for a good few months. I’ll switch it on now and in the morning when it’s not so dark, we’ll walk down and try to find a supermarket.’

‘Yeah. Thank goodness I took that bottle of water off the flight. I’m parched. Come on. Shall we check out the bedrooms next?’ says Carol.

We venture into a corridor to try the various doors. I never knew apartments could be so big. The first door is locked. I start to worry that all of them will be and we can’t access the bedrooms, but thankfully, the next door leads us into what must be the master bedroom. Carol barges in before I can get close.

‘Oh my god. No way! You’ve got to come and see this,’ says Carol.

‘It’s nothing scary, is it?’

‘Come and see.’

I peep my head around a door that leads off from the master bedroom, with no idea what I am about to find.

‘Goodness, how the other half live, hey?’ I gasp at the walk-in wardrobe that looks like something from a Hollywood A-lister’s mansion. It feels bigger than the whole flat I own back home.

Once we have calmed down on the excitement, we pass through a sliding door in this Tardis-like room and find ourselves in a yoga studio. A yoga studio off a bedroom!

‘I reckon if this place was for sale, it wouldn’t even have the price on. It would be one of those “price on application” places,’ says Carol.

‘Yeah, you’re right there. I suppose we should give Soraya this room, but I don’t think even she brought enough clothes to fill this wardrobe up.’

We check out the next set of doors, which lead us into two further spacious bedrooms with en suites. Carol and I agree which rooms we’ll take between us, and luckily, there’s no squabbling, as every room is equally fantastic, with sweeping curtains and over-sized beds.

Carol tries the locked door again as we pass it on the way back into the lounge.

‘I wonder what’s in there then?’ she says.

‘Come on, it’s none of our business. Perhaps it’s a study that Gianni wants to keep private.’

By the time we finish removing all the dust sheets from each room, the place looks like a show home, and we get Soraya back inside.

‘You two are the best. Thank you. I would have helped if it wasn’t for my allergies. I promise.’

‘Don’t think about it. Now, I just wish we could all have a cuppa. But that will have to wait until morning as there’s no milk,’ says Carol.

‘Right, okay. Well, how about the first one up in the morning goes out to buy the milk?’ I suggest.

‘Sounds like a good idea. I’ll set my alarm. I owe you both after you’ve sorted all of this,’ says Soraya.

‘Let’s see in the morning. I don’t know about you two, but I’m shattered,’ I say.

‘Yeah. We definitely need a good night’s sleep because tomorrow the partying in Monaco begins,’ says Soraya.

‘Night night, my loves. Sweet dreams,’ says Carol.

I sink into my gloriously comfortable, ornately carved bed, which has just had a change of sheets thanks to a pile of folded up laundry we found in the utility room.

Ah, this is the life, I think. If I don’t have inspiration for a story after being here, then I never will.

I close my eyes and think about all the things we will be doing over the next few days. I feel like a kid in a sweet shop. Will we bump into movie stars? Could I really run into a publisher or literary agent? With the thought of all the potential possibilities running through my mind, not to mention the sunbathing, cocktails and fun with Soraya and Carol, it takes me forever to get to sleep. Although I am pretty sure that by the time I drift off, I have a huge grin on my face.