All That the Heart Desires Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Thank You

  About the Author

  All That the Heart Desires © 2016 by June Moonbridge

  Published worldwide 2016 © June Moonbridge

  Copyright © June Moonbridge

  All rights reserved in all media. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means electronic or mechanical including but not limited to: the Internet, photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author.

  All images are property and copyright of the author and may not be reproduced in any media without written permission.

  No reproduction without permission.

  The moral right of June Moonbridge to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988.

  E-book edition

  Also published in paperback

  Proofread: Viv Moriarty

  Cover Design: EJR Digital Art

  Formatting: Wyrding Ways Press

  Author Links:

  www.junemoonbridge.com

  www.facebook.com/JMoonbridge

  https://twitter.com/JMoonbridge

  The following story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Standing at the front door of the best hotel in Monaco, I thought how lucky I was to have my boutique perfumery, Jasmine, in one of the most prestigious hotels of the world, only a few metres away from the circuit and other important sites in Monte Carlo.

  Although the Principatu de Múnegu is crowded throughout the whole year, the weekend of the Formula One Grand Prix de Monaco in late spring buzzes even more than usual. The race is the most desirable one in the whole FIA Formula One World Championship, from the racing drivers to the fans who follow the circus around the world, in person or in front of television screens.

  Many things had changed during the past years: new regulations, new environmental demands, new motors, new racetracks were put on the race calendar. Some were taken out, but nevertheless the street race in Monte Carlo was unique. It was The One and it was now just one day away from the first try-out.

  Everything was already prepared and anyone who was anyone in the world’s fastest sport was present, wanting to be seen. Photographers were all around and no one escaped their cameras. Police were also there but couldn’t do anything to protect people’s privacy or prevent photos from being taken, as long as they were taken on the streets.

  The circuit was ready. The barriers were erected, protecting the buildings and spectators close to the roads, should an accident occur.

  Final inspections were made around the 3,340-kilometre-long racetrack throughout the day and the circuit was already closed to the public. All the berths in the port had been reserved months ago and the last large yachts were coming in to take their places. Everything in Monaco was about money. That was the unspoken truth.

  “Miss Desiree. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” said the porter standing in front of the hotel door. I looked at the older man dressed in hotel livery; I’d known him since the opening of the perfumery. His face always showed contentment. That was really the only thing I could actually say about him; he always looked the same every day.

  I pushed my glasses back on my nose and quickly checked my appearance in the nearest window. Everything was in its place, as it should be. My red hair was still tied in a tight knot at the base of my neck, with no strands escaping at the sides of my face.

  “Yes it is, Monsieur Pinot,” I answered. “And it will be a beautiful weekend too.”

  “Miss Desiree, I’m no Monsieur. Je suis Marcel.” He said the same words every time we spoke. I smiled at his response. In three years, I had learned his words by heart.

  “For me, you are Monsieur as long as you call me Miss. Simple as that.” I patted his shoulder and gave way to a group of new guests entering the hotel. Although I was not an employee of the hotel as Marcel Pinot was, I knew my place there. The success of my perfumery depended on how I behaved.

  As the guests disappeared behind the doors, I followed them.

  Stepping into the Jasmine was like going back in time: soft, classical music, the lights just right and the smell pure, even though this was a perfumery. Everything was decorated in crystal and mirrors. The outstanding look was entirely my brother’s idea and hard work. He knew the right people; people who were able to make my dreams come true. Well, at least some of them.

  When I entered the perfumery, Lucille and Michelle were busy with customers. They had everything under control, so I went to the back office. I started on the paperwork that had been on my desk for several days now, and was still waiting to be sorted and resolved. I hated that type of work, but it had to be done on time.

  I sighed with relief when Lucille came to the door and asked for my help. The perfumery had too many customers for only two pairs of hands. I left the office to help them in the boutique, only too glad to get away from the paperwork. We’d been on our feet from nine in the morning and finally, when the last customer left the place, it was six in the evening. The day passed too quickly to do all we had to do.

  When Lucille locked the door, Michelle and I sighed, relieved.

  “Thank God tomorrow’s Thursday,” said Michelle, pushing her blonde braid over her shoulder. Lucille ran her hand through her short black hair and leaned on the counter.

  “Yes, and only four hours of work,” Lucille commented. I looked at the girls. They were a little bit younger than me and I had chosen them myself. They were both good looking but not too attractive. That was the key to keeping the female customers happy, and I knew that very well.

  Suddenly they both looked at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “How did you manage it?” Lucille looked incredulous.

  “Manage what?” I asked. Michelle rolled her eyes.

  “How did you manage to persuade Monsieur Dame, that we can close the boutique so early tomorrow and again on Friday?”

  I smiled to myself. This was the billion Euro question every year.

  “Well, you know the answer—”

  “Yes, we do, but we don’t buy it,” she interrupted.

  “Will you be able to come in tomorrow?” I said. They rolled their eyes in unison.

  “You know that we will—”

  I interrupted her, “The roads will be blocked!”

  They exchanged a look.

  “And today they aren’t? We’ll walk if we have to, but we’ll be here, as we were last year and the year before. Now, stop playing with us and tell us how you persuaded Monsieur Dame to let us close early and be closed on Saturday and Sunday.”

  I sighed. I knew the game was up. I pushed my glasses back on my nose, trying to think of the most believable answer. Finally, I decided to tell them the truth.

  “Well … that was my only demand. I like watching the race and I don’t want to miss it.” I saw the disbelief on their faces.

  “You are real, aren’t you?” Michelle asked after few moments.

  “Yes. I got this enthusiasm from my brother.”

  “You have a brother?” Both girls’ eyes were large as saucers. I knew I had revea
led too much. It’d slipped out of my mouth before I’d realised.

  “Yes, and now it’s time to clean up and leave. It’s been a long day and I need to give my feet some rest.”

  We checked everything was in place. Then, as I never went home dressed in the clothes I wore to work, I quickly went to the restroom and changed into casual short jeans and a white tee shirt, putting on a little more makeup. I had an arrangement with the hotel that allowed me to leave my suit there to get it dry cleaned.

  I put my high heels into my bag and took out a pair of espadrilles. Now, I was ready. I left my glasses on, and kept my hair up in its knot.

  The girls were waiting for me as I had the only key. The spare one was kept at the hotel reception to be used for emergencies or when I was unavailable.

  Finally, we left the perfumery and the hotel. I checked my mobile and saw that it had taken us an hour to close the shop. Marcel had already been replaced by his colleague.

  Having parked my car at the railway station, I turned right and was already on my way, when suddenly I heard Lucille.

  “What do you hide in that bun of yours?” I stopped walking. I hadn’t been expecting that question. Somehow it seemed this was a day of revelations. I turned, lifted my hands and untied the knot I wore every day. I shook my head to release my hair completely and my tresses fell almost to the bottom of my back. They were longer than Michelle’s.

  “Wow.” Neither of the girls had spoken. I turned around to see the new porter staring at me.

  “Have fun, ladies.”

  I laughed and continued my way to the car park. As with everything in Monaco, it was close to hand, and one of the cheapest places to park. It also allowed me to get out of town as quickly as possible.

  When I got to my car, I took down the roof and threw my handbag onto the back seat. I took off my fake glasses and rubbed my nose. I had never got used to them, but they were part of my every day masquerade.

  As everybody thought I was just the head saleswoman of the perfumery and not its rightful owner, I couldn’t afford to walk around looking as good as my customers. The majority of them were much too vain to shop in a boutique where the sales people looked too good. This was a lesson I had learned quickly during the opening of the perfumery. A young and rich customer demanded that I be replaced.

  When Harry Dame had escorted me to the back office, I could hear her unreasonable complaining.

  “She looks too young and too good to be in here.”

  “Sorry,” was all I heard from Dame as he pushed me through the door and closed it behind him. That was the day I knew I must change my appearance, although I was not sure what was bothering the customer.

  Sitting in the car, I sighed. I switched on the engine, calmed by the sound of the motor.

  Soon, I was in the busy streets of Monte Carlo. I needed to get out of that part of the principality as quickly as possible. The hotel had a big party launch later that evening and I wanted to be as far as possible from there. That crowd meant nothing to me.

  Although the streets were busy, traffic was smooth. I was thankful when I was on my way to the suburbs of Nice, where I lived. Monaco was too expensive for me, although Dame had wanted to buy me an apartment there. I had refused.

  Choosing the Grande Corniche out of Monaco was not something I did on a daily basis. It had its twists and turns, and was just too tricky for the newcomers. This time my mind played little tricks on me and, before I knew it, I was halfway up. At least the road was empty.

  The appearance I had chosen three years ago was obviously the right one, although Dame was not happy. Every morning, I brushed my hair for so long that it lay flat and obedient. When I went to buy a pair of glasses, the optometrist was surprised when he realised my eyesight was perfect. He was persistent, but so was I, and in the end I left his store with two pairs with plain lenses. It took only those two small changes and my look was quite different.

  Suddenly, I spotted the lights of an oncoming car, almost on my side of the road. The driver didn’t appear to be aware of his erratic driving, so I blinked my lights twice. Nothing. The car was still veering over to my side of the road. I slowed down but that didn’t make any difference. If the driver didn’t spot his mistake soon, we’d crash into each other. I had nowhere to go.

  Realising that, I stepped on the brake with all the power I had in my legs and automatically put my hand on the horn. The oncoming car was just too close, with only a few metres between us. I knew that nothing would save me from the collision and, out of fear, I closed my eyes. All I could do was to wait for the inevitable.

  I pictured all the horrible details of the collision: broken glass, the metal around me crushed and broken, unbearable pain, and darkness. I saw it all.

  When I felt my car stop, I slowly opened my eyes. I could hear the insufferable sound of a horn loud and clear. It took me a few extra seconds to realise that my hand was still firmly on it. I lifted my hand and the dreadful sound stopped. I managed to brush my long hair out of my face.

  I looked over the windscreen but could see nothing. Not even the on-coming car. Nothing. Just an empty space and far down below, where the road dropped away, azure sea lit up in another beautiful sunset. It was a beautiful sight and, honestly, I wanted to enjoy it until I realised how close to the edge of a road I was—just inches from a sheer drop!

  Realising that, I took a deep breath and tried to steady my pounding heart. I was alive and my car was still in one piece.

  Suddenly, my door opened and someone or something lifted me out. I closed my eyes. I hadn’t been aware of my seat belt loosening, but I quickly realised I was standing next to a very angry man.

  “My God! If you can’t drive, don’t get behind the wheel!” were the first words I heard. I opened my eyes and saw I was standing pretty close to the edge of the precipice. I quickly stepped away. The fall would have been deadly.

  His words still rang in my ears and I heard him speaking but wasn’t listening to what he was saying to me. All I could feel was anger—almost violent anger.

  “I can’t drive?!” I spat out the words. “I CAN’T DRIVE!?”

  I was still looking over the edge.

  “I would very much like to know which idiot gave YOU a driving licence! Is driving in the middle of the road your daily practice? Do you realise that—” I heard footsteps coming closer and then … I smelled him. It was almost an indescribable fragrance of perfume and male scent. It was a good smell. I turned around and the rest of the sentence got stuck in my throat.

  I recognised the ‘idiot’ driver immediately and my accusation wasn’t far from the truth. He WAS accustomed to driving in the middle of the road. He was in black tie attire and not only did he smell good, his appearance made me forget, for a while, what I wanted to say.

  My anger helped me conceal the fact that I recognised him. His ego was already sky high without my admiration and he’d already proven what an idiot he was in the way he had spoken to me.

  Lorcan Shore. A man I had followed for the last five seasons in Formula 1. From the day he joined the highest class of single-seat motor racing, I knew he had what it took to succeed in this sport. But nevertheless, who the hell did he think he was? Or, for that matter, where did he think he was? On the racetrack?

  “Did you buy your driver’s licence perhaps? With a show like this, I’m almost certain that you did! I almost drove off the road because of you! You were all over the place. Keep your eyes on the road and not … everywhere else. Christ! Can you at least picture in your thick head what would happen to me? I would be dead and gone and for that matter, nothing would happen to you, right? And I can’t drive? ME? Do me a favour and return your driver’s licence. It would be safer for all of us, knowing that you did that!” The words coming out of my mouth didn’t give me any credit. I knew that I was going overboard with the verbal tirade. I criticised his driving skills, something he thought he was the best at. And I enjoyed doing it.

  Suddenly, I realised
that he was silently standing still in front of me. I stopped talking when I looked into his eyes. To be able to do that, I had to raise my head; at six foot four he was the tallest man in the F1 circuit.

  A strange feeling went through me. It was like … he was in some sort of trance. Something was not as it was supposed to be. Then I realised. Of course not. We almost crashed. Certainly nothing is as it’s supposed to be!

  My hands clenched as I waited for another verbal attack, but there was none. His grey eyes were calm and he was looking at me as … I was not sure what. I realised we were standing way too close to each other, and for the sake of my heart, I stepped away. Instantly, his hands were on my shoulders.

  “Don’t—” he started, when I interrupted him abruptly.

  “Take your hands off me. Now!”

  He didn’t move. His eyes reflected the setting sun. His calm look made me even more furious. Before I was able to remove his hands, he spoke, his voice steady and serious.

  “Don’t take another step back. You’ll fall.”

  I had completely forgotten where we were. I turned around, looked over my shoulder and saw he was telling the truth. Hundreds of metres, straight down. Still, I wanted his hands off me; his touch was burning my skin.

  I stepped sideways and his hands finally slipped away. I felt his touch all the way as his hands slid down my arms. I needed to get my grip on reality back. Quickly. I was still extremely angry with him and wanted to tell him once again how much.

  “Can I apologise?”

  I looked back into his eyes.

  “I’m waiting,” was my response.

  “Let me introduce myself,” he started. I knew he felt stupid and I was wickedly happy with that. Let him be just a little bit humble.

  “My name is Lorcan Shore.”

  I almost blurted out, I know, but kept my mouth shut. He offered me his right hand. I realised, watching his eyes that it was unusual for him not to be recognised on the spot.

  I took his hand and shook it. As always, my grip was firm, perhaps too strong for a woman, as I was always being reminded by Dame.