diner was the highlight of his day. And in fact, now that she listened to the song, Dervla realized that the words were peculiarly poignant: she didn’t think she’d ever heard them properly before. No matter about Daphne’s short-term memory, it was highly possible that her recall of greatest hits of the sixties could get her a gig on Mastermind. The lyrics were all about how important it was to live in the present because the transient nature of youth meant that you might never have another chance to find love.
Is that why Daphne had conducted all those affairs after she married? To try to find the love that had been so cruelly snatched from her first time around? Christian had mentioned that his father had been much older than his beautiful wife – that he had, in fact, been a friend of his grandfather – but he appeared as reluctant to talk about his family history as Dervla was to talk about hers. Oh, God! She hoped that the ghosts of Daphne’s amours would never come spilling skeleton-like out of the closet. It was just as well, for Christian’s sake, that the ‘novel’ his mother had been planning to write had never found a publisher.
‘Mum! What are you doing, singing to a film star?’ Christian had returned from his business chat, and was smiling down at his mother.
‘Is this person a film star?’ asked Daphne. ‘Do I know him?’
‘He certainly is a film star.’ Christian extended a hand. ‘Hi. I’m Christian Vaughan, Dervla’s husband. Nice to meet you.’
‘Likewise. You’re the wine importer, yeah?’
‘That’s right.’
And as Christian and Shane got to know each other, Dervla returned her attention to Corban O’Hara, who was still checking out the two teens texting on the terrace. He was distracted from the vision of loveliness by the BlackBerry on the table in front of him. Picking it up, he checked the display. Then he smiled, and looked directly at the cuter of the two girls. She was smiling right back at him.
Frowning, Dervla looked away.
On the top of the double-decker bus that had been converted into a mobile canteen, the extras were on a tea break. Most of them were locals who had been working on The O’Hara Affair for the past three weeks, and most of them were playing starving peasants. The obesity rate in Coolnamara had plummeted, because as soon as word had got out that The O’Hara Affair was going to be shooting near Lissamore, half the population had gone on diets and taken up exercise classes in the community hall. The downside of playing a starving peasant was the costumes: they were filthy, raggedy old things. Bethany had been lucky: she was meant to be a lady’s maid in the Big House, so she got to wear something rather more stylish: an ankle-length black dress with button boots, starched white pinafore and matching lace-trimmed cap.
On this, her first day, Bethany had been hanging out with a girl called Tara, who had also been cast as a lady’s maid. There was a lot of hanging about on a film set, Bethany had discovered. In fact, she had come to the conclusion that extra work was deadly dull. She hadn’t had a glimpse of a single star so far: all the principals were sequestered in their trailers. Not only that, extras were treated like cattle, with assistant directors herding them about and shouting at them: ADs were the most irritable people she’d ever come across. And a lot of the extras weren’t the pleasantest bunch to work with, either. Because she and Tara had nicer costumes than the other girls, the pair of them were subjected to a lot of resentful looks, like the girls who won the challenge in America’s Next Top Model.
But Bethany didn’t care. She remembered what Madame Tiresia had said about the girls at school – the ones who’d been jealous of her because they hadn’t the courage to dream. And now that she had plucked up the courage to chase that dream, here she was on her way to living it, even though it was proving to be boring.
Tara was a seasoned extra, having worked on the film for a couple of weeks now. She had learned about hitting marks, she had learned not to touch the lasagne at lunchtime, and she had learned to stave off the boredom with the help of her laptop. She had shared all of this arcane information with Bethany earlier that day, and now they were messing around on YouTube, looking at video clips of craziest cats.
‘What’s Shane Byrne like?’ Bethany asked, as Tara clicked on ‘Kittens Dancing to Jingle Bell Rock’.
‘Shane Byrne,’ Tara told her, ‘is a sweetie. He’s real friendly – a gentleman. You might see him later – he sometimes joins us for coffee on the bus.’
‘On the bus? You’re kidding!’
‘It’s true. He’s not up himself, like the other stars, who wouldn’t be caught dead talking to a mere extra.’
‘He’s from around here originally, isn’t he?’
‘Galway. He had a fling years ago with the woman who’s doing the set-dressing, Río Kinsella. They had a son together.’
‘I remember reading about that in some online fanzine. It said something about a “love child” and a “tempestuous” affair. You can tell just by looking at him that he’s a bad boy, a bit like Johnny Depp, except that Johnny Depp—’
‘Shh!’ Tara stiffened suddenly. ‘Let’s change the subject.’
‘What’s – oh.’ Following the direction of Tara’s gaze, Bethany saw that Shane Byrne had just dropped into the seat behind her. He was accompanied by a man who was fingering a BlackBerry.
‘Hey! I’m bored with YouTube,’ said Tara, niftily changing tack. ‘Let’s have a wander around Second Life.’
‘What?’
‘Second Life. It’s another great way of passing the time when you’re hanging around waiting to be called.’
‘Is that the game where you pretend to be somebody else?’
‘Yeah. Except it’s not really a game. It’s more of a virtual world where you can interact with real people who are online at the same time.’
‘How does it work?’
‘You create an avatar who represents you – mine’s called Mitzy.’ Tara clicked on the Second Life icon, and waited for the site to download.
‘Wasn’t there something in the papers about a UK couple who divorced in real life after their avatars were unfaithful to each other on Second Life?’
‘Yes.’
‘Weird!’
‘That’s how seriously some people take it. That couple got married in Second Life before getting married in real life. And then, when she suspected him of having virtual sex with a Second Life lap dancer, she actually hired a virtual private detective to set up a honey trap. The funniest thing was that their avatars bore absolutely no resemblance to the way they looked in real life. In Second Life he was a six-foot-four love god, and she was a six-foot sex siren. Look – here’s Mitzy – isn’t she pretty?’
Bethany peered at the image that shimmered onto the screen of Tara’s notebook. A 3-D beauty with golden Rapunzel locks was standing poised on the step of a pagoda. She was wearing a fairy-tale ball
