– 3 –

Paul glanced up from his typewriter and looked across the table at Marian. She was staring at the diamond-patterned wallpaper and tapping a pen against her teeth, obviously engrossed in thought. ‘What on earth are you doing?’ he asked after a minute or two.

‘Trying to think of a ten word slogan for this competition,’ she answered cheerfully.

He shook his head, and leaning his elbows on the keyboard said, ‘What might you win?’

‘A car. Which I can then sell and pay off all our debts.’

‘I see.’ Then after a pause, ‘How about a cup of coffee?’

Immediately Marian put down her pen.

‘No, no, no,’ he protested, as she started to get up. ‘I meant, I’ll make you one. After all, it’s pretty serious business you’re up to there, so far be it from me to interrupt.’

She grabbed her pen and threw it at him as he disappeared into the kitchen. ‘Can I read what you’ve written this morning?’ she called after him.

‘Go ahead.’

She leaned across the table and wound the sheet of paper out of his typewriter, and by the time he came in with the coffee she’d read the four paragraphs at least half a dozen times.

‘Thanks,’ she said as he put a cup down in front of her. Then with her head on one side she watched him as he sank into the armchair and picked up the newspaper.

He’d been living with them for almost two weeks now, but the more she got to know him, the more of a mystery he became. She was as jealous of his past as she had been of the time he spent at his typewriter – until he’d sensed how she was feeling. Now he shared his work, asking her opinion, arguing through her ideas, and even asking her to write down her thoughts and feelings so he could use them. The main characters in his latest story were based on her and Madeleine, and there was a great deal of hilarity and cushion-throwing when she read his deliberate misinterpretations of something one of them had said or done. There were uncomfortable moments, too, when he wanted to explore the depth of her feelings for him. On that she always held back, and though he didn’t push her, he generally wrote what he thought, then asked if he’d guessed right. He usually had, but her answer was always the same: ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’ Of course she was in love with him, and it wasn’t that she minded him knowing, she just wanted him to be the first to say it.

Now she shifted in her chair, disturbed by the line her thoughts had taken. Despite the fact that on one level they were closer than she’d ever dreamed possible, on another – on the matter of love – there was a distance between them which was only made worse by his casual dismissal of the questions she couldn’t stop herself asking.

‘Does it really matter how many girlfriends I’ve had?’ he would say. ‘Or who they were, what they looked like, or where they are now?’

‘Yes,’ she answered once, ‘it does matter. I don’t know why, but it does.’

‘It doesn’t. And you’re falling into the typical female trap: of convincing yourself I’m hiding something, when all I’m doing is protecting you from things that you don’t need to know. Of course there have been other women, but I’m with you now, and not one of them ever meant half as much to me as you do.’

She knew it was the kind of answer that should satisfy her – but perhaps if he showed some inclination to do more than kiss her, the torturous images of him with other women might disappear. Perhaps if she didn’t have a cousin like Madeleine, their lack of sex-life might not seem so odd or so important – but a hungry worm of doubt wriggled away inside her, demanding the food of reassurance.

‘A very pensive face,’ he said, looking up from the paper. ‘What are you thinking about?’

‘You,’ she admitted.

‘What about me?’

‘I’d like you to tell me about Florence.’

‘Haven’t you just read that bit?’

‘Yes, but that’s in a novel. You mentioned once that you used to go there every spring. Tell me about that.’

‘There’s not much to tell, really,’ he answered. ‘Except that I hated it. Being dragged from church to art gallery to palazzo wasn’t much fun for a little boy, but my mother was a fiend for Italian culture so my father took her to Florence every year; they even spent their honeymoon there, I believe.’ His eyes were laughing; he knew she’d pictured him there much more recently, and with another woman, and hadn’t missed the look of relief that she’d tried to hide. ‘But I have to confess I did love the ice-cream,’ he went on. ‘My mother had hundreds of photographs of me with the stuff plastered all over my face. Have you ever had real Italian ice-cream?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s beyond description. And one of these days, when a publishing house wises up and accepts my first book, I’ll take you there, sit you down in the Piazza Signoria and feed it to you on the end of a long spoon.’

As usual her heart leapt at any suggestion of a shared future.

‘Actually,’ he went on, ‘I’d rather take you to Rome than Florence. The food’s better, the culture is quite different, and I think you’d enjoy it more. Florence was a sluggish sort of place, I always felt, as if it’s snored its way through time since the quattrocento, whereas Rome is vibrant with its past. Much more exciting, and as alive to the twentieth century as it is to Caesar, Michelangelo and Puccini.’

‘I know what you mean,’ she said dreamily, her mind conjuring up a wondrously romantic image of them strolling through the cobbled streets together. ‘Madeleine and I were there last summer. We only stayed a few days but I loved it, though I didn’t get to see much beyond the Via Condotti. I would have stayed longer, but Madeleine wanted to go to the Greek islands and soak up the sun.’

‘I can imagine,’ he said in a dry tone. ‘Still, some day we’ll explore the city together.’

As if they were tangible things she held onto his words wanting more than anything that they should come true. It was a while before she let the fantasy go and asked, ‘Did you call the publisher again this morning?’

He nodded and sighed. ‘He’s now given the manuscript to someone else to read and says he’ll be back to me as soon as he has some news.’

‘At least it’s not a no,’ Marian said. Then seeing how despondent he looked, she went to sit in his lap. ‘I wish there was something I could do to cheer you up,’ she sighed.

‘Just having you here is enough,’ he smiled, and pushing her head back against his shoulder he kissed her.

‘You two love-birds at it again?’ Madeleine complained as she came in from the bedroom. She yawned and stretched as Paul and Marian looked up, then checking herself in the mirror, she dropped down onto the sofa. As she crossed her legs Marian winced at the glimpse of pubic hair. ‘God, what a night last night,’ Madeleine groaned, ‘I didn’t get in until gone three.’

‘Fancy some breakfast?’ Marian offered.

‘Do I? I could eat a horse, but I’ll settle for toast and coffee.’

‘No butter, I’m afraid,’ Paul said.

‘Not to worry, I’ll pop out for some,’ Marian said, getting to her feet.

When she’d gone Madeleine lifted her legs onto the sofa and lay down. ‘You comfortable enough sleeping on here?’ she asked Paul.

‘It’s fine,’ he answered, watching her with mild amusement.

Her mind was working fast. Her previous attempts at seducing him, by leaving the door open while she was in the bath, or coming home from work with very little on under her coat which she took off in the sitting-room – while Marian was safely tucked up in bed – had so far failed. She’d taken her problem to Jackie and Sharon, who had told her that the first thing she must do was get Marian out of the way. Perhaps a trip to the shops wasn’t quite what they’d had in mind, but Madeleine was ready to seize any opportunity. To steal Paul O’Connell from her cousin had now become more than a resolution, it was an obsession. He was the only man she’d ever come across who had been able to resist her, and that she just couldn’t accept. She gave no thought to the consequences of what she was trying to do; all that mattered was that she should get him into bed. Jackie’s advice was that she must somehow get him to admit he didn’t have sex with Marian, then once they were on the subject of sex and the fact that he wasn’t getting it, she could really go to work.

‘If you like,’ Madeleine said now, ‘Marian and I could push our beds together and you two could sleep in there. I wouldn’t mind the sofa.’

‘That’s very generous of you,’ he smiled. ‘Maybe you should ask Marian.’

‘OK, I will,’ she said, not liking his answer much. ‘But what about you? I mean, don’t you want to sleep with her?’

‘When she’s ready.’

‘You could be waiting a long time,’ Madeleine scoffed. ‘I take it you know she’s a virgin?’

He nodded.

‘Ludicrous, isn’t it, at her age? Still, she’s never had much luck in finding a boyfriend. Until now, that is.’

‘I imagine she’s been rather overshadowed by her beautiful cousin,’ he ventured.

Madeleine allowed herself a few moments to bask in the compliment. This was much more like it. She pouted her lips and gave a little flutter of her eyelashes. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said coyly. ‘Well, I have to admit I’ve had a lot of boyfriends, but Marian’s pretty brainy, you know, some men go for that. The only trouble is, she’s not very street-wise. She doesn’t really know what’s what when it comes to men.’

‘Which you do, of course.’

Madeleine stretched her long limbs, then feigned modest surprise that her dressing-gown had fallen open. ‘I’ve got a fair idea,’ she answered, taking her time about pulling it together again.

‘I’m sure you have.’ He got to his feet and went back to his typewriter.

For a moment Madeleine was stymied. Their little chat had been shaping up nicely, so what was he winding paper into his bloody typewriter for? ‘It must be pretty frustrating for you,’ she said.

‘What must?’

‘Marian’s chastity.’

When he didn’t answer, she sat up. She looked at his profile, the long straight nose, the dark lashes and brows, the irresistible beauty of his mouth. His hands were bunched together under his chin, and her insides lurched at the imaginary sensation of those tapering fingers exploring her body. No man had ever turned her on like this before. Having sex was just something that came after someone had admired her body, a gift she could bestow should she feel so inclined. With Paul O’Connell it was different. She wanted him – on top of her, beneath her, inside her, all over her. Not in a million years would she admit to never having had an orgasm, but she wanted one as much as she wanted him, and a sixth sense told her that he could give it to her.

‘If you like,’ she said, wandering over to him, then running her fingers across his shoulders, ‘I could help you to . . .’

‘No thanks, Madeleine.’

‘No thanks! You don’t even know what I was going to say.’

‘I think I do.’

She pulled her hand away. ‘As a matter of fact, I was going to offer to let you make love to me.’

‘And I was trying to spare us both the embarrassment.’

For a moment Madeleine was rigid with shock. An ugly colour swept across her face and he smiled as, from the corner of his eye, he saw her fingers twitch. If she slapped him he’d slap her back, and then what might she do? But she didn’t, and he felt vaguely disappointed when she swept out of the room and slammed into the bedroom.

Turning back to his typewriter, he dismissed her from his mind. It wasn’t that he was unaffected by her offer. Quite the contrary; she had perhaps the most sensuous body he’d ever seen. But Marian, with her shy smile, quirky humour and obvious devotion to them both, had come to mean a lot to him, and he wasn’t prepared to jeopardise their relationship for a quick roll in the hay with Madeleine.

Madeleine flung herself down on her bed, beside herself with rage and humiliation. Seeing Marian’s bedside lamp – the one her mother had bought her for Christmas – she grabbed it, and was about to hurl it at the wall when she stopped herself. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, the bastard! He wanted it as much as she did, and he was just stringing her along so that she would go crawling to him on bended knee. Well, he could forget that, she didn’t beg anyone. If anything, they begged her. And as for his farce of a relationship with Marian, she’d soon put the mockers on that. She’d make damned sure they shared a bedroom now, then they’d see just how long it took him to get fed up with the pious little bitch.

Half an hour later she heard him moving about in the hall. When he knocked on the door she snapped for him to come in, then nonchalantly carried on with her make up.

She was sitting at the dressing table. Her sleek hair gleamed as she shook her head, and her tanned skin glistened in the wintry sunlight. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a tight polo neck sweater. She didn’t turn round, but she didn’t have to – he could see her face in the mirror. His own was inscrutable as he took a moment to wonder at the incredible beauty that was so at odds with the coarse, self-adulating person who inhabited it.

‘Changed your mind, have you?’ she said tartly.

A smile flickered across his mouth before he answered. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I’m worried about Marian. She’s been gone over half an hour.’

Madeleine’s face tightened. ‘So?’

‘I think I’ll go and look for her.’

She turned round, her top lip arching into a sneer. ‘Well, what are you waiting for, my permission?’

He shrugged. ‘I was wondering if you might have some idea of where she’d be.’

‘Why should I? She said she was going to the shops, so I presume that’s where she is.’

He turned back into the hall and took his coat from the rack. ‘If she comes back, tell her I’ve gone looking,’ he said.

‘I will – if I’m here.’

He didn’t bother to remind her that Marian had gone out to get butter for her toast, he knew only too well that the girl had no conscience.

He’d been gone no more than five minutes when the front door opened again and Marian came in. Her face was flushed with excitement as she tore off her coat, then snatched up the carrier bag she’d dropped on the floor.

‘Maddy,’ she said in a whisper as Madeleine came into the hall, ‘I’ve got to talk to you.’

Madeleine gave her a peculiarly acrimonious look – Marian really did look so much better these days, even that dull, long hair of hers seemed to shine. ‘If it’s something you don’t want Paul to hear,’ she said, ‘then don’t worry, he’s gone out.’

Marian stopped, her eyes losing some of their sparkle. ‘Oh? Did he say where?’

Madeleine sighed. ‘As a matter of fact, he’s gone looking for you. Where have you been?’

‘Looking for me?’ Marian’s rapt smile irritated Madeleine and she tossed her head impatiently. ‘I just can’t believe the way he fusses over me,’ Marian laughed. ‘Oh Maddy, I love him so much. I feel like a different person since I’ve known him.’

‘I’d never have noticed,’ Madeleine replied. ‘Anyway, I’ve got a surprise for you.’

‘Me first!’ Marian declared. ‘I’ve got some news and a surprise. The news first.’ She pushed Madeleine back into the bedroom and closed the door. ‘I’ve been downstairs with Pamela Robbins,’ she said. ‘She’s going away filming next week for twelve weeks and she’s letting her flat to a director who’s going to be in Bristol shooting a film for Channel Four.’ Just as she’d known it would, this immediately sparked Madeleine’s interest. ‘And you’ll never guess who it is,’ Marian went on. ‘Matthew Cornwall!’

Madeleine’s face was blank. ‘Who’s he?’

‘Oh Maddy! He’s just about the best known director in the country, and he’s absolutely gorgeous. You were only reading about him the other day in one of your magazines.’

‘Was I?’ Madeleine said. ‘I can’t remember. When’s he moving in?’

‘Next Monday apparently. Oh Maddy, just imagine, Matthew Cornwall right here in our house. This could be just the break you’ve been looking for.’

‘It could indeed,’ Madeleine answered, but carefully hid what she was really thinking – that another man on the scene, and one like Matthew What’s-His-Name, could be just what she was looking for to make Paul as jealous as hell. ‘We’ll have to invite him up for a drink,’ she said.

‘Whatever you like. Now, what’s your surprise?’

‘You’ll have to wait and see. And yours?’

‘You’re going to have to wait for that too,’ Marian chuckled, ‘but if I can pull it off it’s absolutely fantastic.’ She took a packet of butter from her carrier and handed it to Madeleine. ‘Now go and put the kettle on and make us both some tea and toast.’ She waited until Madeleine had gone, then opened the wardrobe door and pushed the carrier bag to the back.

When Paul returned he found them sitting on the floor munching toast and flicking through old magazines, trying to find the article about Matthew Cornwall. When she saw him, Marian jumped to her feet and put her arms round him.

‘I was worried about you,’ he smiled as she kissed him. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Planning a surprise,’ she said, ‘and talking to our neighbour downstairs.’

‘What kind of surprise?’

She gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it?’

‘She’s being very mysterious,’ Madeleine yawned.

‘Speak for yourself,’ Marian retorted. ‘Anyway, want some toast?’

Paul nodded, and once Marian had left the room he caught Madeleine’s eye and held it until she looked away. He might not be prepared to do anything about it, but he got quite a kick out of teasing her. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor and looked daggers at him, before turning round to switch on the TV, stabbing the button hard and leaving him in no doubt that she’d have taken great pleasure in doing the same to him.

‘What’s the telly on for?’ Marian said when she came in with a tray of more toast and coffee. No one answered, so she put the tray on the table and turned Paul’s wrist to see the time. ‘The lunchtime news should be on the other side, shall we watch that?’ she said, looking at Madeleine. When Madeleine only shrugged she started playing around with the tuner button, trying to get a decent reception for BBC 1.

‘Stop!’ Madeleine suddenly shouted. ‘Go back! Go back!’

Marian fiddled with the knob until she found the hazy picture she’d just passed. ‘This?’ she said.

Madeleine was staring at the screen, and surprised by the intent, almost angry expression on her face, Marian turned to watch too.

‘I’m not sure that coup is quite the right word,’ Stephanie Ryder was telling her interviewer, ‘but naturally my partner and I are delighted to have the rights.’

‘Olivia Hastings has been missing for some five years now,’ the interviewer said. ‘Just about everything that is known about her disappearance has been published in the press, heard on TV, indeed written about in Deborah Foreman’s book. Will you be introducing anything new? New evidence, new theories about what happened in Italy?’

Stephanie smiled. ‘You’ll have to wait for the film to come out for the answer to that, I’m afraid.’

‘Olivia Hastings,’ Marian said, thoughtfully. ‘Isn’t she the girl . . . ?’

‘Sssh!’ Madeleine slapped her hand.

‘And will the film be released here first, or in America?’ the interviewer wanted to know.

‘America. I hope to make it with an English crew, but the finance, of course, is totally American. As indeed, is Olivia.’

Madeleine snorted. ‘God, she’s a stuck-up old cow, isn’t she?’

Astonished by this sudden outburst, Marian turned to look at her. ‘Who?’ she asked.

Madeleine sprang to her feet. ‘Her there! That stupid bitch of a producer, Stephanie whatever-her-name-is. God, she thinks she’s it just because she’s being interviewed on the telly. Someone should tell her, she looks like a constipated pig!’

‘But she’s stunning,’ Marian objected, as Madeleine stormed from the room. ‘What on earth was all that about?’ she said, turning to Paul.

‘Search me.’

Concerned that someone she had never met before had so upset Madeleine, Marian followed her into the bedroom. She was sitting at the mirror, dragging a brush furiously through her hair. ‘What’s wrong?’ Marian asked.

‘What do you mean, what’s wrong?’

‘Well, isn’t it a bit strange to . . .’

‘Oh shut up, Marian!’

‘No, I won’t. I want to know why you flew off the handle like that.’

Madeleine jerked herself round to face her cousin. ‘Because, if you must know, she was the old bag who threw my clothes at me in the HTV club bar. Satisfied? And if you tell Paul, I’ll kill you.’

Feeling her mouth start to twitch, Marian thought it wise to leave the room before Madeleine noticed. As she walked back into the sitting-room she looked at Stephanie Ryder, whose interview was coming to an end. No wonder Madeleine had been so upset, Stephanie Ryder wasn’t only a producer, she was beautiful too. Madeleine had never told her that. With Stephanie’s air of cool self-confidence and sophistication, it was no wonder Madeleine felt so wretched and humiliated.

That evening Madeleine wasn’t working, so after she’d been for her sun-bed session the three of them pooled their resources and went to the Chateau Wine Bar. Neither Marian nor Madeleine was in a particularly good mood because they’d had a row about the way Madeleine squandered money on beauty treatments when it could have been used to pay off some of the bills. Madeleine’s defence was that she had to look her best if Matthew Cornwall was arriving the following week, and ungraciously, Marian had given in.

Madeleine’s set, as usual, were grouped round the back bar, and after a few drinks Madeleine became increasingly animated. It was all an attempt to demonstrate to Paul how popular she was, but he was sitting at a table with Marian, engrossed in an amusing discussion of existentialism and completely oblivious to the way Madeleine was flirting with any man who came her way.

By eleven o’clock Madeleine was at screaming-point. Jackie and Sharon had now witnessed how close Marian and Paul were, and both had grudgingly admitted that they didn’t think Madeleine was going to win after all.

‘I mean, look at the way he looks at her,’ Sharon said. ‘He hasn’t got eyes for anyone else.’

‘In a way you can hardly blame him,’ Jackie chipped in. ‘I’d hardly have recognised her. Of course, she’ll never be a raving beauty,’ she added hurriedly, ‘but you know what being in love does to a woman, and I’m telling you, I’ve never seen such a transformation. Has she lost weight?’

‘God knows,’ Madeleine answered through gritted teeth.

‘I think you’re going to have to bow out graciously this time,’ Sharon said.

‘Not on your life,’ Madeleine hissed, now more determined than ever. ‘I’ve got another card up my sleeve, and this one’s bound to work.’

‘What was all that about?’ Marian asked when they were leaving. Madeleine was still laughing because Jackie had shouted out something about a three-card trick.

‘Oh, nothing,’ Madeleine answered. ‘Now come on, let’s hurry up and get home, I’ve got a surprise, if you remember.’

‘Well?’ Marian said, when they got in the front door. ‘What is it?’

Paul watched Madeleine throw her coat on a chair and rush to the mirror to check how much damage the sudden downpour had caused. He hadn’t been as oblivious to her during the evening as she’d thought, but if she’d known what he was thinking she’d have wished he had been. He was repelled by the way she prowled shamelessly about the wine bar on the hunt for a man, and her loud laughter and suggestive eyes were cringe-making – though he was intrigued to see what lengths she would go to in pursuit of her goal.

‘Madeleine!’ Marian half shouted with frustration.

Madeleine looked at Paul, but he was turning on the gas fire. ‘I,’ Madeleine declared, dragging her eyes from him and turning to Marian, ‘have decided that from now on I am going to sleep on the sofa. So you two can have the bedroom to yourselves.’

Paul turned round, his eyebrows raised and the corners of his mouth tight. He should have been prepared for her to pull a stunt like this and he was angry, as much with himself for not having foreseen it as with Madeleine for putting Marian in this position.

‘Madeleine,’ Marian gulped. Her insides were in an uproar and her voice did nothing to hide her mortification. ‘Do you think we could talk about this? In the bedroom?’

Paul caught Madeleine’s arm as she started to leave, and pulled her back. ‘No, Marian,’ he said, ‘you and I will talk about this.’ Then letting Madeleine go, he took Marian’s hand and led her down the hall. ‘Sit down,’ he said, as he closed the bedroom door.

She did, but before he could speak she immediately started to gabble an apology for Madeleine’s lack of tact. ‘I promise you I didn’t put her up to it,’ she was saying. ‘I had no idea. It was as much of a shock to me as it . . .’ She stopped as he put a finger over her lips. Then he sat down and took her hands in his.

‘I’d like to take Madeleine up on her offer,’ he said.

Marian’s eyes and mouth formed three circles as she stared at him. Then a rush of colour stained her white face.

‘If you’re completely averse to the idea,’ he continued, ‘then of course we can forget it. Or, if you like, we can keep the beds separate and I will promise not to molest you.’ Slowly her eyes started to reflect the humour in his. ‘I think you would be wise to say yes,’ he went on. ‘If nothing else, it will stop Madeleine from embarrassing you in this way again. Which, given the opportunity, she will, I’m quite sure.’

‘She doesn’t mean anything by it, you know,’ Marian said, aware that she was veering away from the point. ‘It’s just her sense of humour.’

‘I’m not sure whether humour’s the right word,’ he muttered, ‘but I’m not interested in Madeleine. What I want to know is your answer.’

Marian bowed her head. Her heart was thumping violently and she was sure he must be aware of the way her hands shook. Eventually she nodded, and he pulled her into his arms.

‘I take it that’s a yes,’ he whispered. ‘But it shouldn’t have happened like this. We’ll push the beds together, but I’ll keep to my side until you tell me yourself that you’re ready for more. Until then I think it might be better if you let Madeleine think that we are making love. Now stay here and I’ll go and tell her to come and fetch her things. And would madam like a nightcap?’

‘Madam would.’ The words tripped out so lightly that she was amazed they had been spoken by her own voice, but she was smiling when Madeleine came flying into the room, closed the door and threw her arms round her.

‘Oh Marian, I’m really glad you said yes,’ she cried, almost choking on her rage. ‘Let me help you push the beds together, and I’ll give you a few hints.’ Letting Marian go, she dived between the beds and picked up the small cabinet that separated them. Marian watched her, still too dazed by the events of the last few minutes for anything approaching coherent thought.

‘We’ll suppose you’re already in the nude,’ Madeleine said, carrying the cabinet over to the window. She stole a quick glance at her cousin, and satisfied with Marian’s dismayed expression, she carried on: ‘You should keep the light on, men always prefer that, and when he kisses you – has he used his tongue yet?’

Marian shook her head.

Madeleine hid her amazement and continued. ‘Well, when you’re building up to it,’ she said, ‘he’ll put his tongue in your mouth. It’s sort of the first part of foreplay. You should put yours in his too, by the way. Then he’ll probably kiss your neck, then your boobs. Now when his hand touches you down below . . .’

‘Oh, stop it, Madeleine.’

‘Why? What’s the matter?’

Marian shrugged. ‘It’s personal, isn’t it?’

‘I thought you wanted some advice?’

‘I do – did, but . . .’

‘Look, if you’re going to be this bashful with me, how the hell are you going to be with him? Anyway, it’s all perfectly natural, everyone does it – well, everyone except you. And he’ll have done it hundreds of times before, he’ll know exactly what he’s doing, so you’re going to look pretty stupid lying there like a dummy, aren’t you?’

‘I won’t lie there like a dummy!’

‘Then what are you going to do? Come on, tell me! See, you don’t know, do you? What if asks you to put his thing in your mouth?’

Marian looked at her, aghast. ‘He wouldn’t . . . would he?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, of course he would. And you’ll gag, everyone does, especially if he asks you to swallow his sperm, but you’d better get used to the idea because men just love oral sex. And get him to do it to you too, it’s fantastic!’

‘I’m not listening to you any more,’ Marian cried. ‘You’re insane if you think I’m going to ask him to do that to me.’

‘Do what? You don’t even know what a man does when he’s got his head down there, do you?’

‘Not really, and I don’t want, to either.’

‘All right! All right! Forget that. But whatever you do, you’ve got to play with his balls.’

Despite herself, Marian giggled. ‘Honestly, Madeleine!’

‘Hold them in your hand for a while, and make sure his thing’s absolutely rock hard, then squeeze. I’m telling you, it’ll blow his mind.’

Marian looked dubious. ‘But I thought men found that painful.’

Madeleine rolled her eyes. ‘God, you’ve got a lot to learn. That’s why I told you to make sure it’s really hard, it doesn’t hurt then.’

Marian flopped down on the bed. ‘I’m going to make a real hash of this, I just know it,’ she groaned, forgetting for a moment that it wasn’t going to happen that night.

‘You won’t,’ Madeleine assured her. ‘Just do as I’ve told you and have plenty of tissues at hand, the blood makes a real mess.’

‘Blood? Oh yes, the blood.’

Marian could feel herself sinking into despondency and was more relieved than she should have been when she remembered that Paul had said they’d do nothing until she was ready.

She undressed in the bathroom, wishing she had something a little more fetching to put on than a flannelette nightgown. When she studied herself in the mirror she was amazed to find her own face looking back at her with such calm, when inside a tempest of conflicting emotions raged. Her chest heaved with nervous breath, yet she felt light-headed with exhilaration. She longed for him to touch her in the intimate places that were tingling so warmly, yet the thought frightened and embarrassed her.

He was already in bed when she went into the bedroom, and she almost gasped at the sight of his naked chest. It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen it before, but for some reason it looked different tonight. She felt a thrill run through her veins and quickly turned away.

He looked up from the book he was reading. ‘Ah, my turn in the bathroom,’ he said, throwing back the sheets. ‘Your nightcap’s on the dressing-table.’

‘Thank you.’ Her voice was hoarse, and her legs wobbled as she walked. In case he was naked she kept her eyes averted, but caught his reflection in the mirror as he went out of the door, and seeing that he wore his shorts she didn’t know whether she was disappointed or glad. But the dark hair on his thighs affected her so severely that it took the rigidity from her knees and she sat down, clutching the brandy and shivering.

When he reappeared, smelling of toothpaste, he got back into bed. Then, reaching across and throwing open the sheets on her bed, he said, ‘Come along, you’ll freeze sitting there. And as I said, I’m not going to molest you.’

She walked to the bed and climbed in. In all her life she’d never felt quite so strange.

He picked up her hand and kissed it. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

She nodded. Then a few seconds later she whispered his name.

When she didn’t continue, he took her chin and turned her to face him. ‘What is it?’

For a long time she looked at him, not really knowing what she wanted to say, except to let him know that she was glad he was there. But it seemed so trite, and in the end she lowered her eyes and shook her head.

He leaned over and touched her mouth with his. Then pulling back the sheets on his bed he said, ‘Come here. Get in beside me and let me hold you.’

When all she did was stare at him with confused, wide eyes, he smiled. ‘I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to,’ he said. ‘I only want you to feel safe in my arms.’

She moved awkwardly, then her foot caught in the hem of her nightgown and she tumbled against him. She wanted to cry with humiliation. But he laughed, and turning her round, settled her head on his shoulder. ‘Just think,’ he said, kissing the tip of her nose, ‘now we can tell everyone that you literally fell into bed with me.’

A bubble of laughter collided with a sob, and suddenly she was so happy that she put an arm round his neck and lifted her face to kiss him.

‘Don’t push your luck,’ he said, unwinding himself, ‘I’m only flesh and blood after all. And you’re becoming more desirable by the minute.’

He turned off the light and she lay back in his arms, sighing contentedly as the tension ebbed from her body. For now it was enough just to be with him like this, and to know that when she found the courage to tell him she was ready, he would be too.

In the sitting-room Madeleine lay staring up at the ceiling, her breathing quickened by fury. Her only consolation was that any minute now, if Marian adhered to her instructions, she would hear Paul O’Connell howl with pain.

But it didn’t happen; in fact, once the sliver of light from under the bedroom door had disappeared she heard nothing at all. This reassured her a little, but it was still a long time before she fell asleep.

The next morning she found Marian in the kitchen making breakfast, humming along to the radio and practically skipping between the toaster and the kettle. One look at her face was enough to tell Madeleine that despite the silence, something had happened between Marian and Paul the night before, and she swept out of the kitchen, mumbling that she didn’t want any breakfast. She headed straight into the bedroom, remembering too late that Paul was in there.

He was standing beside the wardrobe, but turned round as she came in, doing nothing to conceal his nudity. His face registered only mild surprise when he saw it was her, and then he laughed quietly as her eyes flew to his penis, at the same time taking in the firmness of his thighs, the clutch of black pubic hair, and the hard muscles of his abdomen.

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, experiencing a rare embarrassment, but when she made to close the door he said:

‘What’s the matter, Madeleine? You’ve seen a naked man before, so why are you running away?’

‘I’m not running away,’ she hissed. ‘For all I care, you can walk around naked all day long.’

He grinned. ‘I expect you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

‘It makes no difference to me what you do.’

‘What’s the matter, have you lost your nerve now Marian’s around? If you care to look again, you’ll see you’re having something of an effect on me.’

Unable to stop herself, she looked at his hardening penis. Under her scrutiny it grew further still, until slowly she started to smile. Then looking back at his face, she said, ‘Well, you know who you can stick that up, don’t you,’ and she flounced out of the room.

His explosion of laughter annoyed her, but the fact that she’d given him an erection was what really mattered. And the very morning after he’d first slept with Marian, too! So her little plan of forcing them into bed together had worked after all. Obviously Marian hadn’t satisfied him – he’d made that more than plain. Well, if he thought she was going to drop her knickers now that it suited him, he could think again. She’d get him on the run a bit before she gave in, she might even try and get him to beg.

Over the following weekend Madeleine’s mood fluctuated between depression and elation. The problem was that since their short encounter in the bedroom, Paul had behaved as though nothing had happened, almost as if she didn’t exist. In her better moments she managed to convince herself that it was because Marian was always around, and he was just biding his time. But in her worst moments she hated her cousin with such bitterness that she could barely be civil to her.

Then on Monday Matthew Cornwall arrived. They knew he was there because a package arrived for him, by hand, which Marian carried up the stairs. The man who answered the door told her that Matthew was on the phone, so he had taken the package. Then Marian dashed up the stairs to tell Madeleine.

In her excitement and eagerness to cheer her cousin up, she didn’t notice how pinched Madeleine’s face was. Paul was at his typewriter where she’d left him, and dropping a kiss on his head, she spun round and grasped Madeleine’s hands. ‘He’s here!’ she cried. ‘He’s downstairs now.’

‘Who?’ Paul asked, looking up.

‘Matthew Cornwall, of course.’ She turned back to Madeleine. ‘I brought a parcel up for him,’ she explained. ‘I’d have invited him up for a drink there and then, but he was on the phone when I knocked. I caught a glimpse of him, though. He’s really good-looking, Maddy! Anyway, what do you think? Shall we write him a note?’

Madeleine looked at Paul, but he was laughing at Marian’s enthusiasm. ‘Give the man a chance,’ he said. ‘If he’s only just got here, then . . .’

‘Oh, don’t go all cautious on me,’ Marian cried. ‘We’ve got to do this for Madeleine. I know, you go down and invite him . . . Oh Paul!’ she groaned, when he held up his hands and started to shake his head.

‘I’m having nothing to do with this conspiracy,’ he said, and circling Marian’s waist, he pulled her onto his lap. ‘Now, how about a proper kiss when you come in the door?’ he demanded.

Marian shot a look at Madeleine. She hadn’t missed her cousin’s looks of desolation, even malice, when Paul kissed her lately. But Madeleine had turned away and was already walking out of the door. Only then did Marian realise that Madeleine hadn’t spoken a word since she’d returned. She turned to Paul. ‘What’s wrong? Did you two have a row while I was out?’

‘No,’ he answered. And before she could ask any more he tore a piece of paper from his typewriter and told her to read it.

He found Madeleine in the kitchen. ‘Well,’ he said, filling the kettle, ‘the man’s arrived, so what are you going to do now?’

‘That’s my business.’

‘Not more than ten minutes ago you were threatening to have sex with him to make me jealous.’

‘Would it?’

He turned to look at her, surprised by the note of uncertainty in her voice when only moments before Marian walked in she had sneeringly informed him that he could drive himself mad thinking about what she was going to do with Matthew Cornwall. Now her lovely violet eyes looked sad, and realising that perhaps he’d gone too far in teasing her, he swallowed the sarcastic remark he’d been about to make and said, ‘It might.’ It was a lie, but he knew it was important to Madeleine to have her sexuality confirmed.

A contemptuous smile suddenly warped her mouth. ‘Well, I hope you fucking rot with it,’ she said, and pulling herself upright, she stalked out of the kitchen.

Not knowing what to do next, she decided to consult Jackie and Sharon. They met at Sharon’s flat in Henleaze.

‘If I were you I’d go for it,’ Jackie said. ‘I mean, what have you got to lose? A bit of rumpy-pumpy with Matthew Cornwall and all your problems could be solved.’

‘How?’

‘In the first place he might give you a part in the film he’s doing, or at the very least put you in touch with some influential people; and in the second, Paul’s admitted it would make him jealous. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Madeleine answered slowly. ‘But making him jealous doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll dump Marian.’

‘If you can get some decent contacts out of Matthew Cornwall,’ Sharon said, ‘or even better, get him to cast you in his film, then Paul O’Connell will be eating out of your hand.’

‘How do you work that out?’

‘What’s the most important thing to Paul? His writing. If you were to become famous you could open all sorts of doors for him, and he’ll see that in less time than it’ll take you to get Matthew Cornwall in the sack.’

Madeleine wasn’t too sure about that, in fact her self-confidence had waned to an all-time low over the past few weeks. That men were still calling her up all the time, that heads turned whenever she walked into a room, even that she’d managed to give Paul an erection, didn’t matter; she still hadn’t been able to get him away from Marian. And if Paul was managing to resist her, what was to say that Matthew Cornwall couldn’t too?

She didn’t voice her reservations, but went home to mull them over in her own time. But as she walked upstairs to the flat, Marian came rushing in behind her, waving an envelope and shouting, ‘I’ve got it! I’ve got it! I’ve got it!’

‘Got what?’ Madeleine asked, watching Marian’s face and feeling her heart turn over with a painful combination of envy, love and incredulity. Sure, Marian did look a whole lot better these days, but what did a man like Paul see in her?

‘The surprise I told you about,’ Marian answered, and she ran on ahead, telling Madeleine to hurry up if she wanted to find out what it was.

‘OK, are you ready?’ Marian asked five minutes later. The three of them were in the sitting-room, Paul at his typewriter, Madeleine perched on the arm of the sofa and Marian beside the table. Her eyes were glittering, and as she looked at Paul he laughed and pulled her into his lap.

‘What are you up to?’ he murmured, giving her a squeeze and brushing his lips against her hair.

Madeleine coughed loudly, then said, ‘If you don’t mind, there are other people in the room. And I’ve been waiting almost a week to find out what this surprise is, so shall we get on with it?’ In fact, she’d forgotten all about it, but now she was intrigued enough to have pushed her problems to the back of her mind – at least until she knew what Marian was up to.

‘Sorry,’ Marian said, turning to look at her. Then remembering that she wanted to see Paul’s face when she told them, she moved across the room and stood in front of the fire.

Both Madeleine and Paul watched as she tore open the envelope she was holding and, with a theatrical flourish of her arm, produced three air tickets. ‘We are going to Rome!’ she announced.

Madeleine and Paul stared at her, dumbfounded, and she burst out laughing. Madeleine was the first to recover her senses and pounced on the obvious question. ‘Where the hell did you get the money?’

There was a flash of discomfort in Marian’s eyes before she answered. ‘I cashed in an insurance policy,’ she lied. She didn’t want to tell them how, after being turned down for a loan at the bank – who had asked her to hand over her cheque card while she was there – she had gone to a finance company in Horfield and managed to wheedle the money out of them. ‘I got fifteen hundred pounds,’ she said, ‘and I thought, to hell with the bills, we could all do with a holiday. So, my loves, we are going for a long weekend in Rome.’

Paul was shaking his head, knowing she had done it for him. He walked over to her and took her face between his hands. His eyes looked searchingly into hers, and then he whispered, ‘I love you, Marian Deacon.’

‘I love you too,’ she breathed, and suddenly she was crying.

‘Oh God!’ Madeleine muttered, but managed to restrain herself from going any further. But as she watched his fingers run through Marian’s hair, his lips cover Marian’s, her heart started to pound, and before she could stop herself she screamed and ran from the room.

Tearing herself away, Marian rushed after her. ‘Maddy! Maddy! What is it?’ she cried, but Madeleine slammed the bathroom door in her face. ‘For God’s sake, let me in!’ Marian shouted, rattling the handle and banging on the door. But Madeleine couldn’t answer. Her voice was engulfed by sobs and tears of desperation coursed down her face. ‘Why?’ her heart was crying. ‘Why doesn’t he love me?’

Marian knocked again and again until in the end Paul came to get her. ‘Leave her,’ he said. ‘She’ll come out when she’s ready.’

Marian looked bewildered, but at the same time, as they went into the kitchen she’d already guessed what was wrong. ‘We shouldn’t flaunt things in her face like this,’ she said quietly. ‘More than anything else in the world she wants a boyfriend, someone who really loves her. She’d never admit it, but it means even more to her than being famous. She’s lonely, and the way she carries on with men is all an act to cover it up. She’s always been terrified of being ignored. It’s why I got her a ticket to come to Rome with us. I couldn’t leave her behind. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘You’re so wonderful to me,’ Marian whispered. ‘I wish she could find someone too.’

Paul shrugged. ‘Who knows, maybe this Matthew Cornwall could be the answer to all her prayers. Now, about Rome.’

Marian held up her hands. ‘No, I know what you’re going to say. That it’s very generous of me, you’ll be grateful ‘til the end of your days, but you can’t accept.’

He nodded.

‘Which is why I bought non-refundable tickets, so now you have to go whether you like it or not.’

He threw back his head, then laughing, he scooped her into his arms, lifting her right off the floor. ‘I like it,’ he said. As he put her down again he noticed that her cheeks had turned pink and she wasn’t able to look at him. ‘What’s on your mind?’ he asked. And when her face turned an even deeper red and she started to wipe down the draining board, he smiled, quickly understanding what she wanted to say but couldn’t quite find the courage for. ‘A kind of honeymoon?’ he suggested, and she turned her head to one side, pursing her lips with shy laughter.

Using his fingers to bring her face round to his, he leaned forward and touched his lips against hers. At first the kiss was so gentle she could barely feel more than his breath, then slowly his arms encircled her and he pushed his tongue deep into her mouth.

When he pulled away she clung to him, knowing that her legs were too weak to support her. ‘Something tells me you rather liked that,’ he whispered. His eyes were soft and teasing, and a gurgle of laughter escaped her reddened mouth.

‘I wish I could buy you a trousseau,’ he said, still holding her against him and pushing the hair back from her face. ‘But then, that flannelette nightie just drives me wild!’

He yelped as she kicked him, and spinning out of his arms, she said, ‘For that you can have the single room and Madeleine and I will share the double.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ he said. ‘And now I’m off to the library to give you and Madeleine a chance to talk.’

‘You’re too bloody perfect for words,’ Marian quipped, and as she helped him on with his coat she wanted to tell him she loved him again, but was too afraid she might be overdoing it. She walked downstairs with him, on the pretext of seeing if there was any afternoon mail, but really in the hope he would kiss her like that again. But he gave her no more than a fleeting peck on the lips, and left her clutching a red telephone bill.

She was surprised to find Madeleine in the kitchen when she went back upstairs, and unsure what to say, she hovered in the doorway, watching as Madeleine poured wine into two glasses, then turned and handed her one. ‘I’m sorry, Marian,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I suppose it’s the thought of losing you.’

‘You’re not going to lose me,’ Marian answered, taking the glass and following Madeleine into the sitting room. ‘Nothing’s going to change. The three of us will stay together, and then when you meet someone, well, there’ll be four of us.’

Madeleine fell back on the sofa. ‘I can’t come to Rome, Marian. I . . .’

‘I’m sorry, but you have to,’ Marian interrupted. ‘As I told Paul, the tickets are non-refundable, and besides, I want you to be there. Now, I’ve hidden the brochure in the bedroom so let’s have a look at the hotel. And I’ve had another idea, too. Why don’t we open an account at Debenham’s or John Lewis and buy ourselves some clothes to take with us?’

Madeleine’s face was an amusing combination of exasperation and misery. ‘There’s no stopping you, is there?’ she said as Marian laughed. Then her eyes lit up. ‘Ten thousand pounds!’ she challenged.

‘Ten?’ Marian scoffed. ‘Two hundred thousand pounds!’

She shrieked as Madeleine pinched her, and cried, ‘A Mercedes sports car for me and a Reliant Robin for you!’

‘A mansion for me with a shed at the end of the garden for you,’ Madeleine countered.

‘A tropical island for me and one acre of the Pacific for you.’

‘What am I supposed to do with that?’ Madeleine cried.

‘I don’t know. A nice intimate cruise for you and Matthew Cornwall?’

Madeleine thought about that, then said, ‘Yes, why not? Now go and get that brochure, and tomorrow we’ll go to Debenham’s and spend, spend, spend.’

By the time Paul came back Madeleine had been out for another bottle of wine, and while Marian was tipsy Madeleine was ‘pissed out of her skull’, as she informed him.

‘And now,’ she said, staggering to her feet, ‘I’m going downstairs to introduce myself to Matthew Cornwall.’

‘Oh God, no, Maddy!’ Marian cried. ‘Not like that. You’ll ruin everything.’

‘Rubbish!’ Madeleine declared. ‘And I’ll tell you what, if he plays his cards right he can do whatever he likes to me, just so long as he gives me a part in his film and makes me rich and famous.’ She looked at Paul but her eyes were too blurry to read his expression.

Marian giggled. ‘Paul, stop her,’ she said, but Paul merely stood aside and watched as Madeleine teetered down the hall and somehow managed to wrest her bra from under her sweater. Turning back, she laughed and threw it at him.

‘I’ll have to go after her,’ Marian said.

As she passed him, Paul caught her arm. ‘Let her go,’ he said. ‘She’ll only turn nasty if you get in her way while she’s in that state.’

‘I suppose so,’ Marian sighed. ‘And with any luck he won’t be in.’

Madeleine was picking her way carefully down the stairs. When she reached the landing below, she rapped hard on the door. She didn’t have long to wait before he answered, and when she saw him she blinked several times. They’d never found that picture of him, but Marian had said he was gorgeous. Well, he wasn’t bad, but she’d been expecting someone taller and not quite so thin. Still, he had a nice enough face, despite the glasses, and until Paul came along she’d always quite liked dark men.

‘Hello,’ she slurred. ‘I’m Madeleine. I live upstairs.’

He smiled. ‘Hello.’

‘I was wondering whether you’d like a drink.’

‘Well this isn’t . . .’

‘I’d invite you up to my flat, but my cousin’s there with her boyfriend. But we could always have a drink in yours.’

‘As I was saying, this isn’t my flat, exactly.’

‘I know. It’s Pamela’s, but she won’t mind. We’re having drinks together all the time down here.’ She brushed past him. ‘Come on, I’ll show you where everything is.’

He stood aside and watched Madeleine walk down the hall. Then taking a deep breath, he closed the door and followed her into the bedroom.

‘Oops! Silly me!’ she giggled. ‘Took the wrong turning.’ She backed out and weaved her way into the kitchen. ‘Now, where does she keep the wine?’ she said, looking round.

‘I’ve got some already open,’ he told her.

‘Wonderful. Lead me to it.’

He took her into the sitting room and gently eased her into a chair. ‘So you live upstairs?’ he said, his lean face alive with amusement.

‘With my cousin,’ she answered. ‘Who I hate. Well, I don’t exactly hate her, but I can’t stand her.’

‘Oh,’ he said. Then after a pause: ‘And what do you do, Madeleine?’

‘Do?’ She looked perplexed. ‘Oh, do! I’m a shtrip-o-gram girl. You know what that is?’

‘I think so,’ he smiled.

‘Can I have a drink?’

‘Certainly.’ He walked over to the sideboard and poured her a glass of wine.

‘Actually,’ she said, trying out her best voice, ‘that’s why I came down here. You see, I want to be a model and I thought you might be able to . . . I mean, I want to be an actress and I hoped you might give me a part in your film.’ She took a gulp of wine, then fumbled the glass onto the small table beside her.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘Well, it’s not that . . .’

‘I know all about the casting couch,’ she interrupted, ‘but I’d rather do a proper audition. You know, prove what I can do.’

He covered his smile with his hand. ‘I think it might . . .’

‘But if you want to do it first, that’s all right because it’ll make Paul jealous, but only if you promise to give me an audition.’

His eyebrows shot towards his receding hairline and this time he actually laughed. ‘And who’s Paul?’ he asked.

‘My cousin’s boyfriend.’

‘I see.’ He was thoughtful for a moment, then said, ‘So what you’re saying is, if I promise to give you an audition you’ll . . .’ he hesitated, not quite sure how to finish the sentence.

‘Let you fuck me,’ she supplied, sitting back and crossing her legs.

He couldn’t help being shocked, but laughed all the same. ‘That’s very generous of you, Madeleine,’ he said, ‘but I think you should . . .’ He stopped as she suddenly yanked her sweater over her head.

During all the years he’d worked in films, he’d come across dozens of women who were only too keen to make themselves available, drunk or sober. In that respect Madeleine was no exception. But what did set her apart from the rest was not only the size of her breasts – he’d always found it difficult to resist large breasts – but the look in her eyes as she waited for his reaction to them. He’d never seen anything quite so erotic.

She stood up and walked towards him. ‘Do you like my tits?’ she said.

‘Very much,’ he murmured, watching them as they swayed gently against her ribcage.

‘Everyone likes my tits,’ she said, scooping them into her hands. She rolled her nipples between her fingers until they were rich and red and succulent. ‘If you want to touch them, you’ve got to promise to give me a chance,’ she told him.

‘OK.’

‘But I don’t want an audition, I want a part.’

He shrugged. ‘Sure.’

She brushed her hand across the front of his trousers and feeling the erection, she suddenly moaned. It was weeks since she’d had sex, and in all that time her body had been on fire for Paul. Now, at the touch of a man lust charged through her veins, and she closed her eyes, whimpering as she told herself it was Paul’s mouth that had closed around her nipples; it was Paul’s hand pressing into her crotch, it was Paul’s trousers she was undoing.

And it was Paul who removed her jeans, pushed her urgently to the floor and opened her legs. And when he jerked himself inside her it was still Paul. She wrapped her legs around him, returned his kisses with fury, pulled at his hair and shouted for him to go faster and harder. Then suddenly she could feel it starting to happen; the heat rushing to her loins, the muscles tensing around his penis, control fleeing, and her fingers dug into his buttocks, urging him to push her over the edge.

But then his hips slowed and he ground them into her as he shouted, ‘JEE-SUS!’ before gasping and spluttering at the burning flood of semen that spurted from his body.

He was lying over her, sweat pouring from his skin and the breath still shuddering from his lungs. She turned to look at him and blinked. For a moment she wondered who he was, then remembering, the corner of her mouth dropped in a wry smile. If it could be that good just pretending it was Paul, then God only knew what it would be like if it was him. But right now Matthew Cornwall was more important, and because of the way he had succumbed so easily, then yelled with such desperation for his maker when he came, she felt an intoxicating swell of pure victory enfold her.

‘Would you like to come and meet Paul and Marian?’ she said, as they were getting dressed.

He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve got to go out. Perhaps some other time.’

‘But you’ll keep your promise?’

He nodded. ‘Sure.’

‘What’s the part?’

He looked at her blankly.

‘You said I had a part in your film.’

‘Oh, yes, sure. We’re always looking for support cast, lucky I met you, really.’

Her face broke into a beaming smile. ‘You mean, you really have got a part for me?’

He turned to the table and scribbled down a number. ‘Here,’ he said, handing it to her, ‘call this number tomorrow morning. Ask for Dorothy and she’ll tell you when to turn up.’

Madeleine snatched the piece of paper, threw her arms around him, pushed her tongue deeply and sensuously into his mouth, then rushed out of the flat.

Marian and Paul were sitting on the sofa watching TV when they heard the front door slam and Madeleine come running down the hall. ‘I’ve cracked it!’ she squealed, waving her piece of paper and dancing round the room. ‘I’ve got a part.’

Paul and Marian exchanged looks. ‘Well done you,’ Marian said, not even bothering to hide her surprise. ‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know yet. I have to call this number tomorrow morning and “Dorothy” will tell me where I have to turn up.’

‘So it’s an audition?’

‘No. I told you, he’s cast me in a part.’ She pulled Marian off the sofa and spun her round. ‘I’m going to be in a film!’ she cried.

After what had happened with the props men at HTV, Marian couldn’t help being sceptical. But she said nothing, and the following morning when Madeleine called Dorothy, Dorothy asked her to report to the Holiday Inn the following Tuesday at Seven in the morning, when there would be transport waiting to take her to location. Marian heaved a sigh of relief and went off to the Bristol Hippodrome to do a half day’s typing.

‘And what did you have to do to get the part?’ Paul asked when he came back upstairs after seeing Marian off.

Madeleine was reading her horoscope and didn’t bother to look up as she answered, ‘What do you think?’

Paul sat down at the table, leaned back in his chair and grinned. ‘So you actually screwed him.’

‘Don’t sound so surprised. Believe it or not, there are men around who behave like men – not like some I could mention.’

‘Meaning me?’

She looked up with an arrogant smile on her lips. ‘Well, let’s face it, apart from flashing it at me, you’ve done nothing with yours in months.’

His shout of laughter nettled her, and she threw him a filthy look and started to get up.

‘A word of advice before you go,’ he said. ‘You don’t make people jealous by sleeping around these days. All you make them is afraid of what they might catch.’

He caught her hand before it struck his face, and twisted it behind her back.

‘You bastard!’ she hissed.

He nodded. ‘You can call me anything you like, Madeleine, but I can’t help wondering – if she knew what you were really up to – what Marian would call you?’ He let her go, and whistling tunelessly he walked into the hall, picked up his coat and went out.