– 19 –

‘You had me scared half out my mind,’ Matthew chuckled, as he handed Marian the glass of mineral water she’d asked for, then sat down next to her on the sofa. ‘It was just as well you were there when I rang or God only knows what I’d have done. Called in the CIA, no doubt. Anyway, apart from a few awkward moments with Stephanie later, there was no harm done.’

Marian’s smile was shamefaced. She hadn’t meant to cause him alarm, she hadn’t even meant to ring, really, it was just that she had wanted to hear his voice, so she’d telephoned with the excuse of telling him that Bronwen was going to spend the night with Sergio, and did he, Matthew, think that Bronwen would be safe?

‘By the way,’ he said, ‘does Bronwen know you’ve told me about her and Sergio?’

‘No. And please don’t let on that you know or she’ll never trust me again.’

Matthew laughed, and saluting her with his gin and tonic said, ‘My lips are sealed.’

They were sitting in the front bar of the Groucho Club, and as it was just after six o’clock, it was already beginning to fill up with the media and publishing people who frequented it. Marian looked around at the lively faces, listening to the gushings of ‘darling’, and ‘precious’, and ‘wonderful’, and smiled as she pictured Hazel, their production manager, in this setting; she’d be as thoroughly at home here as the winged armchairs and overstuffed sofas.

‘Getting on any better with Hazel now, are you?’ Matthew asked, as if reading her thoughts.

Marian grimaced. ‘We’re getting there. She completely reorganised the office while we were away, I expect you noticed. I wouldn’t mind, except that I can’t find a thing. And now that she’s moved her secretary in as well, and Woody’s arrived with his paraphernalia, we’re like sardines in a paper factory down there. Still, it’s all go now that we’re off to New York in a few weeks, and I rather like the company, to be honest – even if Hazel does keep grumbling about my hair, or my lack of style, or whatever else she feels like complaining about.’

‘Tell her to mind her own business. You look perfectly all right to me, and not everyone has to deck themselves up like a Christmas tree or go about frightening people in their widow’s weeds, as Stephanie calls them.’

‘Well, as long you think I’m all right, that’s all that matters, isn’t it,’ Marian teased, then almost melted at the ironic look that came over his face.

‘Enough about old Haze,’ he said, ‘I want to talk to you about this Art Douglas business, young lady.’

‘Don’t call me young lady like that,’ she retorted, ‘it makes me feel as if I’m in kindergarten. Besides, there’s no more to tell if Grace has told you everything.’

‘OK, but I don’t want you going anywhere or doing anything alone. If Douglas can come to London to find you, so can others.’

‘Why should they do that? I haven’t told anyone what I know, and I don’t intend to. Besides, they, whoever they are – unless we’re talking about Rubin Meyer and Sergio Rambaldi – don’t know that I know, do they?’

‘Let’s hope not.’ He took a sip of his drink, then looked at her quizzically. ‘Doesn’t any of this frighten you, just a little?’

‘Not now. Not since you told me that you know too. I feel quite safe in your hands, Matthew.’

He laughed. ‘Don’t, whatever you do, let Stephanie hear you say that. Anyway, whether you’re frightened or not I don’t want you taking any chances, so I’ve spoken to Bronwen and asked her to stay at Stephanie’s flat with you until we go to New York.’

‘You’ve what? Didn’t she think that was a bit odd?’

‘Yes. But I told her you were lonely, and that it made little difference to her whether she was in Stephanie’s flat or her husband’s pied-a-terre, seeing as he’s not in town at the moment, so you two could keep one another company.’

‘I’d have thought she was sick of me by now. We’ve just spent over two weeks in each other’s company, twenty-four hours a day.’

‘You do yourself an injustice. She quite liked the idea, actually. She’s moving in over the weekend while you’re away.’

Marian looked at her watch, but she still had plenty of time to get to Paddington for her train.

‘I’ve read the scenes you drafted for Italy,’ he told her. ‘They’re exceptional. You’ve got quite a talent, you know, Marian, you should think about using it more profitably. I think Stephanie’s going to have a word with you about that.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’ll let her tell you.’

‘Matthew,’ she said, after a pause, ‘do you think Olivia’s still alive?’

He compressed his lips together thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered finally. ‘Sometimes I think she is, other times I don’t. What about you?’

‘I think she is.’

‘Why? Not because of the screams you heard in Tuscany, surely?’

‘No, I’m pretty certain that was a nightmare now.’

‘Then why do you think she’s alive?’

‘Well, nobody’s ever found a body. I mean, surely one would have turned up after all this time if she were dead. So I think she’s alive.’

‘And don’t tell me, it’s your intention to find out,’ he said, arching his brows humorously.

‘Oh no. I’m not so conceited as to think I can succeed where everyone else has failed. But I will admit that it’s driving me nuts trying to work out what’s happened to her, isn’t it you?’

‘Yes, it is.’ He put down his drink, and taking her hand, he turned her to face him. ‘But I hope you mean it when you say you’re not going to try and find out. I know that sitting here in London, America and Italy seem a whole world away, but please don’t underestimate the crimes – or indeed the people – Olivia was involved with. I’m sure you feel as strongly as I do about what happened to the children, anyone would, so the men who committed those atrocities will stop at nothing to hide their identities. If you dig too deep then whatever’s happened to Olivia could well happen to you. Remember, it’s because she knew what they were doing that she was sent to Italy, and no one’s ever seen her since. And fond of you as I am, Marian, I don’t want to be making a film about you.’

He was looking so deeply into her eyes, and his hand was holding hers so tightly, that by the time he’d finished her face was suffused with colour and her pulses were racing. She gazed into his face, for the moment unable to utter a word as the pretence of light-heartedness which had so far carried her through this meeting was eclipsed by the truth of what she felt for him.

‘Well, hello.’

Both Matthew and Marian looked up, and Marian’s heart foundered as she saw Stephanie and Bronwen standing over them.

‘Not interrupting anything, are we?’ Stephanie said, sweeping her eyes from Marian’s crimson face to their joined hands.

‘Not at all,’ Matthew smiled, getting to his feet. ‘As a matter of fact, we were just talking about Olivia.’

‘Really?’ Stephanie said archly, and neither Marian nor Matthew missed the knowing look that passed between her and Bronwen.

‘Yes, really,’ he said. ‘Now, what would you two like to drink?’

Ignoring Matthew, Stephanie said, ‘I thought you were catching the six o’clock train to Devon, Marian.’

Marian’s eyes flicked nervously to Matthew. ‘I was only . . .’

‘I asked her to come and have a drink with me so she could fill me in in more detail on what happened over in Italy,’ Matthew finished for her.

Again Stephanie looked at Bronwen, but Bronwen, not wanting to get involved, was studying the cocktail menu.

Then Matthew put an arm round Stephanie and whispered something in her ear. Stephanie burst out laughing, and dropping her bag on the floor, she gave him a quick kiss before sitting down on the sofa facing Marian. Certain that whatever he’d said had been about her, Marian was mortified and reached quickly for her bag, mumbling that she had to leave now.

‘No you don’t,’ Matthew told her. ‘Your train’s not until a quarter to nine so you’ll have another drink. And you, Bron? What’ll you have?’

‘I’ll have a Kir Royale,’ she said, obviously relieved that the awkward moment had passed.

‘Me too,’ Stephanie said, then turning to Marian, she smiled. ‘Have you called your mother to tell her you’ll be late?’

Marian nodded. ‘I used the phone out there, in reception.’

‘Good. When are you coming back?’

‘On Sunday night,’ Marian assured her. ‘I’ll be at work on Monday.’

‘That’s what I like to hear, don’t you, Bron? Dedication – and loyalty.’

The was no mistaking the sarcasm in Stephanie’s voice, and Marian looked down at her hands, not knowing what to do or say.

Bronwen sat down next to her. ‘Have you heard?’ she said. ‘I’m going to be your flat-mate?’

‘Yes,’ Marian smiled, ‘Matthew told me.’ Immediately she wished she could take back the last three words.

Then, to Marian’s relief, someone Stephanie and Bronwen both knew came over to talk to them, and by the time he went away Matthew was back with the drinks.

Over the next hour Marian hardly spoke at all, while Stephanie and Matthew resumed their argument about the helicopter and cranes for the opening sequence, with Bronwen playing devil’s advocate. The outcome was, as ever, a stalemate, and Bronwen declared that they should discuss the more pressing matter of who was to play the part of Olivia.

When eight o’clock finally came round Marian waited for a lull in the conversation, then announced that she would have to leave.

‘How are you getting to Paddington, cariad?’

‘I’m taking her,’ Matthew answered.

Marian looked at him in astonishment. He hadn’t said so before.

‘You haven’t got your car here,’ Stephanie informed him acidly.

‘I know. I’m taking her in a taxi.’

‘But she’s perfectly capable of getting a taxi on her own, aren’t you, Marian?’

‘Yes,’ Marian answered with alacrity.

‘I’m sure she is, but I’m taking her. Will you still be here when I get back, or shall I meet you at the flat?’

‘Please, Matthew,’ Marian said, ‘I can get a taxi on my own, honestly. Thank you.’ But looking at Stephanie’s face, she knew she’d only succeeded in making matters worse.

‘I’ve got a terrific idea,’ Stephanie said. ‘Why don’t you go to Devon with Marian, Matthew. That way you’ll be absolutely certain she’s got there in one piece, won’t you?’

‘And I’ve got an even better idea,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come in the taxi with us to Paddington, and then we can take it on home, together?’

‘No, thank you,’ Stephanie replied. ‘I’m having a drink with Bronwen. Goodnight.’

Rolling his eyes and letting out a deep sigh, Matthew turned to Marian and jerked his head towards the door.

‘You needn’t come with me,’ Marian told him as he flagged down a taxi. ‘I can make it to Paddington on my own, I promise you.’

‘Nevertheless, I’m coming.’

‘But why? No one’s following me as far as I’m aware, and it’s just causing friction between you and Stephanie.’

‘Let me worry about Stephanie,’ he said as he pushed her inside the taxi. ‘Paddington Station,’ he told the driver, then getting in himself, he sat back in the seat beside her.

‘Really, Matthew,’ she protested, ‘you needn’t worry so much about me. I can look after myself. After all, if you didn’t know anything about it . . .’

‘But I do know, and I do worry, so let’s leave it at that, shall we?’

‘How can I leave it at that when Stephanie thinks . . .’ She gulped, and turned quickly away.

‘When Stephanie thinks what? That we’re having an affair?’

She shrugged. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t think that. I mean, that would be preposterous.’

‘Would it?’ he said, then laughed as she spun round in her seat and looked at him with disbelieving eyes.

The rest of the journey was spent in silence, and when they arrived at the station Marian expected him to let her out, then ask the driver to turn round and take him back to the Groucho. But he didn’t, he got out with her, paid the fare, then carried her case onto the platform.

‘You’re overdoing this, you know,’ she told him. ‘I mean, what happens at the other end? I shall be on my own then.’

‘Isn’t your mother meeting you from the station?’

‘Well, yes, she is. Though she doesn’t usually.’

‘Well, if she is, then you won’t be alone, will you? Now here you are, sit in this carriage here, it’s quite full so you should be all right.’ He helped her on, then found her a seat next to the window and put her case in the storage space above. ‘Now I’d better be getting back to make my peace with Stephanie. Have a good time, and don’t speak to any strange men.’

‘I won’t,’ Marian promised, laughing.

By the time the train pulled out of the station, five minutes later, he had vanished into the crowds and was probably, she surmised, already in a taxi on his way back to Stephanie. She wondered if Stephanie would be waiting when he got there, and though part of her hoped she wouldn’t be, another part remembered Stephanie’s remark about loyalty, and she felt herself burn with shame. She, more than anyone else – with the possible exception of Bronwen – knew how insecure Stephanie was when it came to Matthew, and now it was she, the very person in whom Stephanie had trusted and confided, who was scheming to take him away from her.

But although she didn’t like herself too well for the way she felt about Matthew, it actually wasn’t true to say that she was scheming to take him from Stephanie. She would never do that to Stephanie, nor to anyone, not after she had had it done to her and knew exactly how it felt. Besides, even if she were scheming, it was utter nonsense to think she had even an iota of a chance of succeeding; Matthew was so much older than her, and he was obviously very much in love with Stephanie – even if Stephanie did refuse to believe it. Now she must spend the rest of her journey trying to make herself accept the truth. And the truth was, that no matter how concerned Matthew was for her, or how fond of her he claimed to be, he would never, never, seriously consider giving up Stephanie for someone like her. Someone who seemed to have forgotten, these past few weeks, what a thoroughly unattractive and unconfident person she really was.

Sergio was waiting for Deidre in her office. She’d known he was there the instant she saw her secretary’s face – no one but Sergio Rambaldi could ruffle Anne’s imperturable calm. As she opened the door she saw him sitting at her desk, flicking through a magazine, but when he saw her he put it down and stood up. Straightaway she felt the sensitive force of his mind; it was as though he were reaching out for her misery, telling her that he was there now, so she must release it and let it go to him. She tried to speak but her voice was engulfed by emotion, and as she walked into his embrace, he smiled, and taking her face in his hands, he pressed his lips gently to hers. Then, as he gazed at her with his magnificent eyes, she felt her weakness turning slowly to strength.

She wanted to speak, to tell him all that was in her mind, but knew that she would be unable to until he let her go. But when he did so, she found herself moving back to him, drawn by the sheer power of his presence. It was a long time since he had affected her so profoundly, and she was reminded of the early days between them when she’d have given him her life if he had asked it. Perhaps she had given him her life . . .

He spoke quietly, in his soft, hypnotic voice. ‘I came as soon as I could, cara. Now you must tell me all you have learned.’

In a tremulous whisper she told him how she had searched his apartment, then followed him to the hill that led to Paesetto di Pittore.

‘I see.’ He smiled. ‘But tell me, cara, in your heart you always knew?’

She nodded. ‘About Olivia, yes. But not about . . .’

He put his fingers over her lips. ‘And yet you have never betrayed me. I am undeserving of your love.’

‘Will you tell me now,’ she said, ‘what happened?’

He shook his head. ‘It is difficult, my love. But when it is over I will tell you. I will tell you before Olivia returns to the world.’

‘Then she is alive?’

The question seemed to haunt him and his eyes had a faraway, almost ethereal look as he stared past her. ‘Sì, è ancora viva.’ Then, as if he had relinquished his thoughts to a passing cloud, he turned back to her. ‘You have come to love Madeleine, no?’

She nodded; and as he smiled, sadly, the dread that had been with her ever since she’d searched his apartment suddenly tore at her heart. She turned away, moving to her desk and resting her hands on the edge. ‘You’re going to take her, aren’t you?’ she whispered. ‘That’s why you have all those pictures of her. I knew when I saw them, but . . . Sergio, please tell me it’s not true. Please tell me you’re not going to take her.’

She waited for a long time, feeling the silence creep between them like the spectre of doom. In the end she turned to look at him, her eyes imploring him to deny it, but he said nothing.

‘Why? Why Madeleine? Oh Sergio, don’t take her away from me, I beg you. Please, don’t take her away.’

‘I must, cara.’

‘Then tell me why. Please, Sergio,’ she begged, ‘please tell me why.’

As he walked towards her, her eyes moved over the immaculate beauty of his face. ‘There are many reasons, reasons I cannot explain now.’

‘If there are many, tell me one.’

‘You have made her famous.’

She shook her head, bewildered. ‘But that doesn’t make any sense.’

‘It will. I promise you, one day it will.’

‘And what about Madeleine? Where will she be then?’

‘She will be with Olivia and together they will return to the world.’

‘Sergio, it sounds so horrible. What does it mean, they will return to the world?’

‘It means that you will see her again.’

‘When?’

He lifted a hand to stroke her hair. ‘You are a brave woman, my darling,’ he whispered. ‘I have stolen your heart and know what this has cost you, but my gratitude and love are all yours. I need you now, I need you to help me and to trust me.’

‘Oh Sergio.’ Her voice trembled, but the potent touch of his fingers steadied her. ‘If I knew what was going to happen to her, if I knew . . .’

‘Sash! It would not help to know. Please, just trust me, cara.’

Though he was barely touching her, she felt as if he was pulling her to him, wrapping himself around her, swallowing her into the depths of his love. And though not a muscle in her body moved, she felt herself join with him, and knew that he was so much a part of her now, it was as if her personality had merged into his. ‘Hold me,’ she gasped. ‘Hold me, please.’

When Marian arrived back at Stephanie’s flat on Sunday night, Bronwen was sitting out on the balcony, checking through the script and basking in the evening sun.

‘Ah, cariad,’ she said as she saw Marian walking across the sitting-room towards her. ‘Come and have a glass of wine with me. Good weekend, was it?’

Marian dropped her bag on the sofa. ‘Don’t ask,’ she sighed. Then, smiling, ‘Actually, it wasn’t so bad. I played a game of bingo and won twenty pounds.’

Bronwen laughed and Marian wandered outside to sit down, picking up the pages Bronwen had already been over with her blue pencil. The air was still and fragrant, and in the distance church bells chimed.

‘This is nice, isn’t it?’ Bronwen said after a while. ‘Just you and me. Gives us a chance to have a little chat – without any interruptions.’

‘Interruptions?’ Marian repeated. ‘You make it sound as though you’ve got something particular to say.’

Bronwen smiled awkwardly, then took a mouthful of wine. She was already beginning to regret agreeing to this, but she’d promised Stephanie. Besides, Stephanie was right, Marian was making such a chump of herself over Matthew that it was the only decent thing to do. She looked across the table at Marian, and the cheerful smile she received made her heart sink. This wasn’t going to be easy. ‘How was your mother?’ she said.

A frown briefly crossed Marian’s face. ‘As a matter of fact, she wasn’t too well. She said she’d had a cold recently, but she was taking some sort of pills and I’ve never, in all my life, known her to resort to medication for anything as simple as a cold. And then, when we went to visit my father’s grave this morning, she had a dizzy spell. She won’t admit it, but I think she’s fretting over Madeleine. She’s still hoping she’ll answer her letter.’

‘Do you think she will?’

‘I hope so.’

‘Do you still miss your cousin?’

Marian nodded. ‘Yes. Both Mum and I do. The house was always so lively when she was around, I think we both feel a bit lost without her. Still, as Mum says, as long as we’ve got one another and Madeleine’s happy, there’s nothing for us to worry about. I read in the paper that she’s going to a party tomorrow night at the The Roof Gardens. Paul’s book is coming out the day after. I’ve read it, actually – well, most of it. It’s quite good. All about a young boy growing up.’

Bronwen smiled, and as she gazed at Marian’s small, pale face she wondered how, in this world of egotists and self-seekers, Marian’s selflessness and simplicity had remained so refreshingly and enviably intact. And not for the first time, Bronwen felt a surge of affection for her. There was something special about Marian. Maybe it was her modesty, maybe her intellect, or perhaps it was her extraordinary gift for making people, no matter who they were, feel important. ‘Do you still care for Paul?’ she asked gently.

‘No,’ Marian laughed. ‘Well, not in the way I used to. Funny, really. I thought at the time that I’d never get over it, but I have.’

Bronwen hesitated before continuing. ‘Would that be because of Matthew, cariad?’

In an instant Marian’s face was so painfully red that Bronwen felt herself beginning to blush too. ‘It is, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘That’s what I want to talk to you about, pet.’

Marian looked away.

Bronwen had been rehearsing what to say all afternoon, but now the moment had arrived it was proving almost impossible to say it. ‘Matthew’s . . . Matthew’s a lot older than you,’ she stumbled. ‘Of course, you know that, that’s not what I’m trying to say. What I’m trying to say is that we have all been captivated by that roguish charm of his, even me.’ Her laugh sounded hollow even to her own ears. ‘It’s those eyes of his, isn’t it? They look right into you.’ She attempted another laugh. ‘He’s a rotten old tease, really. The trouble is, people – well, some women – fall for it. And because you’re so young . . . The thing is, Marian, Stephanie and Matthew go back a long way. They’ve suffered a lot for, and because of, each other. They’ve a great deal to repair, and it’s not always easy for them, but you have to believe me, Marian, when I tell you that in the end they will straighten themselves out. Matthew will make certain of it. You see, he’s very much in love with Stephanie. He’s been in love with her ever since he’s known her. Oh, cariad, I didn’t say that to hurt you, I just wanted to try and make you understand.’

‘Before I make an even bigger fool of myself?’ Marian said.

‘No. Before you do or say something you might regret.’

‘Which means the same thing.’

‘Oh, Marian. It’s not so bad as . . .’

‘It’s all right, Bronwen, I understand what you’re trying to say and I know that this is probably as embarrassing for you as it is for me, but . . . Tell me, was it Matthew who asked you to speak to me, or was it Stephanie?’

When Bronwen only looked at her, Marian felt a despondency that was even worse than the torment she had put herself through over the weekend, when she had told herself, vehemently, that Matthew would never return her feelings. And now she could see what had happened on Friday evening when he’d returned to the Groucho. Knowing the way she felt about him, both he and Stephanie had asked Bronwen to intervene before the situation became intolerable for them all.

‘I think I’ll go and take a bath,’ she said, and as she stood up Bronwen had to swallow hard at the look of misery and humiliation in her grey eyes.

‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Don’t go yet. I’ve seen this coming for some time, and it’s not your fault, cariad. Matthew is to blame, really. He shouldn’t . . .’

‘No, please don’t blame him,’ Marian interrupted. ‘It’s my fault – all of it is my fault. If I hadn’t gone . . .’ She stopped abruptly and her eyes flew to Bronwen’s face.

‘Hadn’t gone where, cariad?’

‘Nothing,’ Marian mumbled. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

Bronwen reached out for her hand. ‘If there’s something on your mind, pet, you know you can tell me, don’t you? It won’t go any further, I promise.’

‘I know it wouldn’t,’ Marian smiled. ‘But there’s nothing on my mind, truthfully.’

Bronwen smiled. ‘OK, go and take your bath and I’ll make us a nice salad for our supper, how does that sound?’

‘Lovely,’ Marian answered, swallowing the lump in her throat. Then, as she was about to go back inside, she suddenly turned and gave Bronwen a hug.

‘Oh, be off with you now, cariad, or you’ll have me crying here.’ But as Marian turned away she caught her hand and held it between her own. ‘I know it hurts, Marian, I know it hurts a lot, but remember I’m here and if you want to talk . . .’

Marian nodded. ‘Thank you.’ And before the tears spilled from her eyes, she went off to the bathroom.

The following morning Marian went into the office dreading having to face either Stephanie or Matthew. However, to her relief neither of them was there when she first arrived, so she put the kettle on and set about opening the mail.

When Stephanie came in ten minutes later, without Matthew, she ran straight upstairs to her office. The fact that she had ignored her made Marian feel even worse than she did already, and she would have gone upstairs to talk to her had Woody not come rushing in at that moment, followed by Adrian, the location manager.

‘Got that rough schedule printed out yet?’ he asked Marian.

‘Good morning,’ Marian said. ‘Yes, it’s over there on the printer.’

‘Good morning,’ Woody grinned, then snatching up the schedule, he turned to Adrian.

At that point Hazel came in with Freddy, the designer.

‘It’s here,’ Woody told them, using his middle finger to push his metal-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of his nose, ‘Now, let’s get Stephanie and we’ll go through it. Is she in yet, Marian? Can you give her a call, then?’

Marian picked up the phone and buzzed through. ‘Be right down,’ Stephanie answered, and almost instantly Marian heard her footsteps on the stairs.

‘OK,’ Stephanie said as she walked into the office, looking, Marian thought, exceptionally elegant in her pale-grey-and-white-striped dress. ‘Hit me with it, you lot. By the way, I’ve already told Matthew and he’s agreed in principle, so let’s see what you’ve come up with.’

‘We haven’t come up with much yet,’ Woody confessed. ‘I mean, this schedule is for America and Italy only, obviously. But as I told you on the phone yesterday, Adrian’s drawing a blank wherever he goes in New York with regard to the nightclubs, not even Frank Hastings can persuade them – drugs, they don’t like ’em, don’t want to be associated with them. So Hazel here came up with the brilliant idea of cheating on the locations and cutting the budget in one go.’

‘I’m all ears,’ Stephanie said.

‘Right, well, it’s quite simple really,’ Woody went on. ‘Freddy and his army of able-bodied layabouts can dress the exterior of clubs in New York, changing the names and so on, and then we can shoot the interiors here in London.’

‘When?’

‘That’s why I wanted to look at the schedule. But we’ve got a couple of weeks between the American and Italian shoots, so there doesn’t seem to be any reason why we can’t do the nightclub stuff then. They don’t even have to be night shoots – well, that depends on Matthew, really, but . . .’ He shrugged. ‘What do you say?’

‘I say, if it’s going to save me money, brilliant. But talk to Matthew before you go ahead and arrange anything. He’s working at home this morning. Morning, Josey,’ she added, as the production secretary walked in.

‘What’s this?’ Josey cried. ‘I know I’m late, but there’s no need to send out a posse, Steph.’

‘You are indeed late,’ Hazel remarked, looking at her watch. ‘When I called you yesterday I asked you to be here for nine.’

‘Yes, but you forgot to inform British Rail, didn’t you?’ Josey quipped. ‘Anyway, what’s all the fuss?’

‘I’ll explain on the way over to Matthew’s,’ Woody told her. ‘Can you fit five in your car, Adrian?’

‘Don’t worry about me,’ Hazel interrupted, ‘I’ll stay here. Just take Josey, and she can fill me in on the details later. Unless you’d like to come round for dinner tonight and tell me yourself?’

‘Well, actually, I’m . . . busy tonight,’ Woody said, backing away from her.

Sitting at her desk in the corner, Marian watched Stephanie as she turned to walk out, and seeing that she was laughing, she tried to catch her eye. But Stephanie didn’t even glance in her direction as she picked up a pile of audio cassettes and went back upstairs to her office.

Two hours later, Hazel was resting her chin in her hands, staring across the office at Marian who was reading over some letters she had just typed for Bronwen. Marian was aware of Hazel’s eyes, but was deliberately avoiding them. The fact that Stephanie had snubbed her twice already that morning was causing her a great deal of distress, and if Hazel was about to start picking on her, she was afraid she might disgrace herself by breaking down altogether. She’d thought she had changed over these past few months, that her erstwhile retiring and timid nature had left her for good, but since her conversation with Bronwen the night before she had felt it stealing up on her again in all its odiousness. Just a trip to the newsagent’s an hour ago had brought tears to her eyes, and though she was fairly certain Hazel hadn’t noticed, she had given her a peculiar look when she’d come back into the office with nothing.

In the end Hazel broke the silence. ‘You really are the most appalling creature to look at sometimes, Maz,’ she said. ‘No, I’m sorry, but you are.’

Marian seemed to shrink behind her hair and her fingers curled the edges of the paper she was holding.

‘I mean, really,’ Hazel went on, ‘it’s too much to expect me to sit here day in, day out . . . Are you crying? Oh, for heaven’s sake, Maz, you’re going to give me a guilty conscience. Just when I’d made up my mind to be nice to you.’

‘There’s no need,’ Marian whispered. ‘I’ve always looked like this. And anyway, I’m not crying.’

Hazel swivelled in her chair and stood up, hands resting on her hips. ‘You were blubbing earlier, weren’t you? When you came back from the newsagent.’

‘Hazel, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you . . . upstairs, if you don’t mind.’ Until she spoke neither of them had seen Stephanie standing in the doorway. As they turned, hope for a friendly word, or even a smile, flared in Marian’s chest, but Stephanie merely dropped the audio cassettes onto her desk, asking her to return them to the composer, then glanced at Hazel and waited to follow her out.

When they’d gone Marian folded her head in her arms and let the tears run. This was all so awful, and she didn’t know what to do about it. She couldn’t help feeling as she did about Matthew – if anything, she’d give the world not to, especially as she knew she couldn’t continue to work for Stephanie when Stephanie now so obviously despised her. But to leave Bronwen would be such a terrible wrench, almost as bad as not seeing Matthew again. How had things become so complicated, when only a few months ago she’d been living happily in Bristol with two of the people she loved most in the world? Now, to cap everything else, Madeleine and Paul were in the newspaper again this morning, laughing into one another’s eyes as they left The Roof Gardens in Kensington. The caption referred to them as ‘the golden couple’ and declared that Paul was be ‘one of the great literary talents of the decade, who has just been signed up by Freemantle’s for an unspecified sum’.

Marian had no idea why this particular article had upset her so much; after all, they were in the newspapers almost every day, she should be used to seeing them by now. Perhaps it was because it seemed as if everyone had someone, except her. She winced at her nauseating indulgence of self-pity and took the newspaper from her handbag. It was crumpled, but she spread it out and looked at her cousin’s lovely face. She wondered if Madeleine ever thought about her, ever missed her. She probably had lots of glamorous friends by now, and was too busy even to remember how close they had once been. Marian wished she could forget, too, but no matter what happened, who she met or how far she travelled, life somehow didn’t seem complete without Madeleine.

The door opened and Hazel walked back into the office. Quickly Marian stuffed the newspaper into her bag and turned to her typewriter. There were still tears on her cheeks, but she didn’t dare pull out a tissue in case Hazel noticed.

‘You can stop whatever it is you’re pretending to do on that typewriter,’ Hazel said, ‘you’re coming with me.’

‘But I’ve got to type all this up for Stephanie.’ Marian’s red-rimmed eyes were uncertain as she looked up.

‘Ugh,’ Hazel groaned. ‘You look like an accident in a jam factory. Go and blow your nose, put some powder on those blotches, and forget the typing. Well, go on,’ she said, when Marian continued to stare at her.

‘I haven’t got any powder,’ Marian sniffed.

‘Then we know where our first stop is, don’t we? Go on, take mine for now.’

When, a few minutes later, Marian came back from the ladies’ with Hazel’s powder in small crusts on her cheeks, Hazel was waiting outside in a taxi and Stephanie was in the office.

‘It’s all right,’ she said, when she saw Marian’s look of dismay, ‘Hazel’s told me she’s taking you off for the day, and I’ve approved it.’ She sighed and put a hand on Marian’s arm. ‘I’m sorry about last Friday. I behaved abominably and I owe you an apology. No, no,’ she said, as Marian started to speak, ‘I don’t want to hear another word. Take the day off, see if Hazel can cheer you up a little.’ And taking Marian by the shoulders, she steered her out into the street.

‘Oxford Street, Selfridge’s end,’ Hazel barked at the taxi driver, and hauling a bewildered Marian inside, she closed the door.

‘I am going to make a new woman of you, Marian Deacon,’ she declared as they hit the first snarl of lunch-time traffic.

Marian’s misgiving pushed her eyes wide. But even if she had wanted to protest, Hazel allowed her no time: not only for the rest of the day, but over the following week too, when make-up counters, dress shops, beauty salons and hairdressers’ were the only resting places between endless tube and taxi journeys. When her bank account ran dry, Stephanie put more in, and Marian’s face was prodded, pinched and scrubbed, her hair pulled, cut and highlighted, and her body squeezed into shapely dresses she insisted she’d never have the courage to wear. Stephanie merely laughed every time she tried to apologise for not being at her desk, and Bronwen twirled her about in enthusiasm for her new look. Baffled as she was by what was happening to her, Marian couldn’t stop herself watching for Matthew’s reaction. But he said nothing – didn’t even seem to notice as he raced up the stairs to Stephanie’s office, then out again. Worst of all was that everyone seemed to realise she was waiting for his verdict, and took great delight in teasing her about her crush – which made her feel almost sick with self-consciousness each time she looked in the mirror and saw the elfin face peering back at her through her own grey eyes, which now seemed larger and somehow more defined. Her skin looked healthier, her mouth less narrow, and her hair – well, she could hardly believe how sophisticated it looked.

‘Turn around, let me see how utterly brilliant I am,’ Hazel said two weeks later. They had just returned from yet another shopping spree and Marian was wearing a pale blue skirt with matching top; her short silvery hair was cut over her ears, shaped into the back of her neck and swept back from her forehead; and her red dangling earrings matched her beads, bangle, belt and shoes. As far as she could remember, she’d never worn red in her life. ‘I’d hardly recognise you for that dowdy little creature sitting across the office a week ago,’ Hazel said, tweaking at a stray strand of hair. ‘You’ve still got some weight to lose, though, honeypop.’ She poked at Marian’s thighs. ‘Cellulite, ghastly stuff! Still, we’ll soon put paid to that. Now here you are, all dressed up with nowhere to go, I’ll bet. Well, seeing as you’re so frightfully presentable now, I’m going to take you to Kettner’s with me. Like champagne, do you? No, don’t tell me, you’ve never had it. You’ll break that earring if you keep twisting it.’

They turned round as Matthew rushed in and up the stairs to Stephanie’s office. Hazel rolled her eyes as they heard Stephanie shriek, and Marian’s earring snapped in her fingers.

The next day she was sitting alone in the office, staring with mild disgust at a tub of cottage cheese, when footsteps on the stairs took her attention to the door and Hazel, followed by Stephanie and Bronwen, came in for her bag.

‘Hi, Cinders,’ Stephanie grinned. It was a name they’d all taken to calling her recently. ‘We’re off to lunch. If Frank Hastings calls we’ll be at the Gay Hussar.’

‘OK,’ Marian answered.

‘Good girl. See you later.’ Stephanie turned, then burst out laughing at something Marian couldn’t see. Then Matthew appeared with Freddy, the designer and Adrian, the location manager. ‘Get a move on, you lot,’ Stephanie said. ‘And stop making me laugh, we’ve no right to be happy when everything’s falling about our ears.’

As they bundled down the hall and out into the stifling heat, Bronwen waved through the window at Marian, and dolefully Marian turned back to her cottage cheese. She grimaced. It was truly the most revolting stuff.

‘Charming.’

She looked up to see Matthew standing at the door, and immediately her pulses started to race.

‘Aren’t you joining us?’ he said.

Not wanting to admit she hadn’t been invited, Marian said: ‘Hazel’s put me on a strict diet.’

He smiled, and perching on the edge of her desk, he gazed into her eyes with such lambency in his own that she almost regretted the loss of her long hair to hide behind. ‘Well, if you don’t mind me saying so, you’re looking good on it.’ He pulled a face, and checking over his shoulder to make sure that no one was listening, he whispered: ‘Not so sure about the lipstick, though.’

Marian burst out laughing. ‘Neither am I,’ she declared, and pulling a tissue from the box in front of her, she wiped it off.

‘Come on,’ he said, laughing, ‘throw that muck away and treat yourself to a proper lunch.’

‘I’m not brave enough to face Hazel,’ she admitted. ‘Besides, I’ve got to wait in in case Frank Hastings calls.’

He nodded, then stood up. ‘Everything all right, is it? No more strange assignations on the Fulham Road?’

‘Nothing like that. But there is something . . . I was going to tell you before, but I could be imagining it.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I keep getting the feeling that someone’s watching me.’

His expression was immediately serious. ‘What makes you say that?’

She shrugged. ‘It’s just a feeling I get every now and again. I expect it’s nerves.’

‘Well, we don’t want to take any chances, so you’d better lock up and come to lunch with us.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s all right, Josey and Woody are on their way back. In fact, there they are now, getting out of a taxi, so I’ll be fine. Anyway, as I said, I’m pretty sure I’m imagining it.’

He still seemed uncertain. ‘I’d feel happier if you were with me.’

‘Honestly, Matthew, I’ll be fine.’

He looked at her for a moment or two, then said, ‘Look, I’m having a drink with my daughter tonight – if she turns up – why don’t you come? You’re about the same age, you might get along together.’

Dumb pleasure swirled through Marian’s chest. ‘Hazel’s booked me into an aerobics class,’ she mumbled. Then, decidedly more cheerful: ‘But I can always cancel it.’

‘You do that. I’ll pick you up here around six.’

‘Are you ready yet?’ Stephanie shouted.

‘Almost there,’ Matthew called back. ‘Have you got the photographs Judith gave me yesterday?’

‘Yes,’ Stephanie said, with exaggerated patience.

‘Did you call Bronwen back? She rang while you were in the shower.’

‘Yes, I called Bronwen back.’

‘Where are my keys?’

‘Out here on the table.’

‘Then I’m ready to go,’ he grinned, as he came out of the bedroom. His hair was still damp from the shower, and seeing his teeth gleam as white as his shirt, Stephanie thought how unspeakably handsome he was. She ran her eyes over the hard muscles of his forearms and felt a surge of desire.

‘I thought there was a taxi waiting,’ he murmured, as she lifted her mouth for a kiss.

‘There is.’

‘Then pull yourself together, woman, and get down those stairs.’

Laughing, Stephanie swept a pile of documents into her briefcase, snapped it shut, then waited out in the hall while he locked up.

Sitting in the taxi on the way to the Savoy, she took out a handful of photographs. These were of some of the actors and actresses they were about to audition. Matthew had chosen them, passed their names on to Judith, the casting director, and now he was going to test them out with some dialogue scenes from the script.

As he looked over Stephanie’s shoulder at the assortment of faces, he rubbed his hands with glee. ‘The power,’ he grinned, ‘their lives in my hands.’

‘You’re sick,’ Stephanie said lightly. ‘I quite like this guy for the Rubin Meyer character.’

‘Do you? If we’re going by looks, I prefer this one.’

But instead of looking at the picture, Stephanie was looking at the way the dark hair curled round his watch-strap and over the backs of his large but slender hands. ‘God, you really turn me on, do you know that?’ she murmured, turning her eyes to his.

‘So you were feeling as randy as you looked just now,’ he grinned, and his eyes narrowed as she pressed her hand against his thigh. ‘I’d be careful if I were you,’ he warned.

‘Why?’

‘Because the driver’s watching you in the mirror.’

‘Don’t be silly, he can’t see anything.’

‘But,’ he said, removing her hand, ‘this is hardly the time or the place.’

A flood of colour suffused Stephanie’s cheeks, and she turned away, angry and embarrassed. A few minutes ticked by, during which she struggled to keep a rein on her tongue, but in the end, unable to stop herself, she hissed, ‘Tell me, Matthew, do you find Marian so easy to resist?’

‘I’ll ignore that remark,’ he said. ‘It was unworthy of you.’

‘Myself, I’d say it was pretty unworthy of you, staying out until past midnight with her last night. Where were you all that time? You say your daughter didn’t turn up, so what was it, a cosy little dinner for two?’

‘Stephanie, leave it, before you say something you’ll regret.’

‘Yes, I suppose I would regret it if you were trying to hide something. Are you?’

‘No.’

‘So she’s still a virgin, is she?’

‘What! Stephanie, you’re in grave danger of pushing me too far over this I thought we’d had it out about Marian. I thought . . .’

‘No, Matthew, we didn’t have it out. All we decided, all you decided, was that she had a crush on you. What we never got to the bottom of is what your feelings are for her.’

‘For God’s sake, she’s only a . . .’

‘Yes? She’s only a what? A kid? She doesn’t look much like one these days though, does she? In fact she looks rather good, rather desirable, wouldn’t you say? Obviously more desirable than me.’

‘God, talk about hell hath no fury,’ he muttered. ‘If you must know, I took her to an Italian restaurant in Covent Garden. We ate a meal, we talked . . .’

‘What did you talk about?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m not getting into this, Stephanie. Now, either we discuss the casting session coming up, or we continue this journey in silence, the choice is yours.’

It was obvious from the way she turned back to the window that she had chosen silence, and he sat back in the seat, staring straight ahead and feeling the good humour with which he had begun the day dissolve into discontent.

Judith was waiting in the foyer of the Savoy, and led them upstairs to a third-floor room. The session went off much as expected, one or two possibles and a dozen nos.

Still feeling irritable, Matthew snapped at Judith to get her act together over the re-casting of Olivia, then said he was going to meet Bob Fairley, the lighting cameraman, for a drink – if that was all right with Stephanie.

‘Perfectly,’ she answered, the pinched corners of her mouth indicating how nettled she still felt – although she knew she was in the wrong.

‘Good, then I’ll see you at the office some time this afternoon.’

‘Don’t rush,’ she said.

He shot her a look of pure exasperation, then turned and walked out.

When Stephanie returned to her office, still seething with fury – as much at herself as at Matthew – she found Marian sorting through a pile of paperwork on her desk. ‘What are you doing?’ she snapped.

Marian spun round, obviously startled. ‘I was looking for the contracts Hazel gave you to sign yesterday. She needs them to take to the lawyers this afternoon.’

‘Can’t she come and find them herself?’

‘She would have, but I offered, as I know your desk a little better than she does.’

Stephanie slung her briefcase on a chair, then looking at her watch, she said, ‘Shouldn’t you be at lunch?’

‘I’m still dieting,’ Marian answered, feeling the incongruity of her smile as Stephanie glared at her, her eyes filled with contempt, her mouth a thin hard line.

Marian shifted uncomfortably under the gaze, but understanding only too well what it was about, she decided that there was no point in running away from it, she must say something. ‘After Bronwen talked to me the Sunday before last,’ she began, ‘I could see straightaway what a fool I’d been making of myself, and I wanted to speak to you then, but everything seemed to sort itself out so I decided there was no point. And then, when everyone started teasing me about the crush I had on Matthew, including you, though it made me feel even more foolish, I was glad because it meant that you and I were friends again. But now I can see that you’re upset again, and obviously I know why. But there isn’t any need to be, Stephanie. Matthew invited me to dinner because he thought it would be nice for me to meet his daughter, someone more or less my own age. Samantha didn’t turn up, so as we were already in the restaurant we had something to eat. I talked most of the evening, bleating on ad nauseum about my mother, because she hasn’t been well lately and I’ve been worried about her. Matthew was kind enough to listen, but I feel embarrassed about it now, and even worse because you’re feeling the way you are when there’s no need to.’

Marian paused, then grinned disarmingly. ‘I could treat you to some of my amateur psychology here, but I don’t think you’d appreciate it, and besides, I don’t have any wine or cocoa handy. Anyway, it’s none of my business how you . . . Well,’ she shrugged, ‘I just want you to know that I understand why you’re angry with me, and to know that if you no longer want me to work for you, that it will make me very unhappy but I shall understand.’ As she finished, she felt suddenly dizzy, though whether with the relief of getting it off her chest, or with trepidation, she didn’t know.

Stephanie regarded her closely, her face still solemn. ‘I’ll tell you what, Marian,’ she said at last, ‘I wouldn’t blame Matthew if he was in love with you. Now come here and give me a hug and tell me what a stupid, jealous, nasty old bag I am.’

‘You’re a stupid, jealous, nasty old bag,’ Marian said, walking into her embrace, ‘but I love you to bits.’

‘And me you,’ Stephanie laughed.

‘I bet,’ Marian said, as she was walking out of the door, ‘that you and Matthew had a row this morning.’

Stephanie nodded.

‘Where is he now?’

‘Drinking somewhere with Bob Fairley. He’ll be in later.’

‘Then why don’t I cancel your appointments for the afternoon and send him home so that you can make things up?’

Stephanie seemed hesitant. ‘I don’t think he’ll come. Not after what I said this morning.’

‘You leave him to me,’ Marian said, and grinning broadly to cover what she was feeling inside, she walked off down the stairs.