Shadow Marriage
Penny Jordan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘SARAH?’

She recognised the voice of her agent immediately, and her fingers tensed on the receiver in response to its jovial tone, hope feathering fingers of tension along her spine.

‘Good news,’ Carew told her buoyantly, ‘and not ad-work this time, before you ask. It’s a film part, and a good one. Want to hear more?’

The teasing enquiry reminded her that she was twenty-three and not eighteen, and long past the stage of dry-mouthed excitement over any part.

‘It depends,’ she responded cautiously. Her voice was warmly husky; extraordinarily sexy, was how one director had once described it, but Sarah had made it clear to Carew before she became one of his clients that she had no intention of accepting parts that emphasised or relied on her sexuality—in any way. And she had stuck to her statement rigidly, even though it had often meant that she had been forced, on more than one occasion, to take other jobs to pay her rent—working in shops and offices, glad of the odd well paid commercial which came her way.

‘It’s a beaut,’ Carew assured her, and although she could not see his face she could picture it well enough, and the jumbled chaos that passed for his office.

‘You’ll love it,’ he continued. ‘I’m having the script sent round to you right away. We’ve got a meeting with the director tomorrow. Lunch at the Savoy. You’re one lucky female, Sarah. The part was as good as cast, and then Guy Holland happened to see that ad you did for the shampoo people. You’ll be flattered to know that he rang me at home last night. It’s only by chance that he’s over here at all. A large part of the filming is going to take place in Spain. He’s a stickler for authenticity, and he was only in London overnight, so…’

‘Carew, tell me more about the film,’ Sarah cut in quickly. She knew Guy Holland’s reputation—who didn’t in the film world?—and there was only one other director that she could think of who possessed an equivalent aura; whose name provoked the same powerful charisma.

‘Oh, it’s about Richard the First,’ Carew told her obligingly, ‘and before you ask, it’s no mere costume piece. According to Guy the screenplay is one of the best he’s ever seen, and it’s been written by an amateur, someone who has guarded his identity so closely that no one seems to know exactly who he is. Anyway,’ he seemed to collect his thoughts with an effort, as though he realised how tense and impatient she was growing, ‘it seems the long and short of it is that Guy wants you to play Joanna—Richard’s sister. The part’s a gem, Sarah. I’ve only glanced through the screenplay, but what I’ve read is enough to convince me that Guy isn’t exaggerating when he says he’s got half a dozen top actresses going down on their knees for it.’

‘But his budget is limited, and so he’s got to make do with me,’ she cut in drily.

‘No way. Like I told you, Guy is a stickler for accuracy, and according to him your colouring is exactly right for Joanna. The first thing he wanted to know was if your hair was natural.’

Sarah pulled a wry face into the receiver. Her hair was a particularly distinctive red-gold, and she had the pale Celtic skin to go with it—unfashionably pale really, her eyes a deep smoky grey, bordering on lavender whenever her emotions were intensely aroused.

‘The second thing he wanted to know was how long it was. It’s just as well you didn’t agree to have it cut for that ad. Apparently whoever plays Joanna must have long hair.’

Sarah grinned to herself as she listened to him. At the time he had been all for her having her hair cut as the shampoo company had wished, but she had been with Carew long enough to accept that at bottom his clients’ interests were paramount.

‘Excited?’ he questioned.

‘I might be—when I’ve read the part.’

She didn’t say any more, but he interpreted her remark easily.

‘It’s perfectly all right—there aren’t any sex scenes. At least, not for you. I’ve already checked that out. The script should be with you within the hour. Give me a ring when you’ve read it, won’t you?’

As she replaced the receiver Sarah tried not to give in to the insidious tug of excitement spiralling through her. A film part as juicy as this one promised to be was a gift she had long ago made up her mind she would never receive. For one thing, she liked living and working in London, which was hardly the Mecca of the film world. For another, her insistence on parts without any sexual overtones automatically narrowed her field considerably. She knew quite well that Carew was curious about her rigid refusal, his instinct telling him that there was more to it than a natural disinclination to use her body to further her career. After all, she had joined him straight from her part in the highly acclaimed film of Shakespeare’s life in which she had played the wanton Mistress Mary Fitton of Gawsworth—Shakespeare’s ‘Dark Lady’.

For that part she had received rave reviews. She had put her heart and soul into it, immersing herself completely in it, so much so that afterwards she had wondered if she hadn’t been infected with some of Mary’s wantonness herself. Certainly that would explain why she had…

The heavy clatter of something falling through her letter box dragged her thoughts away from the past, and she hurried into the small hall, picking up the heavy package, and retreating with it to the comfort of her sitting room.

Her flat might only be small, but Sarah had an inborn flair for colour and tranquillity—something she had inherited from her parents, no doubt. Her father had been an acclaimed interior designer, and her mother his assistant. The one shred of comfort she had been able to salvage from the destruction of her life after they had been killed in a plane crash had been that they had gone together.

She had only just entered drama school when it happened; a late entrant, having decided at the last minute not to go on to university, but to try her hand as an actress instead.

She had only been nineteen when she was offered the part of Mary Fitton. Shakespeare had been played by Dale Hammond, an actor whose star was very much in the ascendant. Unlike her, Dale had gone on to international fame, and a smile plucked at Sarah’s lips as she remembered several instances of his Puckish sense of humour. They had got on well together, so well that she had found no embarrassment in their intensely emotional and sensual scenes together, unlike those she had had to play with Benedict de l’Isle, the actor who was playing the Earl of Southampton, her other lover, and reputedly Shakespeare’s as well!

As she unwrapped the package, she shivered, suddenly cold, unwilling to remember the desire that had flamed between the two of them; a desire which had left its mark on the film, highlighting the emotional drama they played out as Southampton and Mary Fitton. Dale had been her friend, and in consequence of their friendship she had been able to relax while they played their love scenes, but with Benedict there had been no relaxation possible. And that was why…

The script slipped from her fingers, landing on the polished wooden floor with a thud, bringing her sharply back from the past. Schooling her thoughts, Sarah bent and picked it up, flicking through the opening pages and then going back to read them more slowly as the typed words enthralled her imagination.

Two hours later, when she put aside the final page, her thoughts were still coloured by all that she had read. For that brief span of time she had been living in the twelth century, totally absorbed by the lives of the characters she had been reading about; Richard, third son of Henry II and his estranged wife Eleanor of Aquitaine; adored by his mother and hated by his father. Richard, who would one day be king. Sarah shivered in sudden reaction, trying to visualise the man who had written so sensitively and deeply about a man who, she realised for the first time, had been an intensely tortured individual, torn between duty and desire, unable to fulfil one without destroying the other. She didn’t have enough knowledge about the Plantagenet era to know how factual or otherwise the script was, but she remembered enough to sense that it had been carefully researched, and that in depicting Richard as a man tormented by his intense love for another knight, the writer had leaned towards the truth rather than inventing the relationship simply for effect. Having read the script, it was dizzyingly heady to know that Guy Holland wanted her for Joanna. The part wasn’t a large one, but then none of the female parts were. The only other ones of any magnitude were Eleanor, Richard’s mother, and Berengaria, his wife.

Unlike earlier thirties films about Richard, this one was not concerned primarily with the Third Crusade, which she was surprised to see had occupied a relatively short span of Richard’s life. What did amaze her was the discovery that he had first gone to war as a teenager, defying, and eventually defeating, his father. But it was her part as Joanna she must concentrate on. She had three major scenes—the first when Richard accompanied her through Spain on her way to her first husband, the aged William of Sicily, a man who was fifty to her seventeen; the second when Richard came to Sicily with his army en route for the Crusade and rescued her from her unscrupulous brother-in-law, Tancred, following the death of William, and the third when she renounced the man she loved—one of Richard’s knights—before agreeing to marry Raymond of Toulouse, her second husband.

Carew hadn’t exaggerated when he described the part as ‘meaty’, and Sarah hurried to the phone, quickly dialling his number.

Heather, his assistant, recognised her voice straightaway and put her through.

‘Umm, that voice—it’s like being drowned in melted honey!’ Carew told her extravagantly. ‘Guy will find it a bonus he hadn’t expected. Well, you’ve read it, I take it? What do you think?’

‘You know what I think,’ Sarah managed in a husky whisper. ‘Oh, Carew…’

Stupidly tears filled her eyes and she had to shake them away. She had fought so hard to tell herself that it didn’t matter that her career had never been the success she had wanted, that she had hardly dared to let herself hope that she might get a part like this. Now she no longer doubted that Guy Holland hadn’t been boasting when he claimed that half a dozen Hollywood greats were clamouring for it, and she could only bless the perverseness that made him such a stickler for detail that he wanted a genuine long-haired redhead for his Joanna.

‘Well, don’t forget there’s still tomorrow,’ Carew cautioned her, quickly soothing her leaping fears by adding, ‘Not that you’ve anything to worry about. Once Guy sees you…’

‘Who’s playing Richard?’ Sara wanted to know.

‘An old friend of yours.’ He paused expectantly, and Sarah felt her blood run cold. ‘Dale Hammond,’ Carew told her, obviously disappointed by her lack of response. ‘Apparently Guy has certain reservations about him, but his colouring is right, and there’s no denying that he has the experience for the part. Guy is very anxious that Richard should be played sympathetically, and yet remain very much the male animal.’

The part would be extremely challenging and taxing, Sarah could see that, and in her mind’s eye she collated Dale’s roles since his Shakespeare. He had the experience for the role, he also had the slightly malicious sense of humour that had come across so well in his Shakespeare, and which was evident in some ways in Richard, but he would need intense depth and breadth for the role, if he was to be played as she sensed the playwright had intended him to be. As she hung up, promising Carew that she would not forget their lunch date, she frowned thoughtfully, curious about the writer of the film, experiencing something which was almost a comradeship with him, so caught up in the spell of his words that it was almost as though her senses knew him.

She spent the morning in her local library, and emerged with her arms piled high with reference books, with barely an hour to spare before her lunch date.

She dressed quickly; a dove-grey silk dress with undertones of lavender to darken her eyes, leaving her skin free of make-up apart from a slick of colour along her lips, braiding her hair and twisting it into a coronet on top of her head.

The effect was startling, and she smiled a trifle wryly at her haunting reflection. Guy Holland was no fool. He would realise instantly that she was trying to portray his ‘Joanna’. Whether she had succeeded or not she had yet to discover.

She arrived exactly on the dot of one and was shown to a secluded table in the cocktail bar. Carew’s eyes widened as he saw her and he struggled to his feet, a small, rotund man, with a shock of untidy fair hair and owlish brown eyes. His companion uncoiled himself from his chair far more elegantly, one lean, tanned hand extended to grip hers, his eyes coolly appreciative as they studied her, and was studied in return.

His first question wasn’t what she had expected at all. His glance lingered on her hand as his own was withdrawn, and she had to fight against a deeply instinctive desire to wrench off the plain gold ring adorning her left hand.

‘You’re married?’

‘I… I’m divorced,’ she managed curtly, frowning as Carew rushed into what she considered to be unnecessary explanations. ‘Sarah was married briefly to Benedict de l’Isle.’

‘Really?’ Darkly silvered eyebrows rose speculatively. ‘I know Ben quite well. I hadn’t realised he’d been married.’

‘I’m sure he wants to forget it as much as I do,’ Sarah told him, glaring at Carew. What on earth had he said anything for? He knew she abhorred all mention of her brief and all too disastrous marriage to Benedict de l’Isle. A marriage that had been over almost before it had begun. A marriage entered into through ignorance and folly on her part and reluctance and guilt on Benedict’s. How much reluctance she had discovered on the night of their wedding. Thank God Dale had been there to help her. Without him…

‘You’ve read the script. What do you think of it?’ Guy asked her, resuming his seat.

‘It’s marvellous.’ Her eyes glowed with conviction. ‘The whole thing’s so powerfully compulsive that I feel I almost know the writer. He makes you feel what’s written; experience Richard’s anguish, and understand all that he must endure. I…’ She broke off, feeling flustered as she realised Guy was watching her speculatively. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised awkwardly. ‘You must be used to this reaction by now.’

‘I’m certainly used to hearing the script praised,’ he agreed, ‘but you’re the first person I’ve come across to mention the actual writer with such emotion. Normally any emotion is reserved for the box office receipts, or star prestige,’ he added with dry cynicism. ‘You feel you could handle the part?’ He watched her carefully as he spoke, and Sarah sensed that his question was in some way a test.

‘I hope so. Joanna grows from a child to a woman during the course of the film. She falls in love with Richard’s squire as a child, but gives herself to him as a woman, knowing the price she must pay for her love is marriage to Raymond of Toulouse.’

‘I hear you flatly refuse to play any heavy sex scenes,’ Guy intervened, suddenly changing the subject. ‘Why?’

Sarah shrugged, her palms damp, fear cramping through her although she fought to control it. ‘Perhaps because I feel true sensuality is more effective for being implied than actually witnessed.’

‘Umm. I suspect the two actors who are to play Richard and his lover heartily feel the same thing. Unfortunately, as far as they are concerned the script calls for some decidedly physical scenes.’

‘Oh, but in the context of the script they’re…’ She broke off, flushed and confused, as Guy Holland turned to her.

‘Go on,’ he prompted, ‘they’re what?’

‘Almost hauntingly emotional,’ she responded hesitantly, unable to find the words to convey the terrible sadness that had gripped her when she read the script.

‘Let’s just hope the censors see it that way,’ Guy told her with another flash of dry humour.

They were shown into the restaurant and were halfway through their meal before he put Sarah out of her misery and confirmed that she had got the part.

‘You won’t be an entirely popular choice,’ he warned her, ‘but as far as I’m concerned, you’re the right one.’ He went on to discuss other members of the cast. Berengaria was to be played by a well known film star whose smoulderingly sensual nature was at such odds with Berengaria’s naïve innocence that Sarah could only hope that she was an excellent actress.

‘She wasn’t my choice,’ Guy told her, startling her by reading her thoughts, ‘but let’s just say she comes with the script, and I wanted it badly enough to agree.’

Sarah caught her breath. Did that mean that Gina Frey knew who had written the screenplay and was romantically involved with him?

It was a question she sensed would not be answered even if she asked, so instead she opened a discussion about filming sequence and dates and discovered that most of the filming was to be done in Spain, where there were enough castles, desert and empty spaces for them to be able to recreate the feel of the twelfth century.

After lunch they returned to Carew’s office to finalise details and sign contracts, promising that she would be in Spain for the end of the month.

‘After all,’ she commented to Carew when Guy had gone, ‘what’s to stop me?’

‘You’d better go out and buy yourself a ton of sunscreen,’ Carew warned her. ‘Guy won’t be too happy if your skin gets burned, and you’ll be filming all through the summer. I wonder why he wanted to know about your marriage?’ he added, eyeing her thoughtfully. Although he was basically a kind-hearted man, on occasions it irked him that Sarah was so resolute about not discussing her brief marriage. After all, Benedict de l’Isle was of sufficient importancé in the film world for his name to carry weight; Sarah could have used it. When she had first come to him he had read up on her press-cuttings, and it had been from them and not from her that he had learned of their affair while they were playing opposite one another in Shakespeare; she as Mary Fitton and he as Southampton, the man who ultimately destroyed her. They had been married at the end of the filming; there had been a party for all the cast, and then, within a week, it was all over. To quote Benedict de l’Isle, as many of the papers had done with evident glee, his new wife, like Mistress Fitton, had been unable to choose between her two lovers and in the end had chosen wrongly. He eyed Sarah obliquely. If de l’Isle had been speaking the truth, did that mean that she and Dale had been lovers, and if so…

Anxious to get back to her library books and her research, Sarah was oblivious to his thoughts. This part was a gift from the gods in more senses than one. Another twelve months without a decent part and who knows, she might have been on the verge of abandoning her career. But she had got the part, and she fully intended to leave her stamp on it; to be the Princess Joanna, spoiled darling of the greatest house in Christendom until the woman accepted what the child could not; that princesses were but pawns, bought and sold to bind allegiances.

CHAPTER TWO

THERE would be a car waiting for her at the airport, Guy had promised, and Sarah looked dazedly for it as she emerged from the terminal building, and into the slumbrous heat of the Spanish night.

Because it was the height of the tourist season, she had had some problems getting a flight and, in the end, had had to fly in on a late evening one. She was a relative newcomer to the cast, and she knew from what Guy had told her that some studio filming had already taken place, mainly the earlier scenes involving Richard as a youth and some of his clashes with his father. Telling herself that it was only natural that she should feel nervous, she searched the row of stationary cars, wondering which one was waiting for her.

‘Sarah! Sweetling!’

Even if she hadn’t recognised the tall, broad-shouldered man striding towards her, she would have recognised the endearment he had picked up when they filmed Shakespeare, and his name left her lips on a pleased cry as she hurried towards him.

‘Dale, put me down!’ she protested as he swung her up into his arms, kissing her theatrically, adding with a grin, ‘I’m honoured, aren’t I, dear brother? Being collected by my liege lord himself, and the most prominent member of the cast.’

‘And I haven’t come alone,’ Dale told her, moving slightly aside so that Sarah could see the man standing behind him. Tall with brown hair, he smiled warmly at her, his brown eyes faintly amused by Dale’s obvious ‘play-acting’. ‘Meet your lover-to-be,’ Dale told her, adding, ‘Paul, come over here and be introduced to Sarah.’

As they shook hands, Sarah found herself warming to Paul with a sense of relief, here was no Ben to disturb her hardwon peace of mind; less exuberant than Dale, there was nevertheless something very attractive and reassuring about him. Within seconds they were chatting away almost like old friends, and it wasn’t until she saw Dale frowning that Sarah felt a tiny shiver of apprehension dance along her skin. ‘Dale, is something wrong?’ she asked hesitantly. It wasn’t exactly unheard-of for petty quarrels and jealousies to develop in the tightly knit community involved in the making of any film, but the Dale she remembered had always been able to smile and shrug off these small unpleasantnesses. And yet, old friends though they were, it was practically unheard-of for a principal member of the cast to come and pick up a rather minor one. It was almost as though Dale had taken the opportunity to do so quite deliberately. Paul, too, looked rather grave, and as Sarah glanced from one face to the other, Paul suggested tactfully, ‘I’ll put the luggage in the car.’

‘I came to pick you up because I wanted to have a word with you, Sarah,’ Dale told her. ‘Well, more to warn you really…’

‘Warn me?’ Sarah could feel tension coiling along her spine.

‘Umm, Paul insisted on coming with me, which was rather a nuisance. Judging by the looks he was giving you I shouldn’t be at all surprised if he wants to extend your relationship beyond the confines of a working one. What do you think of him?’

Sarah tried not to feel too exasperated. ‘We’ve only just met,’ she protested. ‘He seems very pleasant, but I’m not in the market for personal relationships—you know that, Dale.’

‘Umm, just checking.’ But the smile he gave her was understanding and friendly. ‘Look, Paul will be back in a second, and I’d better tell you before he comes. We’ve got a new director…’ He paused and Sarah felt her heartstrings jerk and tighten indefinably with tension.

‘I thought Guy was going to direct, himself?’ she protested shakily.

‘So he was,’ Dale agreed bitterly, ‘and if I’d known any different, I wouldn’t have taken the damned part, but it seems something went wrong on his last film, and he’s having to re-shoot several scenes. The backers demanded it, and because everything was set up here, and any delay now would mean waiting until next summer, we’ve got ourselves a new director.’ He glanced at her as Paul closed the car boot and started walking towards them.

‘It’s Ben, Sarah,’ he told her quickly, his hand going to her arm as he saw her sway slightly. ‘Look, I know what a shock this must be to you, that’s why I wanted to be the first to tell you. Knowing that bastard, he’d just let you walk right into him without any preparation at all. You must have done quite well out of him when the divorce went through.’ He gave her an oblique look. ‘I mean, by that time he’d have been working in America; he went there right after Shakespeare finished, didn’t he?’

Sarah made no response—she wasn’t capable of doing so. Ben directing Richard—she couldn’t believe it! She didn’t want to believe it. Paul came to join them, and if he found anything strange in her pale face and strained features, he was too polite to say so, simply opening the front passenger door of the car for her when she reached it, and helping her with her seat-belt, causing Dale to raise an eyebrow and comment that he obviously believed in working himself into the right mood for a part. ‘Not that you’ll find Sarah a walk-over,’ he added, grinning at Sarah encouragingly. ‘She knows all about the dangers of getting involved with her leading men, don’t you, sweetling?’

Sarah knew that Dale was only teasing her, but she wished he had been a little more reticent when she saw the way Paul looked at her. ‘Some of them have caused problems,’ she agreed lightly.

‘And in case you think she means me, Sarah and I have always had a very special relationship, haven’t we?’ Dale chipped in.

They had in many ways, and Sarah grinned back at him, trying to banish from her mind the knowledge that soon she was going to come face to face with Ben, Ben whose acting ability in Shakespeare had been so greatly acclaimed, but who had gone on to find equal fame in directing and producing. She could vouch personally for his acting ability; she had had first-hand personal experience of it. She smiled rather bitterly to herself. God, how naïve she had been! Dale had been a good friend to her then. If it hadn’t been for him she would never have known the truth; never known how cruelly Ben had deceived her. She had thought he loved her as she loved him while all she had really been to him was the fulfilment of a bet. Even now to think about what had happened brought her flesh out in goose-bumps, shivering with distaste and despair. Dale, frantic when he learned that Ben had married her, had told her the truth, wanting to protect her; Ben with whom she was so crazily and deeply in love had married her for no other reason than simply to win a bet. It had started in complete innocence, on Dale’s part at least. When the three of them started to film Shakespeare, Dale had bet Ben a thousand pounds that he would be the first one to get her into bed, and Ben had accepted the wager. When he had told her of his own part in what had happened Dale had had the grace to be very shamefaced, but he had not known her then; she had just been another very pretty girl and the bet had been made half in jest, but already there had been a certain competitiveness between himself and Ben; Dale being the more acclaimed and well-known actor of the two, and Ben had obviously determined that this time he was going to be the winner.

Sarah had had no idea about the bet between her two fellow actors; no idea of what was intended, and while from the very first she had been wary of Dale’s outrageously flirtatious manner and had kept him at bay, she had had no defences against her own feelings for Benedict, falling in love with him almost at first sight, allowing herself to become so bemused by him and their roles that she had permitted him to make love to her, and she had thought when she had refused to allow him to make their relationship public that his proposal of marriage stemmed from his desire and love for her, not realising that he simply saw it as the only way he could force Dale to acknowledge that he was the winner of their bet.

Dale had been enjoying a brief break away from the set when it happened and only returned the day they were married by special licence, less than a week after Ben had made love to her. Dale had got slightly drunk at the post-wedding party given by the cast, and he had followed up to her hotel room when she went to get changed, to tell her the truth. Sarah had still been in tears when they heard Ben outside the door, and it had been then that Dale had whispered to her that they would turn the tables on him, taking her in his arms and wrenching unfastened the front of her dress so that Ben had discovered them together locked in what appeared to be an intensely passionate embrace, Dale’s cool comment that he had after all lost, as Sarah preferred him, driving Benedict from the room and ultimately from her life. She could still vividly remember the climax to their wedding party when Ben very obviously drunk, had announced to the assembled cast that she and Dale were lovers.

She thought guiltily about Dale’s comment on their divorce. She always described herself as ‘divorced’, but the plain facts of the matter were that she was still, legally at least, married to Ben. They had been married in England, where the law had been and still was that only an uncontested divorce could be obtained after three years. Where both parties were not in agreement the waiting period was five years, and it was still only three and a half years since they had been married. Why Ben refused to give her a divorce she had no idea, unless it was because he feared she might make some sort of financial claim on him. Either that, or he simply wanted to punish her. But she wasn’t the guilty party. She had married him because she was deeply in love with him and had believed he felt the same way about her. Their love scenes together had possessed an intensity, a luminosity which had far transcended even the most gifted acting, or so she had believed, and driven half mad by her love for him and the constant exposure to the sensuality imposed on them by their roles, she had abandoned all her dearly held beliefs—and herself—to him.

The screech of the car brakes jerked her back to the present. Dale had always been an aggressive driver and in that regard he didn’t seem to have changed.

‘I’ve just been telling Sarah about our new director,’ he commented to Paul. ‘Unlike me,’ he added for Sarah’s benefit, ‘Paul likes our new director. Of course he isn’t the only one. Gina, my sweetly innocent Berengaria, had made her preferences in that quarter very well known. Of course Ben’s playing it cool—he can hardly do otherwise since Gina’s lover is one of our most influential backers. He’s having quite a hard time of it trying to keep Gina at bay without offending her, but then he always was adept at double-dealing. Still, you’re going to come as quite a shock to him.’

From the back seat Paul interrupted gently, ‘A very pleasant one, I’m sure, Sarah. It’s just that there’s been a change on the continuity side as well, and the girl who replaced Ellen, our first continuity girl, must have forgotten to take Rachel Ware’s name out and insert yours in the casting list.’

Sarah’s heart sank even further. She hadn’t realised that someone else had actually been cast for the part ahead of her. ‘Come on, Dale,’ Paul protested. ‘You’re frightening the life out of Sarah! Ben won’t eat you,’ he told her. ‘Oh, he’s demanding all right—knows exactly what he wants from the cast and makes sure he gets it, but…’

‘Sarah knows all about Ben, Paul,’ Dale interrupted, his eyes leaving the road for a second as he turned his head to frown at the man in the back seat. ‘We both worked with him on Shakespeare. You’ll have to forgive Paul’s ignorance,’ he added to Sarah. ‘He’s come rather late to the acting scene. He was training to be a chartered accountant when he suddenly got the bug.’

‘I qualified, too,’ Paul put in with a disarming grin. ‘I had a girl-friend who was a model, and she got me some ad work, which is how I got started.’

‘Yes, he’s the original chocolate-box hero,’ Dale retorted.

So Paul didn’t know about her marriage to Ben; of course it was over three years ago and had happened in England, and Sarah couldn’t help hoping that the rest of the cast were similarly ignorant. It wasn’t going to be easy working with him, especially not with the eyes of the rest of the cast monitoring their responses to one another.

‘Is it much further?’ Sarah queried, trying to ease the crick in her neck. They seemed to have been speeding through the dark, apparently empty countryside, for half a lifetime, and on top of her flight, the journey was beginning to take its toll on her.

‘Only another ten miles or so,’ Paul comforted her from the back.

‘If Guy wasn’t such a fanatic for realism we could have shot most of these scenes in the Californian desert and used the studios for everything else,’ Dale chimed in rather bitterly.

Telling herself that it was only natural that Dale should sound a little disgruntled, after all Hollywood was home to him now and he must have grown accustomed to all the luxuries it offered, Sarah wondered what he would say if she confided to him how thrilled she was that they were filming on location.

‘Well, here we are,’ Dale announced fifteen minutes later as he pulled off the main road and they bumped down a dusty, narrow track.

Ahead of them a collection of lights shone from the windows of large trailers, and the guard on duty at the makeshift ‘gate’ grinned a welcome to Dale, eyeing Sarah with a flat curiosity that made her raise her eyebrows a little. ‘He obviously thinks I’m someone you’ve picked up for the evening,’ she commented to Dale as he parked his car outside a darkened trailer and Paul got out, having wished them both goodnight,

‘And he’s probably envying me,’ Dale retorted with a grin, coming round to open her door. ‘By the way,’ he added casually, ‘one of the problems we have here is that we’re a little short on accommodation at the moment. Will you slap my face, sweetling, if I suggest you share with me for tonight? There’s a separate bedroom, and rather than rouse half the outfit…’

Hiding her surprise, Sarah nodded her agreement. A glance at her watch showed her that it was after one in the morning, and her body ached for sleep. She knew Dale well enough to know that she could trust him, and although she had half expected to have to share a trailer—accommodation always being notoriously problematical on location—she had reckoned on sharing with one of the other girls.

‘You were to have shared with Gina,’ Dale explained to her as he extracted a key from his pocket and unlocked the metal door, flicking on the light as he did so, and allowing Sarah to step past him into the illuminated interior, ‘but our dear Garia kicked up a fuss. It seems that sharing with someone would not be convenient—unless of course that someone happens to be our director. However, Ben isn’t playing—at least not publicly. With all the other problems he’s got on his hands, I don’t suppose he’s any too keen to upset one of our backers. He’s going to have a hard time of it, trying to appease both Gina and her lover. He could, of course, always bow out and let someone else take over, but his last film wasn’t exactly a box-office winner and…’

‘Oh, but surely,’ Sarah broke in impulsively, without thinking, ‘it got the Best Film Award, and…’

‘It might have got the Award, sweetling,’ Dale told her dryly, ‘but if you want my opinion, Ben over-stepped himself, spending so much on making it, and that money won’t be easily recouped. Would you like a drink before I show you to your room, madam?’ he parodied, laughing at her, as he changed the subject and indicated one of the three doors leading off the narrow corridor which ran from the living area in which they were standing, and down past a small but very highly sophisticated kitchen.

‘If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go straight to bed,’ Sarah told him, suddenly conscious of the hectic day behind her, fulfilling the last of her ad commitments, and the long journey to their destination. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind putting me up for tonight, Dale, I could…’

Was there a touch of impatience in the frown lining his forehead? Dale was probably tired, too, and she was fussing unnecessarily, Sarah told herself when he assured her that he didn’t.

‘Come on, you can have this room. I’ll say this for Guy,’ he added as he pushed open the door, ‘these trailers are well equipped, even down to air-conditioning. He even had a temporary pool installed on the site. Not that we get much chance to use it with dear old Ben in charge. He’s a real slavedriver!’ He slanted Sarah a sideways glance, and her scalp prickled with sensitive awareness. There had always been keen competition between the two men, but now she sensed that this had changed, deepened in some way, and this suspicion was confirmed when Dale said slowly, ‘He’s changed since we filmed Shakespeare together, Sarah, and much as I hate to say it, he’s a sore loser. Don’t worry about it, though,’ he told her, his expression lightening, ‘Uncle Dale’s here to protect you.’

Was the air-conditioning the sole reason she was shivering? Sarah wondered half an hour later as she prepared for bed in the small but luxurious ‘room’ Dale had given her. It was senseless unpacking until she discovered where she was to stay, so, having showered in Dale’s minute but compact bathroom, she pulled on the nightdress she had extracted from one of her cases and climbed into bed.

It was silly to feel so apprehensive simply because she was working with Ben again. He would want to forget the past as much as she did. Hadn’t he said when he stormed out of their room on the night of the party that he never wanted to set eyes on her again? So why hadn’t he agreed to their divorce? Perhaps Dale was right and he was worried that she might make a huge financial claim on him—after all, he was now a very successful and presumably wealthy man. Her face tightened in disgust. He had indeed changed if he thought she would take a single penny from him. All she wanted was her freedom.

She sighed, remembering how she had fretted over the difficulty in getting a divorce. Her solicitor had been patient, but clearly a little at a loss.

‘Is there someone else you want to marry?’ he had enquired, and when Sarah shook her head had looked both thoughtful and perplexed, pointing out that the waiting period was meant to give couples a chance to see if they could not bury their differences and make a go of their marriages. A tight fist seemed to grip her heart, squeezing it until the pain was almost more than she could endure. What was the matter? Sarah asked herself bitterly. Surely she had learned long ago the folly of loving Ben? Hadn’t his treatment of her then—seducing her and then marrying her simply to get one up on Dale—killed all she had ever felt for him? So why did she feel this nerve-clenching sense of apprehension, and yes, anticipation at the thought of seeing him?

Too tired to find an answer to the riddle, she fell into an exhausted sleep.

The unfamiliar noises of the site woke her, and Sarah opened her eyes slowly, sitting upright when she remembered where she was. She glanced at her watch. Just gone seven, and already, if the sounds she could hear were any indication, the day’s work was well under way.

Showering quickly, she returned to her room to pull on a checked cotton shirt and some ancient jeans, brushing her hair quickly and securing it off her face with a band. The first thing she had to do was to find Ben’s assistant, report in to him or her and find out when she would be needed for filming.

Fortunately the weeks in between learning that she had got the part and her arrival in Spain had given her enough time to learn her lines, although she was fully prepared to find that some of them might have been changed in the interim. Would the mysterious author of the film script be in evidence? It wasn’t entirely unheard-of for writers to want to be present when their work was filmed, and since apparently the writer had also done the film script it was perfectly feasible that he would be on site. Sarah’s stomach tightened in a small thrill of anticipation and, chiding herself for being too impressionable, she quickly packed up her things and straightened the bed. It was almost as though she had a crush on the man—and without knowing the first thing about him! But that wasn’t true, she admitted thoughtfully. She did know about him. It was impossible to read the script and not be aware that he was a man of considerable compassion; of deeply felt but perhaps sometimes hidden emotions; a man to whom loyalty and self-respect meant far more than the indulgence in momentary pleasure.

There was no sign of Dale when she emerged from her room, and not knowing whether he was still asleep or already working, Sarah found the coffee percolator and filled it almost automatically, unable to resist the temptation to open the door and enjoy the lazy warmth of the morning as she waited for it to be ready. Later on the heat might be oppressive, especially if she was working, but right now it was just perfect, the tender fingers of morning sunshine warming the bare skin of her throat and arms, making her want to bask like a lazy cat. She closed her eyes languorously, opening them again quickly as a shadow blotted out the warmth of the sun, some sixth sense alerting her, awareness prickling dangerously over her skin as her muscles tightened and she saw that the object that had come between herself and the sun was none other than her husband, Benedict de l’Isle, director and producer and the Most Important Man under God on the site.

He saw her at the same moment as she saw him, halting almost mid-stride, a look, almost of shock, rippling across features that looked as though they had been hewn from stone. If Dale was the archetype of fair-headed good looks, his face open and sunny, then Ben was his direct opposite, Lucifer fallen to earth with his darkly bitter features, his hair as black as night, and his profile that of a man to whom the weaknesses of others were unknown. Eyes the colour of jade assessed her ruthlessly, stripping away the veneer of sophistication she had gathered over the years, and with it the barrier of her clothes, so that Sarah felt as though she stood before him as she had done on the set for Shakespeare, naked, and vulnerable. And then she remembered that Dale had told her Ben didn’t know she was among the cast. That gave her enough courage to lift her head and match him stare for stare. Her heart hammered violently against the confines of her flesh. She had forgotten how tall he was. She was five eight and even with the advantage of the steps she still had to look up to him. The surprise, if indeed there had been any, was gone, and had been replaced by the same icy contempt she remembered from another confrontation. It was really amazing how green eyes could be so cold, she thought, shivering a little as she realised the interested stares they were attracting from the small crowd that seemed to have gathered almost instinctively, drawn by the scent of blood no doubt, she thought bitterly. Well, if Ben thought he was going to take this part away from her! Her eyes smouldered darkly. She needed it far too much to give it up tamely, and she had her contract…

With a little start she realised that already she was on the defensive, feeling too vulnerable, too aware of the power of the man watching her.

She shivered again as Ben’s mouth curled tauntingly, stepping backwards and instantly grateful for the warm support of Dale’s arm, as it curved round her. She hadn’t realised he was there, Paul at his side, and the brief glance she gave him showed that she was tremulously glad of his presence.

‘Morning, Ben,’ he drawled affably. ‘Come to say hello to your ex-wife?’

Sarah saw Paul’s eyes widen, but barely had time to register her protest of Dale’s unwise comment, her swiftly indrawn breath checked as Ben’s face darkened, his eyes and mouth hard with contempt. What on earth had possessed Dale to challenge him like that? Paul too looked to be concerned and slightly shocked. Obviously he had meant well, but Sarah shivered, wishing he had kept quiet.

‘My ex-wife?’ Ben murmured softly, cruelty glinting in the smile he gave Sarah as he reached them, grasping her hand, and uncurling fingers almost numb with shock as he jerked her forward so that she practically fell into his arms.

‘You mean to say you haven’t told him, darling?’

The words were murmured against her ear, shivering across her skin, Ben’s hold tightening round her until she could barely breathe. Almost as though she were standing outside herself Sarah witnessed the small tableau—Dale, standing in the doorway of the trailer, wary, and questioning, his eyes searching her face as he tested it for reaction. Ben and herself locked in an embrace which made her frighteningly aware of the muscled power of his body, her back and legs warmed by the male flesh of his body, the contrast of his darkly tanned forearm resting alongside the pale fragility of hers, his fingers curling possessively round her wrist, holding it just before the curve of her breasts, so that he couldn’t help but be aware of the hurried thud of her heart.

‘Told me what?’ Dale demanded at length with just enough edge under the light voice he used for Sarah to know that he was taken off guard.

‘Why, simply that she isn’t and never has been my “ex”,’ Ben drawled lightly, the concerted but very audible gasp that went up from their ‘audience’ reminding Sarah that he always had been a first-rate actor, able to draw every last ounce of emotion out of any scene.

‘You could have told Dale our little secret, darling,’ Ben murmured behind her. She felt him bend his head, and then the warm brush of his mouth against her skin, just below her ear, making her shiver in shocked response. ‘I know I said I didn’t want it made public just yet, but since I took this job especially to be near you, I think we’ve rather given ourselves away, don’t you?’

Sarah was too numb to speak. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Dale. How could she deny Ben’s assertion that she was still his wife, when in effect it was perfectly true? But as for the rest of his statement! She tugged away from him, her eyes already darkening with anger, and thought she had caught him off guard as she found herself free, but her freedom only extended to the length of time it took Ben to turn her in his arms, so that her breasts were crushed against the thin silk of his shirt, her nostrils full of the male scent of him, the grainy texture of his skin, and the hard pressure of his body as he held her against him.

‘For those of you who don’t know,’ he drawled, raising his voice so that it reached the crowd of onlookers, now much larger than it had originally been and every one of them unashamedly listening, ‘Sarah and I have been separated for the past few years, but now we’re back together again, and my only regret is that on this occasion I won’t be playing her lover—at least not in public!’

There was a wave of goodnatured laughter, only Dale and Sarah not joining in. She couldn’t believe this, Sarah thought dazedly. Why had he done it? And then as she heard him saying coolly, ‘I didn’t realise you were arriving last night, darling. You should have let me know. Never mind, you’re here now. I’ll get someone to move your things to my trailer. Thanks for looking after her, Dale. It’s almost like old times,’ she knew. He wasn’t going to have it said a second time that his wife had a lover who wasn’t her husband. But why not simply divorce her? He didn’t want her. He had made that more than plain enough; had told her to go to Dale. She could still remember the cruelty of his words when he had done so. All she had ever been to him had been the winning of a bet!

The crowd was slowly beginning to drift away. Break-ups and reconciliations were common enough in their industry not to cause too much comment, although it would have seriously undermined Ben’s authority had it been thought that his estranged wife was having an affair with another member of the cast.

‘Let me go!’ Sarah demanded tersely, not even bothering to conceal the shaken anger she was feeling. Dale was still watching them and came down the steps, frowning as he approached them.

‘Look, Sarah, if…’

‘Leave it, Dale,’ Ben cut in in clipped accents. ‘Like I said, I’ll have someone move Sarah’s things to my trailer. You’re supposed to be filming in half an hour, aren’t you?’ he added, flicking a glance at his watch. ‘They’ll be waiting for you in Make-up.’

Faced with what was tantamount to an order, Dale had little alternative but to go, and Sarah watched him leave, anger and anguish mingled in her eyes as Ben retained his hold on her until Dale was swallowed up in the dust and heat of the morning.

‘Well now,’ he drawled when Dale had gone, ‘are you going to tell me what you were doing spending the night in his trailer, or can I guess?’

‘You can,’ Sarah spat back, ‘but if you judge Dale and me by your own standards, then you wouldn’t come within a mile of the truth! And speaking of motives, Ben, why did you announce that we were reconciled?’

‘We’ve got to work together, Sarah. I want to make a success of this film, and I’m not having the cast and crew more interested in gossiping about us than in doing a first-rate job.’

‘But no one need even have known that we were married,’ Sarah bit out. ‘I…’

‘I quite agree,’ Ben cut in tersely, ‘and who have we to thank for the fact that they do know?’

For a moment Sarah looked at him blankly, then she remembered Dale announcing her as Ben’s ‘ex-wife’. ‘Dale didn’t mean anything,’ she said uncomfortably. ‘You know what he’s like.’

‘Probably better than you,’ came the crisply derisive response, ‘but the damage is done now, Sarah. I’ve got enough problems on my hands already without you and Dale stirring up more. I’d feel much happier if you weren’t here to add to them, but failing that, it will make life that little bit easier for me to have you under my eye, where I can see you. And, Sarah…’ She turned to look at him, dry-mouthed with apprehension at the tone of his voice. ‘Any attempt on your part to resume your affair with Dale, and I’ll get myself another Joanna, contract or no contract, understand?’

Just for a second she toyed with the idea of telling him what he could do with his part, but she needed it too much; needed and wanted it. Ever since she had read the script she had known how much she wanted to be in the film. Not just because it was destined to be an out-and-out success, but because something about the way it was written, the development of the characters, struck a sympathetic chord deep inside her.

‘I don’t want to share a trailer with you,’ she heard herself saying childishly, knowing that they both knew that she had given in. ‘I…’

‘I’m not exactly thrilled about it myself,’ Ben agreed curtly, ‘but needs must, and anyway, we’ve nowhere else to put you.’

‘Because Gina insists on having a trailer to herself. Why don’t you simply share with her, and let me have your trailer?’ Sarah suggested sweetly. ‘That way you’ll be keeping both your main actresses happy.’

‘Dale has been busy, hasn’t he?’ was Ben’s only comment, but Sarah hadn’t missed the way his eyes narrowed, nor the dark flush running along the high cheekbones. Somehow her comment had got to him, which in itself was worthy of further investigation. Was he not as immune to Gina as he pretended? ‘Well, just try to remember that this time you’re playing brother and sister, and not lovers. And if you want to blame someone because you’re having to share with me, then blame Dale—after all, he’s the one who announced that we were married.’ He glanced at his watch again. ‘I’m due on set in ten minutes. You’ll find my trailer on the far side of the camp. It’s on its own—a brown and cream monstrosity, you can’t miss it. By the way,’ he added, halting her and pinning her where she stood with the icy intentness of his scrutiny, ‘how come you changed the time of your flight? I had fully intended to come and collect you myself.’

‘You had? But…’

Two facts hit her simultaneously. One was that Dale had been wrong and that Ben had known she was to play Joanna. The other was that someone had obviously misled him over her flight, because she had certainly not altered it.

‘But?’ he encouraged, still watching her. ‘But you and Dale decided it would create more of an impact if you were seen with him? Nice try, Sarah, but this time you’ve been out-manoeuvred.’

‘Because you lied about us being reconciled,’ Sarah said bitterly, ignoring the accusation he had tossed at her. ‘Reconciled!’ She laughed acidly. ‘You never even wanted to marry me in the first place—you…’

‘But I did,’ Ben cut in grimly, ‘and having done so, I’m having to pay for my mistake—just like you—and be warned, Sarah, this time I’m not going to allow you and Dale to make a laughingstock out of me!’

He was gone before she could retort, striding through the heat and dust-hazed morning, the rigid line of his disappearing back reminding Sarah of the hard pressure of his body against hers. In Dale she had seen few changes if any to mark the intervening years; in Ben she saw many. As Southampton he had won acclaim for his acting ability, and had been more of a heart-throb than Dale, his darkly macho good looks causing more of an impact on the audience. He had been just thirty when they met. Now he was thirty-three, going on thirty-four, and like something cast in iron, he had hardened rather than mellowed. Oh, he was still good-looking—Sarah closed her eyes, quivering in recognition of the sexual appeal that nothing could destroy, and she hadn’t been immune to it. Held prisoner in his arms, it had been fatally easy to remember how it had been between them, and even if there had not been the love she believed at the time, there had still been the passion and desire. If she closed her eyes she could still feel the echoes of it now, tongues of flame licking through her veins, the weak wanting in the pit of her stomach; the need to touch and taste the male flesh against her own. She opened her eyes, half dizzy from the emotions she fought to control, telling herself that it was the sunshine that made her feel so weak and disorientated. She glanced around her and sighed, wishing with all her heart that Guy Holland was still directing the film. Just for a moment she contemplated breaking her contract, and then her fighting instinct came to the fore. Ben probably expected her to run from him like a frightened rabbit—just as Mary Fitton had run from Southampton—well, she would show him! Before she could change her mind she swung round on her heel and headed in the direction Ben had pointed out to her.

Before she got to Ben’s trailer, Sarah found the trailers which were being used as the administrative offices for the unit. One of the four girls working there, a plump, cheerful brunette, produced a work schedule, adding by way of warning, ‘Of course it changes from day to day—you know what it’s like—but we’ll be pinning a fresh one up here every morning, and of course if you’re in any doubt, you’re lucky, you can always check with the boss at night!’ Her ready smile robbed the words of any offence, and when Sarah smiled back the girl gave a relieved grin and extended a small capable hand. ‘I haven’t introduced myself, by the way. I’m Lois and the others are Anne, Helen and Sue, respectively. Thank goodness you’re human. After all the tantrums we’ve had from Madame Gina we were getting a bit worried about you, especially after this morning’s surprise. We had no idea the boss was married, much less to one of our leading ladies.’

‘We’ve been separated for some time,’ Sarah told her, unwilling to discuss her relationship with Ben and yet unwilling to offend by seeming aloof

‘We all envy you like mad,’ Lois confided with another grin, ‘and my, oh my, won’t our Gina be surprised! She got him earmarked as her private property, and he must be relieved that she’ll have to back down a little now that you’ve arrived. Anything going on between the two of them was bound to cause unpleasant repercussions if it ever got back to the ears of her boy-friend. He’s one of our backers,’ she added by way of clarification, and Sarah didn’t tell her that Dale had already informed her of this relationship. ‘Guy fought damned hard to get the money for this film, and we’re all relieved that Ben agreed to take over from him. It’s hard enough getting money out of backers these days to produce a film, without having to contend with a director who’s a yes-man and cuts corners and costs at every turn.’

Sarah could see that the other girl thought highly of Ben, which she knew from past experience was an accolade in itself. The crew were notorious for being ‘anti’ directors, and if a director did command their respect one could be sure that it had been hard won.

Half an hour later, having accepted the cup of coffee Lois offered, Sarah opened the door of Ben’s trailer. Slightly larger than Dale’s, it was on its own away from the others. Privileges of power, Sarah thought wryly, wondering why Ben had opted for seclusion. So that Gina could visit him unnoticed? She told herself she was being stupid, especially in view of all that she had been told, and anyway, why should it concern her if Gina and Ben had an affair?

Unlike Dale’s, the living area of the trailer was cluttered with mounds of paper. A typewriter sat uncovered on the table, and Sarah glanced curiously at it. The administration unit was fully equipped with all manner of electronic marvels, including a word processor, and she couldn’t understand why Ben should need a machine in his own living accommodation. Shrugging her shoulders, she investigated the doors leading off the corridor. One opened on to a kitchen very like Dale’s, only larger, with a breakfast bar in it. Next to it was a bathroom, and guessing that Ben would choose the bedroom nearest to it, Sarah pushed open the other door, into what was patently the unused bedroom.

Most of her luggage was still in Dale’s car, and since she couldn’t unpack she might as well make herself some belated breakfast and then explore the set. A swift glance at the schedule Lois had given her confirmed that she would not be needed until towards the end of the week, but she noticed that she had a wardrobe consultation first thing in the morning, and doubtless there would be many other things to fill in her time.

Half an hour later, having breakfasted on toast and coffee, and cleaned up after herself, she decided it was time to make her tour of the site, and familiarise herself with what was going to be her home for the next two or three months.

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