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      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

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