Whilst it was perfectly acceptable for Maxine to drool over Mel Gibson, developing a crush on someone you knew was somehow infinitely more embarrassing. Janey, unhappily contemplating her own schoolgirlish infatuation with Guy, couldn’t believe how juvenile she was being. She didn’t even know why it should suddenly have happened, anyway. For months she’d been fine, then ... wham! ... one full-blown crush, sprung up from nowhere, threatening to make her look even more of an idiot than she already felt.

It must be because of Alan, she told herself; some bizarre kind of reaction to being properly single again. Whatever, it was deeply and horribly humiliating.

‘Who’s that?’ said Paula, peering over her shoulder. Janey, who hadn’t realized she’d come up behind her, jumped a mile.

‘Just some old magazine.’ Hastily, she tried to turn the page. ‘I found it under the counter.’

‘It’s Guy!’ Paula, ever helpful, pointed him out. ‘Oh look, he’s with Valentina di Angelo ...

isn’t she stunning? You must be so excited about Friday,’ she added dreamily. ‘Imagine, going to a ball with Guy Cassidy. Everyone will think you’re a couple. By this time next week, you could be splashed across the pages of some gossip column ... what are you wearing, by the way?

Have you decided yet? Not lime-green cycling shorts, I hope, like vampy Valentina!’

Janey, who had imagined nothing but going to a ball with Guy Cassidy for the last six days, and who knew only too well that he had felt morally obliged to invite her, closed the magazine and chucked it into the bin.

‘I’m not wearing anything,’ she murmured wearily. It really was the only answer. Turning, she caught Paula’s goggle-eyed expression and forced a smile. ‘Because I’m not going.’

Guy, who had been up half the night working in the darkroom, was still in bed when Janey phoned at eleven o’clock on Thursday morning.

‘Hi, it’s me,’ she said quickly. ‘Um, I’m in a bit of a rush, so I’ll just say it. I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make it tomorrow after all. Paula’s gone down with terrible flu so she won’t be able to look after the shop, and there’s no one else who can do it so I’m going to have to stay here. I really am sorry,’ she gabbled, not sounding it, ‘but I thought I’d better let you know as soon as possible. I’m sure you’ve got dozens of other girls to choose from ...’

Guy, barely awake, propped himself up in bed.

‘I chose you.’ He sounded distinctly put out. ‘I thought you’d enjoy it. Look, we could fly back on Friday night if it would help. Surely there’s somebody capable of holding the fort for a couple of hours in the afternoon? What about your mother?’

‘No, nobody.’ Janey was firm. ‘So it was kind of you to ask me, but I’m afraid that’s it. I know you’ll still have fun there, anyway. Just ring up someone else ... oh God, more customers coming in ... I really must go ...’

Damn, thought Guy, when she had hurriedly hung up. Bloody Paula. Bloody flu. Bloody hell.

Paula, who had been lugging bottle gardens the size of coffee tables in from the back of the shop, stopped to lean against the counter and catch her breath. Bright-eyed and pink-cheeked, she said, ‘I haven’t got flu.’

‘One little white lie.’ Janey, just glad to have done the deed, excused herself with a shrug.

‘What happens when he asks my mum if I’m better yet? She’ll think he’s gone off his rocker.’

‘Your mother only works for Guy on Mondays and Wednesdays,’ Janey replied evenly. ‘By then it won’t matter any more.’

‘Hmm.’ Paula looked unconvinced. ‘Well I don’t know why you won’t go to the do anyway. It sounds brilliant. If anyone’s off their rocker around here,’ she added darkly, ‘it’s you.’

‘Oh darling, you’ll never believe it ... the best news in the world!’ Maxine, erupting through the front door of the cottage, flung herself into Bruno’s arms. ‘My agent just rang to tell me I’ve landed a part in Romsey Road! You’re hugging the next Bet Lynch ... the future queen of the soaps ... the biggest new name in television since Miss Piggy!’

‘Thank God.’ Bruno, who loathed every minute of his job at the unbelievably stuffy Grand Rock, heaved a sigh of relief. ‘You can take me away from all this. They film it in Manchester don’t they? When do we leave?’

‘Well ...’ Maxine hesitated. ‘I start next week, but don’t hand your notice in yet. It’s only a walk-on ... or rather, a mince-on part,’ she amended with a grin. ‘I play a white-stilettoed trollop with a severe case of dangly-earring who tries to proposition the local vicar. He turns me down and I flounce off in a huff. But at least I’m in it!’ Her brown eyes danced as she gave Bruno another almighty hug. ‘And once they see how brilliant I am they’re bound to want me to stay.’

‘Next week?’ He frowned. ‘How does Guy Cassidy feel about this?’

‘Oh, he’s fed up with the weather. He decided this morning to take the kids to St Lucia.

Some friends of his have a massive house there. I said I wanted to go too, so he was as thrilled as I was when the call came through this afternoon.’ She grinned. ‘Now he doesn’t have to pay for my plane ticket.’

Bruno digested this in silence. If he had been offered the choice between a week in St Lucia without Maxine and a week at home with her, he would have stayed. The idea of passing up a free holiday, however, evidently hadn’t so much as crossed her mind.

And although the thought of Maxine spending a week on a tropical Island with Guy Cassidy was bad enough, the idea of her socializing with a television crew in Manchester was somehow even more menacing. He might love her, but he still didn’t trust her an inch.

Particularly, thought Bruno, when she was so hell bent on furthering her career.

He frowned. ‘How long will you be gone?’

‘Only a week.’

‘A whole week? For one lousy walk-on?’

Maxine nuzzled his neck and smiled to herself. ‘Hmm, I know. But ‘I straddle two episodes. That’s the kind of trollop I am.’

Bruno said nothing. That was just what he was afraid of.

‘You’ve got a ladder in your stocking.’

Maxine, shaking back her hair and almost knocking herself senseless with her extravagantly gaudy earrings, said, ‘Oh, bum.’ From her seat in the studio canteen she grinned up at Zack Morrison, star of Romsey Road and heart-throb to millions. ‘I’m supposed to have two.’

He nodded. He had a great nod. The way that lock of dark hair flopped over his left eyebrow, Maxine decided, was positively mesmerizing.

‘I spotted you earlier, down on the set,’ he said casually. ‘You’re good.’

‘I know.’ Maxine, too excited to eat, abandoned her Danish pastry. The part he played was that of the womanizing dodgy dealer, irresistibly wicked one altogether dangerous to know. In truth he wasn’t actually that good-looking, just a damn sight better than the rest of the males in the cast. It was his character, Robbie Elliott, that really set the female pulses racing, as each woman secretly wondered whether she could be the one to tame him.

‘I’ve seen you in the Babysoft ad, too,’ he told her, and Maxine shrugged.

‘Stepping stones,’ she replied, crossing her legs and idly swinging one scuffed white stiletto from her toes. ‘Why don’t you sit down, before your salad falls off its plate?’

Zack Morrison, currently between wives, was captivated by Maxine’s honesty. The rest of her wasn’t bad either, he admitted to himself. He tended to go for brunettes, so blonde made a nice change. The smile was stunning. And even the terrible outfit she was wearing couldn’t disguise the fact that beneath it, aching to get out, was a stupendous figure.

It was the honesty, however, which appealed above all. Women, throwing themselves at him, invariably told him how unhappy they were with the men they were currently either involved with or married to. It was their way of letting him know how available they were.

But although he was pretty certain Maxine Vaughan was throwing herself at him, practically all she’d talked about throughout lunch was her idyllic relationship with somebody called Bruno Parry-Brent.

This Bruno character, according to Maxine, was outrageously attractive, a superb chef, seriously wealthy and the best company in the world. Zack, accustomed to being made to feel he was the one with all these attributes –apart from the cooking, of course – was almost jealous. She was practically implying that he didn’t match up, he thought, feeling absurdly put out. He was Robbie Elliott, for Christ’s sake, more than a match for any man.

And the more extravagantly she sang the unknown Bruno’s praises, the more intrigued be became. Maxine Vaughan both mystified and intrigued him. Unable to resist such a challenge, Zack heard himself say, ‘Ah, but he isn’t one of us, is he? He isn’t in the business. It’s not as if he could pull any strings to help you in your career.’

‘Of course he couldn’t.’ Maxine shrugged and spooned sugar into her cold coffee. ‘But that doesn’t matter. If I’m good enough, I’ll make it on my own merit. Plenty of people do, don’t they?’ She brightened and added proudly, ‘After all, I’ve got this far!’

‘One toilet-roll ad and a walk-on.’ Zack Morrison dismissed her dazzling achievements-to-date with a languid gesture. ‘It’s who you know in this game, darling. OK, this Bruno chap might be able to whip up a terrific omelette but that isn’t going to put your name in lights.’

Maxine looked him. ‘That’s hardly his fault.’

‘Whereas with the right man behind you,’ Zack drawled. ‘Well ...’

‘Oh come on,’ she remonstrated, giving him a good-humoured smile. ‘It isn’t that straightforward.’

‘Look, let me give you an example.’ He leaned across the table towards her and lowered his voice. ‘Just a for-instance. I’m what makes Romsey Road one of the top-rated shows on TV. ‘I have clout. If I went to the scriptwriters tomorrow and suggested they expand your character ...

really bring her into the storyline ... they’d listen to me.’ He nodded, amused by the expression of disbelief in her eyes. ‘Seriously. If I wanted to do it, I could. Now wouldn’t you agree that’s simpler than slogging round endless auditions in search of the next measly job?’

‘Of course it is,’ said Maxine quietly. The brightness in her eyes had faded and she was shifting almost imperceptibly away from him. She looked, thought Zack, disappointed.

‘And ‘I could do it,’ he boasted.

‘I’m sure you could.’ Maxine bit her lower lip. ‘Look I’m sorry, but I’m beginning to think I’ve been a bit naïve here. What are you saying, that if I do you a ... favour, you’ll do one for me in return? Is this the old casting-couch routine?’

Zack Morrison grinned, bewitched all over again both by her troubled expression and forthright manner. ‘Why, would you go to bed with me if I asked you to? In exchange for a part in Romsey Road?’

‘No.’ Maxine shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t. I really am sorry, Mr Morrison, but I’m just not that sort of girl.’

She was terrific, thought Zack, filled with admiration. What a cracker! What an irresistible challenge.

‘In that case I won’t ask.’ Giving Maxine the benefit of the famous Robbie Elliott smile, he glanced down at his watch. ‘And I don’t know about you, but I have to be back on set in ninety seconds. How are you fixed for this evening? Are you free for dinner?’

Maxine looked wary. ‘I don’t know whether I should.’

‘No strings,’ he assured her, still smiling.

‘Well, OK.’ With a trace of defiance, she added, ‘But I have to phone Bruno at eight-thirty.’

‘Give me the address of where you’re staying later.’ Zack rose swiftly to his feet. ‘I’ll pick you up at nine. Wear something smart,’ he added, deciding that Maxine Vaughan deserved the full works, no expense spared. ‘We’ll really hit the town.’

When he had gone, Maxine sipped her coffee. It was scummy, stone cold and unbelievably disgusting but that didn’t matter. Her lips curled up at the corners as she allowed herself a small, triumphant smile.

Next year the Oscars, she thought happily. God, I’m good!

Chapter 56

St Lucia had been spectacular, but it would have been more spectacular if Guy could have got Janey out of his mind.

He still didn’t know why she had refused to go with him to the charity ball at the Grosvenor, either. All he knew, he thought dryly, was that as he had been driving through Trezale on his way to the airport that Friday lunchtime, he had overtaken Paula, giving a very poor impression of a flu-ridden invalid, pedalling furiously uphill on her bike.