CHAPTER ONE

      ‘I THOUGHT you said the film crew would already be here,’ said Tessa Conway, her wide-spaced blue eyes scanning the luxury of her almost deserted surroundings before returning to the petite figure of her cousin in the armchair beside her.

      ‘They’re here all right,’ Babs Morgan assured her. ‘In fact, they’ve already started filming on the beach just below here.’ She smiled indulgently as her cousin leapt excitedly to her feet and raced to one of the several tall windows overlooking the sea in the hotel lounge. ‘Tess, if you’re going to behave like a demented groupie I’ll take you straight back to London with me tomorrow!’

      Tessa returned to her chair, an impish grin dancing across her strikingly attractive features. ‘What, and let the wardrobe take care of itself?’ she teased.

      ‘I’m sure Carla, the production secretary, would be quite happy to help out should the need arise,’ murmured Babs with arch innocence.

      ‘You’re not being fair, expecting me to be as blasé as you are,’ laughed Tessa. ‘OK, so your job brings you into constant contact with film legends and their talented offspring, but you have to remember that despite all the times you’ve let me help with wardrobe work I’ve never been within a mile of a film set’

      ‘Tess, I know—and I’m eternally grateful that you were able to help me out like this,’ said Babs, then gave her a wicked grin. ‘But, as I’ve already explained, all the real filming’s finished—so I’m afraid there won’t be any stars around for you to gawp at.’

      ‘Babs, you know I’m not the gawping type!’ exclaimed Tessa indignantly. ‘And I promise to be on my best behavior in the presence of anyone even remotely connected with the crew.’

      ‘I’m only teasing, love,’ murmured Babs, her expression affectionate. ‘In fact, I was hoping that this little experience might start you thinking about coming to work for us permanently,’ she added tentatively.

      ‘I—that’s sweet, of you,’ stammered Tessa, reeling from the feelings of guilt suddenly bombarding her. ‘But it’s still journalism for me.’

      ‘Tess, why can’t you just accept that your stepfather’s too powerful a man for you to waste your life trying to prove him wrong?’ sighed Babs.

      ‘Charles is wrong! Just because he owns Conway Press and has a stake in several daily papers, it doesn’t mean he’s infallible! All I need is a break.’

      ‘You know, Tess,’ sighed Babs, ‘I sometimes get the feeling that the only thing that makes you so keen on journalism is the fact that Charles is against it.’

      ‘Against it? He won’t even discuss it with me,’ protested Tessa, ‘yet he puts every obstacle he can in my way—’ She broke off, guilt flaring once more in her as she realised how intently she was being scrutinised. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked defensively.

      ‘I knew there was something odd with you!’ exclaimed Babs, grinning. ‘You look about twelve. For heaven’s sake, Tess, what have you done to your hair?’

      Tessa’s hands rose to the bunches into which she had tied her shoulder-length, dark blonde hair, her look of uncertainty as she did so making her indeed look extremely young.

      ‘I—it’s easier to manage like this,’ she stammered, then gave a diffident shrug. ‘Actually, I hadn’t the faintest idea what sort of things people wear around a film set—I mean, they can hardly flit around the place dolled up to the nines—and you’d already left for here by the time I got around to thinking about it.’

      ‘An Irish beach in the middle of winter is hardly the place for anyone to be dolled up to the nines!’ observed Babs, then leaned back in her chair, giggling weakly. ‘Tess, you haven’t by any chance been reading what the gossip columnists have to say about a certain film director by the name of Sandro Lambert, have you?’

      ‘What on earth is that supposed to mean?’

      ‘Because, according to them, he has a gargantuan appetite for women,’ laughed Babs. ‘But I’m sure they’d tell you that pigtails won’t help you—that he’d gobble little girls like you up for breakfast,