THE DREAMING DUNES

Valerie Parv

Her heart had always ruled her head

Tori Duncan had sympathized with a runaway's story of cruelty at the hands of his uncaring, womanizing father. Her subsequent encounter with the boy's very angry, very caring father, Grant Stalker, convinced her she'd been duped by Australia's leading child actor.

Grant appreciated Tori's innocence, and he offered her a position tutoring young Nicholas on location, where Tori became involved with the most baffling, unpredictable man she'd ever met.

Grant inexplicably turned against her, although she was guilty of nothing--except perhaps of loving unwisely.

CHAPTER ONE

There was something touchingly waiflike about the little boy which immediately brought a lump to Tori Duncan's throat. The sight of him crouched beside the parapet of the pedestrian overpass, staring forlornly at Perth's evening traffic streaming along the Mitchel Freeway far below, tugged at her heartstrings.

Doug would have said she was a fool for stopping. 'It's none of your business,' he would have admonished her as he pulled her away from the child whose face, she now saw, was streaked with tears. But Doug had made his feelings all too clear, so now there was no one to prevent her being a fool if she chose.

She knelt down beside the boy and held out her handkerchief. 'Hello. Like to borrow this?'

He studied her warily then reached for the lace scrap and scrubbed at his eyes with it. 'I got some dust in my eye,' he said defensively. 'Wasn't crying.'

'No, of course not,' she agreed. 'The traffic does stir up a bit of dust sometimes. But you know—and I'm not saying you were, mind—there's really no harm in crying if you feel badly enough.'

'Wasn't crying,' he repeated firmly. 'Us men don't cry.'

Something in the pompous way he said this made Tori wonder who had planted such an archaic notion in his head. Probably some male chauvinist of a father, no doubt. But this was hardly the time to straighten out such misconceptions.

'Are you lost?' she asked gently.

He shook his head and she cast around for another approach. 'Well then, where are your Mummy and Daddy?'

'Don't have a-Mummy... or a Daddy,' he said gloomily. 'I'm a nor . . . nor . . . norphan.'

'An orphan? Oh, you poor child!' Impulsively, she gathered him into her arms and held him close, some of the old feeling returning as he nestled against her. She was conscious of the angular lines of his frail body through his thin shirt and jeans, and a wave of anguish surged through her as she was reminded of the last time she had held her little brother like this. Determinedly, she shook off the feeling. This was hardly the time for self-pity. The child needed her help, that much was plain. If someone had offered Bobby reassurance when he was in need, it might have made all the difference.

'What's your name?' she asked in a voice husky with emotion.

'Nicholas Francis Stalker,' he reeled off. It was such a mouthful for such a thin scrap of humanity that she was tempted to laugh, but instinct warned her against it.

'May I call you Nicky?' she asked instead.

'If you like,' he said off-handedly, 'but my Daddy wouldn't like it. I mean . . .' he added hastily, 'he didn't used to like me being called anything but Nicholas.'

The lump rose again. Poor mite! He must have lost his parents only recently if he still thought of them in the present tense.

Nicholas was watching her expectantly and she realised she would have to make some sort of decision about him. She couldn't very well leave him out here alone in the gathering dark. The most obvious solution was to take him to the police who would return him to the orphanage or foster home where he belonged. That was almost certainly the course of action Doug would have suggested. Again, she was forced to remind herself that that particular segment of her life was over. He had left her because of her readiness to let her heart rule her head. Now, her head was saying she should turn Nicky over to the authorities while her heart was whispering, 'not just yet.' But what about the matron or foster mother who would be worrying themselves sick over his disappearance? Much as she longed to have him to herself for just a few hours, she knew it would be terribly unfair to the people who looked after him.

Uncertainly, she stared back along St George's Terrace, the way she had just come. Already lights were winking on in the half-darkness. It was a long walk across town to the Police Headquarters and Nicky looked worn out. No, she would take him to her own flat and telephone the authorities from there.

Nicholas must be quite accustomed to dealing with strangers, she judged, from the calm way he fell in with her suggestion that they would be more comfortable at her flat. Luckily it was only a short distance away up hilly Mount Street. Although his eyelids drooped and his head kept dropping forwards, he managed the steep climb with uncomplaining stoicism, his short legs pumping furiously to keep up with her. She was tempted to scoop him up and carry him the remaining distance, but he held himself with such an air of dignity that she felt he would be insulted. Her teacher-trained eye told her he couldn't be more than eight years old, yet in many ways he behaved like a miniature adult. She doubted that he was the product of an orphanage, or even that he had been around children his own age much at all. She decided he had probably been fostered out to some well meaning but

older couple who, unable to have children of their own, saw the raising of an 'underprivileged' child as their contribution to society.

'Is something wrong, miss?' a small voice beside her queried.

She realised she had allowed the pain her thoughts caused her to show on her face and hastily assumed a more cheerful expression. 'I'm fine, really Nicky. And my name is Miss Duncan. Can you say that?'

'Of course I can,' he said scornfully. 'I can say much harder words than that.'

She pretended disbelief. 'Not really! Why, I'll bet you can't even say the name of the street where you live.'

'Huh! That's easy!' he snorted and Tori held her breath. 'I live in ... wait a minute, you're trying to trick me.'

'Now why would I do that?' she asked dryly. She should have known it wouldn't be as easy as that. Besides, a traitorous voice inside whispered, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know where he belonged, not just yet. If she found out, she would be bound to take him back and he was so endearingly like Bobby that, short as their acquaintance was, parting from him would be a wrench.

Home for Tori was a tiny flat with just enough room to swing the proverbial cat, although banquettes around the living room walls could be converted into beds for up to six people. The rest of the furniture was depressingly old-fashioned, but she had done her best to liven things lip with large travel posters and colourful rugs thrown over the couches. Still, it had two saving graces. One was the view past Perth's mix of skyscrapers and gracious old buildings to the Swan River, which now shimmered with reflected light from the city. The other was the peppercorn rent she paid to her foster father for the use of the flat.

Unemployed as she was, she would have been hard pressed to find full market value for any sort of accommodation, far less afford such a handy location which in itself saved her a fortune in travelling costs.

Nicholas went at once to the double glass doors leading out on to a miniature balcony, and stared entranced at the view. 'It's just like Hollywood,' he breathed.

What an imagination the child had! Probably watched too much television, she thought with a twinge of disapproval. Her suspicion was confirmed when he looked around and said, puzzled, 'Where's your television set?*

'I don't have one.'

'But everyone has a TV set!'

'Well, I'm not everyone then, am I?' she said tartly. He backed away as if stung and his wide, dark eyes filled with tears. Feeling like a brute, she held out both hands. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you like that, Nicky. I'm just tired, that's all. Friends?'

He hesitated the merest moment then slipped his hands into hers. 'Friends.'

While she rustled up a supper of scrambled eggs and bacon for them both, he tagged at her heels, chattering happily. But whenever she tried to steer the conversation around to his background he grew sullen and tearful. Finally she decided to take the bull by the horns.

Carefully, she set the plates down on the drop-side table in the dining alcove off the kitchen, and took her place opposite Nicholas. 'Now young man,' she said sternly. 'Right now, someone is very worried about you. So I want to know all about you—and no tears this time.'

Her sharp tone in contrast to her earlier gentleness seemed to do the trick. He paused with a forkful of food poised in mid-air, and his chin trembled but the threatened tears did not spill over. 'If I tell you, will you promise not to send me back?'

He sounded so genuinely fearful that she was shaken. What sort of background did he come from, for goodness' sake? 'I can't promise anything until you tell me what you're running away from,' she compromised.

His chin trembled again. 'I thought you were my friend.'

Impulsively, she covered his hand with her own. 'Oh, I am, Nicky, so you can tell me. We'll work something out, that much I can promise.' Inwardly, she quaked. At Churchlands College where she had trained, they had been taught about parents who battered their children, so they would know how to handle it if they ever encountered such a case in their careers. Could Nicholas be a victim of such a home? She braced herself as he launched into his story.

It was worse than she'd imagined. The child was a victim of psychological, rather than physical abuse, she decided as he poured out his tale about a stepfather who kept him away from school for months on end and made him work long hours every day. It was like something out of Oliver Twist, she thought, chilled. No wonder he was such a little adult—he was never allowed the healthy company of children his own age.

Across the room the telephone stared at her in mute accusation, but she couldn't call the police and risk having Nicky handed back to such a barbaric environment No doubt the stepfather would deny everything, then what would happen to poor Nicky? She twisted her table napkin into a rope as she wrestled with indecision.

'What about your mother?' she asked at last. 'Doesn't she say anything about your being kept away from school to do all that work?'

'I told you, my mother's dead,' he said matter-of-factly, but he screwed up his eyes in a way which hinted at some inner pain. 'Course,' he added, 'there's other ladies, different ones all the time, but they don't count.'

Other ladies! So the stepfather was a womaniser as well! Doug, or no Doug, she was going to make sure the authorities investigated this monster. Unconsciously, she squared her shoulders and stared defiantly back at the telephone. No way was she calling anyone about Nicholas tonight. From the sound of things, his ne'er-do-well stepfather wouldn't even miss him, unless it was because his chores weren't being done. She was filled with righteous anger at the thought that a sweet child like Nicholas could be subjected to such treatment. Well, she could spare him one night of it if she could do nothing else. 'Would you like to sleep here tonight?' she asked.

He broke into a wide grin then looked around in puzzlement, 'But you don't have any beds.'

'Oh, they're magic beds—they appear out of nowhere,' she told him with a twinkle.

He regarded her scornfully. 'Magic beds, huh? Bet you those couches turn into beds. All the blankets and stuff are in boxes underneath, aren't they?'

'Right first time,' she acknowledged, laughing, but she was baffled all the same. It seemed his general knowledge was unusually broad for one so deprived of schooling.

His ingenuity surprised her even more. While she was clearing and washing the supper dishes, he tugged one of the convertible divans down into position although it must have taken all his small strength. Hampered by his short reach, he was doing his best to spread the sheets out when she came through.

'You're pretty good at that,' she praised, lending him a hand. 'Where did you learn to make this sort of bed?'

'It was on TV,' he said non-committally.

Although he denied it fiercely when she suggested he must be tired, his denial turned into a huge yawn which he stifled unsuccessfully behind a small hand.

'Let's skip a bath for one night,' she smiled. 'You look ready to go to sleep standing up.'

What he was to wear to bed was another problem because her limited wardrobe didn't stretch to children's pyjamas—nor to any sort of nightwear for that matter: She had been brought up to believe that it was healthier to sleep without anything on. She compromised by outfitting Nicky in one of her own T-shirts which made a passable nightshirt, even though it reached well past his knees.

'Sleep well,' she said softly as she tucked him into bed. On impulse, she bent over and kissed him on the forehead and was rewarded by a sleepy smile of gratitude. She snapped off the light and retreated to the far side of the room where her reading lamp wouldn't disturb him.

His even breathing soon told her that he was asleep and she studied him in wonder. With his longish blond hair spread across the pillow like a halo, he looked disarmingly angelic and so like Bobby that her heart constricted in protest. If he'd lived, Bobby would have been about the same age by now, probably every bit as impish and appealing although never as adult as Nicky, not the way Elizabeth had insisted on spoiling him.

As a doctor, Elizabeth Duncan should have known better, but Tori tried to understand, aware that she herself was no substitute for the natural child her foster mother had coveted and who finally came along out of the blue when Elizabeth was forty-two. Miles, Tori's foster father, had given up hope years before and tried to persuade Elizabeth to adopt. She refused, vowing that she could never love someone else's child. Then Tori's parents were killed when their car was washed off a causeway in Queensland during a flash flood. Their closest friends, the Duncans, had been looking after Tori, then six years old, while her parents were away, so since she had no other relatives they generously volunteered to take her into their family.

Tori had remained their only child for twelve years. Miles had spoilt her, she supposed, and thinking about her foster father she felt a surge of affection for him. He was so gentle and vague, better suited to the ratified atmosphere of the laboratory than the real world, but had gone into private practice for his wife's sake, so they could work together. Tori was sure he had never really been happy in the role. On the rare occasions when they had had the chance to talk he had told her how, as a young doctor, he had dreamt of going into research. He had given it all up for Elizabeth, even though she seemed oblivious to his sacrifice. She accepted it without comment just as she accepted Tori's presence in her household. Tori had never lacked for any material thing, and yet she often longed for a real mother-daughter relationship. She and her foster mother had forged a friendship of a sort, yet Tori couldn't in her wildest fantasies have called it love.

Then Bobby was born and unintentionally turned Tori's world upside-down. It wasn't his fault of course, but from the day he came into the world Elizabeth gave all her attention to the baby who must have seemed like a miracle to her after all the barren years. From the first, Bobby had been a lovable child, placid and cheerful, with none of the usual childish gripes and ailments to make him fractious. When Elizabeth was tied up with her work, she would reluctantly entrust Tori with Bobby's care and she came to cherish the hours she spent minding him. He loved her unstintingly, blissfully unaware that she was only an interloper in his household. It was the first time since she was six years old that she had known such unconditional acceptance and it was balm to her troubled soul. In the warmth of his smile, she was able to assuage the pain of Elizabeth's rejection.

Then came the day which was burnt forever into her memory. She came home from a particularly gruelling practical-teaching assignment to find the house in an uproar. Her foster mother was slumped on a chair in the hall, her face ashen.

At once, Tori went to her and knelt by her side. 'Elizabeth, what is it—what's wrong?'

Elizabeth's eyes were like burning coals which seared Tori when their force was directed at her. 'Bobby,' she rasped as if her throat was burnt. 'Bobby's gone.'

Tori's baffled gaze flickered from Elizabeth to Miles, slumped against the door-frame. 'Miles, what does she mean?'

'Bobby's been missing all afternoon,' he said tiredly. 'We're waiting for some word from the police.'

Tori's head began to reel and she clutched the hall table for support. 'Bobby, missing? But how? What happened?' She turned frantically towards the door. 'Maybe if I went out to look . . .'

Elizabeth turned a withering look her way. 'You think we haven't done that already—looked everywhere there is to look?' she jeered. 'Oh, why couldn't he have come through that door just now, instead of you. It's always you!' Suddenly, she buried her anguished face in her hands and tears squeezed their way between her fingers.

Gently, Miles put an arm around Tori's shoulders and steered her towards the living room. 'She's not herself, love. She didn't mean that, you know. It's just that the waiting's been so hard.'

'I understand,' Tori whispered but her foster mother's last look of accusation was imprinted on her brain and she found she was trembling with reaction. Elizabeth didn't mean it, she told herself over and over as the minutes ticked by with agonising slowness.

Then had come the heavy knock on the front door, a sound Tori would never hear afterwards without an inward shudder. She stood behind Miles as he opened it and they both held their breath as they caught sight of the burly police officer standing there, cap in hand. 'May I come in?' he said softly, too softly.

'Of course:' Miles stood aside to admit the man, who looked questioningly at Elizabeth slumped in the hall chair.

'Your wife?' Miles nodded. 'Then I'd better tell you all together—your little boy is . . .'

"No! Oh, no!' Elizabeth's animal-like keening interrupted the policeman. Painfully, he explained how a passer-by had found Bobby wandering in a shopping centre, apparently having somehow boarded a crowded bus. His presence went unnoticed and when he got off he was several suburbs away from home and totally disorientated. When the woman who found him told him she would take him to a police station, he panicked and ran straight into the path of a truck. It was all over in a matter of minutes.

Miles, white-faced but in control of himself, agreed to go with the policeman to identify his son. Before he went, he administered a strong sedative to Elizabeth and asked Tori to stay with her until her returned.

Nothing had been the same in the Duncan household after that. Although she recovered enough to take up her practice again, Elizabeth looked straight through Tori as if she didn't exist. Tori could almost hear her thinking, 'Why couldn't you have been killed instead of my beloved Bobby?'

She told herself it didn't matter, that it was just her foster mother's way of coping with the terrible tragedy. She, too, missed Bobby more than she would have believed possible, but Elizabeth behaved as if she was the only one whose loss mattered. To Tori fell the task of sorting through Bobby's things and giving his small clothes to charity and she did it willingly enough to spare Miles and Elizabeth, but no one knew the anguish it cost her.

Then Miles and Elizabeth were given the chance to join an expedition to the Antarctic as medical officers. Nothing much was said but Tori could see the relief in her foster father's gentle eyes. It would be best for them to go their separate ways for a while, his unspoken glance told her.

The house in Cottesloe was sold when Elizabeth refused to consider returning to it after their spell in the Antarctic, so Tori moved to the Duncans' flat close to the heart of Perth.

If she thought she had been lonely in her foster parents' home, it was nothing compared with the desolation of spirit she endured after they left. Suddenly she was completely, utterly alone. If it hadn't been for her studies at Churchlands she would have gone crazy.

Thinking of her days at the famous teachers' college brought a warm glow to her senses, followed by a sharp stab of pain as she reflected that she had been able to make precious little use of her training so far. Of course, she shouldn't have counted on getting a job straight out of college—only the A and B students could do that. And with all her upheaval in her life, she had only just scraped a C, which was no disgrace, she reminded herself quickly. It was just that with so many C students graduating, there was a lot of competition for what jobs were available. As it was, she considered herself lucky to have obtained two temporary positions which at least kept her skills from becoming rusty.

If it hadn't been for Doug . . . she sighed deeply, aware that she was still not over yesterday's last, bitter quarrel. She had been so sure that he loved her and it had been shattering to discover that he was only stringing her along in the hope of convincing her to let him share the flat with her. He told her he was leaving because of her tiresome habit of collecting waifs and strays, but in her heart of hearts she suspected he only disapproved because he wasn't one of them.

She sighed again. Having Nicholas here was making her uncommonly introspective. Long ago, she had accepted that she was one of life's understudies but. had never let it bother her before—why now? She shifted her position to check on Nicky who now lay on his back with one arm flung across his eyes. He looked so peaceful that her heart ached with the desire to rescue him from his brute of a stepfather. If only she could get her hands on that monster!

Her vision of the revenge she would exact on Nicky's behalf was interrupted by a violent hammering on her front door. Her heart began to pound as the handle rattled alarmingly and a deep masculine voice demanded, 'Open up, I know you're in there!'

She clutched a hand to her throat and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled with fear. Whoever was outside must surely have come to the wrong flat. Yes, that was it. If she found out who he was looking for, she could tell him which flat he really wanted and make him go away.

Hesitantly she started towards the door. The handle rattled again, more insistently and she looked towards the telephone in the kitchen. Maybe she should phone the police in case he was some sort of maniac. Then she thought of Nicky asleep in her living room. How would she explain his presence?

'Open up or I'll break this door down!'

Deciding quickly, she moved to the tiny entrance hall and slid the safety chain into place before opening the door the few inches the chain permitted.

Outside stood the whole macho package in one tall, daunting man. In the few seconds she had to assimilate his features she saw that his forehead was etched with the furrows of the outdoorsman and his dark eyes glittered with a far-sighted stare that was cynical, yet dashing under a thatch of thick, fair hair threaded with silver. His most distinctive feature was his narrow, arrogant mouth which was twisted into an angry line. A day-old growth of silvery stubble on his chin made him appear even more decadent and menacing.

Then time unfroze and he moved with the speed of a panther, to thrust his lithe body forward so that one leg jammed into the narrow opening, thwarting any idea she may have had of shutting him out.

'Now open this blasted door,' he said levelly, his facial muscles working to control an obviously towering rage.

'Who are you? What do you want?' she quavered, already regretting that she hadn't followed her first impulse and called the police. Whatever the consequences, it would have been better than having to cope with a raging madman in the middle of the night. However, she had left herself no choice but to brazen it out. 'If you don't go away, I'm going to call the police,' she threatened.

'And turn yourself in while you're about it? I hardly think so.'

'What do you mean—turn myself in?'

'Don't act so damned innocent,' he growled, his eyes blazing again. 'Kidnapping is a criminal offence in this country.'

'Kidnapping? But I don't . . . you can't mean Nicholas?'

Satisfaction replaced some of the anger in his expression. 'Well at least you aren't trying to deny that he's here.'

Whoever the man was, he must have seen her bring Nicky back to the flat or spoken to someone who had. 'I don't deny that there's a little boy staying here,' she concurred, fighting to keep the tremor out of her voice. Whatever happened, she mustn't let him see how frightened she was. 'Look, who are you? What does Nicky have to do with you?'

'A hell of a lot. He happens to be my son.'

Her mouth dropped open with astonishment. 'Your son?'

'That's right. Now will you open this door?'

From deep within her stirred a rage equal to his own as she thought of Nicky's suffering at the hands of this monster. 'I most certainly won't let you in. If you weren't such a heartless brute, he wouldn't have run away and had to turn to me for help.'

The man ran a distracted hand through his tousled hair. 'What in blazes are you talking about, woman? You don't know the first thing about me.'

'I know enough to realise that the authorities ought to be told about your callous treatment of that poor child,' she seethed. 'So you'd better go now because I really am calling the police.'

He reached into his jacket and for an irrational moment she thought he was going to produce a gun. Instinctively she shrank back then relaxed, her nerve endings still quivering, when he thrust a business card under her nose. She had difficulty focusing clearly enough to read it but gradually the dancing letters resolved themselves into the name, Grantland Stalker, Stalker Productions.

'If you're going to call the police, you may as well start with Inspector Lyle, Perth C.I.B. since he's already on the case,' he told her.

'The. . . the case?'

'Suspected kidnapping.'

He turned the card over so that she could read the name Peter Lyle, and a telephone number scribbled on the back. Her senses began to swim as it dawned on her that she might have made a ghastly mistake. If this man was such a monster, surely he wouldn't have dared to involve the police in his stepson's disappearance? Slowly, she eased the door shut and released the safety chain, then opened it wide again.

At once, he stepped into her hallway and his eye swept the flat beyond with an all-encompassing gaze. 'Where is he?'

She gestured around the corner towards the living room. 'In there. He was asleep but you've probably woken him with all your racket.'

'I doubt it,' he said tersely. 'That boy could sleep through a cyclone. Come to think of it, he did—right through Tracy when it hit Darwin. So a few raised voices won't even disturb his dreams.' His roving gaze settled on the telephone on her kitchen bench. 'May I?'

She nodded, too stunned by the speed with which events were overtaking her, to ask any of the questions buzzing around her brain. He glanced at the card he had shown her then dialled a number, listened for a moment then spoke into the receiver, 'Inspector Lyle, please.'

Oh lord, he was going to have her arrested for kidnapping! She felt the colour drain from her face and had to grip the edge of the bench for support when his searching eyes caught and held hers in hypnotic thrall. The spell was broken when he turned back to the receiver.

'Peter? Grant Stalker. Yes, everything's okay thanks— now I've located Nicholas.' The look he spared Tori spoke volumes and she held her breath. 'Nicholas was . . . visiting a friend.' Sweet relief coursed through her slight body as she realised he was not going to have her arrested just yet. Dimly, she heard him say, 'Yes, I expect it was the disappointment of not being able to go with us that made him take off like that. Tell the lads I appreciate all you've done and I'm sorry about all the trouble. Goodnight.'

The call seemed to take the last reserve of the man's strength because as soon as he replaced the receiver, he swayed. Reflex action brought Tori to his side. 'Are you all right?'

The look he turned on her seemed glassy and unfocussed, then the hard glitter returned. With an obvious effort he straightened up. 'Yes, I'm all right—considering I've been roaming these streets since this morning looking for Nicholas. I don't suppose that possibility entered your head when you decided to keep him here?'

'Yes, of course it did, but. . .'

'. . . but you thought it might be fun to play mother for a while. Isn't that supposed to be every woman's instinctive need?'

So she had guessed correctly—he was an out and out chauvinist. Her own temper, slow to rouse, but even slower to quell, reached boiling point. 'Now look here, Mr . . . Stalker . . . my "instinctive needs" as you so snidely put it, had nothing to do with my keeping Nicholas here. He told me. . . he. . .' Under the intensity of his scrutiny, she faltered, unable to confront him as she had intended.

'Yes,' he said with dangerous calmness, 'just what did he tell you about me?'

Hesitantly, she recounted the tale Nicky had told her over dinner. As she spoke, she grew angry all over again as she realised that he showed not the slightest sigh of remorse. Instead, he confounded her by bursting into laughter.

It was too much! In a fury, she hurled herself at him, fists upraised. 'What kind of a heartless brute are you?'

He forestalled the blows by catching her wrists in an iron grip she was powerless to break. 'I can't be ail that heartless, or I'd have turned you over to the police earlier, wouldn't I?'

'You couldn't very well do that without exposing your treatment of Nicky,' she countered, finding it increasingly hard to meet his eyes. He drew her disconcertingly closer and she stiffened," acutely aware of the possibility that a man who would stoop to ill treating a child might not baulk at rape either. She struggled but he held her fast.

'Tell me. Do you ever go to see films or watch television?'

Now she was sure he was crazy. 'What does that have to do with anything?'

'Everything. I guessed you hadn't because if you did, you would have known that Nicholas Stalker is one of this country's leading child actors.'

'Oh!' At last he released her and she sagged against the kitchen wall, feeling as if all the breath had been driven out of her body.

'I see light is starting to dawn,' he said wryly.

It added up. The long hours Nicky said he worked; never being sent to a proper school—it would all fit the life of a child actor. But without the Dickensian overtones, it had quite a different perspective, she could see that now. Abruptly, she turned towards the stove and set a pan on it to heat then took eggs, milk and butter out of the refrigerator and arranged them with great care on the benchtop.

He watched her, plainly baffled. 'What exactly are you doing?'

'You said you'd been out all day. From the look of you, you didn't stop to eat, either. I'm cooking you an omelette,' she said distractedly.

'An apology would do just as well.'

She put the pan down with a clatter and whirled on him. 'All right, so I've made a complete and utter idiot of myself. Is that what you're waiting to hear?'

For the: first time, his hard expression softened and he looked curiously vulnerable, like a mature version of Nicky in fact. 'No, that's not what I was waiting to hear,' he denied. 'You shouldn't feel badly about being taken in—Nicholas is a very accomplished actor.'

'And I'm supposed to be an accomplished school teacher!' she retorted bitterly. 'No wonder I can't get a job—I've obviously got a lot to learn about child psychology.'

He seemed hardly to hear the last part of this. At her first words, his eyes had widened in disbelief, then a look of delight transformed his craggy features. 'Say that again,' he ordered.

'I'm sorry, I don't. . .'

'Just tell me again that you're an unemployed schoolteacher.'

'Well, I am, but. . .'

He raked long fingers through his windblown hair, making it stand up raffishly. 'I have to think for a moment,' he interrupted. 'I might have a proposition for you. Look, would you mind if I sat down—it's been a very long day.'

Puzzled, she led the way into the dimly lit living room, gesturing towards the couch were Nicky slept peacefully, unaware of the drama he had caused. She put a finger to her lips and Grant Stalker nodded, then sank down on to one of the couches, groaning softly. With the toe of one foot, he eased a shoe off then kicked its mate off and stretched his long legs out in front of him.

'I'll call you when the omelette's ready,' she whispered and tiptoed back to the kitchen, her mind a seething mass of questions. Was nothing Nicholas had told her true? Grant Stalker was obviously the child's real father but surely, if his mother was alive, Grant would have wanted to call her to assure her Nicholas was safe and sound. So he was probably a widower. This gave her an odd feeling of satisfaction which she dismissed at once. If Grant Stalker was such a devoted father, why had Nicholas run away and concocted such a terrible story about his home life? His acting background might explain how he was able to fool her so thoroughly, but it hardly explained why. At least she had managed to discover how Grant found her—after he told her he'd been knocking on doors at random, he said he chanced on a neighbour of Tori's who had seen her with Nicholas earlier in the evening.

The acrid smell of burning, reached her nostrils; Too late she remembered the omelette. It was ruined. She tiptoed back to the living room to tell Grant his supper would be a little longer in coming, but it-seemed she needn't have bothered at all.

He was fast asleep on her couch, his sun-leathered features at peace for the first time in their short acquaintance, and his arrogant mouth was relaxed in a half-smile which did extraordinary things to her.

She debated whether to wake him then shrugged and lifted a thick mohair travel rug from another couch and draped it carefully over him. Then she stood looking down at him thoughtfully, feeling a shiver play along her spine as she wondered what sort of proposition he had in mind. She certainly wasn't going to find out tonight.

CHAPTER TWO

The tantalising aroma of coffee stirred her senses to wakefulness before the rest of her followed suit. She opened her eyes to find Nicholas standing over her clutching a steaming cup in both hands. It took her a minute to remember just what he was doing here, then she groaned as the events of the previous night came rushing back to her.

'Good morning and I'm sorry,' he said as soon as her eyes opened.

'Good morning—and you're what?' she asked sleepily.

'He's apologising for all that rubbish he told you yesterday about being a poor, mistreated orphan,' contributed a deep masculine voice from the kitchen.

Nicholas was watching anxiously for her response. 'I see. Apology accepted,' she said since anything else would have seemed churlish. His father must have given him quite a talking-to before she awoke, judging from his crestfallen expression. At her reaction he brightened considerably.

'Then you're still my friend?'

He looked so appealing that she melted, forgetting his acting abilities. 'Friends.'

As soon as she took the cup from him, he headed back to the kitchen, from which came the clatter of saucepans and cutlery. She should have been annoyed about them making so free with her flat, but instead she found the sounds curiously homey. It was only when she relaxed against the pillows and allowed the blanket to slip down to her waist that she remembered that she had gone to bed with nothing on, out of sheer force of habit. She looked anxiously towards the kitchen. Maybe she could slip into a wrap before they emerged. But her hopes were dashed when Grant Stalker came around the corner bearing a laden tray. He grinned but said nothing as she tugged the blanket back up around her chin.

'I took the liberty of preparing you some breakfast,' he explained as he propped the tray across her knees. 'I owe you an apology as well, it seems. I had no intention of spending the night here uninvited. You should have woken me up and kicked me out.'

'You looked exhausted. I didn't have the heart.'

'Ah, the lady has a heart—but I should have known that, or you wouldn't have believed a word of Nicholas's inventive tale.'

She felt herself blushing furiously. 'Please don't remind me! I feel like such an idiot. But he was awfully convincing.'

'As I explained last night, it's his profession to be convincing Miss . . . good grief. I spent the night in your flat and don't even know your name.'

'Duncan. Victoria Duncan,' she offered, 'usually abbreviated to Tori because it was the best I could to when I was very little.'

He held out his hand. 'How do you do, Tori Duncan.'

'Pleased to meet you, Grant Stalker,' she responded, keeping one hand around the edge of the blanket while she shook his hand with the other. The whole thing was too farcical for words—only the day before yesterday, Doug had accused her of being a prude because she refused to let him move in with her. Now here she was, stark naked in bed, shaking hands with a perfect stranger. She began to laugh, rattling the china on the breakfast tray.

'What's so funny?' Grant demanded.

'This,' she gestured around. 'I don't make a habit of this sort of thing, you know.'

'I guessed not or you wouldn't be blushing like that. Let's say this is a unique situation for both of us. I don't normally go to sleep in strange women's flats either.'

Maybe not strange, girls, but what about familiar ones, she thought unkindly, then chided herself. She hardly knew the man so she shouldn't be making judgements about his character. Still, Nicholas had said there were 'other ladies'. She became aware that Grant was staring fixedly at her as if seeing a ghost. 'What is it?' she asked uncomfortably.

He tore his gaze away with an apparent effort. 'Nothing. In that light you just, . . reminded me of someone, that's all.'

If it was a line then it was said in a very unprovocative way. She shrugged under the blanket. 'Maybe. I have one of those very ordinary faces.'

'No,' he murmured, 'I wouldn't say it was ordinary at all. Quite beautiful, in fact.'

The trancelike way he said this made her shiver. It was as if he was referring to someone else entirely. He couldn't mean it, of course. Her features were well defined with strong cheekbones and large almond eyes, but that hardly added up to beauty. About the only features she considered passable were her long, smooth neck and tiny waist. She would have given a great deal for an extra few inches in height so that she was taken for her real age of twenty-two instead of several years younger. She was struck by the incongruousness of what she was thinking. Heavens above! What did it matter what he thought of her? It wasn't as if she was going to see him again after today. She coughed gently and the glassy look faded from his eyes.

'Something wrong?' he enquired.

'Yes. Would you please go into the kitchen and stay there for a few minutes. I'd like to get up.'

'But you haven't even touched your breakfast.'

She couldn't very well tell him why she felt at such a disadvantage. 'I'll eat it when I'm up,' she promised.

'You weren't too worried about that when I got up this morning.'

What on earth did he mean by that? Then she had a shocking thought. Perhaps she had thrown aside the blankets while she slept and if so. . . she flushed scarlet at the thought of how much he would have seen. Certainly more than Doug or any other man for that matter. Then she realised he was watching her with an expression of wry amusement on his handsome features.

'You . . . you beast!' she seethed. He had guessed she was naked under the covers and was having fun teasing her. Her hand itched for a shoe, anything hard and solid to throw at him. 'Get out of here!'

He spread his hands wide. 'All right, I'm going—but only as far as your kitchen. I still want to talk to you about that proposition I mentioned last night. It's been on my mind since dawn.'

She had been wondering when he would get around to mentioning that and she was tempted to demand that he explain right now. But she couldn't go on holding the blanket up forever so she waited until he had retreated to the kitchen where she could hear him talking to Nicholas, then she ventured cautiously out of bed.

Swathed in a short velour wrap, she felt much more capable of discussing whatever he had in mind. He whistled appreciatively when she appeared in the kitchen doorway. 'You should be in my movie.'

Her heart plummeted. What if his 'proposition' was no more than the much vaunted casting couch gambit. Well, she wasn't about to fall for anything like that. 'What exactly did you want to talk to me about?' she asked a little stiffly.

He followed her back to the living room. 'Look, you aren't one of those people who think TV and films are works of the devil or anything, are you?'

'No, I'm not,' she assured him coolly. 'They're fine in their way but since I'm unemployed, I haven't had much money to spend on tickets or to buy a TV set.'

He sighed visibly. 'That's a relief. What I wanted to ask you was . . .'

'Tell her she's coming to Nambung with us,' Nicholas interrupted impatiently.

'I'm what?'

'Nicholas is getting ahead of himself,' his father said with a stern look at the child. 'But he's put it in a nutshell. My film company, Stalker Productions, is going on location to Nambung National Park, north of Perth, next week. Nicholas was to star in the film but I can't find a governess for him at short notice, and he can't miss that much schooling, so unless I find someone, he'll have to stay in Perth. It means rewriting a large chunk of script and, what's worse, breaking my word to Nicholas.'

'Is that why he ran away yesterday?'

Grant ruffled his son's hair. 'That's right, isn't it, son?'

Nicholas looked awkwardly down at the carpet. 'Yes, but you did promise.'

Tori's heart went out to him. 'It's all right, Nicky, I said your apology was accepted. But I don't understand why you need a teacher at such short notice. Surely a film takes months to plan.'

'Years sometimes,' Grant conceded. 'The unit's regular teacher, Julie Henderson, was scheduled to go with us but she had . . . other responsibilities.'

'She's going to have a baby,' volunteered Nicholas but was frowned into silence by his father, leaving Tori with a whole new set of questions regarding this extraordinary man. The apparently sudden resignation of Nicky's previous governess made it sound almost as if he did keep a casting couch. Nevertheless, she felt a tingling sensation up and down her spine. A teaching job with a film company sounded marvellous. She reminded herself not to let her impulsiveness run away with her this time.

'How long would the assignment last?' she asked, trying to keep the tremor of excitement out of her voice.

'Six to eight weeks providing we keep to the shooting schedule. You'll take the job then?'

'Of course she will!'

She held up her hands, laughing. 'Now hold on, Nicky. Your father doesn't know the first thing about me or whether my qualifications are suitable.'

Grant Stalker frowned impatiently. 'I know as much about you as you do about me and you seem happy to take me at face-value.'

She hadn't quite looked at it that way but it was true, she had taken him entirely on trust.

He smiled as her uncertainty showed on her face. 'Relax, I really am a film director. You can call my office for my credentials. The number's on the card I left by your phone last night. And Equity will vouch for Nicholas if you care to call them.'

'Well, if you have an office, shouldn't I come in for a proper interview?' she asked, still bemused. Maybe film people went about things differently, but she had trouble believing she was actually being offered a job in her dressing gown, after being served breakfast in bed by her prospective employer.

He laughed again. 'Regular Miss Prim-and-Proper, aren't you? That would tell me you're a schoolmarm if nothing else did. Very well, come to my office at five-thirty this afternoon with all the references and what-not you consider important.'

'Isn't that rather a late appointment,' she queried uncertainly.

'Not since I'm planning to take you out to dinner afterwards. Can you think of a better way for us to get to know one another?'

After allowing him to spend the night in her flat, she could hardly object on the grounds that it was too early in their acquaintance for such things, so she nodded helplessly. 'All right, I'll be there—with my references.'

'Good girl.' He stood up and stretched luxuriously. 'And speaking of offices, it's time I was on my way. Luckily, I keep a razor arid change of clothes there so I can make myself presentable before my staff come in.' He looked down at Nicholas. 'Would you mind if this little wretch borrowed your bathroom for a wash and brush-up? I have to drop him off for a costume-fitting on my way to the office.'

'Of course, come on Nicky.' She took an armload of fluffy towels out of a cupboard and steered the little boy through the appropriate door. After she showed him where everything was and started a bath running for him, she closed the door. 'Can he manage all right by himself?'

His eyes twinkled as they met hers. 'Have you any doubt of it after yesterday?'

She was about to make a stinging retort when there was a sharp tattoo on her front door. Who could it be at this early hour? Pulling her wrap closer around herself she opened the door and blanched as she saw who was standing there. 'Doug!'

He leaned indolently against the door-frame. 'Aren't you pleased to see me?'

'Well yes, but after the other night. . .'

He shrugged. 'I've had time to think things over. I decided you mean too much to me to let a foolish quarrel come between us.'

To her way of thinking it had been a lot more than a foolish quarrel. It had ended when Doug walked out after accusing her of being a do-gooding prude with a lot of growing up to do, but now he made the whole thing sound childish and trifling. Unsure of how to respond, she stood watching him, uncomfortably aware that Grant Stalker was behind her, just out of Doug's line of sight. She wondered what he was making of this.

'Since I've made a special trip over here, you might at least ask me in,' Doug said sullenly.

She ran a hand through her hair which was still tousled from bed. 'Doug, it's too early. I . . . I'm not quite awake yet. Maybe you should come back later, and we can talk.'

'There's no need to send him away on my account,' came a harsh voice behind her.

Fury blazed in Doug's eyes and he forced the door wider so that he could see Grant standing in the living room. His glance took in Grant's unshaven appearance and the rumpled beds, and he grinned nastily. 'Well, well, look what Miss Goody Two-Shoes gets up to the minute my back is turned.'

She recoiled as if he had struck her physically, 'Doug, stop it! Grant is here because . . .'

'. . . because I wasn't good enough to warm your bed on a permanent basis. Oh, I get the picture.'

'You don't know what you're talking about.'

An unpleasant sneer curled the corner of his mouth. 'Don't I? I was the one who cultivated the wallflower all through college, remember—the first one to find out whether there was any real passion under that sweet exterior. And this is the thanks I get. After one lover's quarrel, you forget all the nights we had together and go running to the first man who comes along.'

She couldn't believe these words were coming from the man she had believed herself in love with. Desperately, she clamped her hands over her ears in an attempt to shut out his cruel lies.

'I think you've said quite enough!' Grant's voice cut across Doug's whining tirade with the force of a whip-crack, and Doug shot him a startled look but lapsed into silence. 'You were just leaving, I take it?'

Doug's fists clenched and his jaw muscles worked. He seemed about to argue then apparently sized up Grant's superior strength and thought better of it. He spun on his heel but when he reached the door he turned, his expression ugly. 'I thought the daughter of a couple of well-heeled doctors was a good catch but she's not worth fighting over. Whoever you are, pal, you're welcome to her! There are other fish in the sea.'

The door slammed shut behind him, rattling the security chain. Tori sagged against the couch, her face drained of colour. To give her trembling hands something to do, she wrapped them around the coffee mug she had left on the untouched breakfast tray. The coffee was still warm and she sipped it, although to her shocked senses it might as well have been dishwater.

'It seems I owe you another apology,' Grant said coldly.

She stared back at him blankly. 'An apology? What for?'

'For being the unwitting cause of that scene. I didn't mean to come between you and your lover.'

'He's not my lover,' she protested, but from Grant's expression it was plain he didn't believe her.

He shrugged. 'What difference does it make? Your love life is no concern of mine.'

-She didn't know why but it did make a difference. For some reason she wanted Grant to approve of her and she hated the disparaging way he was looking at her now.

'I don't have a love life as you call it,' she ventured. 'Doug and I were ... seeing each other, but not in the way he wanted you to think. He just said those things because he thought you and I... he was jealous,' she finished.

'Was that why you didn't bother waking me last night? To make your boy-friend jealous, to pay him back for quarrelling with you?'

'No! I swear I didn't know he was coming here this morning.'

'I hope that's true,' he said levelly, 'because I won't be used by any woman.'

It was so unfair she could have wept with frustration, but he misinterpreted her consternation. 'Don't look so shattered, you haven't blown your big chance.'

She stared at him in genuine puzzlement. 'What do you mean?'

'Luckily for you, I still need a teacher Who is free to go to Nambung with the unit next week, so I have no choice but to give you a chance. Your moral standards are your own affair but I warn you, I won't stand for you corrupting my son.'

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him just what he could do with his job but it could be months before she was offered a full-time position, months when she could be putting her training to good use. But how could she work for a man who obviously held such a low opinion of her? She wavered.

Nicholas chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom. Dressed in his own clothes again and with his wet hair slicked down, he looked more than ever like a little angel. His appearance decided her. She couldn't let him down so she would just have to show his arrogant father how wrong he was about her. Nicholas sensed the tension in the air and his glance flicked anxiously from one adult to the other. 'I heard shouting. Is anything wrong?'

Grant smiled at his son. 'Nothing that need worry you. Miss Duncan and I were—er—settling the terms of her employment, weren't we?' She nodded, not trusting herself to answer. 'Very well then, I'll see you in my office at five-thirty.'

He couldn't mean to take her out to dinner after this, could he? He probably just meant to interview her in his office and settle the details of the job. Because until she could convince him he was wrong in his summation of her character, she couldn't imagine friendship existing between them.

'I'll be there,' she said as coldly as she could, then, to soften the effect for Nicholas, she smiled at him and held out her hands. 'I'll see you again soon, too.'

His eyes shone. 'Great, then I can show you how well I can act.'

'I think you've already done that, Nicky,' she laughed, and he squirmed uncomfortably at the reminder.

'We'll be on our way then,' Grant intervened. 'Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Duncan.'

So it was Miss Duncan now, when it had been a sociable Tori earlier. 'You're welcome,' she assured him.

At the door, Grant paused. 'There's one more thing I'd like you to remember.'

'Yes?'

'My son's name is Nicholas..'

The look Nicholas shot her clearly said, 'I told you so,' and he grinned broadly as his father ushered him down the stairs.

For a long moment. Tori stood staring after them then slammed: the door shut. In the lounge, she threw herself down on her bed. Damn Doug! Why did he have to come here this morning and spoil everything with his spiteful lies? Come to that, damn Grant Stalker for having so little faith in her. Even if the things Doug said about her sleeping with him had been true—which they most certainly were not—what right had Grant to set himself up as her moral judge and jury? This was the twentieth century after all and no one expected a single girl to live like a nun. No one, that was, except Grant Stalker, she told herself miserably. What sort of man was he? Surely he couldn't set such perfect moral standards for all of his employees, otherwise from what she had heard about the film industry with its multiple marriages and scandals, he would have had no one working for him at all. And what about the 'other ladies' Nicky—Nicholas, she reminded herself—had said his father entertained? Somehow, she didn't think he was making them up. So it looked as though Grant subscribed to the old double standard—one rule for men and another for women.

Distastefully, she glanced at the scrambled eggs congealing on the tray beside her. Her normally hearty appetite had vanished with Doug's visit, but she felt a strange pang as she thought about Grant labouring over a stove for her. Doug would never have cooked her a meal to save his life!

Needing the solace of activity, she picked up the tray and carried it to the kitchen where she scraped the uneaten food off the plates and stacked them by the sink. She was too hurt by Grant's sudden change of attitude towards her to want to be reminded that he could also be touchingly thoughtful, so she immersed the dishes in hot sudsy water and scrubbed at them furiously, as if by doing so she could erase the hurt at the same time.

Next, she returned to the living room and methodically folded and stowed away the bedclothes Nicholas had used. When she came to the travel rug she had placed over Grant, she couldn't help remembering how attractive he had looked as he slept. In their brief acquaintance, she had seen many of his moods—from blazing fury when he accused her of kidnapping his son, to a weariness which plucked at her heartstrings and which he only allowed himself to give in to when he knew Nicholas was safe. Then there was the teasing playfulness he had shown when he deliberately let her think he had seen her naked— and finally, his bewildering condemnation of her after Doug's visit.

A sharp stab of pain accompanied this thought. 'The daughter of a couple of well-heeled doctors, a good catch' Doug had called her. Was that all she had been to him— an easy meal-ticket for the future? She knew he had been furious when she wouldn't let him share the flat but had put that down to sexual frustration, not considering that the accommodation was more of a loss to him than she was. She looked around the flat, seeing it as Doug must, as a valuable piece of real estate. She valued her independence; too much to let her foster parents support her beyond the use of the flat, but she was Miles' and Elizabeth's only heir. She had never thought of it like that before. Obviously, Doug had given it a lot of thought and decided to make the most of the opportunity. Luckily, he was a poor actor and had not been able to keep up his pretence of loving her while despising everything she held dear. He cared for no one but himself, she could see that now, so it was no wonder he had no time for her 'do-gooding' as he called it. She had no doubt she was well rid of him. If only he hadn't been so spiteful this morning, and in the process, turned Grant Stalker against her.

He had done a thorough job of that, she sighed, recalling Grant's parting words. The one thing which still baffled her was why he had reacted so badly to what was, after all, only the insinuation that she had been sleeping with her boy-friend. He had been friendly enough towards her when he regarded her as a blushing innocent, so there must be something in his own background which explained his attitude. It seemed she had a lot to learn about her prospective employer.

At least she had the expectation of the teaching job to console her. Maybe working with Grant would give him the chance to get to know her properly and he would soon see that his first impression was the correct one. At the same time, she wondered why his opinion should be so important. She only knew that it was.

Determined to make the best possible impression at the interview this afternoon, she gathered together all her papers and references from her temporary teaching jobs. She also typed out a short list of personal references he could contact. They would vouch for her good character even if he wouldn't!

To complete the impression, she dressed in a classic dropped-waistline dress in demure grey silk which draped gracefully when she sat down so there was no risk of showing the tiniest bit of bare thigh and offending Grant's tender sensibilities. Nasty, nasty! she rebuked herself, then decided she was entitled to the thought after his unfair judgement of her this morning. A checked wool blazer which was smart enough for any occasion completed her outfit. It may be spring but the evenings were still chilly so she would probably be glad of the jacket's warmth after sunset.

That done, she wandered restlessly around the room, trying to decide how best to fill in the rest of the day which stretched endlessly ahead. Her meandering took her to the cheval-glass standing in one corner of the room and she paused in front of it, fingering her hair pensively. Since starting college, she had worn it very straight and shoulder-length so that it looked tidy but didn't get in her way. Perhaps an entirely new style was what she needed to cheer herself up and bolster her spirits for her meeting with Grant. She rummaged in her purse. The budget would just stand it, especially now that she had the prospect of a job ahead of her.

With her mind made up, she strolled down to the Hay Street Mall where a friend had recommended a hairdresser.

Three hours later as she stared at her image in the salon mirror, a stranger looked back at her. Gone was the no-nonsense shoulder-length bob she was accustomed to. In its place was a cascade of loose curls which framed and softened her heart-shaped face.

'Madam looks stunning,' enthused the young French hairdresser.

'I certainly look . . . er . . . different.'

The girl pouted. 'You do not like it?'

'I . . . I'm not sure. I'll heed time to adjust to it, that's all. Perhaps I should only have changed the style and kept my natural colour.'

The hairdresser smiled knowingly. 'Ah, but a change is good for the soul. Besides, your own colour will come back after a time so it's not . . . what do you say?

Burning your bridges?'

It was true, of course, she reassured herself as she paid the substantial bill. She hadn't burnt her bridges but she had definitely singed them a bit. The decision to have her naturally sandy-coloured locks lightened to strawberry blonde had seemed like a fine idea when the hairdresser first suggested it. But now, catching sight of herself again in the mirror, she felt a twinge of apprehension. What if Grant disapproved of the change?

'Now stop it!' she told herself severely. He was only interested in her teaching qualifications. Provided she was neatly and appropriately turned out, the rest was none of his business.

Nevertheless, the butterflies were having a gymnastics tournament in the pit of her stomach by the time she reached the address on Grant Stalker's card. It was just before five-thirty. If she had any doubts about his background, they were banished when she rode the lift up-to the penthouse floor of the towering modern glass building in St George's Terrace where Stalker Productions was housed. According to the directory in the lobby, the company took up the entire top floor.

She emerged from the lift into a reception area furnished in matt black and chrome with a multi-hued wall mural echoing the bird's-eye view of Perth spread out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the reception area.

There was no one at the desk and most of the offices beyond it were in darkness, suggesting that the staff had finished work for the day. However, there was a glow of light from an office in the far corner and she moved towards it, planning to ask directions. The door was ajar and she was relieved to hear Grant's deep voice coming from inside.

'Good. Damon will co-ordinate the extras with you before we leave. Goodnight.'

There was the click of a phone being returned to its cradle so she pushed the door open and peered tentatively around it. 'Grant?'

He had his back to her and was scrawling some figures in felt tipped pen on a white board which took up most of one wall. Without looking round, he said. 'Come in, Miss Duncan. I won't be a moment but I've got to get this down before I forget it.'

The office was divided in two by a massive desk, beyond which was a conference area furnished with a low table and armchairs. She tiptoed to one of these and sat down nervously, wishing he would get the interview underway.

At last he finished what he was doing and tossed a sheaf of notes down on to the desk and then turned to her. From the way he froze as he caught sight of her, she might have been a ghost sitting in his office. His eyes widened and his nostrils flared with anger. 'God in Heaven!' he exploded.

His eyes blazed and he covered the space between them in two strides. He jerked her roughly to her feet so her face was on a level with his chest and she could smell the musky scent of his after-shave lotion. She flinched as his fingers dug into the flesh of her shoulders.

'What are you doing?' she cried feebly.

He swore softly. 'Is this your idea of a joke? If it is, by heaven I'll kill you.'

'Please, I don't know what you're talking about.'

At her frightened plea, some of the anger went out of his eyes and he looked at her with a kind of hurt bewilderment. 'No, I don't think you do at that. But if you did . . .' He tailed off, his voice hoarse with emotion, and he held her at arm's length so that he could study her face. 'It's incredible!'

She twisted away from him and stood trembling, with the desk at her back. 'What's incredible? Tell me, what am I supposed to have done?'

He shook his head as if to clear it and when he looked at her again he was composed. 'This morning, I thought you reminded me of someone. It happened again just now. When did you change your hair?'

He was trying to change the subject, she thought shakily, but some instinct warned her that it would be dangerous to probe what was obviously a sensitive, perhaps painful memory. Her changed appearance seemed to have done enough of that already. 'I just felt like a change,' she said with forced lightness. 'I've brought my references. Would you like to see them before we discuss the details of the position?'

'Your what?' For a moment he seemed to have forgotten why she was here. 'Oh yes, the teaching position.' He held out his hand and she passed him the documents, but he kept glancing up from them to stare at her face. Each time he did so, the same trancelike expression came over him until her nerves were as taut as violin strings. She had to steel herself to sit there while he scanned the papers. At last he nodded curtly and handed them back to her.

'They'll do.'

'Does that mean I've got the job?'

He seemed surprised by the question. 'Of course. I told you this morning that we need you.' Briefly, he sketched in the details of her salary and conditions. It seemed that, to satisfy the education authorities, Nicholas studied for about half a day, and filmed on the other half, unless his schedule was rearranged to accommodate filming in a particular light.

'Our base of operations is Cervantes,' Grant told her. 'Only key members of the unit have permission to stay in the national park itself—which includes you, of course, since you have to be available at odd times of the day, depending on Nicholas's schedule. The unit manager will pick you up at seven on Monday morning.'

He stood up, she supposed to signal that the interview was over but, to her surprise, he picked up his jacket which had been draped carelessly over a chair. 'Ready for dinner?'

She stared at him in astonishment. Had he forgotten his harsh pronouncement upon her morals earlier today? If so, she certainly hadn't. 'I didn't think you'd want to take me out after . . . what you said this morning.'

Pantherlike, he came closer until he was towering over her, the odd expression back on his face. 'Oh, I want to take you out,' he murmured. Before she knew what was happening, his hands were twined in her hair and he pulled her head back so she looked up into his face. Then his mouth Came down on hers in a kiss which was part passion and part capture. It was so unexpected that she had not time to marshall her defences or close her mouth against him, so that his invasion was total—and devastating. Waves of sensation washed over her, stirring a yearning that was like a physical pain inside her. When he released her she felt as if she had just run a long, punishing race which had left her lungs starved for air. She stared at him, every nerve quivering.

Slowly, normalcy returned to his expression and he raked a hand through his hair. She was intrigued to see that his hands were no more steady than her own. 'I didn't mean to do that,' he said flatly.

The sudden rejection hurt much more than the stolen kiss and tears sprang, unbidden, to her eyes. Without giving herself chance to think she snatched up her handbag and papers and fled.

As the lift doors closed on her she had a last glimpse of him standing in his office like a statue, staring after her. She couldn't begin to understand his strange behaviour— first condemnation this morning, then passion now, somehow incited by her changed appearance.

If the job hadn't been so important to her, she would have been tempted to throw his offer back in his face. But was the job the only attraction? She shivered as she realised how much she had enjoyed his kiss, once she got over the shock of its unexpectedness. Yes, he was a man of hidden depths and working for him, she knew she would have to be very careful not to get in over her head.

CHAPTER THREE

When Monday came she was ready a full hour before she was due to be picked up. The unit manager who Was to drive her the two hundred and fifty kilometres to Nambung National park, was Damon Barlow, she had learnt when his letter was delivered to her by courier the day after the interview. After the strange way Grant had behaved that night she had half expected a phone call cancelling the whole arrangement but, instead, the letter had arrived confirming her terms of employment and including several forms for her to complete and return.

Luckily she had no problems preparing for the trip at short notice. She was fond of the outdoors, having spent many happy weekends and holidays exploring the national parks in and around Perth, so she possessed a good wardrobe of checked cotton shirts, jeans and sensible shoes. To these, she added a couple of tidier dresses which would be suitable for visits to town on her days off. Nambung was within a day's drive of the city and, although the desert roads could be unpredictable, she could always return to the flat for extra clothes if she found she needed them later on. Of course, she didn't know whether a film company worked a five-day week, so she had no way of predicting what time off she could expect. Still, her period of unemployment had given her all the free time she wanted for a while. It would be good to be occupied again. And with her foster parents out of the country and Doug no longer interested, she was answerable to no one but herself.

No one, that was, except her employer, Grant Stalker. A tremor ran through her as she thought about his odd behaviour towards her. He hadn't mentioned the scene with Doug when she saw him in his office but she doubted that he had forgotten it. Grant Stalker forgot very little, of that she was sure. The memory of his kiss was as freshly imprinted on her lips as if it had happened a moment ago, so affected had she been by it. It was the first time any man had kissed her with such unbridled passion and she found it both repelling and dangerously attractive. Her reaction to his kiss warned her that she would have to guard her emotions around him. There was still her nagging suspicion about the sudden departure of Nicholas's former governess. Then there was the eerie way he had looked at her, as if seeing someone else entirely.

Her reverie was interrupted by the strident blast of a car horn in the street below. That would be Damon Barlow. She picked up her suitcase and shoulder-bag and cast a last look around the flat. If she had forgotten anything, it was too late to worry now so she closed the front door resolutely behind her and carried her case down to the street.

Parked outside was a massive white Jeep Cherokee. At least she would be roughing it in style, she thought, as she surveyed the wide vehicle with its sporty GT stripe etching a red streak along the side of the gleaming duco. Then she recoiled as she recognised the man leaning against the car. 'Grant!'

'Surprise, surprise,' he drawled and reached to take her case from her. Astonishment made her grip the suitcase harder so that he had to wrestle her for it and she staggered slightly as he took its weight. He leant through the driver's window and pressed something on the dashboard, so the rear hatch slid open silently. The back of the vehicle was already well packed with cases, supplies and camera equipment but it was such a spacious vehicle that her small amount of luggage fitted with room to spare. He stowed the case away then came around and opened the front passenger door for her. Only then she became aware of Nicholas bouncing up and down impatiently in the back seat.

'I'd rather travel with Nicholas,' she said, expecting a protest.

He shrugged and opened the rear door instead. 'Suit yourself.'

Nicholas greeted her like a long-lost friend as she settled herself in the luxuriously contoured seat. She was still bewildered as to why Grant had decided to collect her himself, so she greeted Nicholas rather distractedly.

'You don't seem very pleased to see me,' Grant said over his shoulder as he swung the wagon out into the traffic.

'I—I was expecting Damon Barlow.'

'Barlow had to go with the advance party to set things up for us, as it turned out. So you'll just have to settle for second-best, won't you?'

He was behaving so coldly towards her that she longed to demand an explanation, but she couldn't very well do that in front of her pupil. Was Grant such an egotist that he couldn't stand the idea of her running away from him the other night when he obviously had other plans for her? If that was the reason it was his own fault, she thought defiantly. She hadn't invited his kiss, after all. She hadn't exactly resisted it, either, a small voice inside whispered. It was all very difficult, but since they were going to be seeing rather a lot of each other for the next two months, she supposed she had better try and make peace between them.

'About the other night. . she said tentatively. 'I feel I should apologise.'

In the driving mirror, she could see his reflection cocking an ironic eyebrow at her. 'What do you mean?'

Damn him! He wasn't even going to meet her halfway. She glanced uncertainly at Nicholas but he seemed to be absorbed in the passing view. 'You know perfectly well what I mean,' she snapped back. 'I shouldn't have let you ...'

'Let me what?'

'Take advantage of me like that,' she said self-consciously. There, she had apologised for her part in the scene. Now what was he going to do about his?

'Well I'm glad to discover I had nothing to do with it,' he said infuriatingly. 'Since it was up to you whether you let me "take advantage" or not, apology accepted.'

It was not what she had meant at all and he knew it! Now she had compounded his impression of her as a wanton who allowed men to do what they liked with her—evidenced, or so he thought, by the fact that she had let Doug sleep with her and also permitted Grant to kiss her. How on earth had she got herself into such a word maze when all she meant to do was set matters right between them? In frustration, she slumped back against the seat.

'Look, there's the RAAF station,' Nicholas said excitedly and pointed to the establishment they were passing just out of the town of Bullsbrook.

Grateful for the distraction, she gave her attention to her young pupil. 'Do you know what RAAF stands for?' she quizzed him.

'Royal Australian Air Force,' he responded gleefully. 'Ask me something else, something hard.'

For the next half-hour she tested his knowledge and her own with a mixture of simple and difficult questions, starting with word definitions and gradually sneaking in some Australian history. For his age, Nicholas was surprisingly well informed, a legacy, she assumed, of his exposure to so many film script's on a wide variety of subjects.

She was grateful now that during the short time she had to prepare for the trip, she had taken a quick trip to the library to look up Nicholas Francis Stalker and his father. What she had found was most impressive. Nicholas, it seemed, was the youngest actor ever nominated for a film industry aware for his first film, Colony Boy, an Australian historical film produced by his father. Since then, Nicholas had appeared in no fewer than five major productions and guest starred in several episodes of a popular television serial.

According to the biographical dictionary she consulted, Grant's career was also distinguished, first as a screenwriter then producer and eventually director of feature films. One of his films had done well enough outside Australia to finance his own film company, Stalker Productions. The dictionary told her almost nothing about his private life, except that he had been married to an actress, Faye Mitchell, who was tragically killed in a car accident four years ago. There was no mention of Grant remarrying.

She became aware that Grant was shifting restlessly in the front seat. 'If you want to do something constructive,' he said with an edge of irritation in his voice, 'there's a copy of the script on the seat between you. Nicholas could do well to study his scenes instead of playing "twenty questions".'

They hadn't exactly been playing, she thought furiously. All right, she had tried to make the quiz fun for Nicholas, rather than turn the trip into an exam, but it was giving her valuable information about her pupil's stage of education. She resolved to tell Grant so when she had a chance to talk to him out of his son's earshot. Rather than cause a scene now she reached across the seat and picked up the bound copy of the script which lay there. I t was called Children of the Dreamtime she observed and saw with surprise that its author was Grant Stalker.

He seemed to sense that she was thinking. 'Don't look so startled. It's quite literate.'

'I'm sure it is,' she responded coldly and turned back to Nicholas^ pointedly ignoring his father as far as possible. Nicholas obligingly showed her where his Scenes were and allowed her to coach him as he memorised his lines. She soon found herself becoming absorbed in the storyline.

Ignoring Grant was easier said than done, however, because when they reached the town of Gingin, he turned off the Brand Highway which she knew was the direct route to Nambung, and instead was driving alongside the Moore River. She looked around, puzzled. 'Where are we going?'

'I thought we'd stop for a lunch break in Guilderton,' he answered. 'Or hadn't it occurred to you that your driver might be getting tired.'

That was petty and uncalled-for, she thought, especially since they were absorbed in the script on his orders. Besides, anyone less tired-looking than Grant Stalker she couldn't imagine. His cream shirt and slacks must be made of uncrushable material because they looked freshly pressed when he climbed out of the car. A chocolate silk cravat knotted at his throat gave him a raffish air, and his shoes gleamed with polish. He looked capable of driving all day without turning a hair.

She debated whether to tell him so then decided there was no point in provoking him, so she held her tongue and busied herself looking around the small seaside resort at the mouth of the Moore River. At home, she had a Dutch coin she had found near the river mouth, a relic of the earliest white people to set foot in the area. Like many people she had been drawn to the area by romantic tales of lost treasure from the Dutch ship, Gilt Dragon which was wrecked nearby in 1656. She hadn't had a chance to return to the town since she was a teenager and now happy memories of her earlier visit brought a smile to her lips.

'Seems this town can do more for you than I can,' came a sullen comment.

At once, the smiled died. 'I wasn't aware you were trying very hard,' she said frostily. 'In fact you've deliberately misunderstood everything I've done since we met.'

To her astonishment, he nodded. 'We didn't get off to a very good start, did we?' Before she could make up her mind how best to respond to this, he had turned on his heel. 'Let's find ourselves some lunch.'

He led her to a picturesque cafe which boasted a spectacular view of the coastline. It was furnished in warm colonial style with red-checked gingham tablecloths and curtains. Its mood of relaxed friendliness cheered Tori enormously. She was delighted to spot a tank filled with live crayfish along one wall, but her pleasure soon turned to dismay when a waitress scooped one of the creatures out of the tank and disappeared with it into the kitchen. She returned a short time later with a well cooked crayfish on a platter.

'Fancy some crayfish?—it's a house speciality,' Grant asked her.

She looked from the tank of happily swimming green crays back to the glassy-eyed offering on the next table, and paled. 'No, I don't think so,' she apologised.

He grinned. 'Squeamish? You're a Perth girl, so I'll bet you've eaten crayfish lots of times.'

'I have,' she conceded, 'but we hadn't met beforehand.'

Unperturbed, he ordered crayfish mornay for himself, a grilled T-bone steak with salad for her and the child's portion of fish and chips that Nicholas requested. Her steak was grilled to mouth-watering perfection and was served spitting hot on a cast-iron sizzle plate, accompanied by a garden salad in a tangy mandarin dressing. Nicholas promptly proved himself all child by drowning his fish in tomato sauce and picking up his chips in his fingers, until ordered to conform by Grant. 'You'd never think he's eaten everywhere from Maxim's to the Washington Press Club,' he said sourly.

Tori longed to beg him to let Nicholas be a child occasionally. Childhood was already fleeting enough without forcing him to grow up even more quickly. Just in time, she reminded herself that she had been hired as Nicholas's teacher, not his surrogate mother. How Grant brought up his son was his affair and the sooner she remembered to mind her own business the better.

After lunch, they lazed for a while on the bank of the river, watching the fishermen reel in their squirming catches from among the plentiful supply offish corralled in the river by the sandbank at its mouth. The spring sunshine toasted their backs and made Tori glad she had worn her hair pinned up off the back of her neck. She was still unsure whether she had made the right decision in changing its style and colour and she told herself that was the reason she had elected to tie it back so severely today. The truth was, she was still puzzled by Grant's strange behaviour at the interview and had been afraid of provoking a repeat performance. Apart from her attempt to apologise earlier, he hadn't referred to the interview again or to her latest change of hair-style, although he must have noticed it. He was certainly the most baffling, unpredictable man she had ever met, and she sighed to herself.

He looked at her keenly. 'Bored with the fishing already, Miss Duncan?'

'Oh no, the sunshine was making me sleepy, that's all,' she improvised.

Slowly they made their way back to the jeep and drove back to the Brand Highway to continue their journey north. By mid-afternoon, they reached the new Badgingarra townsite, just north of which Grant swung the car off on to the Cadda Road.

After the smoothness of the sealed highway, the gravel surface felt distinctly bumpy but most of the impact was absorbed by the vehicle's excellent springing. When they left the gravel section and continued on over unsealed dirt track, Grant gave his full attention to manipulating the heavy wagon across the awkward terrain. He said no more about working on the script which was just as well, because after his substantial lunch, Nicholas drifted off to sleep, slipping sideways until he was supported across Tori's lap.

Gradually, she became aware that Grant was watching her in the driving mirror, his keen dark eyes flicking from the road to her face every few minutes. Disturbed, she let her own eyes close and pretended to doze so that he couldn't draw her into conversation, but she continued to sense his penetrating gaze on her eyen through her closed lids. Just for a moment, she permitted herself the luxury of a daydream in which their was nothing disturbing in Grant's reaction to her. Instead, he was captivated by her looks and charm. To her surprise, she found the idea oddly appealing and discovered that she liked the idea of having a man like Grant Stalker fall in love with her. She had a feeling that when he loved, it Would be all stops out. Nothing would be too good for his woman.

His woman. The idea stirred a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach. Then she remembered that this was only a daydream. She had been hired as Nicholas's tutor, nothing more, so there was no point in letting her imagination run away with her. Doug always said she saw what she wanted to see in people. Perhaps she was even imagining Grant's reaction to her. Except that she could hardly dismiss his kiss as imagination.

Confused and irritated with herself, she tried to push all thoughts of Grant from her mind until, lulled by the steady rocking movement of the vehicle over the dirt track, she really did drift off to sleep, her dreams peopled with phantom shapes and faceless people who lingered just out of her reach.

'Wake up, we're here, sleepyhead!'

At Nicholas's urging, she stirred and looked around, her mind still fogged by the aftermath of sleep. AH around was the desolate expanse of sand-dune country dotted with thickets of acacia and spinifex grasses. When she climbed stiffly out of the car, she found she could glimpse the Indian Ocean beyond the dunes in the distance.

The only sign of human habitation was a cluster of modern caravans huddling together among the dunes as if for mutual protection. A cool breeze blowing in from the sea stirred the sand around her feet into small eddies.

'Where exactly are we?' she asked Grant who was unloading supplies from the back of the jeep.

He straightened. 'We're in Nambung national park, on the seaward side of the Pinnacles Desert section, where I plan to do some filming,' he explained.

'I didn't think camping was allowed anywhere around here,' she said in surprise.

'Normally, it isn't. It took a devil of a lot of string pulling to get permission. As it is, most of the unit is based at Cervantes and has to travel in and out each day, but having essential personnel and equipment here was the best we could do.'

'Why couldn't the whole unit stay in Cervantes?'

'I'm after some tricky early morning and late evening light effects. The only way to be certain of the timing is to be ready with the cameras rolling ahead of time.'

'Is there anything I can do to help?' she asked, indicating the growing pile of equipment around his feet.

He picked up a couple of the bundles and handed them to her then gestured towards one of the caravans. 'Our van is the green-and-silver Viscount with the half annexe,' he told her.

In the act of walking away, she stalled. Our van? Surely he wasn't expecting her to share a caravan with him? 'You mean my van, don't you?' she asked hopefully.

His mouth crooked upwards but there was no warmth in his answering smile. 'I meant exactly what I said. I just told you we were strictly limited in what gear we could bring up here. That goes for the number of vans we were allowed to truck in as well. Much as I would like to give you your own suite with private bath, it isn't possible.'

'You might have warned me,' she said through clenched teeth.

'Would you still have agreed to come?'

'You know I wouldn't! Why can't I live in the township with the rest of the company and travel here each day with them?'

'Because you have to organise your lessons around Nicholas's schedule,' he said with exaggerated patience. 'You knew this wouldn't be a nine-to-five job.'

Granted, she had known that it hadn't troubled her.

But it was too much to be expected to share the cramped confines of a caravan with her employer, a man she hardly knew. 'I'm sorry, I shan't be able to stay under these conditions,' she said firmly.

His mouth tightened into an implacable line. 'You don't have much choice, I'm afraid.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'You recall all those forms you so obligingly signed for Damon Barlow?' A sick feeling was spreading through her, but she nodded. 'Well one of them was a contract, or didn't you notice?'

'No! I thought…'

'Then think again,' he grated. 'In this game, breach of contract is grounds for a law suit which would prove expensive and definitely harmful to your career, wouldn't you agree.'

'You wouldn't dare,' she breathed but looking at his grim expression, she knew he would, if only for the satisfaction of seeing her pilloried. 'Why didn't you warn me I was signing a contract?'

'Why didn't you read what you were signing?' he countered. Then he swore under his breath. 'For God's sake, Tori, grow up! No wonder you can't get a job in charge of children when you insist on acting like one yourself. All I'm asking you to do is share the same caravan with me, not the same bed! Besides, it's not as if you were a blushing innocent. Your friend Doug disillusioned me on that score, so stop acting like an outraged virgin and let's get this stuff undercover.' He gestured at the desert around them. 'In case you hadn't noticed, there are no street lights around here. When the light goes, it goes and it can be as black as pitch without a moon.'

Woodenly she picked up the bundles and started towards the group of caravans, determined not to let him see how deeply his comments had hurt her. In one breath he had slandered her good name and her teaching skills, when he didn't know enough about her to pass judgement on either. She had been right about him the first time they met. He was an autocratic, overbearing chauvinist boor and to think she was going to have to endure the next two months under the same roof with him! It was almost beyond bearing and tears of self-pity sprang to her eyes.

Hampered by the load she was carrying, she dashed the tears away angrily with the back of her sleeve. There was no point in giving him any more ammunition against her. There had to be a way out of this dilemma without exposing herself to a law suit. If she could only put up with the situation for the time being, she would find some way to outsmart Mr High-and-Mighty Stalker, if it was the last thing she did. Grant was right about one thing, she should have stopped to think before blithely signing the papers Damon Barlow had sent to her. She had been so pleased at the prospect of the job that she had failed to study the forms closely enough. She remembered signing something which said she agreed to Stalker Production's terms and conditions—that must have been the fatal piece of paper. Well, it was too late to do anything about it now but tomorrow would be another day.

Grant seemed to sense that she was plotting because his voice came from close behind her. 'Why can't you just accept the situation and make the best of it?'

'Just what I was thinking I would do,' she responded. There, that would take the wind out of his sails.

He did seem mildly surprised. 'That's more like it.' He opened the door of the aluminium caravan and stood to one side so that she could precede him up the short flight of steps. Before she could go inside, however, a voice came from the van opposite them.

'Grant, is that you?'

'Who did you expect out here in the wilderness,' was his good-natured response. He put down his load and went to greet a young woman who emerged from the other trailer. She was incredibly petite with coal-black hair drawn away from her face, exposing finely sculptured cheekbones and dark eyes with the longest lashes Tori could remember seeing on anyone. As she watched, Grant opened his arms wide and the woman, went into them with an easy grace which Tori envied. There was no one in the world who could greet her with such spontaneous affection. Grant and the woman exchanged a few words in lowered tones, then still with an arm around the woman's shoulders, he steered her towards Tori.'

'Susi, meet our new schoolmarm, Tori Duncan. Tori, this is our star, Susannah Dearing.'

'Welcome to the madhouse, Tori Duncan,' Susannah said warmly. Although Grant's introduction stung her with its waspish implications, she felt an instinctive liking for the actress.

She took the outstretched hand felt her clasp returned with surprising firmness. 'This is all a bit new to me,' she confessed. 'I'm more accustomed to classrooms than giving lessons in a trailer in the middle of the desert.'

'We'll soon make you feel at home,' Susannah promised, 'won't we, Grant?'

'That's what I've been telling the lady,' shrugged Grant, making Tori want to hit him. He had known all along that she would hate the idea of sharing a caravan with him which was why he had carefully avoided mentioning it. She wouldn't put it past him to have disguised the contract in some way so that it would slip past her, come to that. The question which burnt in her brain was why he should be so anxious to have her come here on his terms. He did need a teacher, it was true, but the more she thought about it, the less convinced she was that she was his last hope. No, there had to be more to it than she knew and the sooner she found out what it was the better she would feel.

She became aware that a small crowd had gathered around the steps to Grant's caravan. A tall, thin young man appeared carrying Nicholas on his shoulders, and thrust out a bony hand to her. 'You must be our Miss Duncan. I'm Damon Barlow, manager of this circus.'

'Oh, I'm pleased to meet you, Mr Barlow.'

'Damon, please. When you live and work together twenty-four hours a day it's silly to stand on ceremony.'

'Then you must call me Tori,' she reciprocated and saw him smile in approval.

'Hear that everybody, this is Tori.' He reeled off several of the other people's names and titles, but she knew she would never be able to remember them all at first. She smiled and shook the offered hands, resolving to make a real effort to fix them all in her mind as soon as possible.

At last Grant chased everyone back to their own caravans and started handing things to Tori to place inside 'their' van. Now that she could take a proper look inside, she was relieved to find it wasn't as bad as she had feared. Her idea of a caravan was a small, cramped box on wheels with bunk beds and a gas ring to cook on. This was more like a miniature apartment with fitted carpet, a fully equipped kitchenette, or galley as Nicholas explained to her, and even a shower and toilet the size of a wardrobe. The walls were lined with warm maple timber panelling and the windows were curtained in an attractive brown-and-yellow geometric print.

At least the effect would have been attractive if the place hadn't been in such a mess. Most of the available space was covered with photographic equipment, metal canisters of film, stacks of paper and schedules of one sort and another. She looked around despairingly. 'There isn't enough room for anyone to sleep here, far less three of us.'

If she had hoped to escape as lightly as that she was mistaken. 'Nicholas has his own quarters up here,' Grant explained and showed her a loft-like area above the dinette. It contained a wall-to-wall mattress and overhead reading light, with a shelf of books over the bed and a guard rail along the outer edge to prevent its occupant from falling out.

'How on earth does he get up there?'

Nicholas needed no further prompting to show her how a rope hanging from the wall pulled down an access ladder which he scampered up with the agility of a small monkey. At least she understood now how he came to be an expert at turning her couch into a bed. There were two such beds along the wall of the caravan, although they could hardly be seen at present for the equipment piled on top of them.

None of which solved the question of where she was to sleep. Grant led the way to the far end of the van and opened a narrow concertina door. Beyond it was a bedroom section with a bunk bed along each wall, separated by about eighteen inches of floor space. 'This is to be my room?' she asked with a feeling of relief.

'Our room,' he corrected, 'unless for some reason you need two beds to sleep on.'

She shook her head decisively. 'Oh no, you might be sleeping in here but in that case, you can count me out.'

Then where, may I ask, do you plan to sleep? The equipment is too valuable to be left in the open air, hence the clutter in here.'

'What about that tent-thing outside?'

'The annexe? It's full of gear as well. There is a camp stretcher in it but the desert gets much too cool at night For anyone to sleep out there.'

'Then I'll just have to put something warm on,' she said defiantly.

He spread his hands wide in a gesture of annoyance. 'Have it your own way, but don't say I didn't warn you. I hope you're fond of wildlife, that's all.'

'W-w-wildlife?'

'Of course, I'm not sure if the trachydosaurus rugosus is nocturnal or not,' he mused.

She laughed aloud with relief. 'As if I'd be afraid of a bob-tailed lizard,' she jeered.

'I should have known better than to cross verbal swords with a schoolmarm,' he said in disgust. 'You're not really serious about sleeping in the annexe, are you—when there's a perfectly good bed in here?'

'I'm afraid I am, unless .. .'

'Unless what?'

'Unless you want to do the gentlemanly thing and sleep out there.'

His eyes narrowed to slits. 'Whatever gives you the idea that I'm a gentleman?'

There was a lot she could have replied to that, but she was acutely conscious that her young pupil was within earshot in his lofty bedroom. 'What I think about you doesn't bear repeating,' she hissed with a meaningful look back down the van, 'but luckily for you I have the decency not to say it while your son is within earshot.'

'For which I'm supposed to be grateful, I gather,' he retorted. 'If I'd known what a difficult madam you would turn out to be, I'd have thought twice about bringing you here.'

'Except that you needed my services . . . my professional services,' she corrected herself hastily.

'I'm stuck with that aspect, aren't I? Well, by heaven, I hope you're worth it after all this fuss over a little thing like abed.'

It wasn't such a little thing to her! 'You don't understand,' she said miserably.

'Don't I? According to your friend Doug, sharing a bedroom is no novelty to you so I can't see why you're being so coy now.'

How she longed to fling herself at him and pound some sense into that arrogant head of his! He had fallen for Doug's lies wholesale and nothing she could say would convince him that she had never shared a bedroom, far less a bed, with any man. Fresh tears clouded her eyes as she cast around for some way out of this fix.

Something in her hunted expression must have touched a chord in Grant. With a muffled oath he snatched the blankets from one of the bunks and pushed past her.

'Where are you going?' she asked uncertainly.

'I'm going to put this stuff in the annexe, make us all a bite of supper—then sleep on the couch . . . darling,' he said sarcastically.

So she had won the first round at least. Anxious to make some sort of amends, she suggested, 'Can't I cook something?'

But her amateur efforts to get the LP gas stove to co-operate ended in disaster. Without a word, Grant took the implements from her and proceeded to make the meal. His efficiency in the small kitchen seemed like a further condemnation of her and she retreated to the bedroom section in despair. He was right—she was a failure. This job had seemed like a heaven-sent opportunity but she had reckoned without the effect of Grant Stalker's daunting presence.

In forlorn silence, she ate the risotto Grant had prepared while he and Nicholas chatted together about their work on the film. Their talk was full of terms she didn't understand so she was left out—she even began to wonder if they knew she was still at the table.

Tori was relieved when Grant finally stacked the dishes in the minuscule sink and chased Nicholas off to his loft bed. With a last withering look at her he went outside to the annexe, where she could see his torch shining through the canvas walls. The strange bunk felt hard and unyielding when she crawled into it but she felt so weary of spirit that it hardly mattered and she was thankful when sleep quickly overwhelmed her.

CHAPTER FOUR

Tori was awakened by filtered sunlight spilling across her pillow, and the unaccustomed sound of voices outside the caravan. A glance at her watch lying on the bedside table told her it was six in the morning, much earlier than she usually crawled out of bed. It seemed that film people were early risers. When she propped herself up on one elbow, she could see all the way down the length of the caravan and neither Grant nor Nicholas was in sight. Maybe theirs were the voices she could hear outside. One thing was certain, it was very different from her usual mornings and she felt a stirring of excitement as she contemplated the day ahead.

Despite her clashes with Grant, she was looking forward to being employed at her chosen profession again, especially under such novel conditions. She still wasn't entirely sure what timetable she would follow—that depended on something Grant had referred to as a call sheet which, he told her, detailed which actors were required on the set at a given time. As well, Grant had said she would have access to the records kept by Julie Henderson, the former governess, so it shouldn't take her long to establish a routine.

Eagerly, she swung her legs over the side of the bunk then froze as she noticed the state of the bedclothing on the opposite bunk. The bed had very definitely been slept in. And after Grant had let her think he was going to do the gentlemanly thing and sleep outside in the annexe! When, she wondered, had he crept into the bedroom with her. She must have been so exhausted she didn't even stir when he came in. When she set eyes on him, she would . . .

'Anybody awake in here?'

Hastily, she snatched up her velour dressing gown which was the only thing she'd unpacked before falling into bed. She was thankful now that she had invested in a set of cotton nightdresses, so she wasn't quite so disadvantaged this time. Unfortunately, she was so used to the comfortable freedom of wearing nothing at all to bed that she had purchased the lightest, flimsiest garments she could find, so they didn't leave much to the imagination. Still, they were better than nothing. She wrapped the gown around herself.

'You can come in now,' she called back.

'Which was more or less what I planned on doing,' Grant drawled as he emerged into the van. 'I'm glad to see you're awake at last.'

'At last!' she fumed. 'Do you know what time it is?'

He made a performance of looking at his watch. 'Good lord! It's past six already.'

'You might have told me you started work at dawn in this outfit,' she said, her annoyance putting an edge of petulance into her voice. She was aware that she sounded like a sulky schoolgirl but she couldn't seem to stop herself.

He was unperturbed by her anger. 'I was particularly anxious to get some footage of the sun rising over The Pinnacles,' he told her.

He had mentioned something of the sort last night, she recalled now, but she had been so put out at discovering that she was to share a caravan with him that it had driven everything else from her mind. 'And did you—get the shots, I mean?'

'We won't know how they've come out until the film is processed, but I think so. We took some stock shots of Nicholas at the same time.'

She was tempted to ask him what stock shots were, but she was even more anxious to let him know how upset she was that he had shared the bedroom with her last night, so she blurted her accusations out instead.

His expression which had been animated while he was discussing the film, turned icy. 'So I did, as it happened. Any objections?'

'You know I have. I thought we agreed last night. . .'

'You agreed last night,' he corrected her. 'I started the night on the camp stretcher outside but it was freezing, as predicted. And since I can't afford to catch pneumonia until this film is in the can, I moved back in here. Don't look so outraged, I was too tired to touch you last night, anyway.'

Which sounded alarmingly as if he might have been tempted under other circumstances. She felt hot colour suffusing her cheeks and quickly bent her head before he could see the effect his offhand remark was having on her. Why wouldn't he believe that she wasn't the woman of the world he thought she was? Maybe the women he normally associated with thought nothing of sharing a bedroom— or a dressing room—with a man, but she had led a very different life from them, even if Doug had created the opposite impression. More than ever, she regretted his outburst that morning. It seemed nothing she could say or do would undo the damage to her reputation as far as Grant was concerned.

He was watching her, his expression one of mocking amusement.

'I'm glad to see I entertain you,' she said furiously. 'At least I'm good for something!'

'I'm sure you're good for a lot of things,' he said evenly and there was no mistaking the meaning he injected into the remark, because he followed it with a leisurely appraisal of her trim figure. Looking down, she saw that the gown had slipped open slightly, exposing a considerable expanse of creamy flesh.

She tugged the garment closed. 'You might have warned me it wasn't properly fastened.'

'But then I did give you fair warning that I'm not a gentleman,' he reminded her. 'And you're no lady' was the unspoken corollary. Without saying a word, he managed to imply that she had no right to be embarrassed by what he believed many men had already seen. Damn Doug and his lies, which Grant seemed to have taken to heart.

'Why should you care?' she wanted to cry out. For that matter, why should she care what he thought either? He was only her employer, even if he was a devastatingly handsome one with a way of looking at her which turned her legs to jelly. In frustration, she gathered up her clothes and shut herself in the tiny bathroom.

'You'll have a tough time dressing in there,' was his mocking comment which reached her clearly through the flimsy door.

He was right, of course. The cubicle was only meant for showering, not dressing, she soon found out. Her jeans and shirt were splattered with water from her shower by the time she struggled into them in the confined space. Grant was sitting at the dinette table poring over some charts and diagrams when she emerged. His glance took in her damp attire but he managed to avoid saying 'I told you so,' although she could almost hear him thinking it.

'Have you had any breakfast?' she queried.

He shook his head. 'Just a cup of coffee and a biscuit before we went out. If you're wondering about Nicholas, he's having breakfast with the crew at the location.'

She had been wondering where her pupil was. 'Do you think it's good for him, spending so much time with adults instead of children his own age?' she asked, thinking aloud. Seeing a frown crease his forehead, she added hastily, 'not that it's any of my business, I suppose.'

'I'm glad you realise that,' he said tightly and went back to studying his charts.

In despair, she turned to the galley so that he wouldn't see the tears of frustration which welled in her eyes. If only she knew why he was always so antagonistic towards her it would be easier to take. Surely it couldn't be only because of what Doug said. There had to be something else bothering him. Unable to contain herself a moment longer, she whirled on him. 'Tell me just one thing,' she began and he looked up in surprise. At least she had his undivided attention. 'What have you got against me?'

'What on earth are you talking about?'

'You know perfectly well what I mean. Ever since we met you've been impossible towards me. You keep giving me strange looks as if you can't take your eyes off me, and when Doug pretended we'd been having an affair, you acted as if it was a personal insult. I think you owe me an explanation.'

He looked at her in genuine puzzlement. 'Have I really been as difficult as all that?'

'Worse, in fact,' she shot back at him.

He stood up, his head almost brushing the roof of the van, and moved towards her so that she was pinned against the edge of the galley. Unhurriedly, he rested his weight against her, bracing himself against the sink unit with both hands. She held her breath, sure that he meant to kiss her again and not sure whether she wanted to scream or submit. But instead, he only leant closer and said huskily, 'Has it ever occurred to you that I might find you too attractive for my own good?'

She stared back at him stupidly, for that was exactly the way she had been feeling about him. Much as she wanted to believe him, and knew she had been hungering for just those words, she sensed that he was still holding something back, and that it was something important. 'N-no, I h-hadn't thought about that at all,' she managed to stammer.

His voice was a caress. 'Well think about it now, because you've been driving me crazy ever since I set eyes on you.'

He seemed about to say more but they were interrupted by an energetic pounding on the caravan door. 'Damon!' he groaned. In response to her questioning look, he explained. 'I asked him to drive you up to the location and show you the ropes. I thought you would understand Nicholas better if you knew what went on around a film set.'

'I . . . I'd like that,' she said uncertainly. 'But couldn't you show me around?'

He grinned wryly, the emotions of the past few minutes seemingly forgotten. 'First lesson in cinematography— directors don't have time for anything except the film. Not even,' he added dryly, 'breakfast.' seeing her stricken expression, he gave her a little push towards the door. 'Don't worry about me. I'll fix myself something while I'm working here. Damon will look after you.'

The unit manager was as good as his word. As he drove her to the White Desert where, he said, the day's shooting was taking place, he wheedled out of her the fact that she hadn't eaten yet. As soon as they reached the location, he arranged for a plate of food to materialise, seemingly out of nowhere. Only later, she discovered that a mobile field kitchen had been set up to provide for the cast and crew.

As she ate Damon's offering of muffins topped with slices of bacon and tomato, she looked around at a scene which seemed to be completely chaotic.

Despite Grant's statement that most of the company was based elsewhere because of restrictions laid down by the national parks authority, there seemed to be hundreds of people bustling about. Among the silver sand-dunes which gave the area its name, she could see several cameras set up on tripods and another was fixed to the top of a four-wheel drive vehicle. If this was only the essential personnel, how many more people did the company comprise? she thought in awe.

At last she located Nicholas in the midst of the chaos but he was obviously busy, so she stayed where she was. He was seated in a canvas chair while a young woman applied powder to his face. Tori almost failed to recognise him at first, so changed was he from the smartly dressed youngster of the previous days. Now, he looked like a little urchin in ragged shorts and shirt, torn canvas shoes and with desert sand plastering his face and skin.

Damon intercepted her look of dismay. 'Don't worry about him. He's made up for his part, that's all.'

'I'm relieved to hear it. I thought he'd been in some kind of trouble.'

'He has—in the movie,' Damon informed her. 'In the film, Nicholas plays a young boy growing up in the Outback with an aboriginal boy, Jacko, fostered by his mother. The two boys are inseparable and Jacko teaches his white friend all about aboriginal lore and desert survival. Then Jacko's real father decides it's time for his son's tribal initiation into manhood so he kidnaps Jacko and takes him away into the desert. Using the bushcraft he's learnt, Nicholas, as the white boy, follows his friend to try to rescue him.'

'Is that why this location is so important?'

Damon nodded. 'Partly. There are lots of desert locations we could have used if that's all we needed, but this film has elements of mysticism about it. The Pinnacles area, where we'll be filming later in the week, creates just the right surrealistic mood we're after. You see, the aboriginal father knows Nicholas is following them so he invokes the ancient spirits of the Dreamtime to stop him, and Nicholas is beset by all kinds of mysterious obstacles on his way to save his friend.'

Tori's eyes widened.. 'It sounds like a tall order for a little boy.'

'Despite his age, Nicholas is a very skilled actor. He can handle it.'

Recalling how thoroughly he had fooled her in Perth, she had to agree with Damon. 'Where does Susannah Dearing come in?'

'She plays Nicholas's mother—a widow trying to bring up the two children and manage a property alone after her husband's death. The neighbouring property owners disapprove of a woman trying to run things on her own and want her to sell out to them. So when she discovers the children are missing, they refuse to help her. Rather than let them use this to take over her life, she sets off to find the children by herself.'

It was such a vivid word picture that Tori found herself readily indentifying with the young widow and her lone quest. 'It sounds marvellous,' she breathed. 'How does it turn out?'

Damon winked at her. 'You'll have to come and see the movie to find out. The next best thing is to come out here tomorrow. We're filming the closing scene then.'

'The end? But you only just got here!'

'Grant said you needed a crash course in film making,' he grinned. 'Films are never made in the order you see them on the screen. For convenience and economy, we shoot all the scenes taking place on one set or location, at one time, no matter where they appear in the finished film. Since we can only stay in Nambung for a limited time, we have to shoot all the desert scenes at once. Most of the interiors have already been shot in Perth, at the studios and on a property we rented. This is the last stage of principal photography.'

'So you're almost finished making the film?' she asked, slightly confused.

'Wish I could say we were, honey, but sadly no. There's still the post production to be done back at the studio. That's when all the little bits of film are spliced together into one big bit of film and we add in the opticals . . . er, the camera tricks . . . which we'll need for the Dreamtime sequences.'

'I see,' she said slowly, not quite sure that she did.

He seemed to sense her bewilderment. 'Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Tori. After you've been around us for a few weeks, it'll all be second nature to you.'

He turned away to answer a query from one of the crew and Tori took another look around the location. Already the scene was making a crazy kind of sense, perhaps now that she had Damon's explanation for what they were trying to do. She was aware of a sudden ripple of tension passing through the crew and she turned to see that Grant had arrived. Without seeming to, he took charge at once, firing instructions in all directions. Then he climbed on top of the four-wheel drive vehicle to peer through the camera fixed on top. He nodded to the cameraman then climbed down and took his place behind an invisible line which, she guessed, marked the edge of the filming area.

Watching him now, so remote and efficient, she could hardly believe he had said to her not long ago, 'You've been driving me crazy ever since I set eyes on you.' What would prompt him to say such a thing, when it couldn't possibly be true? She wasn't glamorous or beautiful like Susannah Dearing, or the women she could see working here. Even the women on the crew looked as if they could be models. How could she compete with that? More importantly, did she even want to? At once, she knew the answer to that question was a resounding 'yes'.

All through her growing up years, when she was painfully aware that Elizabeth Duncan tolerated her but would never love her, she had dreamt of meeting a man who would give her the love she yearned for. She didn't have the faintest notion what would attract such a man to her so she could only hope that he would see in her qualities she couldn't see in herself For those, he would love her—not because she was a substitute for a longed-for natural child, as she had been to the Duncans; or a meal-ticket, as she now knew she had been to Doug, but for herself alone. Dare she believe that such a love had found her so quickly? It seemed almost too much to hope for yet she couldn't deny that Grant aroused in her intense feelings she had never felt for anyone before.

'Hey, dreamy-eyes, wake up!'

She jumped when Damon snapped his fingers in front of her eyes. 'Sorry, I was miles away.'.

'He must be really something,'

She felt her face flood with colour. 'What?'

'I said he must be really something, judging from the look of ecstasy on your face just then.'

'Oh, I . . . er . . . wasn't thinking of anyone in particular,' she dissembled.

'Only kidding,' he assured her, but all the same he gave her a curious look. Luckily, Grant called for him then and with an apology to Tori he left her alone while he answered the summons. Only then, she became aware that she was the subject of furtive scrutiny by the rest of the crew. When she looked up, they became busy with their tasks but she was uncomfortably sure that she hadn't imagined the looks. It was probably because she was a new face and they had all been working together for some time, she decided. Nevertheless, she took a quick glance at the mirror in her handbag to reassure herself that she wasn't wearing the remains of her stand-up breakfast.

'Mind if I borrow that for a second?'

She looked up to find a dark-haired young woman standing beside her and saw with shock that it was Susannah Dearing, made up for her part in the film so that she, like Nicholas, was almost unrecognisable. Her shining coal-black hair was now streaked with grey and matted with sand. Make-up also added new lines of age and hardship to her dazzling features.

'Hello, Miss Dearing,' Tori said and handed her the mirror.

'Susannah, please. I'm not sure I should be flattered that you recognised me so easily in this lot.'

'Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean . ..'

'Relax, I'm only teasing. I know I look terrible, but I'm supposed to.' She squinted into the small mirror and patted a strand of hair into position.

'I know, Damon explained the plot to me. I must go to see it when it's finished.'

'I expect you'll be invited to the premiere. Everyone who works on the film gets an invitation.'

'But I'm not really working on the film,' she said shyly.

'I know, you're Nicholas's tutor. That's still a contribution. No tutor, no Nicholas.'

'It's kind of you to put it like that,' Tori responded warmly. Star or no, she felt an instinctive liking for Susannah and looked forward to getting to know her better.

Susannah returned the mirror and hesitated, as if about to say something. Then she bit her lip and looked awkwardly down at the ground.

'Now you're doing it, too,' Tori said impatiently.

'Doing what?'

'Trying not to stare at me. Look, have I got something on my face?'

The actress shifted uncomfortably. 'No, of course not. It's just. . . well, didn't Grant say anything when he hired you?'

'About what?'

'Ready on the set, Susannah,' Grant called to her.

She seemed relieved. 'I must go. We'll talk later, okay?' With a quick squeeze of Tori's hand she moved off into the circle created by the cameras and boom microphone, leaving Tori to stare after her in perplexity. She had a suspicion that whatever Susannah thought Grant should have mentioned to her concerned the vague feeling she'd had for some time, that he was keeping something from her. Pensively she wrapped her arms around herself, although the morning was far from cold. If someone didn't tell her what was going on soon, she would confront Grant with it directly next time they were alone in the caravan.

Since there didn't seem any point in worrying over the mystery until then, she turned her attention to the activity on the set. Grant had an arm around Susannah's shoulders and the actress's face was a study in concentration as they discussed the sequence which they were about to film. Two gigantic fans stood near the set and their purpose intrigued Tori. They were linked to a power generator and stood like sentinels on each side of the scene. At a signal from Grant they were turned on and immediately whipped up a very convincing dust storm around Susannah, who began to battle through the swirling sand, calling her son's name.

'Enjoying yourself?' She turned as Damon came up behind her and stood with her, watching the action.

'Is it all right if we talk?' she asked in surprise.

'For a moment. This is only a run-through. But when Grant calls for quiet, woe betide anybody who moves a muscle because that's when the cameras are turning.'

'What about the sound of the generators—won't that come out in the film?'

He shook his head. 'Noise isn't the problem this time. With the generators going, most of the sound has to be looped in afterwards anyway, but a wrong movement could cast a shadow or jar a camera at the crucial moment.'

Just then one of the cameramen yelled, 'Speed' and Grant followed it with a terse, 'Action.' Tori and Damon stood silently, watching Susannah battle the fake sandstorm, until Grant called, 'Cut.' At once, the crew came to life again and Damon handed Tori a clipboard.

'These are the call sheets for the next couple of days. I assume Grant explained to you about them?' She nodded and he pointed out the times Nicholas would be needed on the set.

'He has a midday call tomorrow, then the next day we'll be filming some scenes with Ben Wuranji and his screen father. We have to make sure Nicholas gets in his quota of school hours.'

'Won't the aboriginal boy be coming to lessons?' she asked. She had seen him earlier and he looked to be about the same age as Nicholas.'

Damon shook his head. 'Not unless you want a sixteen-year-old in your classes. Benjamin Wuranji specialises in juvenile parts because he looks half his real age.'

'I see,' she laughed. 'I do have a lot to learn about this business.'

'As I said, a few weeks around us and you'll be a veteran. Just give yourself time.'

'Speaking of time,' she said with a guilty start, 'I ought to be getting back to the camp. I was hired as a teacher so I'd better get myself organised to teach.'

Damon looked anxious. 'Can you drive? I can't get away just now or I'd drive you back myself—but I can lend you a vehicle.'

Although it wasn't very far, she was a little unnerved at the prospect of driving across unmade roads, but she had already kept Damon from his work long enough, so she forced a smile. 'Of course I can drive myself back.'

The drive back to the camp was not as bad as she had feared. She found if she gave the task all her concentration, she could just manage the unaccustomed gears. Luckily she was used to driving a geared car, because Miles Duncan had taught her to drive his manual car. Still, she was relieved when the shiny silver rooflines of the caravans hove into sight and she brought the jeep to a shaky halt in front of Grant's van.

There was no one around and she found herself relishing the tranquility of the desert which was broken only by the plaintive cries of the nankeen kestrels hovering effortlessly high overhead, and the intermittent calls of the myriad other birds which inhabited the national park. A small goanna skittered away across the sand after she disturbed it sunning itself on a flat rock and she smiled involuntarily. It was so peaceful here. What a pity she wasn't on vacation and could lie in the sun, enjoying the contact with nature to the fullest. But she wasn't on vacation, she reminded herself briskly and climbed up the steps into the caravan.

Grant had shown her where Julie Henderson kept her books and records and she was soon seated at the dinette table, absorbed in tracing Nicholas's scholastic progress to date. As she had first suspected, he was well ahead of his age group in general knowledge, geography and history, although his arithmetic could use some work.

She decided to set him some problems to work through when he came back this afternoon. She was concerned that he might be tired after his morning on the set but she also recalled Grant saying that if ever filming interfered seriously with his son's schoolwork, the acting would have to stop. Now she knew how much Nicholas loved acting, she would hate to be instrumental in ending his career, so she resolved to make sure his schoolwork was as enjoyable as possible. More play than work, if she could manage it. In her short experience, learning through play was more profitable anyway than facts and figures drummed into a child by rote.

By the time Nicholas was dropped back at the caravan she had put together what she hoped was a challenging and entertaining programme for him.

'Do we have to have arithmetic,' he groaned when she presented him with the problems.

'Yes, we do,' she said firmly. He brightened considerably when he discovered that the problems all revolved around his beloved film industry, requiring him to work out such things as the number of cameramen need to man four cameras if the cameras were in use all "day and each crewman worked half a day. Fractions by any other name . . . she thought.

He was scornful of her ignorance when he came to a problem of how many feet of film would be needed to make ten films, if a thousand feet of film was used each time. 'Nobody can make a film with a thousand feet of film,' he told her importantly. 'A features takes more like a hundred thousand feet.'

'I stand corrected,' she said dryly. 'Just imagine that these are very short films.'

Chastened, he settled down to work on the rest of the problems. Some time and several chewed pencils later, he handed her the completed test paper.

She scanned it quickly, pleased to see he had answered most of the questions correctly. 'Very good,' she praised. 'Now how about a nap, young man.'

He screwed up his face in disgust. 'A nap? That's for babies.'

'Babies and film stars. You don't want to lose your good looks through lack of sleep, do you?'

He regarded her with suspicion but obediently climbed the ladder to his bunk and settled down. The early start was having an effect, as she suspected, because he was soon sound asleep.

She finished marking the test and stacked her books away in the cupboard Julie Henderson had been using, then looked speculatively at the galley. She hadn't had any luck with the LP gas stove last night but Grant had made her nervous with his eagle-eyed scrutiny. She guessed he wouldn't be back until dinner time—why not show him that she wasn't entirely useless?

In a burst of enthusiasm she hunted through the store cupboards and miniature refrigerator. Soon she had assembled all the ingredients to make pastry.

Eggs, cheese, powdered milk and some freeze-dried herbs provided the ingredients for the filling. Voila! Quiche lorraine—that was, if the little oven would cooperate.

Trusting her memory for the recipe, she set to with a will and soon the fragrant smell of cooking was wafting through the confined, space.

'Something smells good,' Nicholas piped up from his lofty bedroom.

'I've been baking,' she explained. 'I hope your father won't mind.'

'Of course he won't. He hates to cook and gets Susannah or somebody to make dinner if he can.'

Susannah or somebody—one of his 'other ladies' perhaps? She ignored the pang which shot through her at this thought. She was reading too much into his comment this morning about being attracted to her—it certainly gave her no grounds for feeling jealous. Yet that's what she felt, she admitted to herself, every time she thought about Grant and Susannah together. She had seen the intimate way he put his arm around her whenever they stood close together . . . stop it! she told herself sternly. What he did was none of her business.

'Down you come,' she urged Nicholas. 'You can be showered and dressed in your pyjamas by the time your father gets home.'

'If I have my shower, then can I try some of your baking?'

'When your father gets here, we'll all try some,' she promised.

While Nicholas was in the shower, she hunted out a large clear plastic bowl and tossed in it some of the salad ingredients she'd found in the refrigerator. There was a long French loaf which she spread with butter and now she had a creditable meal. She would show Grant that she wasn't lacking in initiative!

Two hours later it was quite dark but there was still no sign of Grant, although lights had gone on in the other caravans and voices came from them, signalling the return of their occupants. At last, frustrated and disappointed, Tori took the quiche from the oven and gave Nicholas his dinner.

'Aren't you having any?'

'No, I—I'm not very hungry,' she said untruthfully. The truth was she had been looking forward to showing off for Grant, although he had said nothing about what time he would come back. He knew she would be here to take care of Nicholas so he probably felt free to go off and amuse himself, she thought angrily. But it wasn't Nicholas's fault so she made an effort to chat to him until bedtime.

It wasn't until Nicholas had been asleep for an hour that she heard Grant's firm tread on the caravan steps.

'I'm surprised you're still up,' he said cheerfully. 'Nicholas in bed?'

'Yes, he is;' she responded coldly, tempted to add 'no thanks to you'. Instead, she said, 'I've kept some dinner for you but it will have to be heated up.'

'No need. Susannah cooked something for us while we were working on her scenes for tomorrow.'

She could have hit him! 'You might have told me,' she seethed.

He looked at her in surprise. 'I didn't know I was accountable to you.'

Suddenly she realised that she had sounded like a nagging wife. 'No, of course not,' she said quickly. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean it to sound as if you were.'

He stretched luxuriously. 'Well, I don't know about you, but I'm ready for bed.' He moved towards the tiny bedroom at the back of the caravan, where he immediately stripped his shirt off over his head, exposing a broad expanse of bronzed torso. She gasped involuntarily when he reached for the fastening of his trousers, and he looked up. 'Something wrong?'

'Yes, there is. I told you already we can't both sleep in there.'

'We did last night. It didn't worry you then.'

'That was different,' she said helplessly. How could she explain to him that she couldn't undress here, in front of him and climb into a narrow bunk only a foot away from him.

His expression had turned hard and cold. 'Look, I've had enough of your Miss Coy act. I nearly froze to death last night because of you and I don't intend doing it again. I'm sleeping in here and that's all there is to it.'

'Oh no it's not,' she said through clenched teeth. 'If you won't sleep in the annexe, then I will.'

Determinedly she pushed past him and gathered up her nightie and dressing gown and the blankets from her bunk.

As she turned to go outside, he caught her arm. 'You can't really mean to sleep out there? You'll catch your death of cold.'

'Then I'll just have to, won't I?' she threw back at him. Picking up a torch which hung from a hook on the back of the door, she made her way out to the pitch dark annexe which extended halfway along the side of the caravan. The torch provided barely enough light to find her way to the camp stretcher and she scraped her shins several times against heavy boxes of camera equipment.

At last, she collapsed on to the narrow bed and propped the torch against the pillow while she changed into her nightie. Her teeth were chattering with cold by the time she crept thankfully between the covers. Only as her feet reached to the end did she remember Grant's warning about possible wildlife and she drew her legs up quickly. Then she told herself she was being silly and stretched full length again, pulling the extra blankets from the van over herself.

Gradually the chill night air penetrated even her thick layer of blankets and dressing gown, and she curled into a ball to try to warm herself. Several times, she was tempted to admit defeat and go back inside the caravan, but remembering Grant's mocking expression, she just couldn't do it. If she gave in now she would be forced to share the bedroom with him for the rest of their stay here. No, rather than admit he had won she would stay here, even if it killed her.

CHAPTER FIVE

By next morning, she wondered if she had gotten her wish. Her skin felt dry and itchy and she was unbearably hot and thirsty. It was in startling contrast with how cold she'd been last night, when she kept waking up shivering violently. Her fitful sleep had been punctuated by visions of swirling snowstorms and white frost crackling underfoot. Now, she felt as though her throat was on fire and gnomes were using pneumatic drills in her brain.

Luckily, Grant had gone by the time she ventured into the caravan. She could imagine what he would say when he found out she had, indeed, caught cold by sleeping in the annexe. Nicholas was just stirring when she came in so she was able to slip past without speaking to him.

She piled the bedclothes back on to the bunk then inspected her face in the vanity mirror. Her skin was chalky white and two bright patches of red were splashed across her cheeks, giving her a wild appearance. Adding to this impression was her hair which was a tangled mass of tousled curls after all her tossing and turning last night. She still wasn't used to the sight of herself as a blonde and she wished the wretched colour would hurry up and grow out. More than ever she regretted the impulse which had made her change it. Ever since Grant's strange reaction when he first saw her new hairstyle, she had been careful to wear it swept up. She reached for it now but the ache in her shoulders and upper arms made her groan aloud. Grant or no, she didn't have the strength to pin it up now so it would have to stay as it was.

Make-up would do a lot to disguise her pale appearance, she decided, although it wouldn't do anything at all for her aching throat and throbbing head. With luck, she could avoid Grant until she got over them—it was only a cold, after all. Hastily, she gulped a couple of aspirins from the medicine chest and made herself a welcome cup of tea, then sat down at the dinette table where Nicholas was tucking into a bowl of cereals and a plate of well buttered toast.

'Want some breakfast?' he asked cheerfully.

She looked at the pools of butter dripping over the sides of the toast and felt her stomach turn over. 'No'. . . thank you,' she said quickly, then coughed as her voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

'You haven't got any voice,' Nicholas told her unnecessarily.

'It seems that way,' she whispered, 'but it won't stop me giving you your lessons this morning so don't sound so pleased about it.'

He stirred the cereal with his spoon. 'Aw, gee, I mean . . . I'm not glad you've got a sore throat, it's just...'

'I know. I used to feel the same way about my teachers,' she rasped.

All the same it was an effort to keep her attention on the lesson she had planned for this morning. Before leaving Perth, she had researched Nambung national park and its unique Pinnacles area, feeling that a history lesson would have much more appeal if she could relate it to Nicholas's surroundings. As a child she remembered her own fascination when Miles Duncan first brought her to visit the Pinnacles which Dutch navigators mistook for the ruins of an ancient city when they sighted it from the sea in the seventeenth century. The thousands of limestone spires thrusting out of the wind-sculpted and scalloped sand did look like a city from a distance, she supposed. To her, at not much more than Nicholas's age, it had seemed like an enchanted landscape.

He had already been filming among the multi-coloured sands surrounding the Pinnacles so he was delighted to find that she could explain how the strange spires were formed. She kept the description deliberately simple and was rewarded by his shining-eyed reaction as she told him how, thousands of years ago, beach sand blew inland to form dunes on which plants gradually took root.

'But the plants are all gone now,' he interrupted.

'That's right. After about twenty-five thousand years, lime from the plants' roots gradually moved down into the soil and made a hard covering around each root. This went on for more thousands of years and, eventually, the wind blew the sand and the plants away. All that was left was the hard limestone shapes which had built up where the plant roots had been—those shapes are what we call the Pinnacles.' She became aware that he was looking disappointed and asked what was wrong.

'Well, it's not very exciting, is it? It would be much better if it really was the remains of an ancient city—like the Dutch explorers thought.'

'Yes, it would,' she agreed, finding it more and more of an effort to keep talking. 'But real life is not always the way we wish it could be.' Her head was throbbing in earnest now and the caravan walls seemed to be pulsating in time with the pounding in her head. She resisted the urge to cradle her head on her arms, if only for a few seconds. There was no point in alarming Nicholas over something as silly as a cold. She didn't know what she was going to do about her voice, which threatened to give out completely at any moment.

Quickly, she set Nicholas to drawing a picture of the Pinnacles. He was a natural artist according to Julie Henderson's reports, and he was only too willing to show her what he could do. Soon he was bent over his drawing book with his head on one side and his tongue tip protruding between his teeth. He was such a classic picture of young concentration that he immediately reminded her of Bobby, who also loved to draw. A lump rose to her throat and threatened to choke her.

In the sanctuary of the tiny bathroom, she leant against the hand basin and closed her eyes to shut out the cruel pain at her temples. If only she could sleep for a short time. She forced her eyes open and looked at her wrist watch. The dial danced and swam before her eyes and it took her a few minutes to grasp that it was almost lunchtime. If only she could keep going for a short while longer, Damon would be coming to collect Nicholas and she would be able to rest during the afternoon. With any luck she would be well enough to hide her symptoms from Grant when he returned this evening. She closed her eyes again and rested her burning forehead against the cool glass of the mirror.

'What the devil is the matter, woman?'

Oh no! Of all the times Grant would choose to collect Nicholas personally, why did he have to pick today? She tried to meet his gaze squarely and knew that she failed miserably. 'H-hello Grant.'

'Hello, nothing. You're ill.'

'It's nothing, really,' she insisted feebly. 'I've only caught a cold, that's all.'

She felt his hand press against her forehead. His skin was blissfully cool, or hers was over-warm, she couldn't tell which any more.

He swore softly. 'My God, Tori, you're burning up.'

What was he talking about? It was only a cold. She tried to argue that it was nothing but her voice failed and her protest came out as a pathetic croaking sound. 'Don't try to talk,' he ordered. 'Your throat needs rest and, from the look of you, your body could use the same thing.'

The concern in his voice was the last straw. The sheer will power which had carried her through the morning's lessons evaporated completely and tears began to course down her white cheeks. To her horror, she started to shake from head to foot.

Abruptly, his sympathetic manner changed to one of fury. She felt sure he was hating her for being such a nuisance and she shrank back against the basin. His face darkened, 'Don't cringe like that, woman. What sort of monster do you take me for?' With that, he swept her bodily into his arms and turned awkwardly in the confined space. She had no strength left for resistance so she lay in his arms, her head lolling against him. Distractedly, she noticed how strong and vital his heartbeat was. She could feel it thudding against his chest wall where her head lay.

In a daze, she felt him carry her to the bedroom and place her carefully on one of the bunks. The pillow was cool under her fiery cheek and she nestled against it thankfully. This was all she wanted. If she could only sleep for a while, she would be all right.

She wasn't sure how much time passed before she felt another hand resting on her forehead. Before she opened her eyes she knew it wasn't Grant—there was no mistaking his gentle, yet somehow possessive touch, even though she'd only felt it a few times in their short acquaintance. The man bending over her was a stranger, middle-aged and with a kindly expression.

'Who are you?' she croaked.

'Hush,' he instructed. 'I'm Mark Oliver, the company's medical officer.'

'But I've only got a cold,' she protested weakly.

'If this is a cold, then I'm Doctor Jekyll,' he said firmly. 'There's a particularly virulent form of influenza going around at the moment and it stopped when it reached you.'

'Oh no!' At the same time, a tiny voice of triumph welled up inside her. It wasn't her stubbornness in sleeping in the annexe after all. The virus had probably been incubating for days. Then another thought drove the triumph away. 'What about Nicholas's lessons?'

The doctor pushed her gently back against the pillows. 'Relax. As long as he gets his required quota of school hours, it doesn't matter how they're scheduled. You can . catch up when you're well again.'

'How long will that be?' she asked despairingly. It was all very well for Doctor Oliver to take things so calmly but what would Grant say?

'You'll be up by the end of the week if you do as you're told, won't she, Grant?'

Grant! Her 'heart Sank as a broad-shouldered figure loomed in the doorway. He had heard everything and she braced herself to hear him say he would have to find a replacement teacher because she had let him down.

'Of course she'll be all right,' he said instead. 'Don't look so stricken Tori, it isn't as if this is your fault.'

But wasn't it? Although common sense told her she would have come down with the flu anyway, she hadn't helped matters by insisting on sleeping out in the cold. Why didn't he say so and get it over with?

To her astonishment he came and stood looking down at her with an expression of tenderness on his even features. It was so unexpected that she blinked away tears'

and turned her face to the wall to hide them from him. She felt the prick of a needle in her arm and glanced at the doctor in surprise. 'What was that?'

'To make sure you get some rest, young lady,' he said with mock severity. 'I'm sure I can count on Grant to see that you do, and to see that you take these.' He handed a phial of capsules to Grant and picked up his black bag. 'I'll call again tomorrow to see how you're getting on.'

'Thanks for your help, Mark,' she heard Grant say as he accompanied the doctor to the door of the caravan.

'Not at all. Makes a change from strapping up injured stuntmen,' he said good-humouredly. With a wave, he was gone and she and Grant were alone.

Involuntarily, she tensed as he came back into the bedroom and perched himself on the edge of the narrow bunk. But instead of censuring her, he touched a hand to her fiery cheek. 'You're a silly goose,' he chided her in a tone like velvet. 'Why didn't you tell me you were ill?'

'I was all right yesterday,' she protested as the injection began to work. 'I thought it was only a cold.'

Her eyelashes drifted downward until she was looking at him through a fringed curtain. He was incredibly good-looking, she thought irrelevantly.

His hand went to the tangle of golden curls spread across the pillow and she felt him smoothing her hair. 'Sleep now, my darling,' he commanded softly.

Darling! He had called her his darling. She was sure she hadn't imagined the endearment even though she heard it through the haze of encroaching sleep. Her heart lifted in response and a smile played across the corners of her mouth. As his finger traced the outline of her lips she formed them into a tiny kiss which connected with his fingertips for the briefest second. It was an incredibly sensuous feeling and she felt a warm stirring in her loins.

'Darling . . .' her brain echoed as she drifted further into oblivion. She couldn't be sure but she thought she even said it aloud.

Gradually the pain in her head began to subside and she felt as if she were adrift on a cloud-soft cushion in a featureless ocean of time and space.

Dimly, she was aware of someone rearranging her limbs and she mumbled an ineffectual protest. There was a feeling of coolness on her legs and arms as her jeans were removed and her shirt was unbuttoned. Then strong hands cradled her long enough to slip her arms out of the shirt. A distant alarm bell jangled as she felt the same strong hands reach for the fastening of her bra but the alarms were so faint and far away that it was easy to ignore them and nestle closer into the circle of those reassuring arms. Then she felt the slight pressure of a mouth at her breast and her nipples hardened unexpectedly in response. The sensation continued along the creamy fullness, all the way upwards to her neck where the same mouth sowed a seedline of kisses along her hairline. It was the most sensuous dream she had ever experienced, yet so welcome and pleasant that she found herself responding with an eagerness she would never have believed possible.

Her breath caught in her throat and a fierce tingling sensation started in the pit of her stomach, moving higher and higher as strong fingers played up and down her spine, massaging and stroking at the same time. Almost of their own volition, her arms came up and twined themselves around the dream figure, drawing him closer so she could press her eager mouth to his. She giggled softly. It had to be the injection, making her feel this carefree, yet also loved and cherished. When her hands reached out once more, she fancied she heard a softly muttered oath, and her hands were pushed firmly under the, bedclothes.

She sighed with regret as a warm covering was drawn over her and a final kiss was traced across her forehead, then all sensation vanished and she gave herself up to sleep.

She was not sure how many hours had passed by the time she next opened her eyes. Fleetingly she could recall a succession of dreams, some making sense, others just phantom shapes without any substance. None of them had anything like the impact of that first seductive dream she had experienced after Doctor Oliver's injection began to take effect. She smiled languidly at the memory, then the smile vanished as she came back to full awareness of her surroundings.

She was lying on the bunk at the rear of the caravan, but she had been on top of the bedclothes and fully dressed when Grant placed her here before calling the doctor. Now her clothing was piled in a neat heap on the opposite bunk and under the blankets she was wearing only her scanty nightdress.

The experience was no dream, she realised now. Grant had taken advantage of her drugged state to undress her completely and . . . with startling clarity she remembered the feel of his questing mouth on her breasts. She hadn't dreamt that, either. Grant had kissed her in a way no man ever had before and she had responded with an abandonment she would not have believed herself capable of showing. She knew she should be furiously angry with Grant for taking such colossal liberties, but she was unable to summon up the emotion. Instead, she felt a dreamy sense of wonder—and a gnawing hunger for . . . she knew not what.

As she lay sorting all this out, her body betrayed her by reacting all over again at the mere thought of Grant's kisses, and she stirred restively in the bed. She remembered now, he had called her his darling—that's what was different. Of course, it might not mean anything. It was a common enough endearment among show business people, she gathered. No, there had been more to it than that, she was certain. When Grant used the term there had been unmistakable warmth and affection in his voice, as if ... as if he really cared for her.

Her eyes widened at the possibility. What if he really did care for her, loved her even? Could it be possible? She gasped aloud then looked quickly down the length of the caravan but she was alone. She breathed a sigh of relief. The idea that Grant might love her was so wonderful, she felt she needed time to think about it before she saw him again.

What did she feel for him? That's what she had to decide now. Before she could even begin to think about it logically, her heart answered the question for her. She was in love with him, it was as simple as that. She had been attracted to him from the moment he made his stormy entrance into her life, accusing her of kidnapping his son. The feeling had been mutual, she could swear to it. Then she had had that stupid impulse to change her hair-style and colour, probably reminding Grant of some unhappy affair in his past and confusing her as to his real feelings for her.

He had kissed her in his office, how could she forget that? At the same time, she couldn't forget the trancelike way he did it, although she couldn't begin to explain that. 'Victoria Duncan,' she told herself sternly, 'why are you being so darned logical all of a sudden?' It seemed incredible that she, who had always acted on impulse, was now using logic and reason to try to explain what she should simply accept—Grant Stalker was in love with her and she was in love with him. What else could possibly matter?

'You look very pleased with yourself for an invalid,' a voice said from halfway down the caravan.

'Oh, hello Susannah, I was just thinking . . . happy thoughts ... that's all,' she improvised, glad that her voice was now working although it was still very husky. 'It's only the flu, so I doubt that you can call it being an invalid.'

'Pleased to hear it,' the actress smiled. 'Oh, and you needn't worry about giving it to me. I've had the shots so your germs don't stand a chance.'

'I'm relieved to hear it,' Tori told her sincerely. 'What about Grant and Nicholas?'

'They've had flu shots, too. You don't take any chances with a multi-million dollar production.'

With the ease of one who had done so many times, Susannah bustled about the tiny galley and returned a few minutes later with two cups of tea which she placed on the table between the two bunks, then she sat down on the opposite bunk. Watching her, Tori had to suppress a twinge of jealousy as she wondered how much time the beautiful actress had spent with Grant to acquire such an air of being at home in the caravan. She told herself she was being spiteful. Susannah was as busy as anyone in the company and yet she had taken time to visit Tori and try to cheer her up. Whatever was . . . had been . . . between her and Grant was none of Tori's business. She was his future. His past was his own affair.

'I thought you'd like something to read while you're laid up,' Susannah said, handing her a manuscript. Glancing at the typewritten coyer, she saw it was the script for Children of the Dreamtime, the film they were making in the Pinnacles.'

'Thanks a lot,' she said warmly. 'I read a little of it on the way here when Grant wanted Nicholas to learn some of his lines, so I'll enjoy the chance to find out how it turns out.'

'It's very good, some of Grant's best work to date,' Susannah told her. 'That's not just my opinion. We all think he's in line for an award with this film.'

In friendly fashion, they chatted on about the film's progress. Susannah informed her that Grant had rescheduled Nicholas's scenes so he could film as much as possible while she was ill and would be free to catch up on his schoolwork when she recovered. 'Grant's very strict about Nicholas getting a proper education,' Susannah concluded.

'You're fond of Nicholas, aren't you?' Tori asked on an impulse.

Susannah's expression softened. 'He's been in two of my films and Grant has directed nearly everything I've done, so they are almost like family to me. I remember when Nicholas was still only a toddler. He was desperately keen to act even though you're not supposed to cast children until they're over seven. He kept toddling on to the set and trying to join in. It was hilarious. In the end Grant had to get a special licence to allow him to be in the picture officially. He got a credit as well.'

'And he's been bitten by the acting bug ever since?'

'You're so right. They're a real show business family . . . or were, that is. I thought Grant would give up the business when Faye died, and that would have broken Nicholas's heart—Grant's, too, but he wouldn't have admitted it.'

'I haven't been to see many films,' Tori said, 'so I've never seen Faye Mitchell on a screen. What was she like?'

Susannah looked suddenly uncomfortable and contrived to glance at her watch. 'Heavens! Is that the time? I must run, I've . . . er . . . got lines to learn for tomorrow.'

'Thanks for the tea and the loan of the script,' Tori said belatedly but she was talking to an empty caravan.

What had she said to provoke such a sudden departure, she wondered, slightly hurt. She liked Susannah Dearing and welcomed the visit, but at the same time, she felt sure the actress was keeping something from her. She had been meaning to ask Grant about it but in her delight in discovering that he cared for her, she had managed to push it to the back of her mind. If there was going to be any real love between them, she would have to get to the bottom of the mystery. She resolved to wait for a quiet time when she and Grant were alone and he was in a receptive mood, then ask him about it.

She began to leaf through the script Susannah left and soon she became absorbed in the tale of a young boy's courage in the face of primeval magic and mystery. It seemed as if she had only begun to read when Nicholas bounded into the caravan, followed more sedately by Grant.

She was unprepared for the flood of warm emotion which washed over her at the sight of him, and she tensed, waiting for him to say something about undressing her and putting her to bed. She felt too shy to bring it up herself, although she would have liked him to know that she didn't mind any more. When he made no reference to it, she decided to pretend she didn't remember it.

His eyes were warm when he came to stand at the foot of her bed. 'How's the patient?'

'Not very,' she grimaced. 'I hate being stuck in bed, I feel so useless.'

'That's enough of that,' he said firmly. 'Mark Oliver said you're not to get up for at least three days. As you can see, this young scamp is heartbroken at the prospect of a few days off.' He ruffled his son's hair affectionately and Nicholas's broad grin told its own story.

'Don't worry, I'll see he makes up for lost time when I'm up again,' she said and saw Nicholas's face fall. He recovered quickly, however, and was soon bouncing up and down on the foot of her bed, telling her all about the day's filming.

He was chased off to the bathroom by Grant who placed a laden tray across Tori's knees. For someone who supposedly didn't like to cook he had made a creditable job of whipping up a cheese omelette and toast to tempt her jaded appetite, and his eyebrow arched towards his hairline when she told him so.

'Who's been telling tales about my culinary skills?' he demanded, his eyes twinkling with good humour.

'Your son, if you must know,' she confessed, scooping up a forkful of the golden omelette. 'Mmm, this is delicious.'

'Yes, delicious,' he murmured, but his eyes were on her not on the tray. Oblivious of the tea which splashed over the rim of the cup as he moved, he leant towards her and buried his face in her hair which lay around her shoulders in a golden cascade. 'Do you know what you do to me when you look like that?' His voice was muffled but there was no mistaking the desire in it.

She pushed the tray aside and wrapped both arms around his shoulders. 'I know, Grant,' she said huskily, the throaty tone as much due to the emotions constricting her vocal chords as to the effects of the flu. 'I feel the same way.'

He stared at her in amazement. 'Are you sure?' She nodded dumbly, her eyes shining with happiness. His mouth found hers and she surrendered to his kiss, thankful that she was fully awake this time to enjoy the sweet, heady sensations crowding in on her.

When at last they parted, she looked at him in wonder. 'How could it have happened so quickly.'

'I don't know my darling, just let's be glad that it did.'

'What are you two doing?' Nicholas asked innocently and they jumped apart like guilty school children.

'Finished your shower already?' Grant asked. Nicholas nodded so Grant said, 'Good, your tea's in the oven. You set the table and I'll come and dish it up in a minute.'

When Nicholas was safely up the other end of the van, Grant turned to Tori and rolled his eyes heavenwards in mock despair. 'We'll continue this—er, discussion— later,' he promised her.

They were reckoning without the effects of the capsules Doctor Oliver had prescribed for her, however. By the time Nicholas was securely tucked up in bed, Tori herself was fast asleep.

Still, in the next couple of days, Grant managed to convey his message to her without words. They seemed to be communicating by thought-wave transmission, with a kind of intimacy she had never experienced with anyone before. Every time Grant looked at her, she basked in the warm, loving glow of his expression as if under a sun-ray lamp. When he left to go to the location, his goodbye had a lingering quality, as if he hated to leave her.

She was almost glad to be confined to bed with the flu. It gave her the respite she needed to think about this wonderful new development and what it would mean to her future.

Grant would ask her to marry him any day now, she was as sure of that as she had ever been of anything. Every word, every gesture, told her that he loved her more surely than if he had put it into words. Even when they reached for something at the same time, sparks like electricity jumped between them where their skin touched.

She found herself looking at Nicholas with a new almost possessive air. She had known since she first met him that she could love him. Not only because he reminded her of Bobby, but because he was such a charmer in his own right. She looked forward to the prospect of helping him to grow into a man. Her teacher's training wouldn't be wasted either. Never again would Grant have to look for a tutor, because she would always be on location with them. The thought gave her a renewed sense of purpose which she found novel but very welcome.

Damon commented on the bloom in her cheeks when he called to visit her during a break in shooting. 'I expected to find you white-faced and wan,' he laughed.

'You sound disappointed,' she responded and rested a languid hand against her forehead. 'Is this more like it?'

He laughed again. 'Don't trouble yourself on my account.' Then he went on to tell her how the film was progressing. She made a good audience, not because she was so anxious to hear about the film, but her new-found love made her hungry for every detail of what Grant did during the day—what he said, where he went.

'Have you worked with Grant often?' she asked during a lull in the conversation.

He shook his head. 'This is the first time. I was working in the States until the start of Dreamtime, and I'd just begun to think I was going to stay there for good when Grant wrote and offered me the job with him. His reputation as a top director is well known even over there, so I jumped at the chance to come home and work with him.'

'Then you didn't know his wife?' she asked, trying not to sound disappointed. Damon was the most forthcoming of all the people in Stalker Productions and she had been hoping he would be able to enlighten her about Grant's past. So far, no one had been willing to talk to her about Faye Mitchell and Susannah had almost run away every time the subject had been mentioned.

'No, I didn't know Faye,' Damon told her, 'although I've seen a few of her films. By all accounts, she and Grant were an ideal couple, not like some of the Hollywood twosomes I met while I was working there. Of course, there was gossip that Faye had other love interests, but that's normal in this business. When there's rumours of a love match between star and leading lady on a film, the PR people love it—sometimes they even start it.'

To her irritation, he launched into a gossipy account of his experiences in America. It was interesting enough and she made an effort to respond at the appropriate times, but her mind was dwelling on his last statement that Faye was rumoured to have been unfaithful to Grant. If he had been devoted to her, it would explain why it hurt him to talk about her, at least. Since Tori hardly ever went to see a film or read the film pages of newspapers or magazines, she knew nothing about Grant's past other than the basic details she had gleaned from the biographical dictionary before leaving Perth. She found it tantalising and at the same time infuriating to be in love with a man about whom she knew nothing except what he had seen fit to tell her himself.

CHAPTER SIX

The next few days passed in a pleasant haze during which Tori slept a lot and caught up on some of the tasks she had been neglecting. She was horrified to check the date on her foster parents' last letter and find that they had written to her over six weeks before. Guiltily, she wrote half a dozen pages telling them all about her temporary job and the fascinating things she was learning about film making. But when she tried to tell them about Grant, her pen refused to function.

She supposed if they were going to be married she would have to tell Miles and Elizabeth soon, but she decided to postpone it for the present. Her foster parents weren't due to return to Western Australia for many months yet, so there was plenty of time. If she and Grant decided to have a quiet wedding, it might even be a fait accompli by the time the Duncans returned. Miles would be hurt if she did that, but she didn't think Elizabeth would mind. It might even be for the best since things were so cool between her and Elizabeth these days. She certainly didn't relish the idea of telling Elizabeth that she would also become Nicholas's stepmother. It would be like rubbing salt into her emotional wounds. In the end, she finished the letter without mentioning Grant except as her employer.

On one of his last visits to check up on her, Doctor Oliver promised to post the letter in Cervantes for her. 'Although you're almost well enough to be up and about on your own errands,' he said.

'That's wonderful,' she enthused. 'When can I get up?'

'Tomorrow if you like, but only to sit in the sun. Don't plan on doing any work for a couple more days yet.'

Laughing, she agreed to his terms. The next day she was eager to be up and about and she was only sorry that she had slept through Grant's departure. The night before, he had mentioned they would be filming at the Pinnacles itself, and she had been hoping to go along now Doctor Oliver had given her the all-clear.

As it was she would have to content herself with relaxing outside the caravan until Grant and the others returned. Impatiently, she swung her legs over the side of the bunk and reached for her clothes. As she dressed, she couldn't help recalling how Grant had undressed her and put her to bed the day she had become ill. Her body throbbed with remembered sensations.

Emerging into the main part of the van, she stared around in amazement. So this is where Grant had been sleeping. While she had been ill, probably during her many long naps, he had tidied away all the film paraphernalia and left the van looking spotless. Two more bunks had been freed for use and everything gleamed from the spring cleaning.

She sat down on the lower bunk. He knew she wasn't happy with the state of the van so he had cleaned it up as a surprise for her! A warm glow suffused her—this was what love was like. It made you want to do silly little things for the beloved—like spring clean, or cook, when none of those tasks had appealed before.

With her pleasure came a strong feeling of guilt. She was supposed to be the employee and here she was, sitting around like a princess just because of a stupid bout of flu. She looked around the van. Grant hadn't left much for her to do.

What about the cupboards? There were dozens of them built into the van walls but most of them were surprisingly neat. Apparently Grant's untidiness only extended to his work gear, not to his personal life. However, when she opened one large cupboard, she had to jump back as a great mound of odds and. ends tumbled out. So this was where he had stowed all the clutter from elsewhere in the van.' She smiled with satisfaction. There was something for her to do after all.

Carefully, she stacked the camera gear to one side, mindful of its value. The back of the cupboard was crammed with piles of old scripts, newspapers and scrap-books. The scrapbooks caught her attention first. She always enjoyed looking at family photo albums, perhaps because she had none of her own, so she opened one of them and leafed through it eagerly. The whole of one album was devoted to Nicholas. As well as the usual baby pictures, there were shots of him on the sets of his films. Susannah was right, he had started when he was little more than a baby. No wonder he was a veteran now.

She lingered longest over the shots of Grant at work and play. There were clippings of magazine interviews with him and these she read with loving attention. While they told her a lot about his professional life, they satisfied none of her curiosity about his personal life.

The last album she drew towards her with a curious reluctance. It was labelled simply 'Faye'—at last, she was about to find out more about Grant's mysterious actress wife, Nicholas's mother. No one on the crew seemed to want to talk about her; Damon couldn't help and on the few occasions when she had tried to get information from Susannah, she had left hurriedly with some trumped-up excuse.

The first photographs disappointed her. They showed a petite woman with an hour-glass figure. In each shot, she had a different hair-colour and style and her clothes suggested she was made up for a succession of film roles, so it was hard to tell whether she was twenty or thirty. The next pages contained clippings of press interviews with Faye, during which she talked a great deal about her career but made only occasional references to a husband and child.

Then Tori came across a clipping which held her riveted. It was headed, 'Actress dies in horror smash. Co-star charged.' There was a picture of a horribly mangled car wrapped around a telegraph pole and the story told how the driver, a young actor appearing with Faye in her latest picture, had lost control of the car and slammed it into a pole, killing Faye. Miraculously, he escaped unhurt. They were returning from a show business party, the story explained, and it was later proved that the actor had been drinking heavily. Grant was reported to be shattered by the event and had gone into seclusion on his property on the Ord River with his young son, 'a promising child actor.'

Tori stared into space, her eyes clouding with sympathy for Grant. To lose his adored wife in such tragic circumstances. Cruelly, she thought, the story hinted strongly that there had been a relationship between Faye and the actor. It couldn't be proved once Faye was dead, but it must have hurt Grant terribly to have it suggested in such a dreadful way. Where had he been at the time? she wondered. Did he blame himself for not being the one to drive Faye home? Was that why he didn't like to talk about it and never mentioned her now?

Slowly she turned to the next page in the album. There were more pictures of Faye on the sets of her films and Tori spared them only a glance. One large print took up a whole page, and this one she stared at in growing horror. It was a professional studio portrait of the actress, the kind one might send out to fans seeking autographs. Faye's curling blonde hair cascaded on to her shoulders and she stared at the camera with wide-eyed innocence and just a hint of flirtatiousness. But it was not the provocative pose which drained the colour from Tori's face. Suddenly she understood why the crew kept giving her such curious looks—and why Grant had acted so strangely the day she arrived at his office with her hair newly coloured and styled.

The resemblance was there in any case, she could see that now. But add the strawberry blonde curls and it was total. She, Tori Duncan, was the living image of Faye Mitchell.

For what seemed like hours she sat on her heels on the floor, staring at the picture. It was like looking into a mirror. Faye's eyes were a fraction wider apart than her own and the mouth seemed a little fuller, but that could have been clever make-up. Desperately, she searched the picture for other points of difference but found none. They could have been twins.

Tori's mouth quirked upwards in a humourless smile, as she remembered how eager the hairdresser had been for her to try this particular style. She had probably been a fan of Faye's and, noting the resemblance, thought she was doing Tori a favour by making it total.

Why hadn't somebody warned her? Susannah had known and hinted at the truth but said it was up to Grant to explain. Maybe with her generous nature, she'd been hoping there was some other explanation than the obvious one—that Grant had hired her purely because of her resemblance to Faye. Had he made love to her for the same reason? It was the only possible explanation, and hot tears of shame and humiliation began to course down her face at the thought. She had responded to his advances only because she believed he really loved her. Well, now she knew the truth. Grant wasn't in love with her—he was in love with a memory.

What a fool she had been, she thought bitterly, believing Grant when he said she was the only teacher he could find to go with the unit at short notice. She had believed it because she wanted to, she admitted now.

Nicholas had been too young when his mother died, to remember what she looked like. Still, it might explain why he had taken to her—a stranger—so readily. Et tu, Brute?

Damon, whom she believed was her friend, hadn't known Faye so he couldn't have told her, but surely one of the others could have explained the situation instead of letting her make a fool of herself like this.

She had a vivid mental picture of Grant, the big-time director, at work on the set—the puppeteer who pulled the strings while everybody else jumped. No wonder the film crew were afraid to tell her the truth. It would probably have cost them their jobs. Had Grant been counting on that to keep his secret? She wouldn't put it past him now she knew what depths he could sink to in order to get what he wanted.

A bitter laugh that was half a sob choked her. Damn, damn, damn! How could she have let herself believe that Grant loved her for herself alone? She had enough experience in her life to prove that it didn't work that way, not for her. To Elizabeth Duncan, she was a poor substitute for a natural child. To Doug, she was 'a good catch'. What made her think Grant would be any different? Just because he had a voice like velvet and lips which could hypnotise her, it didn't give him the power to alter her accustomed lot in life. She had been a fool to believe he did, even for a minute.

With the discovery of her resemblance to Faye had come another flash of insight. Now she understood why Grant had been so disproportionately angry when Doug claimed she had been sleeping with him. Grant had been so busy casting her as Faye that he had forgotten who she really was, to the point where he had actually been jealous of Doug.

She stared at the photo in horrid fascination. What a woman Faye must have been to drive a man like Grant to such lengths to keep her memory alive!

'Are you there, Tori? . . . Oh!' She had left the van door open to let in some fresh air, and now Susannah breezed in, halting abruptly as she caught sight of Tori on the floor, the photo album on her knees. 'So you know?'

'I know why Grant was so eager to have me around,' she agreed, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. 'I had to be Little Goody Two-Shoes and start a Clean-up . . .' Unconsciously, she used the same disparaging tag Doug had attached to her.

'And you found out more than you bargained for,' Susannah finished for her. 'Oh, Tori, I'm sorry it happened like this, but you were bound to find out sooner or later. Perhaps it's better this way.'

Better for whom? Tori wondered cynically. For Susannah, because Tori would now leave the field clear for her and Grant? She realised she was thinking exactly like a woman in love which, of course, she had been until a few minutes ago. Aloud, she said, 'Why didn't you tell me about this?'

Susannah had the grace to look a little ashamed. 'I should have, I suppose. But then Nicholas did need a tutor, I kept telling myself it was the real reason Grant hired you.'

'We both know it wasn't though.'

The actress squeezed her shoulder sympathetically. 'Don't think the worst, Tori. I know it looks bad, but Grant is a good man, one of the finest I've ever known. He wouldn't have hired you if he didn't think you were the best tutor for Nicholas.'

At once, Tori understood that Susannah thought she was only upset about the implied slur on her teaching abilities. She couldn't know that Grant had let Tori think he was in love with her, which was what really hurt. Maybe Grant had let Susannah believe the same thing. Her heart went out to the pretty young actress and she was tempted to take her fully into her confidence, but there was no point in both of them getting hurt. 'You're probably right,' she said firmly. 'Maybe the other thing is . . . just co-incidence.'

'Then you aren't planning to leave?'

Contract or no contract, the thought had crossed her mind but she was already too fond of Nicholas to desert him and none of this was his fault. 'I'll stay,' she said quietly. To herself, she added, 'but it will be on the basis that I'm here as Grant's employee, not as a stand-in for his dead wife.'

On a sudden impulse, she slammed the album shut and jumped to her feet. She had to find Grant and make him understand that his little charade was over. She strove to keep her voice steady as she turned to Susannah. 'Where exactly is the unit working today?'

Susannah shot her a look of alarm.' 'What are you going to do?'

'I'm going to have a talk with Grant, that's all.'

'Are you sure that's wise?'

'Probably not, but I'm going to do it anyway. If I'm to stay here after this, it has to be on my terms.' The confrontation also had to take place before her limited store of courage deserted her, she knew, but did not say so to Susannah.

'All right, but he won't like being interrupted.' Reluctantly, she told Tori that she would find the unit on the fringe of the Pinnacles, between the Red Desert and Saddle Hill.

'I'll find it,' Tori assured her. The jeep Susannah had used to drive back to camp was parked outside the caravan and she climbed into it. Her hands shook as she wrestled with the unfamiliar gears and beads of perspiration stood out on her pale skin by the time she got it rolling. She was aware of Susannah watching her worriedly from the caravan steps but she knew this was something she had to do, while her fury at discovering how Grant had used her still sustained her.

It took all her concentration to steer a reasonably straight course over the trackless dunes towards the area Susannah had described. At any other time, she would have revelled in the clarity of the spring day in this heavenly setting. Now, she could hardly believe that the sun was shining so strongly out of an azure sky. In her present frame of mind, grey thunder clouds would have been more appropriate.

Under her wheels, the lime-rich white sands sparkled in the sunlight and every bush and scrubby plant seemed to be wearing a covering of spring flowers. A flock of black swans flew noisily overhead, heading towards the lakes near Cervantes, but she was in no mood to appreciate the grace and splendour of their flight.

She was too intent on following a track which was little more than a rocky outcrop etched by twin tyre marks. Here and there she had to swerve to avoid pockets of deep sand and outcrops of capstone, its sand covering worn away by the constant effect of the wind blowing inland from the sea. It made the going rough but, in a way, she was glad that driving was such a challenge. She really didn't want time to think, in case her resolve deserted her before she had a chance to confront Grant.

That he still possessed the power to affect her physically, she had no doubt. Knowing that she was only a substitute for the real object of his passion would not stop her errant body from responding to him on a purely physical level, the last few days had taught her at least that much. So it was vital that she warn him away before he found out. She was sure he wouldn't hesitate to use her weakness to get his own way and she couldn't bear it now, knowing that she was a stand-in for the woman he had loved and lost.

She was glad when the first of the limestone spires marking the Pinnacles desert came into view'. Soon she was driving through a forest of them and conscientiously kept to the rutted one-way track which wound between them, to avoid damaging the fragile formations. Luckily there was no one else about. She would have hated to have to sit sedately behind another vehicle while its occupants admired the surroundings, and there was no way of passing without leaving the marked track.

Today, in keeping with her desolate mood, the spires seemed less like an enchanted city and more like a lost world. The weird limestone shapes which usually intrigued her seemed hostile and jagged now and she was relieved to drive out of their encroaching presence, into the dunes of the surrounding Red Desert.

It was easy to see how the dune systems acquired their names. To the north, towards their camp, lay the gleaming bleached sands of the White Desert, which contrasted sharply with the ochre surface towards which she was heading. She couldn't have much farther to go now, since Susannah had told her the unit was filming between here and Saddle Hill. She slowed the jeep so that she could look around more carefully. Nambung was a vast national park and she didn't want to overshoot her destination. Only when she heard a hoarse shout of protest did she realise she had found the unit already.

Nicholas and Benjamin Wuranji were sitting on the sand, below her line of vision so she was almost on top of them before she saw them. Towards her rolled a bulky crane with a boom camera peering from its height like the head of a mechanical dinosaur. Behind it, riding the beast, she glimpsed Grant.

'Cut it! Cut it! Everybody stay where you are,' he yelled through a megaphone and she flinched at the amplified fury in his voice. What had she done now?

Anxiously, she stopped the jeep where it was and climbed out to look around uncertainly at the annoyed faces of the. people facing her.

'Somebody get her the hell out of there!' Grant instructed. 'And get that jeep out of the shot.'

At once, Damon rushed forward and took her by the arm to steer her away. 'What is it? What did I do?' she asked, bewildered.

'In a minute. First we have to get you out of here before Grant has a seizure.' Behind them, one man jumped into the jeep and drove it behind the line of cameras while a prop-man hurried forward and swept the sand clear of tyre marks. By the time Damon pushed her into a canvas-backed chair, away from all the activity, Tori's heart was thudding so loudly she felt sure Grant must hear it even from his lofty position.

'Now will you tell me what's wrong?'

'You committed the cardinal sin of film making,' he explained With a wry grin. 'You broke up a master shot.'

'I still don't understand.'

'Remember me telling you how important it is to freeze during a take?' She nodded as the memory of her first visit to the location came rushing back. 'Well, most takes run for thirty seconds or so—ninety at the most. A master shot is the overall shot of every thing that goes on during a scene and it can last up to ten minutes. The director needs to get it all down in one continuous take so it's vital not to spoil it, otherwise it has to be done all over again from the top.'

'And that's what I did?' she asked, feeling reaction setting in.

'Fraid so, honey. Relax, we all blow a master at least once in our careers. It's not the end of the world.'

She glanced nervously at Grant, still perched on top his camera crane. 'Grant seems to think it is.'

Damon shrugged. 'Don't let that bother you. He's been like a bear with a sore head about something all day. Nobody can do anything right.'

'And I had to come along and make matters worse,' she sighed. 'Do you think I could talk to him?'

'Not a chance. We've been setting up this shot for hours so he won't want to waste a minute of the light before it changes.' She had already wasted precious time, was his unspoken message. He softened the implied criticism by smiling at her reassuringly. 'Whatever it is, it'll have to wait until we wrap for the day.'

She looked so crestfallen that he put a friendly arm around her shoulder. 'Come on, Tori, it's not as bad as all that, surely? You're probably still feeling the effects of that flu. Look, can I help with whatever it is?'

'No, thanks all the same,' she said wanly. 'As you pointed out, it'll have to wait.'

At that moment, a continuity girl approached Damon with a stopwatch in one hand and a script in the other. He shrugged good-naturedly at Tori. 'Duty calls, sorry.'

She watched him go with a sense of desolation. He and Susannah were the only members of the crew she had managed to get to know since she joined the company. The others were friendly enough but she was a stranger in their world and they had little in common. They would have even less, she thought, now she had committed the ultimate film-making sin. It wasn't her fault, she thought defensively. She would just like to see Grant trying to control a class full of unruly eight-year-olds. Even this thought gave her little consolation. It would be just like him to manage it without a blink. As soon as he turned that engaging, far-sighted stare of his on to the children they would probably be his slaves for life.

Was that what had happened to her? Had she been hypnotised by him? He had seemed to offer her everything she had always dreamt of—true love from a man she could respect and admire, and who kindled in her fires of passion she had never experienced before. All that was over now that she knew that when he kissed her, he was really kissing Faye Mitchell, not Tori Duncan. She wondered if he really knew her at all, or only projected on to her the qualities which suited him.

She jumped up restlessly. Having publicly humiliated her, Grant had returned to his work as if she no longer existed. She debated whether to find the jeep and drive back to camp, but she was afraid of disrupting the filming again, although it didn't look as if the cameras had begun to turn again yet. She decided to go for a walk among the dunes, hoping that the physical exercise would help relieve the pent-up stress inside her.

Nobody took the slightest notice of her departure and soon she was out of sight of the unit, behind the line of dunes. The tranquillity closed in on her at once and she was glad she had decided on the walk. The peace and quiet was just what her frayed nerves needed right now, while she decided what she ought to do next.

She had come prepared for a confrontation with Grant, but it dawned on her as she walked that she really didn't know what she would have said to him. What if he had dismissed her accusations out of hand?

From her uninhibited response to him in the caravan, he already knew she was susceptible to his lovemaking. He was shrewd enough to dismiss her resemblance to Faye as co-incidence and try to make her believe that he really cared for her. If he went on kissing her in that passionate, compelling way, she just might forget all her scruples and give in to him in order to stay with him, even on his terms. Could she betray herself as totally as that? Yes, she admitted, for the moment. His caresses were so warm and his kisses so addictive that she knew if she tried hard enough, she could forget that his love was meant for Faye Mitchell, not for her.

Only later, perhaps many years in the future, the knowledge would eat away at her until all she had left was the empty shell of an existence. She had already experienced too many years as a substitute for the real object of Elizabeth's love to want to expose herself to a lifetime of such bleak emptiness. The ready way she had been discarded as soon as Bobby came along, proved to her how fleeting and fragile a relationship built on such a basis would be. Whatever it cost her, she knew it was better to end it now while she still could.

If only she had been able to talk to Grant while she was still consumed by fury, it would have been much easier. She knew she was going to have to work at hardening her heart to resist him when they finally did get the chance to talk.

Disconsolately, she sat down on the sand in the shade of a spindly banksia bush. The spear-shaped flowers seemed to mock her with their cheery orange colouring, so in contrast to her grey mood. The aftermath of the flu had left her feeling weak and her emotions were dangerously close to the surface.

There was a rustling sound in the scrub nearby and she looked up into the curious eyes of a mallee fowl. Maybe she had settled down too close to the bird's nesting mound. She sat, unmoving, and the bird continued to study her suspiciously.

'It's all right for you,' she said aloud, 'you don't pick your mates because they look like someone else.' At this, the tears she had been choking back began to fall in earnest. What did it matter? There was no one but the mallee fowl to see her cry her eyes out. She would get over it in time, but right now she felt as if her heart was in little pieces.

The sobs subsided at last and she mopped at her eyes which felt puffy and sore. She was tired, both from the flu and the long walk so she let her eyes close, intending to doze for a few minutes before making her way back to the unit.

When she awoke it was dark and a full moon came and went behind streaks of dark cloud. She scrambled to her feet. She must have been asleep for hours. How could she have been so stupid? The chill night air made her shiver.

Around her, the dunes loomed as threatening masses studded with the skeleton shapes of bushes, and the night air was alive with rustling, slithering sounds. Although she knew the sounds were made by the many small nocturnal mammals which lived in the park, they seemed menacing all the same.

She didn't really expect to find the unit still working. They would have returned to camp at sunset, thinking she was already there. All the same, she made her way cautiously up the slope of the dune towards where they had been—at least the movement would warm her up.

By day, she had appreciated the solitary splendour of the park. Now she was alone and afraid. She reached the ridge top and stood looking out in horror. Where the open heath should have been was only another row of dunes outlined against the night sky. She must have walked much farther than she realised. Hesitantly she walked towards the dunes and climbed them, almost sobbing with relief as she caught sight of the ghostly outlines of the Pinnacles standing like sentinels in some Biblical wilderness. At least she was heading in the right direction.

She even thought she recognised the area beneath her as the plain where Grant had been filming earlier, although she hadn't paid enough attention to its land-forms at the time to be absolutely sure. There was a thumping sound behind her and she spun around in alarm, only relaxing as she caught sight of a brush wallaby bounding off into the thicket.

'Silly fool,' she told herself sharply. 'Imagine being frightened of a harmless wallaby. There's nothing out here large enough to hurt you so cut it out.'

Her little speech to herself seemed to help and she set off towards the Pinnacles with increasing confidence, trying to ignore the cold which was making her teeth chatter.

This was where a search party would expect to find her when they came looking. Someone would come soon, they had to. She shivered at the prospect of spending an entire night alone in this wilderness, among the eerie forest of limestone spires.

The moon chose that moment to slip behind a cloud, blotting out its comforting light. She drew a sharp breath and held it as her ear caught a shuffling sound, as if someone was walking across the sand. It was probably just another wallaby, she told herself but the shuffling continued, coming closer and closer until it was drowned out by the roaring of the blood in her ears.

Visions of the Dream time spirit people, and Kadaitcha Men—the aboriginal deliverers of vengeance—were all too fresh in her mind after reading Grant's script. What if they were not just legends? She groped around her feet for a chunk of quartz to throw at whatever was stalking her but as she straightened, she was grasped by two powerful arms and her screams of terror pierced the still night air. She felt a stinging sensation along one side of her face and the shock of the pain silenced her.

'Tori, it's me, for God's sake.'

The moon drifted out from behind its cloud bank and she recognised her captor. 'Grant! I thought you were a Kadaitcha Man!' Relief made her giggle helplessly and she flinched as he raised his hand again. 'No, please, I'm not hysterical. You gave me a fright, that's all.'

'I gave you a fright? What do you think I've been going through for the last few hours, thinking of you out here alone?'

'Thinking of Faye, don't you mean?' she cut in coldly.

'No, dammit—thinking of you.'

It was the moment she had dreaded ever since she discovered the picture of Faye. Now he was here, saying the words she had been so afraid he would use, and she wondered if she would have the strength to resist him.

CHAPTER SEVEN

In silence they negotiated the walk through the Pinnacles to the track where Grant had left his jeep. He reached through the window and leaned on the horn, giving two long and two short blasts. 'That wilt tell the others you've been found,' he explained in response to her questioning look. 'Half the company is out searching for you.'

'I didn't mean to cause so much trouble,' she said worriedly. 'I fell asleep and it was dark when I awoke.'

His expression softened. 'I'm the one who should apologise. Damon told me how upset you were after I chewed you out on the set.'

'It was my fault, too. I didn't stop to think you might be in the middle of something important.'

The moonlight shot his hair through with silver highlights as he cupped her chin in one hand and forced her face up to his. 'Nothing was more important than the fact that you needed me and I let you down.'

'But it's not. . .'

'Sssh,' he interrupted. 'Susannah told me you'd found Faye's picture in the caravan. It must have been quite a shock to you.'

'Is that so surprising?' she asked stiffly.

'No. It was a shock to me when I first set eyes on you. You're so like her. Then when you turned up in my office with the identical hair-style ... I thought you'd done it deliberately to provoke me.'

'I didn't know, I swear,' she whispered hoarsely.

'I realised that later. I was wrong to have doubted you, even for a moment. You see, you're very important to me Tori.'

She was important—or Faye was? How could she ever be sure of him again? She sighed despairingly. This was the very thing she had feared, that he knew how much she was attracted to him and would exploit it to get his own way.

'Don't Grant,' she pleaded.

He bent his head towards her and his lips grazed the weal on the side of her face where he had struck her to bring her to her senses. It still smarted and the touch of his lips on the spot was like fire. 'Don't what? Do this?' he murmured, continuing to trace a row of kisses along the line of her jaw which trembled under the contact. The cold was forgotten as he set her pulses racing.

Weakly, she opened her mouth to protest and at once her lips were captured under his in a long kiss which inflamed her hungry senses. She felt a hard metallic object stabbing into the small of her back where the weight of his body pressed her against the side of the jeep and she whimpered softly. He took the small sound for encouragement and kissed her harder, his tongue exploring the inside of her mouth with possessive confidence. She marvelled at the strength in his lean, lithe body, as his closeness made her disturbingly aware of his need for her. Then the metal object pierced the thin fabric of her shirt and grazed her skin so that she jerked away in alarm.

'What is it? Did I hurt you?' he asked in concern.

She shook her head and massaged her bruised back with one hand. 'It was the car,' she said awkwardly.

He turned her carefully and she tensed as he eased the tail of her shirt out from the constricting waistband of her jeans then lifted it so he could inspect the damage.

'Luckily the skin isn't broken, but I'm afraid your shirt will need repairing.'

His strong fingers continued to probe the small of her back and play along her spine with the skill of a musician. Suddenly he brought his hands around her body under the shirt, so that he could grasp the swelling flesh of her breasts. She gasped as he pushed aside the wisps of lace which imprisoned them and replaced the cups of the bra with his hands, kneading and stroking her breasts until she felt almost giddy with desire. Much more of this and he would be able to do anything he wanted with her, she knew. But of course, it wouldn't be her at all! Despite his glib protests and persuasive caresses, she forced herself to remember that all the while he was really making love to Faye in his mind.

A strangled cry escaped her lips and she whirled away from him.

'What's the matter?' he demanded.

'It's no good,' she said roughly as she thrust her torn shirt back into her jeans. 'I never trained as an actress so I'm no good at all as a stand-in.'

His eyes narrowed and he regarded her coldly. 'That was a low blow, especially after I've made it clear to you that your looks have nothing to do with . . . this.'

Her cry came directly from the heart. 'How can I believe that Grant? You don't even believe it yourself.'

Her shot had hit home hard, she could see that from the savage way he strode around to the driver's side of the jeep and wrenched the door open, leaving her to open her own door and climb in. She was still shaken by the strength of her own response to his lovemaking and she kept as far to her own side of the vehicle as the space permitted. She still, didn't trust herself entirely with him, but she had survived the first round so it would probably be easier still to resist him in future. At least she knew now that she could withstand his advances without losing all semblance of control. As long as she kept reminding herself that it was not her he loved, only a memory.

When they arrived back at camp, she had to run a gauntlet of concerned questions about where she'd been and how she had managed to become lost. As patiently as she could she fielded the questions, glad of the dim light between the caravans to conceal her bruised cheek. That would really excite their curiosity. She hoped it would not be too obvious by morning.

Now that Grant had made a habit of sleeping on one of the bunks further down the caravan she had the tiny bedroom to herself and after tonight's ordeal, she was grateful for that. More than anything, she needed time to think. Everything had happened too fast for comfort, or even for rational acceptance.

First, Grant had stormed into her life like the Kadaitcha Man she had mistaken him for tonight. Then he had beguiled her into falling in love with him in the false belief that he really loved her in return. Finally, all her illusions had been shattered by the discovery that she was only a stand-in for Faye. She wished she had the will to be really angry with him, for using her like this, but it was hard to hate someone she had so recently entrusted with her heart. Besides, a compassionate voice inside whispered, he must have loved Faye very much to want to endure the pain of having her double around.

Why hadn't she thought of that before? She had been so busy feeling sorry for herself that she hadn't stopped to consider his side of things. Not that it changed anything, she thought miserably, but it did make his duplicity understandable and therefore easier to bear.

In the last moments before sleep claimed her she wondered dreamily if it would be such a bad thing to be Faye for him. At least she would have his love and companionship. The temptation tormented her for some time before she made herself face reality. As Elizabeth had done, he would come to hate her in time because she was alive and the real object of his love was not. It wouldn't work for either of them.

With this unpleasant thought in her mind, it was no wonder that she slept badly and awoke next day with a throbbing head. The eyes which stared back at her from the bathroom mirror were red-rimmed from lack of proper rest. She fingered the bruise on her cheek thoughtfully. It wasn't as bad as she had feared and was easily covered by a film of peach-toned foundation.

Nicholas was not at all pleased to be faced with school-work again, but he settled down at the table with a rueful grin. She had already checked with Damon and found that all of the next few days were allocated to study since Nicholas had chalked up so many hours of filming while she was ill. She was glad now that she'd worked out most of his lessons before the flu had struck, so that all she had to do today was supervise.

She felt a little guilty watching Nicholas, his head bent over an arithmetic problem. He was getting a rough deal from his teacher, she was the first to admit. She should have been taking him on excursions around the park, making the most of the unique environment as a teaching tool. Instead, she was so caught up with her own problems that it was all she could do to sit still while he worked. She would have to make more of an effort, she told herself sternly.

Suiting the action to the thought, she began to pack some sandwiches and a bottle of fruit juice into a shoulder-bag and announced that they were going on ah expedition.

His eyes shone. 'Great! Where to?'

She hadn't really decided. On impulse, she said, 'to the coast.'

It was a good choice as far as lessons went, having by far the most interesting flora and fauna in the park, and she pointed it out to Nicholas as they travelled. In addition, the access roads were reasonable and she was fast getting the hang of the four-wheel drive vehicles. The last thing she wanted was to get lost and cause a repetition of last night's adventure.

The steep dunes along the coastline were open to the wind and salt spray and she felt cleansed as she stood on a ridge letting the wind tug her hair this way and that. Below her, Nicholas was busily sketching plants for them to look up in the encyclopaedia when they got back to camp. Even from here, she could see he was making a creditable job of drawing the coastal spinifex and the succulent ground cover known locally as pig face.

If ever he tired of acting he could make a living as an artist, she thought, and reminded herself to tell Grant about his son's talent. Not that there was much chance either of them would ever give up the film industry, she conceded. From Susannah, she had learnt Grant had come close to giving up after Faye was killed, retreating to his property on the Ord River in the north of the state. But even his grief at losing his wife couldn't keep him out of his beloved industry for long. It hadn't taken many months before he was back making films again with, if anything, even more energy than before.

They picnicked on a sand ridge overlooking the Indian Ocean and Tori entertained Nicholas with more tales of the Dutch navigators who first sailed these waters. By the time they returned to camp it was mid-afternoon but already, it seemed, the unit was back from filming.

'Looks like they've finished work early today,' she commented to Nicholas. She hoped their absence hadn't caused any alarm because she had been counting on getting back before anyone else.

As it turned out, their absence was hardly noticed, because Grant had other things on his mind. Just as-Tori went to mount the steps to the caravan she was hailed by Susannah.

'I wouldn't go in there if I were you.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Why not?'

'Grant's in there going over the figures with one of the backers. He sprang a surprise visit to see how things were going—not that he has anything to worry about since Grant looks like bringing this picture in under budget.'

Seeing Tori's baffled expression, she explained further. 'Backers are financiers—they put the millions needed to make a film, then recoup their investment plus profit when the film is released.'

This aspect had never occurred to Tori but she quickly grasped the importance such a visit would have for Grant. At Susannah's invitation, she and Nicholas adjourned to Susannah's caravan for coffee, until the business meeting was concluded.

'I'm glad to see you're looking better today after your...er...revelation,' the actress said. It was clear that she wanted to talk about Tori's discovery of her resemblance to Faye. Tori glanced anxiously at Nicholas who was sprawled full length along a couch, his head buried in a book. It would be disastrous to bring up such a subject in his hearing and she shook her head warningly at Susannah.

'Sorry,' the other woman mouthed. 'I wasn't thinking.'

'When did this backer arrive?' Tori asked in a bid to change the subject completely.

'After lunch. Wouldn't you know it, he turned up just when I was in the middle of a scene where I had my clothes hanging off me in tatters, I had supposedly just survived a sandstorm in the desert.'

Tori laughed. 'I would have died! You don It seem very bothered about him seeing you like that though.'

Susannah shrugged. 'You get used to being seen in all sorts of strange states when you're in my job. And anyway, Howard Jennings is different.'

Howard Jennings must be the backer, 'different' because he held the purse strings, Tori surmised. 'Do you know Mr Jennings well?' she asked.

'Howard—oh sure. He loves to invest in films and he's backed several of mine. He's a stickler for quality though, only puts his money into the very best. Which doesn't sound very modest of me, I suppose.'

'There's nothing wrong with being proud of your work,' Tori told her earnestly. 'In this business, it must be very tempting to do parts because the money is right, but with your talent that would be a shame.'

Susannah's cheeks glowed at this praise and she smiled. 'Why thanks, Tori. It's nice of you to say that. I didn't think you were much of a film fan, though.'

'I'm not, I'm afraid,' she confessed. 'I was judging by what Grant and the others say about your acting and in their opinion, you're very good.'

The light which sparkled in Susannah's eyes at the mention of Grant's praise, even delivered second-hand through Tori, made her wonder afresh about Susannah's feelings towards Grant. While Tori was still besotted with him she had been ready to dismiss the actress as an affair out of Grant's past. Now she was not so sure. If Grant had been prepared to deceive her as to the real reason he was attracted to her, he might not be averse to seeing Susannah at the same time. She sipped her coffee pensively.

There was a knock on the door and Grant's head appeared around it, making Tori wonder if she had conjured him up by thinking so strongly about him. He was evidently still furious with her after last night's rebuff and he regarded her icily. With a curt, 'Hello Tori,' he turned all his attention to Susannah who smiled at him radiantly.

'Finished all your business talk then?'

'That's what I came to ask you about. Howard wants to continue our discussions over dinner. I thought you might like to drive over to Cervantes with us.'

'Won't Howard . . . Mr Jennings mind?'

'He suggested the idea. I think he enjoys being seen in the company of our beautiful star.'

Playfully, Susannah threw a cushion at him but he ducked and it sailed harmlessly over his head. 'If Howard could see the star now,' he murmured.

'Beast!' she returned, then looked uncertainly at Tori.

Oh no! She wasn't going to spend another evening in his company, seeing his eyes soften and feeling his hands warm on her skin, knowing it was all for the love of someone else. 'I have to wash my hair,' she said hastily. 'Besides, Nicholas will need some company.'

He turned a chilly stare her way. 'There's no need to remind me of my responsibilities, Tori. I've never left my son alone at night yet and I didn't intend tonight to be the first time. So don't feel you have to stay in on my account.'

Since a national park fringed with desert offered so many places to go at night, she almost laughed aloud. He had completely avoided suggesting that she accompany his party to Cervantes, she noticed. Well that was fine with her! Now she had seen him in his true colours, she wouldn't spend an evening with him if he was the last man on earth. Tiddly-winks with his son would be infinitely preferable to playing 'What's my line' with him! 'I'm quite happy to stay here,' she assured him calmly.

Susannah was watching them both worriedly. 'Is everything all right?' she asked uncertainly.

If looks could kill, the one Grant gave Tori would have struck her down on the spot. 'Everything is just dandy!' he ground out and stamped away down the caravan steps, shaking the van with his weight.

'What's going on between you two?' Susannah asked when he had gone.

'Remember me saying I would only stay on my terms?' Susannah inclined her head, and Tori went on, 'He didn't like them.'

'Our Grant doesn't like anyone telling him what to do,' Susannah laughed.

Naturally. He didn't mind running other people's lives as long as he always got his own way. Let him be upset, she didn't care. More accurately, she did care—a great deal. But in time, she was determined to learn not to care where he was concerned.

Leaving Susannah to dress for her dinner engagement, Tori and Nicholas made their way back to the other caravan. Beside one of the cars she glimpsed Grant's powerful figure. He was standing alongside a more slightly built man she guessed must be Howard Jennings. In the late evening light, they were silhouetted against the night sky, and as she looked their way, Grant leant across to light a cigarette for the other man. In the flare of the match, the angles and planes of his face were thrown into sharp relief, giving him an almost demonic expression.

Unconsciously, she quickened her steps to reach her own caravan.

While she told herself she was glad to have the caravan to herself, free of Grant's pervasive presence, she felt curiously cheated by his absence. While she was cooking dinner for herself and Nicholas she kept picturing him at a restaurant with Susannah. Their heads bent close together over a menu, their hands touching lightly. The backer would be there too, she reminded herself, not that any of it made the slightest difference to her, of course. Resignedly, she faced the fact that it was going to be much harder falling out of love with Grant than into it, even knowing that it was the only choice she had.

Fortunately, Nicholas was good company and helped to take her mind off such painful thoughts. They played several sudden-death rounds of Snap before Tori threw her cards on the table and admitted defeat. 'You win!' she announced.

'But the game isn't finished yet.'

'It is for me. You're just too good. Where did you learn to play like that?'

'Susannah taught me. She's good fun.'

A shadow crossed Tori's face. Was Susannah being 'good fun' for Grant right now? Were they dancing on some crowded pocket-handkerchief dance floor, Susannah's slim body moulded against his lithe one as they moved in time to the music? She buried her head in her hands. If only Grant had been honest with her from the start she wouldn't have to endure this torment. How long did it take to get over the first real love of your life?

'Is anything wrong, Miss Duncan?'

She started guiltily. 'No, of course not. I was . . . just resting my eyes after trying to keep up with your lightning card tricks.'

At this, he beamed broadly and tried to inveigle her into playing another game. She declined firmly and set about making some cocoa for them both then announced that it was almost Nicholas's bed time. With his usual grumbles of protest he went off to the bathroom to get ready.

She watched him go with a strange, hollow feeling. She was growing much too fond of him, she knew, but it was difficult to avoid it because he was so engaging all the time. There wasn't a mean bone in his body and his sense of fun was a source of real joy to her. Added to which, he was very bright and academically advanced for his age with the artistic talent she had already observed. She sighed. He was already so like Grant that she felt a pang just watching him. She would have given anything to be able to watch him grow up.

There was no point in mooning over something she couldn't have, she told herself sternly and began to clear away the cocoa things. She had told Grant that she was going to wash her hair so she had better do something about it after Nicholas finished with the bathroom.

Washing one's hair in a cubicle the size of a broom cupboard turned out to be quite a challenge and her clothes were drenched by the time she accomplished the feat. As she towelled her hair dry, she inspected the results critically in the mirror. The strawberry blonde colouring she now thoroughly disliked had faded just a little, she fancied, but that could have been wishful thinking. The hairdresser had said it would take a couple of months to wear out completely. However, she could do something about the tangle of curls and she set to straightening her hair again with her hand-held blow-dryer.

By the time she had restored at least some of her old style, she felt a little better. Once again her full fringe lay across her high forehead and the rest of her hair swung straight around her shoulders with just a hint of the wave rippling along its length. 'That's more like it,' she said to herself in the mirror.

Although she told herself she didn't care what time Grant came home, some demon kept her lying awake, starting at the slightest sound and only relaxing when she heard his heavy tread on the caravan steps. Not a very good example to set for Nicholas, she thought primly and told herself her annoyance had nothing whatever to do with the tinkling laugh she heard Susannah give as they got out of their car. Tori waited for him to come in but the murmur of voices went on for a long time then there was a long silence, broken finally by Susannah's whispered 'Goodnight'. Had Grant kissed her?'

Tears filled Tori's eyes under her closed lids. She couldn't believe anything could hurt as much as her mental picture of Susannah in Grant's arms in the moonlight, his lips passionately claiming hers. Would he have turned to Susannah so readily if Tori hadn't rebuffed him at the Pinnacles?

'But it wasn't me he wanted,' Tori whispered to herself in the darkness. If he had really been kissing her, nothing on earth would have made her turn him away. It was only the agonising awareness that he wouldn't have looked twice at her if she hadn't been the image of Faye. She knew she had made the only decision possible in rejecting him but she hadn't expected it to hurt as much as this.

If Grant noticed her change of hair-style when they met at breakfast next morning, he said nothing about it. He was full of good humour for Nicholas but his manner was chilly towards Tori. As far as possible, he ignored her except for the most basic communication and he even managed to make 'pass the salt' sound accusing.

What did, he want from her? she wondered miserably. Was she supposed to be flattered that he had chosen her to be Faye's surrogate? If so, he had another think coming.

Her black mood persisted into the morning's lessons and she had to make an effort not to take her ill temper out on Nicholas. In desperation, she assigned him the task of colouring in a large map of Nambung and marking in place names in their correct locations on the map. It would keep him occupied until lunchtime, by which time her temper might have cooled and she could trust herself not to fly off the handle at him for the least little thing.

With Nicholas engaged in his map-making, she was free to indulge her own thoughts and her gaze wandered to the desert vista visible beyond the caravan window.

All was quiet around the camp. Damon and the unit were filming somewhere out in the park but Grant had elected to remain in camp to rehearse with Susannah. The murmur of their voices reached her through the open window and she listened idly.

Suddenly the peace was shattered by voices raised in anger. She couldn't help but hear that Grant was berating Susannah and Tori flinched at the fury in his voice.

'Who do you think you are, Sarah Bernhardt?' he demanded. 'You're supposed to be a battling widow, risking everything to rescue her son—not some plum-in-the-mouth Shakespearian maiden, do you understand?'

Susannah's normally gentle voice was raised in return. 'If you were any sort of director, you'd make your requirements clearer.'

'I see. Very well, Miss Dearing, you're suspended from this picture—is that clear enough?'

'I wouldn't work for you if you were the last director in Australia!'

Tori listened in mounting horror. Grant couldn't be serious about sacking Susannah, surely? Couldn't he hear how upset the actress was? He was obviously driving her beyond the limit of her endurance. Impulsively she jumped to her feet. Someone had to tell that overbearing brute where he got off and since Susannah obviously wasn't in any state to defend herself, she would do it for her.

She was halfway around the van when another sound made her pause in mid-stride. Susannah was giggling! Was she hysterical? Some instinct made Tori look cautiously around the end of the van and she stood still in confusion at the sight which met her eyes. Only a moment before, Grant and Susannah were being unforgivably rude to each other—now they were in each other's arms. Grant had both arms around Susannah's slight shoulders and he was stroking her hair with one hand. Tori knew she was wrong to eavesdrop but where he was concerned, all sense of propriety seemed to have deserted her, and she stood where she was, listening.

'I'm not suspended, then?' she heard Susannah ask coyly.

Grant's voice was warm. 'Of course not, you little fool. As if we could make this film without you. Now, are you ready to go on?'

Susannah looked up at him and nodded, 'I'm okay. That's my display of temperament for the day—you cruel slave-driver, you.'

'Just remember that next time you're tempted to cross your director.'

She had heard enough! Tori fled back into the caravan before they could turn and see her. They must have been having some sort of lover's quarrel, the way it was made up so swiftly. It was obvious that Susannah didn't need any help from her. As for Grant, he hadn't wasted much time pining over Tori's rejection of him, which proved how right she had been all along. She just wished it didn't feel quite so much like the end of the world.

After lunch she sent Nicholas out to play while she marked his morning's work. She had just bent her head over her books when there was a knock at the caravan door.

Barely waiting for Tori's response, Susannah bounded up the steps into the van and took a quick look around. 'Good, you're alone.'

'Looks that way,' agreed Tori. Despite everything, she still found Susannah immensely likable.

'I'm so glad. I was just dying to tell somebody but in this industry you have to be careful who you share your secrets with if you don't want to read them in the gossip columns next day.'

Patiently, Tori put her books aside and sat back with her arms folded. 'Your secret will be safe with me— whatever it is.'

She was totally unprepared for Susannah's next move. From her handbag she lifted out a white jeweller's case and opened the lid to reveal the most magnificent ring Tori had ever seen. On a wide band of gold were four rows of diamonds set in the shape of a letter S. 'Isn't it glorious?'

Tori whistled appreciatively. 'It's stunning. But I still don't understand—what's the secret?'

'I'm engaged! Oh, Tori, I'm so happy.' While Tori took in this news, she leant forwards, conspiratorially. 'He's in the industry, that's why I have to keep it a secret. He's involved with this picture and if it got out that we're engaged, everyone would say I got the part because of him.'

'I see,' Tori said slowly, feeling a tight band constrict around her chest. She had to force herself to say, 'Congratulations Susannah. I hope you'll . . . both ... be very happy.'

The actress misunderstood her reaction. 'I knew you'd be surprised. Everybody will be when they find out who he is. But you've already guessed, haven't you, after me talking about him?'

So Susannah was engaged to Grant. 'Yes, I've guessed,' she said heavily. 'But don't worry, I'll keep your secret.'

Susannah squeezed her hand affectionately. 'I knew you would, Tori. Thanks a million. We'll be able to make the announcement once the picture's released and the critics have had their say. But you understand, I just had to tell somebody or burst.'

'I understand.' As Susannah bounced out again, her shining eyes mocked the blackness which had settled over Tori's soul. She understood only too well. Grant had never really loved her. It had been Susannah all along. He had just been keeping her, Tori, around as a kind of test to prove to himself that he was over Faye before he committed himself to Susannah.

It was so horribly unfair! Why couldn't he have left her in Perth where he found her, instead of dragging her out here and turning her life upside-down for his own ends?

Her tears fell on to her books and she dashed them away angrily. Susannah might think that keeping her engagement secret was to protect her professional reputation, but Tori wouldn't be surprised if Grant had other ideas. He wouldn't expect Susannah to take Tori into her confidence, so he probably thought he could go on having his cake and eating it for the rest of their stay at Nambung.

Well, she would see about that. She would soon show him how wrong he was, she promised herself. Even if it was too late to salvage her heart, she could still save what was left of her pride. Yes, she vowed, she had shed all the tears she intended to over Grant Stalker. Now it was time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

CHAPTER EIGHT

In line with her resolution, Tori was deliberately cool towards Grant during the next few days. Sharing the same caravan with him meant she couldn't avoid seeing him altogether, but she kept their contacts to an absolute minimum, to the point of staying in bed until he had left for the location before she emerged.

He made no mention of the way she was avoiding him and she began to wonder if she had misjudged him after all. Perhaps now that he was unofficially engaged to Susannah he would leave Tori alone. To her astonishment and shame, she was disappointed at this idea but she told herself it was only because she was still getting over him. In the long run it was probably better this way. In another couple of weeks her job here would be finished and she would return to Perth where, with luck, she would be able to get a permanent teaching position. Once she was away from Grant's disturbing presence she would have a chance to get over him altogether.

Little by little she convinced herself that she was going to have no more trouble from him and she allowed herself to relax slightly. She heard the door slam, indicating that he had left for the day, so she slipped out of bed, belted her velour wrap around her and ventured out into the main part of the caravan.

'Ah, the sleeping beauty awakens at last.'

She jumped as her startled gaze met his. He was leaning indolently against the caravan door with his arms folded and a dangerous gleam in his dark eyes. 'I thought you'd left,' she said coldly.

'You mean you hoped I had. Pity about the door slamming like that—made you think I'd gone out, did it?' Her hunted gaze darted around the interior of the van. 'Looking for Nicholas? He's out on location with Damon this morning.'

'On location? But it wasn't. . .'

'Not on the call sheet? I know. Let's say I . . . er . . . rearranged the schedule. Director's privilege. There's no one in the whole camp except you and me.'

Something about the way he said this made her shiver. What sort of game was he playing with her? Unconsciously, she pulled the robe more tightly around herself. 'So, we're alone,' she said, with an attempt at indifference which didn't quite come off. 'What about it.'

With a throaty growl of impatience he moved towards her. Instinctively she backed away until she came up against the cold veneered surface of a cupboard and could escape no further. Inexorably he closed the small remaining distance between them. 'I had to talk to you, Tori,' he said in a voice charged with emotion. 'The way you've been manoeuvring things, I haven't said two words to you alone since that night at the Pinnacles.'

'Which suits me just fine. Some things I'd rather not have to remember.'

Experimentally, he lifted a hand and brushed her fringe back from her face. The touch sent a charge like a bolt of electricity through her quivering frame. 'Are you sure about that?' he asked teasingly.

She turned her head to one side. 'I'm sure.'

She was pressed against the cupboard by the full length of his body which was moulded against hers so she was achingly aware of every taut muscle and sinew from his thighs to his shoulders. It was as if her body had become a giant stethoscope which picked up the steady throb of his pulses and heartbeat and amplified it until it drowned out the rushing sound of her own blood in her ears. She felt an almost overpowering urge to press her hands to her ears to shut out the sound but she knew that would be no use because she heard it with her entire body. Her hands fluttered like captive birds against him as she made a feeble attempt to push him away. If only he would kiss her and be done with it! Instead, he let his body make love to her while he watched her steadily for signs of response. As she steeled herself to resist he moved ever so slightly against her and she knew she was lost.

If he decided to take her now she would be powerless to resist, even knowing that she was nothing more to him than an awakened memory and, worse, he was promised to Susannah.

Susannah! Dear God, what was she thinking of, even to be tempted by his advances like this? The thought of the actress, so rapturously in love and so unsuspecting, gave Tori the strength she needed to turn herself to stone in Grant's embrace. At once, he sensed the change. 'What is it, Tori? A moment ago you were going to admit that you love me, I'd swear to it—so what's wrong now?'

She took advantage of his momentary distraction to twist free, and slid at once behind the dinette table where the hard surface acted as a welcome shield. She didn't have to sit down. Her legs made the decision for her by collapsing under her as soon as she felt the cool vinyl of the seat behind her knees. She sank on to it thankfully and willed her heart to stop its tumultuous racing. So he wanted her to admit that she loved him? Was that to be the final indignity before he told her that she had served her purpose? As Faye's look-alike, he had been using her to test the strength of his feelings for Susannah, she was sure. Well, she had her pride, too, and nothing was going to make her admit that he had won. 'Whatever made you think I was in love with you?' she asked, striving to sound offhand.

'You're still punishing me for not telling you about Faye, is that it?'

Her eyes widened. 'Punishing you? That would imply that I cared—which I don't. No, I admit I was shaken when I found out how alike we were, but it's not that.'

'Then what is it, for God's sake?'

This was the moment. If she was to salvage anything at all of her self respect, she had to tell him the lie she had concocted during the hours she'd lain awake each morning, waiting for him to leave. She only hoped Damon would forgive her for it. 'There's someone else,' she said softly.

His eyes were diamond-bright as his gaze raked her face. 'Who is he?' he demanded, towering over her.

She gripped the table for support. 'I don't have to tell you.'

His fingers flexed and the muscles along his jawline worked convulsively. 'Tell me his name or I'll. . .'

She resisted the urge to flinch as his hand moved towards her, and she could see the enormous effort of will he exerted to hold himself back. Defiantly, she raised her head. 'Or you'll what—hit me? On what grounds this time? I'm not hysterical now.'

Some of the tension went out of him and he slumped against the wall. 'I wouldn't hit you and you know it. The other time was . . . first aid. Besides, I think I know why you refuse to tell me. There isn't anyone else. You're just saying that to pay me back for Faye, and it's driving me out of my mind.'

'Stop it!' she wanted to cry out to him. Couldn't he see how he was tormenting her with his empty words. Two could play that game. 'It's Damon Barlow,' she said matter-of-factly.

He stared at her in blatant disbelief. 'Barlow? You can't be serious.'

'I'm perfectly serious.'

'Then you're a bigger fool than I took you for.'

'Insulting me won't change anything. It's precisely because I'm not the fool you took me for that I prefer Damon to you. At least he's honest and kind . . . and ... and . . .'

'And all the things I'm not, is that what you're saying?' She nodded dumbly. 'I see. You realise I could fire him from the picture and he'd be gone from here tomorrow?'

'I don't believe you would be so petty,' she said, praying that she was right. The last thing she meant to do was jeopardise Damon's job by dragging him into this.

'Luckily for you both, I'm not,' he ground out. 'Barlow is a top production unit manager and much too important to this picture to lose.'

She breathed an inward sigh of relief. Thank goodness for that. She promised herself that she would get to Damon as soon as she could and confess what she had done. Fortunately there was very little love lost between Grant and Damon now. They respected each other professionally but there was no friendship between them that she'd been able to discern, so there was no harm done there.

'Tell me one thing,' Grant demanded.

'What's that?'

'Were you in love with Barlow even while you were pretending there was something between you and me?'

She looked quickly down at the table. This was one question she had not anticipated and she knew the answer she had to give would hurt Grant far more than anything she'd said so far. But if she told him that her attraction for Damon was comparatively recent, he would doubt the depth of her feelings. 'Yes. I've been attracted to Damon since the day we met.'

The look Grant gave her would have been better directed at some loathsome creature which had just crawled out from under a stone. 'You two-timing bitch,' he growled. 'So the resemblance is more than skin deep, then.'

She was genuinely baffled. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'Don't you? You not only look like Faye, you act like her as well—which is to say neither of you could lay claim to any basic decency. Just as well I found out in time.'

The whole caravan reverberated as he slammed the door and took the steps in one stride. When he had gone she sat at the table for a long time, her senses reeling. So the newspapers had been right. Faye had been unfaithful to Grant and what was worse, he had known about it. Now he thought she not only resembled Faye, she was made of the same spineless material. She would have given anything to avoid giving him that impression, and yet, it had helped to achieve her aim. She had convinced him that she was in love with Damon, even though Grant now thought she was a two-timing bitch. His behaviour wasn't any better, she told herself bitterly. She had been right all along. He had one rule for men and another for women. Well, if he had placed her on a pedestal and was upset because she refused to stay there, that was just too bad. Maybe he would think twice next time before he tried to use people for his own ends.

She dressed hurriedly, pulling on the first pair of jeans and T-shirt which came to hand. Ironically, the shirt was lettered with a red heart and the words 'love child' across the chest. 'Unloved child' would have been more appropriate. But she was anxious to get to Damon before Grant did and tell him what she'd been up to. She only hoped he was as kind and understanding as she'd given him credit for being.

She needn't have worried. She reached the location just as the unit was breaking for lunch and Damon reacted with pleased surprise when she asked if she could sit with him and have a talk.

'Pull up a rock,' he urged, patting the ground beside him. The mobile canteen had supplied giant hamburgers and he offered her one. She didn't feel the least bit hungry but it gave her shaking hands something to do, so she took it from him and toyed with it. 'Now, what's on your mind?'

Hesitantly she explained about the scene with Grant and her blatant lie about being in love with Damon.

Her rolled his eyes expressively. 'Ah, would that it were the truth, fair maiden.'

She looked at him uncertainly. 'You mean you don't mind?'

'Think of me as a Walter Raleigh whose emotional cloak has just been thrown in your path. Of course I don't mind. It got you out of a spot with Grant, didn't it?'

'You can say that again,' she agreed fervently.

'I shan't, but you realise we can't let it rest there.'

'What do you mean?'

'Grant believes you're in love with me, right?' She nodded. 'If you want him to go on believing it, we'll have to act the part, won't we?'

She traced a pattern on the grass with her finger. 'I didn't want... I mean, we can't. . .'

He cupped her chin in one hand and tilted her face so she was forced to meet his eyes. To her relief there was a definite spark of amusement in them. 'Relax honey! You don't have to go to bed with me, if that's what's worrying you. I'm not so hard up for dates that I have to resort to blackmail yet. But don't you think Grant will get suspicious if we don't at least go out together?'

'You would be willing to do that for me?'

'Not entirely for you,' he said and her suspicions rose again but he went on, 'I've had my eye on you since we met, Tori Duncan. While I wouldn't take advantage of your—fairy tale—this morning, I would welcome the chance to win you in a fair fight. Is that reasonable enough?'

'But no strings?'

'Not unless you want them. You just go out with me a few times and I'll do my darnedest to make you fall in love with me . . . fairly. That way, we satisfy both me and Granite Stalker.'

'Granite?' she laughed, feeling her mood lighten for the first time in days.

'That's the nickname some of the crew have for him,' Damon explained. 'But don't you dare tell him.'

'Me? I'd be the last person to confide secrets in . . . Granite Stalker,' she assured him.

It had turned out far better than she had any right to hope, she marvelled as she drove back to camp. Damon Barlow was a miracle-worker. His frank confession of interest in her had done a lot to restore her self-confidence which had taken a battering at Grant's hands. She didn't think that anything was likely to develop between her and Damon even if they did go out together, but she was quite prepared to give him a fair chance. And as he pointed out, it was the ideal way to allay Grant's suspicions about their true relationship. If only she could forget how anguished Grant had looked when she told him she'd been in love with Damon all along. But no matter how much she reminded herself that he deserved it after the way he had treated her, she still felt like a traitor.

Before she left Damon she had agreed to let him take her to lunch at a hotel in Lancelin, a small fishing village on the coast south of Nambung. Co-incidentally, he was free next day while the call sheet showed that Nicholas would be filming all day so she would not be giving any lessons.

Next day as she walked out to where Damon was waiting for her in his jeep, she was acutely aware of Grant watching her from the window of the caravan. When she told him she and Damon were going out for the day, his expression had lived up to his nickname of Granite. In defiance, she had taken extra care with her appearance, wearing her dress instead of the usual jeans, and brushing her hair until it shone. As she fastened her open-toed sandals she was pleased to see how evenly her legs had tanned during her stay in the park. She had no need at all for stockings.

Damon whistled appreciatively as she climbed into the vehicle beside him then startled her by leaning across and kissing her ostentatiously. 'For effect,' he explained.

She gave him a wry smile. 'You needn't bother. He already things you rigged the call sheets so we could take our time off together.'

He grinned boyishly at her. 'I did.'

'Damon!'

He shrugged. 'I said I would fight fair. I didn't say I wouldn't fight.'

Uneasily, she settled back, hoping that she hadn't bitten off more than she could chew with Damon. But he kept his word and didn't try to exploit her predicament for his own ends. Which made a pleasant change, she thought ruefully, since everybody else in her life felt free to use her—including Grant.

In companionable silence, they drove south along the track leading from Nambung to Lancelin Bay. When she worried aloud about the condition of the rough track, Damon reassured her that he had checked on the road conditions before setting out so there was no danger of getting bogged down, either going or coming back. 'Although,' he mused aloud, 'that would certainly convince Grant there was something going on between the two of us'

'Look, I wanted to put him off—not make him jealous,' she protested.

He studied her keenly. 'Are you sure about that?'

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about Grant's engagement to Susannah then she remembered just in time that it was supposed to be a secret, especially from the rest of the company. Instead, she told him how Grant had misled her into taking the job as Nicholas's tutor without telling her about her resemblance to Faye Mitchell.

'It was a pretty mean trick, I agree,' Damon said, 'but I wouldn't have thought Grant was the type for weird obsessions.'

Without giving away Susannah's secret, she couldn't tell him her own theory—that Grant wanted her around to prove to himself that he was over Faye before committing himself to Susannah, so she muttered something non-committal.

Damon said nothing more about the situation until they reached Lancelin. Only when they left the vehicle and went for a walk along the foreshore of the Bay did Tori realise how badly she had needed a day away from the company.

'It's hardly surprising,' Damon said when she mentioned her feelings. 'You haven't had a day off since you joined us. And you can hardly count the days when you were flat on your back with flu.'

She had been working rather hard, it was true—partly out of guilt, to make up the time she'd lost through illness. Now she made a determined effort to put the strain of the last few days out of her mind as they watched the fishermen. Damon pointed out where a natural breakwater extended from Edward Island to Lancelin Island, making a safe harbour and perfect breeding ground for fish. 'You should see how many lobsters they catch on the off-shore reefs here,' he enthused.

'You know a lot about this area for someone who's been away in the States.'

'I was born in this area. My father owns one of the hotels in Lancelin.'

Which explained the first-class service they enjoyed when they lunched at the Barlow family hotel, Tori observed a little later. Their meal of freshly caught rock lobsters was served with home-baked bread and crisp salad washed down with an excellent white burgundy from one of Perth's Swan Valley vineyards. Sitting across the table from Damon, Tori found herself wishing she could feel more for him than simple friendship. He wanted more from her, she knew—if she was willing to give it. But in spite of everything, she still wished it was Grant seated opposite her, their fingers touching as they set the world to rights in pleasant conversation.

'It isn't going to work is it?' Damon asked suddenly.

She looked at him, startled. 'What?'

'I don't stand a chance with you, do I?'

'Oh, Damon, I'm sorry, I.. .'

'Please don't,' he intervened firmly. 'I knew the odds when I suggested taking you out. What I don't understand is why you don't just tell him you're in love with him and be done with it. So you look like his first wife —so what? I'm sure you aren't like her in any other way.'

If only it was as simple as that. But she couldn't tell him the whole story without giving Susannah's secret away. 'It's not only Faye,' she said carefully. 'He's in love with someone else.'

His eyes went round with surprise. 'What do you know!'

'I can't say any more,' she said quickly, 'and you have to promise not to spread this around the company either. I gave my word.'

'What sort of a louse do you take me for, Tori? I gather it's someone in the company, or maybe back at the studio in Perth.' He saw her expression grow troubled and grinned. 'Relax, I won't go digging and I will keep my mouth shut. But you shouldn't give up so easily.'

'Give up on what?'

'He hasn't married this woman, has he?' She shook her head. 'Then the war isn't over yet. You said you didn't want to make him jealous but that could be the very thing to do.'

Thinking of the times in her life when she had been used she knew she didn't have the stomach for doing it to someone else, no matter what the stakes. She would rather lose Grant than snare him through such means. 'No, I couldn't,' she said decisively. 'It's sweet of you to want to help, Damon, but no thanks.'

'You mean that, don't you?'

'Yes.'

'As you wish, fair maiden. But you'll have to do me one more favour before we call it quits.'

'What's that?' she asked suspiciously.

'Come to the wrap party with me next week.'

'The what?'

'The wrap party. Every film has one to celebrate the end of principal photography.'

'All right, I'll come. But not to make Grant jealous, you understand?'

He nodded. 'Understood. It will make me jealous instead—jealous of Grant.'

The last week of production seemed interminable. Every kind of problem imaginable seemed to happen during that final week. The lighting played up, two of the electricians were nearly electrocuted and for some reason, the red desert sand kept coming up orange in the dailies, the first screening of each day's filming.

On what was to be the last day of shooting, Tori joined the rest of the company to watch the final take, a scene in which Susannah, Nicholas and Benjamin Wuranji managed to escape from the boy's aboriginal father. It was a very tense and gripping scene and when Grant called, 'It's a wrap,' there was laughter, hand shaking and back slapping all around. Many of the technicians came up to the cast with scraps of paper to be autographed as souvenirs.

Tori watched it all with a sense of detachment. This was the end of her involvement with Stalker Productions and its charismatic chief. She had known it would come, of course, but it didn't make it any easier to take, especially when she saw Grant standing with his arm casually around Susannah, accepting the crew's congratulations and good wishes.

Soon she would be back in Perth again while Grant would be off making another film in a different state or country altogether. She would never see him again. Ail her common sense told her it was better this way, but she couldn't make her heart believe it.

The wrap party was held at Yanchep Park, a picturesque national park and wildlife reserve an hour's drive north of Perth. With its massive tuart trees and rambling wildflower walks, it was one of Tori's favourite places, one she often used to visit on weekends.

Stalker Productions had obtained permission for the exclusive use of a large area alongside Loch McNess, a vast, beautiful waterway dotted with tiny islands and waterfowl sanctuaries. The company's catering service had been busy early, judging from the impressive tables already set up at the water's edge by the time Tori and Damon drove up.

'Seems we're the first to get here,' Damon commented, looking around.

They didn't have long to wait for the others and soon the entire company was assembled on the lakeshore. Nicholas, who had arrived with a morose-looking Grant, couldn't wait to tell Tori his news.

'Dad's taking me to see the Crystal Cave, soon,' he bubbled.

That should be exciting,' she concurred, remembering the first time her foster father had brought her to see the spectacular cave formations and the nearby aboriginal burial place of Yonderup Cave. She had been every bit as wide-eyed and impatient to get there as Nicholas was now.

'Better have some lunch first,' she told Nicholas.

He shifted from one foot to the other, 'Do I have to?'

She nodded and he moved reluctantly towards the lunch tables. As she watched him go, she was reminded that this would be the last time they would all be together. Although there was still a lot of work to be done on the film, including some additional footage which Damon said would be shot at the Perth studio, and some dialogue which had to be looped in over the location footage, this was officially the end of the production. After this, the technicians, the make-up artists, costume designers, and other crew members would split up and go to work on other films. They would never be a team again.

That included her, she reflected sadly. She didn't even have the consolation of staying in the same industry, although it had begun to fascinate her. The best she could hope for was a teaching job in a Perth school, which would have been the acme of her ambitions before this. Now, a door to a new world had opened before her and she hated to think of it closing again to shut her out, especially knowing that Grant was on the other side of that door.

If anyone noted her dark mood, they put it down to the touch of wistfulness which affected everyone. Only Susannah seemed unaffected, but then she had her impending marriage to look forward to, although only Tori shared that secret. The actress walked around on a cushion of air, her happiness reflected in her glowing expression which stirred a twinge of envy in Tori which she hastily suppressed.

The party was also in honour of Susannah's birthday which had occurred a few days earlier. In the centre of the longest table was a magnificent cake in the shape of a group of Pinnacles on a desert of icing. At Susannah's urging, everyone gathered around the tables which groaned under the weight of more food than Tori had seen in years. Damon and Grant filled everyone's glasses with champagne then Grant tapped on the side of his glass with a knife.

'I would like to propose a toast,' he said, looking into Susannah's eyes. 'To the loveliest lady ever to grace our silver screen—Miss Susannah Dearing. Happy birthday, Susannah.'

There was a chorus of agreement and glasses were raised to Susannah who accepted the compliments gracefully. 'Thank you everybody,' she said. 'I know we're all feeling a bit sad at splitting up but I want to thank you for being so marvellous to work with.'

With due ceremony she cut the birthday cake and the group sang the time-honoured song to her. Tori felt a lump rise to her throat. She didn't envy Susannah her happiness, she was certain. But it only served to emphasize her own aloneness as she watched Grant stand at the actress's side, their shoulders touching, while they handed slices of cake around. Every time they laughed together, it mocked her own desolation of spirit.

Although she wasn't really hungry she helped herself to some of the lavish buffet food to give herself something to do. Once or twice, she was aware of Grant's eyes on her, but she kept her gaze downcast, as if choosing between slices of leg ham and roast turkey was a life-and-death matter.

'Enjoying yourself?' Damon asked, appearing at her elbow.

She fastened a smile on to her lips. 'Yes, it's a lovely party. The caterers have gone to a lot of trouble.'

'The weather is perfect and it doesn't look like rain,' he finished for her, mimicking her lame attempt to make conversation.

'Is it that obvious?' she asked in despair.

'Not to the person who really should notice it,' he said grimly. 'I could wring Grant Stalker's neck.'

'Please, Damon . . .'

'Don't worry. This is your script, you have to play it the way you see fit. Just don't ask me to applaud.'

Disconsolately, she took her plate of food and wandered to a secluded part of the lakeshore where a screen of bullrushes hid her from the others. The aboriginal word for bullrushes was yanjet, she thought distractedly, which was how Yanchep Park acquired its name.

'Penny for them.'

She jumped as Grant loomed up from out of nowhere. 'I ... I was thinking about the bullrushes,' she said feebly. At least it was the truth.

'Not even a little about how much you're going to miss me?'

She turned her head away. 'Don't Grant, please.'

He made a throaty sound of exasperation. 'That's all I ever hear from you, isn't it? Don't Grant . . . I'll bet you don't say "Don't Damon" nearly so often.'

'What I do is none of your business,' she defended herself.

'Oh, I've got a fair idea what you do. I saw Barlow kissing you the other day, before you left for your tête-à-tête. Took you home to meet the family, did he?'

'We had lunch at his father's hotel,' she admitted. 'Although I can't see why you should care.'

'Because Barlow isn't the right man for you,' he thundered.

She couldn't take much more of this. Throwing the remains of her lunch into the lake for the wild birds to feed on, she stood up. 'Is that the end of the lecture?'

He took a step nearer and she could see that his fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides. She stiffened and looked wildly back towards the picnic area but no one was paying them any attention. With the lake in front of her and a screen of trees at her back, there was no avenue of escape. He noticed her looking around and smiled tightly. 'No, it isn't the end of the lecture, and you aren't going anywhere until I've finished. I have the feeling you aren't being honest with me, Tori.'

She wasn't being honest with him? That was rich, since he had done nothing but deceive her for his own ends ever since they first met. 'I don't know what you mean,' she dissembled.

'Don't you? I've been watching you and Barlow. He's keen on you all right, but if you're in love with him then I'm in the wrong business. In films, you get used to reading people's emotions and interpreting them.' He groaned suddenly. 'Tori, can't you see what you're doing to me with touch-me-not act? Every time I see you, I want you more than the time before.'

Wanted her, not loved her, she thought painfully. He must still be affected by Faye Mitchell's memory if the mere sight of Tori could do this to him, in spite of his engagement to Susannah. In her heart of hearts, she still believed he wouldn't have looked twice at her if not for her uncanny resemblance to his late wife. She would never know that for sure, but she just wasn't prepared to take the risk. If she trusted him and was wrong, it would be more than she could bear. She couldn't face a lifetime as Faye's surrogate. It was better if he got the whole thing out of his system now and went on to a fresh start with Susannah. At least it would give him a chance at happiness, and she knew now that she loved him enough to want that, even if it was at the cost of her own. 'It's no use, Grant,' she said miserably. 'I can't take Faye's place, not now—or ever.'

He swore softly. 'Damn you, Tori. I don't want. . .'

She never found out what he wanted because at that moment, there was a commotion from the picnic area where the rest of the company was finishing lunch. As one, Grant and Tori started back towards the group but they were intercepted by Damon, his expression anxious.

'What's going on?' Grant demanded.

'I'm not sure yet. We could be worrying for nothing, but . . well; . . Nicholas has gone missing.'

CHAPTER NINE

'Missing?' Tori stared at Grant in horror, all thoughts of herself driven from her mind. Nicholas missing? This couldn't be happening, not again.

'Tori, get a grip on yourself,' Grant commanded sharply. 'He's probably not far away.' But he was already covering the ground between them and the picnic area with giant purposeful strides, forcing Tori and Damon to trot to keep up with him. 'What happened?' he asked Damon.

Damon swallowed hard. 'That's just it, no one seems to know. He was having lunch with the rest of us then someone commented that Nicholas was being very quiet. Only then, we realised he was nowhere in sight.'

'Have you checked near the animal enclosures?'

'Susannah and a couple of the others went there straight away.'

'You took your sweet time letting me know,' Grant rapped out.

Seeing Damon's hurt expression, Tori intervened, 'Stop it Grant, it's not his fault.'

'You would take his side of course. But then, it's not your son who is missing.'

No, it wasn't, was it? And it never would be, she was reminded painfully. She was an outsider and she didn't need Grant to emphasise the fact.

They looked up sharply as Susannah and two of the prop-men came hurrying up. 'Did you find him?'

Susannah shook her head, her expression bleak. 'We checked the koala pens, the kiosk, the aviaries, everywhere we could think of.'

Grant turned on his heel and began to walk away. 'I'll alert the superintendent,' he said over his shoulder.

Tori looked from Damon to Susannah in despair. 'We can't just stand here like this. Shouldn't we check the walking trails or something?'

She began to move away but Susannah caught her arm. 'No, Tori. We'd better wait for the rangers. They know their way around this park better than we ever could.'

'You're right, of course,' Tori whispered. 'But there's nearly seven thousand acres of bushland . . .'

'It's not as bad as that,' Damon broke in. 'He couldn't have wandered very far in the short time before he was missed. The rangers will know What direction he was most likely to head in.'

Inspiration struck Tori with a blinding flash. 'The caves!' she gasped.

'The what?'

'Grant was going to take him to see the Crystal and Yonderup Caves. He was very excited about it.'

'That's right!' confirmed Damon, 'He came to tell me about it, too.' He glanced at his watch. 'But the caves don't open until two o'clock today, that's why Grant couldn't take him yet.'

'But he saw Grant talking to me and thought he was going to miss his treat.' She clutched Damon's arm. 'That must be it, he's decided to go off to the caves by himself.'

Damon took her hand and half dragged her along the path towards the superintendent's residence. 'We have to find Grant.'

They intercepted him on his way back to them, followed by a group of men in uniforms. Hesitantly, Tori told Grant her theory about the caves.

His hands balled into fists at his sides. 'Blast it, I should have thought of that myself.' He swung around but was restrained by one of the rangers.

'I think you should leave this to us, sir. We know these trails pretty well. If he's anywhere between here and the caves, we'll soon locate him for you.'

All the fight went out of Grant and he sagged against the trunk of a tuart tree. He looked suddenly vulnerable, and Tori's heart turned over at the sight. She took a half step towards him but, just in time, she remembered Susannah standing nearby. It was her right to comfort Grant, not Tori's. Sadly, she turned away.

The waiting seemed interminable as they paced over and over the same patch of ground beneath the trees. By now, word had spread to the rest of the company and one by one, they came over to join in the vigil.

Footsteps along the nearest trail made them look up expectantly. Grant straightened at once, 'Did you find him?'

The ranger shook his head. 'He wasn't at the caves, at least not anywhere accessible, and I doubt if he 'would have had time to go very far in.'

'But he could have, couldn't he?'

'Not in the time .. .'

'Spare me your theories,' Grant cut in. 'This park is riddled with caves, isn't it?'

'We are part of the limestone belt, yes,' the ranger agreed unwillingly.

'An almost continuous crust of travertine perforated by solution pipes and numerous caves,' Damon recited from memory and Tori remembered that he had grown up in this area. Not that his knowledge of the park's hazards made them any less worrisome, she thought. The opposite in fact, since the blunt recital of the facts made them all grimly aware of the danger Nicholas could be in.

'I don't want to alarm you, sir,' the ranger said to Grant, 'but can your son swim?'

'Of course,' Grant assured him.

'But he'd just had lunch before he went missing, hadn't he?'

In growing horror, Tori followed the direction of the ranger's gaze towards the waters of Loch McNess, which sparkled with deceptive calm in the afternoon sunlight. A pain like a knife thrust twisted in her chest as she heard the ranger say in an aside to his colleague, 'Better alert the police in case they have to drag the lake.'

'Oh God, no!' She wasn't aware she had screamed aloud until she felt the pressure of Susannah's hand on her arm and she allowed herself to be guided to a tree stump and pushed down on. to it. Wet drops splashed on to the front of her jeans and she realised with an odd sense of detachment that they were her own tears. She hadn't even known she was crying. She wasn't the only one, she saw when she looked up into Susannah's face. The actress's eyes were also brimming and she looked away from Tori's searching gaze with a little cry. Grant gathered Susannah into his arms and she rested her head against him as her shoulders shook.

The superintendent came up to them and patted Susannah's shoulder awkwardly, but she didn't look up at his touch and Grant kept his arms around her as if he, too, needed support to keep himself upright.

'There's no need for tears yet,' the official said. He turned crossly to his staff member, 'Dammit, man, did you have to mention the lake? It would be a last resort and, frankly, I think the boy will be found long before any of that becomes necessary.'

Grant gently disentangled himself from Susannah and approached the superintendent. 'Look, can't my men at least work with yours? Surely the more people out looking the better.'

The man scratched his chin thoughtfully. 'All right, provided they follow my staffs orders. We don't want any more people lost in the bush.'

'Agreed,' Grant said tersely. 'Where do we start?'

'Not you,' the man intervened. 'I prefer you to stay here so you can go to your son as soon as he's found. If they find him and you're out in the bush somewhere, we may not be able to contact you right away.'

'You think Nicholas is hurt, don't you?' Susannah quavered.

'Now I didn't say that. But it's certainly odd that he hasn't responded to our calls. From what you say, he didn't have time to get far before we set out looking.'

He split the film crew into teams, each headed by a member of the park staff and the men fanned out into the bush, carefully combing through it as they walked. When they were out of sight, Susannah sank down on to the grass. Grant stayed on his feet but leant back against the tree trunk, and stared into the distance, the shadowed lines on his face and the pain in his eyes reflecting his inner torment.

To Tori, it was like a nightmare she had lived through before. She had never expected to feel again this horrible sense of desolation and helplessness, yet here she was going through it all afresh. She felt as if she was back in the Duncan living room again, sitting with her feet curled under her as she watched Miles pace the room, up and down, up and down, until she thought he would wear a furrow into the carpet.

She didn't want to but couldn't seem to stop herself thinking past that scene to the terrible moment when the knock had come on the front door and the policeman had told them their beloved Bobby was gone. She'd had nightmares about it for weeks afterwards, picturing his small, frail form stretched out on a cold slab. She would never forget Elizabeth's keening sound of pain when she was told the news. She could hear it now, filling her ears until she wanted to put her hands over them to shut it out.

Then she realised that the sound was real, she wasn't imagining it. Susannah was crying softly to herself making the same low moan of pain. The reason became clear to Tori a moment later when a group of men emerged from the bush in the gathering dark. One of them was carrying a small bundle.

The pain in Tori's chest swelled and swelled until she could scarcely breathe. She couldn't speak or cry out, badly as she wanted to. As if suddenly realising what they must be thinking, one of the men waved aloft the clothing he had been carrying. 'It's not your son's,' he called out as he came nearer.

'That was a bloody stupid thing to do,' Grant growled at him, fury masking the distress in his voice. 'What the hell do you think you're playing at?'

'I'm really sorry,' the ranger apologised. 'I shouldn't have carried the stuff. . . like that. We thought at first the clothes did belong to young Nicholas but one of your crew told us what he was wearing. This lot probably belonged to some tramp, sleeping out here sometime.'

'Then you haven't found any sign of him yet?'

The ranger shook his head. 'I'm afraid not, sir. But the other teams are still out so one of them may have had better luck. They're all equipped with walkie-talkies so they'll keep us posted.'

They sat down to wait again. The impending sense of doom Tori had experienced when she saw the men approaching with the bundle seemed to have purged her of all sensation. She felt like a dressmaker's dummy: hard, cold and just as unfeeling. Once or twice, she tried to say something to comfort Grant but he seemed lost in some realm of his own. How he must hate this feeling of helplessness, she thought with a surge of compassion for him. It must be taking every ounce of will he possessed not to storm off into the bush to search for Nicholas himself.

On any other occasion, she would have revelled in the sight of the sunset over Loch McNess. Here, away from the city, the sun was a fiery orange ball against the smoky-coloured sky, and seemed to balance for a time on the horizon before sinking gracefully out of sight.

In the distance, through the forest, they could see the bobbing torches of the searchers and occasionally, one of the rangers who now stayed with them, would respond to a call on his walkie-talkie. Someone suggested going back to the cars to wait, out of the rapidly chilling night air. Tori, Grant and Susannah remained where they were. But when the rest of the company seemed reluctant to move away, Grant ordered them to go in a tone which seemed strangled by his emotions. 'There's nothing you can do here,' he told them.

There was nothing anyone could do, Tori's thoughts echoed miserably. If only Grant hadn't stayed to talk to her at the lakeside, she thought over and over, and wondered if he was thinking the same thing. Did he blame her for indirectly causing Nicholas's disappearance, and add that to the growing list of things he despised about her?

She felt someone move closer and looked gratefully at Damon as he slipped a travel rug around her shoulders. 'I didn't want you getting pneumonia this time,' he explained.

'Thanks. I hadn't realised how cold it got around here after sunset.' To her own ears the comment sounded inane but having started talking, she seemed unable to still her tongue. She babbled on to Damon about the film, about her childhood, about her love of teaching, anything but the one name screaming in her brain— Nicholas.

Damon seemed to understand her need to talk and murmured words of encouragement every time she stopped. At some point in her ramblings, he must have taken her hand because when she finally ran out of things to say, she looked down to find her hand firmly clasped in his. She resisted the urge to pull her hand free and looked furtively across at Grant. Maybe he hadn't noticed.

Her eyes met his and she flinched as she observed the naked pain in them. He was looking directly at her hand, clasped in Damon's and she had an acute sense of having betrayed him in some way. Which was ridiculous, she tried to tell herself. He was promised to Susannah so why should he care whose hand she chose to hold, since she would never have his. A sob choked her and Damon squeezed her fingers reassuringly. 'It's okay, Tori. There's bound to be some news soon.'

But what sort of news would it be? her anguished brain demanded. Nicholas had been missing for hours now and must be cold, tired and hungry, that's if. . . she dared not think past the if. He mustn't end up like Bobby, he mustn't.

One of the rangers had been talking quietly to Grant, their voices an indistinguishable murmur, when they were interrupted by the squawk of a walkie-talkie. The man picked it up and spoke into it with quiet intensity, listened for a moment then looked back at Grant. 'They've found your son.'

Susannah voiced the question which was uppermost in all of their minds. 'Is he . . .'

'He's alive,' the ranger cut in, 'but he's injured.' He glanced towards Tori. 'Seems your theory was right, miss. It looks like he was headed for the Crystal Cave but took a wrong turn and ended up on one of the bushwalking trails. He lost his footing somehow and plunged down a rockface into a gorge.'

'My God! How bad is he?'

'We don't know yet, Mr Stalker. The rescue squad has been alerted.'

'Take me to him,' Grant commanded.

'Well it might reassure him to hear your voice,' the ranger mused. 'Although you can't get down to where he is, you can get within earshot. That's how our men found out where he was.'

'Let's go, then.'

He turned to follow the ranger then looked back at Tori who stood uncertainly in the path. Almost unconsciously, she had followed him for a few steps as if her feet made the decision for her. 'Come with me, Tori.'

His tormented expression told her what he was going through as he contemplated what he might find beside the walking trail. More than anything in the world, she longed to fly after him on winged feet and stand by him, helping him to bear whatever he found. But she knew she couldn't. It wasn't her place to go. It was Susannah he was going to marry and she had the right to accompany him. After all, she would soon be Nicholas's stepmother.

'I think you'd better take Susannah,' she said almost inaudibly.

'You mean you won't come?' he said bleakly.

She took one look at his accusing expression, which plainly said he thought she was refusing because she didn't care. 'I mean I can't,' she cried, then turned and fled back towards the parked cars.

Grant's jeep was unlocked so she wrestled the door open with fingers which shook uncontrollably and collapsed into the front seat, where she bent her head over the steering-wheel. She longed for the release of tears but knew that if she gave in to them now, she would be unable to stop for a long time.

She didn't know how long she sat there before the car door opened and a hand nudged her shoulder. 'Tori, wake up.'

Groggily, she focused on Damon's concerned face. 'I didn't realise I'd fallen asleep,' she said. She hadn't intended to doze off, merely to close her eyes against the pain of the last few hours. Suddenly, she jerked upright. 'Nicholas? Is there any more news?'

'That's what I came to tell you. I went with Grant and Susannah to the gorge where they found him. Poor little kid—he was in a twisted heap at the foot of this awful moss-covered drop. It's a wonder he's still in one piece.'

Tori shivered, partly with the chill which had seeped into her bones as she sat there, but mostly with fear for Nicholas. 'Have they managed to get him out?' ¹

'Yes, finally. It was quite an operation but I guess they've done this sort of thing before. They didn't dare jolt him at all because it's his spine that's injured.'

The cold hand of fear gripped Tori's heart. 'Oh no, not his back!'

'Fraid so, but the medico's say it's a fractured vertebra. Apparently with the right care, there's no paralysis.'

'Thank God,' she breathed. The prospect of a vital active child like Nicholas being crippled was unthinkable. 'What about Grant, how is he taking this?'

Damon gave her a searching look. 'He's holding up remarkably well, all things considered, especially now he knows that Nicholas will be all right. He and Susannah are travelling to the hospital in the ambulance—which will be a long, slow trip to avoid any further damage to Nicholas's spine. You could have gone with them, you know.'

'No, Susannah's . . . closer to him,' she whispered, finding that even now, she couldn't say aloud that Grant was engaged to Susannah, even though there was probably no reason to keep it a secret now that filming was finished. 'What are we going to do now?'

'If you feel up to it, you could drive Grant's car back to camp. The others have already left and I have my own vehicle.'

The prospect of negotiating the rough roads in the dark on top of the strain of the last few hours didn't appeal to her at all, but there was no alternative. 'All right,' she agreed.

'You're sure you're up to it?'

She nodded and Damon went to collect his own vehicle. With Damon leading the way, they drove in convoy out of Yanchep and back along the main road until they reached the turnoff to Nambung.

After the emotional hours she'd been through, the effort of negotiating the rutted dirt-track was almost too much and her nerves were as taut as piano wires by the time they reached their camp. Several times, she had to swerve to avoid hitting the grey kangaroos which bounded into her path and sat blinking in the glare of the jeep's headlights like large stuffed toys. She would have hated to run into one, but sometimes they just refused to move out of her way and she was forced to steer precariously on to the shoulder of the track, risking collision with the capstone outcrops which rose in front of her without warning.

Just when she thought she could take no more, the welcome bulk of the caravans came into sight and tears of relief misted her vision. Thankfully, she pulled up in front of Grant's caravan and switched off the engine, enjoying the sweet sound of the park nightlife for a few minutes until Damon grew worried and opened her door for her. 'You okay in there?'

'I was just getting my breath back,' she responded. 'That was the most hair-raising drive I've ever tackled.'

'And you passed it with flying colours,' he praised as he offered her his hand down.

Her stiff, cramped muscles protested when she tried to move and Damon ended up half carrying her into her caravan. At once, he set about brewing hot cocoa for them both.

Tori sat with her head resting in her hands, too weary even to offer to help. 'What a night,' she groaned.

'Actually, it's more like morning,' Damon told her and pointed to the sky beyond the window. It was already streaked with the first light of dawn.

She stared at it in wonder. 'I didn't realise. With everything that's happened, I didn't even notice the time passing.'

'Except the wait. That seemed endless.'

'Except the wait,' she agreed. All at once, the day's events came crushing in on her and she rested her head on her arms as the tears finally came. 'Oh Damon, if Nicholas had been killed . . .'

At once, Damon put comforting arms around her shoulders and pulled her against him. 'That's enough of that,' he admonished. 'He wasn't killed and he's going to be all right.' Still, she was unable to hold back the sobs which racked her slender frame and he held her tightly until at last they began to subside.

Gallantly, he offered her his handkerchief and she mopped at her streaming eyes. 'I'm sorry to be such an idiot.'

'Don't apologise. At least you waited until the right time to give way, when it's all over. Lots of people collapse in the middle of a crisis, just when their help is most needed.'

'I didn't do that, did I?' she sniffed.

'No, you didn't.'

'What will happen with the film now?' she asked after a long silence.

Damon stared thoughtfully into his steaming cup. 'Don't you mean, what will Grant do now?'

'Does it show as clearly as that?'

'To me, perhaps. Now that the film is in the can, he'll go to work on post-production at the studios in Perth. He won't want to go far away because Nicholas looks like being in hospital for some time.'

She almost wished he had said Grant was going away— to Outer Mongolia or Timbuktu, anywhere but Perth where she would always be aware that they were in the same city. She would have to stop herself from looking for him around every corner.

'I still don't understand why you're putting up barriers, when it's obvious that you're in love with the guy.'

'He doesn't love me,' she reminded him. 'He's in love with someone else.'

'Oh yes, the mystery woman from the studios ... or was it the company? So you've decided to give in after all?'

She nodded dumbly, too tired even to continue the discussion. What was the use anyway? Grant had made his choice and no amount of fighting, as Damon called it, would change that.

He drained his cup and stood up. 'Guess I'd better get some sleep while I can, since I have to get back to Perth tomorrow afternoon ... or is it today?'

A sudden thought occurred to her. 'Damon, could you drive me back with you? I mean, with Nicholas in hospital, there's no reason for me to remain here, is there?'

'I suppose not, although technically, your contract isn't quite up yet. But as you say, there's nothing for you to do. All right, be packed and ready by lunchtime and you've got yourself a ride.'

After he had gone, she undressed slowly and showered. The low water pressure told her the van's water tank was almost drained. Not that it mattered now, since Grant wouldn't be using the van again, and Nicholas ... a sob caught in her throat and the tears threatened to start a new as she pictured him lying in the gorge. She couldn't help remembering Grant's stricken expression when the men approached carrying the bundle of clothes. It would have killed Grant to lose Nicholas. It was bad enough to lose his wife in tragic circumstances, but to lose his child as well—it was beyond considering.

But it had turned out all right, she reminded herself. Nicholas was alive. He might have a long convalescence ahead of him but, if she knew Grant, he would have the finest medical care available. And he had Susannah to take care of him, too.

With an effort, she made her mind a blank as she towelled herself dry, noting detachedly how brown she had become during her stay at Nambung. Her hair was already streaked with returning colour, she noticed as she rubbed it. Never again would she contemplate changing it. The hateful blonde curls were too painful a reminder what she might have been to Grant.

Fortunately, she was too exhausted to lie awake thinking about what might have been and it was mid-morning when she awoke to find the sun streaming into the van. It reminded her acutely of her first awakening here, to find that Grant had slept in the bunk opposite her. She looked across at it, half expecting to find him lying there. But, of course, it was untouched. He had spent the night at the hospital with Nicholas . . . and Susannah.

She felt empty of all emotion as she went about the mechanical tasks of packing her few possessions and tidying up the inside of the van. Its very neatness mocked her. If it hadn't been for Grant spring cleaning to please her, she might still believe he loved her. They might even be engaged...

'Stop it!' she ordered herself. She had come here to do a job, not lose her heart. Yet she had done just that, her inner voice reminded her but she silenced it. There was no point in mooning over a fantasy. Because that's what it had been, she understood now. Grant had never loved her, he had loved Faye's reincarnation. Somehow, she had helped him to get over that and now he had chosen to make a new life with Susannah. It was up to her to get over him now, and get on with her own life.

Which was not going to be so easy, she discovered later. Driving back to Perth with Damon she was constantly reminded of the trip down with Grant. As they passed the Guilderton turn-off, she remembered a certain country cafe where he had teased her, saying she was squeamish because she wouldn't allow a crayfish to be killed for her lunch.

'Like to stop in Guilderton?' Damon asked as he saw her looking in that direction.

'No thanks,' she snapped back more sharply than she intended to. He subsided back into his seat with a look of little-boy hurt.

'Sorry I asked.'

'I'm the one to apologise. I shouldn't have snapped.'

'What are you going to do now?' he asked her.

'Get a teaching job, I hope.'

'You aren't thinking of staying in the film industry? We often need a tutor on a crew.'

And take the chance of having to work with Grant again? Much as she would have loved to stay in the industry, that would be more than she could endure. She couldn't work with him, seeing Susannah at his side as his wife. 'No, I think I've had enough of films for a lifetime.'

'Funny, I thought you liked the industry,' he commented. 'You just can't tell with some people.'

She turned down his invitation to go with him to the hospital to visit Nicholas. 'I'll phone them after I've settled in,' she told him.

Before he left her at her front door, he pressed an envelope into her hand. 'I almost forgot to give you this.'

She carried her luggage inside then opened the envelope, surprised to discover a cheque inside it. From the slip attached, she saw it was her salary for the weeks she had worked with Stalker Productions. How preoccupied she must have been during the last few days not even to think of such a thing. Still, she had earned the money and it would give her a few weeks' grace to find a full time job. Thoughtfully, she traced a finger over the signature on the cheque—Grantland Stalker. It was foolish and impractical but she felt a strong temptation not to cash it, but keep the cheque as a souvenir.

On the way home, she had asked Damon to stop at the post office, where there was quite a pile of mail waiting for her. There was a long letter from Duncan, telling her much he and Elizabeth were enjoying their work in the Antarctic. He apologised for not writing more often but said they were frequently snowbound. He described the conditions at the base in graphic detail, and Tori reflected that it sounded as cold as her spirits now felt.

As well as the usual bills, there was a note from Doug, apologising for the scene he had made in front of Grant and asking her to forgive him. Without hesitation, she screwed the note into a tight wad and dropped it into the waste-paper basket. Never again would she be prey to men who wanted to use her. She had had enough of that with Grant, and it had almost broken her spirit. She would prefer to be single all her life than go through that agony again, she vowed. Besides, despite everything, she still loved Grant Stalker and it would be a long time before any man could change that.

With the mail out of the way, she unpacked her clothes and hung them back in her wardrobe then looked around the flat in a quandary. She would have to do something about getting herself organised, she knew, but she lacked the spirit to do anything more today.

On her way past the kitchen, the telephone caught her eye and she stared at it in an agony of indecision. She longed to call the hospital to find out how Nicholas was, but she was afraid Grant might be within earshot of the phone. Why she was so determined he shouldn't know she had called, she wasn't sure. Perhaps it was because their parting at Yanchep had been so final, she wanted to keep it that way even though it meant he would remember her as an unfeeling monster who had let him down when he needed her. Still, almost of its own volition, her hand moved towards the phone.

Her courage almost deserted her when a crisp voice answered and asked her what she wanted. 'I . . . I'm enquiring about a patient, a little boy, Nicholas Stalker,' she said hesitantly.

'Are you a relative?'

Tori thought furiously. If she admitted who she was they might refuse to give her any information. 'Yes, I'm his aunt,' she lied.

'I see, one moment, please.' She held her breath, wondering if the woman might comment on her call to Grant, if he was there. She didn't even know if Nicholas had any aunts. Instead, she heard a shuffling noise as the nurse riffled through some cards, then she came back on the phone. 'He's as well as can be expected,' she said calmly. 'He spent a comfortable night and is recovering well after the operation.'

Tori's palms, moist a moment before, went dry. 'Operation?'

The woman sounded surprised. 'You knew about that, of course. To relieve the pressure on his spinal cord.'

'He will walk again?' Tori whispered.

'Oh yes, he's responding well already, even though he's only allowed minimal movement. He'll be in traction for the next few weeks and then he'll need physiotherapy, so he'll be with us for some time, but he's expected to make a full recovery. What did you say your name was?'

Quickly, Tori replaced the receiver and sat back. So Nicholas was really going to be all right. Even if he was going to be in hospital for a long time, he would recover eventually. She said a small prayer of thanks.

The news seemed to bring home to her, even more forcefully than before, that his part in her life was now over. Soon Grant, Susannah and Nicholas would be a happy family unit and they wouldn't need or want her interference.

At least Grant didn't know how much she loved him, for which she was grateful. He wouldn't make any attempt to see her—and she couldn't bear it if he did. He had made an indelible impression on her heart and she knew that, although she wouldn't be able to forget him entirely, if her life was to have any sort of meaning from now on, she was going to have to try.

CHAPTER TEN

As soon as Tori walked into the staff room at lunchtime, she knew something had happened. Several of her fellow teachers were clustered around the infants mistress, who was reading aloud from a letter she clutched in hands which were shaking with excitement.

'. . . so we have much pleasure in inviting the children from your school to accept this well-deserved prize and our congratulations,' she finished, looking around at them all with a triumphant smile.

'Did I miss something?' Tori asked good-humouredly. She liked Judith Blair, the elderly teacher who taught the youngest children in the school, but she was inclined to dramatise every little thing.

'Oh, I know you think I get carried away but this is the most exciting thing to happen here in a long time.'

'What is?'

Miss Blair blinked at her, owl-eyed. 'Why the children winning the poster contest, of course.'

Still baffled, Tori shook her head. 'Can somebody please start at the beginning. I just got off playground duty, remember?'

Taking a deep breath, Judith began again. 'I'm sorry, dear, of course you wouldn't have been with us when my class—your class, now since they've gone up—entered a competition to design a poster for National Aborigines Day. The prize was an invitation for each winning class to attend the premiere of the film, Children of the Dreamtime.' She waved the paper in the air. 'This is the invitation.'

'Wait a minute, wasn't that the film you were involved with Tori?' asked one of the others.

She nodded slowly, her mind whirling. Just when she thought she had put the film and its distracting director firmly behind her, it was shattering to be reminded of it now. But there was worse to come.

'Since it's your class, you'll be able to take them,' the headmistress beamed.

There was a chorus of 'lucky thing' and 'some people have all the luck' from the others. Tori looked wildly around but there was no way she could explain to them why she felt anything but lucky at the prospect. 'Oh, I couldn't do that,' she cried.

The headmistress frowned. 'There's no question about it, you must. It would only cause hurt feelings if I had to single out someone else to go. It's the kind of occasion most people would give their eye-teeth to attend. Of course, you won't be expected to take the whole class by yourself.'

'Well I would certainly be eager to go,' enthused Judith Blair. At the same time, she gave Tori a reproving look as if to remind her that she was letting the school down even suggesting otherwise.

'Then you shall go as Miss Duncan's assistant, since they were your class when they entered the contest,' the head decided. She tidied away the remains of her sandwich lunch and stood up. 'I'm glad that's settled. It's almost time for the bell.'

Unwilling to stay and face the others, Tori followed the headmistress out into the corridor. She would have welcomed a few minutes break and a cup of tea but there was bound to be curiosity over her strange attitude. As she turned towards her own classroom, the head touched her arm lightly. 'You don't seem very happy about your class's win,' she said, making it sound like a question.

'Oh no, it isn't that. I'm delighted they did well. It's just . . . I'd rather not be the one to take them to the premiere, that's all.'

The headmistress raised an eyebrow. 'Since you worked with the film people before you came here, I assumed you would be pleased to see them again. I gather you feel differently.'

'Yes, I do.'

'Would you like to tell me why?'

She couldn't very well tell her headmistress that she had fallen hopelessly in love with the film's director but he only saw her as a stand-in for his dead wife and, in any case, he was engaged to someone else. So she said lamely, 'I'm afraid it's personal.'

'I see,' was the disappointed response. 'Since you feel you can't confide in me, you don't give me any reason to excuse you from the assignment, do you?'

'I suppose not.'

'In that case, it's agreed then.'

She turned on her heel leaving Tori to wander back to her own classroom in a daze. Luckily she still had a few minutes to herself before the assembly bell so she sat at her desk, staring into space, too shaken even to start her preparations for the afternoon's lessons.

The last few months had been the most painful of her life knowing that Grant was in the same city, but as far away from her orbit as if he had been on the moon. He might have been able to escape from her spell, or rather, the one she inadvertently cast on him through her resemblance to Faye, but she had not been allowed to forget him so easily. Every time she opened a newspaper or magazine there was some new tidbit of information about the film, or an interview with Grant himself with the inevitable photo-spread. To her shame, she devoured every word eagerly, although she made a daily resolution to stop reading the stories.

If her days were filled with reminders of him, her nights were haunted by the memory of his lips possessing hers and the warmth of his hands on her skin. So far, there had been no announcement of his engagement to Susannah but they were probably still waiting for the film to be released before they made their plans public. Tori recalled that Susannah wanted the critics to give an unbiased appraisal of her performance before they found out that she was going to marry her director. If word got out beforehand they would draw their own conclusions, which would be unjust. The thought of Susannah in Grant's arms still tormented her cruelly until she wondered if she would ever be really free of him.

The one night spot on her horizon was the newspaper reports that Nicholas was recovering slowly but surely. His long convalescence was nearly over, the papers said, and he was expected to star in a new film to be made in a few months' time. She' had been tempted to visit him in hospital but the fear of coming face-to-face with Grant had kept her away. She wasn't ready to meet him yet, maybe not ever again.

After she left Nambung, job prospects had seemed bleaker than ever, especially since it was near the end of the school year. But just when she was starting to despair she had been offered her present position at a small Claremont school, which brightened her solitary Christmas considerably.

She started the new school year hoping that her job would help to take her mind off Grant, but it only served to highlight how much she had changed since she went to Nambung. Grant had opened a new world before her, full of challenge and excitement. He had also made her fall in love with him, believing that he loved her in return. Many times, she wished she had never opened that photo album in the caravan, which had forced her to face the truth. If she had never known about Faye she would have gone on blindly loving Grant, perhaps marrying him. It wouldn't have worked, she reminded herself over and over. The longer she was with him, the more deeply she would have become committed to him in mind and body. To find out then, that he was in love with a memory, would have shattered her completely.

She shuddered at the prospect of attending the premiere. Then common sense came to her aid. Theirs wasn't the only class to be awarded tickets to the performance. She would probably be just one of many teachers controlling a horde of milling children. Thankfully, her hair had returned to its original sandy colour, helped along by a colour rinse in her natural shade, and most of the cur! had long since grown out so her hair now hung straight to her shoulders in a shining curtain. There was almost nothing about her to remind Grant of Faye, even if he did catch sight of her. If she kept her head down, perhaps he wouldn't notice her at all.

These steadying thoughts enabled her to carry on through the afternoon as if nothing was wrong, and even to seem pleased at the prospect when she spoke to the other teachers at the end of the day. None of them knew that inside, she was quivering with nervous anticipation.

By the time the day of the premiere arrived, she had recovered sufficiently to at least present an outward picture of eager enthusiasm, although it was all sham. Judith Blair, excitable at the best of times, was almost beside herself as the day wore on. Earlier, she had asked Tori if she could leave a change of clothes at her flat so they could go home together and dress there before meeting the children at the Entertainment Centre where the event was taking place.

'Do you think this is glamorous enough?' Judith asked Tori, parading in front of her in a swirl of lilac chiffon.

'You look absolutely beautiful,' Tori assured her. She had deliberately chosen a demure navy summer suit edged with white piping, with a calf-length skirt and sailor-collared top. With the outfit went a navy pillbox hat with a flounce of veil in front, just enough to conceal her features if Grant chanced to look her way. Judith was disappointed that she hadn't chosen a more exciting outfit for the occasion, but she couldn't very well explain the reason.

'Of course, you do look nice, dear,' Judith said hastily, afraid she had offended Tori.

'It's all right. I know this is very plain but by the time the children have swarmed all over it with ice-cream on their fingers at interval, it won't matter what I'm wearing, will it?'

Judith eyed her own lavish creation dubiously. 'Oh my, you could be right. I hope I won't regret wearing this.'

Sorry to have cast a shadow over the older teacher's happiness, Tori hastened to make amends. 'How would it be if I hand out the ice-creams and wipe the fingers afterwards? That way, your dress will be in no danger.'

'Thank you, dear, that's very sweet of you. I'll look after things like programmes and lost property so we'll both have a job to do.'

By the time they reached the Entertainment Centre, Tori knew exactly what the phrase 'a bundle of nerves' meant. Her hands trembled and her stomach churned as she and Judith collected their charges from proud parents, and escorted the children into the theatre. The youngsters were immediately over-awed by the spectacular saucer-shaped complex which could accommodate almost two thousand people at one time, so it took all Tori's skill to keep them together. She had been right about other schools also being represented and the sight of the throng ahead of them made her relax for the first time in days. Surely there was no way for Grant to single her out in such a crowd?

'Tori? Tori it is you!'

Her heart sank and she swung around in alarm, then relaxed. 'Oh, hello, Damon.'

'Try not to sound so disappointed,' he said cheerfully. Unaccountably, that was precisely how she felt. 'How have you been?'

'I've gone back to school teaching,' she told him, keeping half her attention on her young charges.

He looked around at the excited children. 'So I can see. Your lot won the poster contest, did they?'

She nodded. 'I suppose we'd better be going inside.'

He showed her where they were to sit, and told her that the stars and key production people, including Grant she supposed, would be arriving at any moment. But before she could disappear into the crowd again. Damon caught her arm. 'You're coming to the party afterwards, of course.'

'No, I... I can't.'

'Can't or won't?'

She looked around in panic. 'Damon, this isn't the time or the place to discuss this.'

'It may be the only time and place,' he said grimly. 'You're not getting away so easily this time, Tori. The party's at Stalker Productions—you know where that is. It starts at ten, after this shindig. If you aren't there by ten-thirty, I'll come knocking on your door.'

She had no doubt that he meant what he said, but why was he so adamant that she should go to the party? Surely he wasn't still hoping she would fall in love with him? He knew how she felt about Grant and that Grant was in love with someone else, so it was cruel beyond measure that she be made to see him again. She debated whether to go off somewhere after the show so that even if Damon did come to the flat she wouldn't be there, but there was a limit to how long she could stay away and she wouldn't put it past him to wait it out. Of course, Damon had helped her out at the Pinnacles, so going to the party to please him was little enough repayment, even if it did mean seeing Grant again.

The prospect so unnerved her that she didn't expect to enjoy a moment of her evening, although the children were having the time of their lives. Judith was also aglow with excitement.

'Isn't this the most wonderful night?'

'Yes, wonderful,' Tori agreed with an effort.

Judith grabbed her arm. 'Look! There's Susannah Dearing and she looks every inch a star.'

Susannah did look radiant, Tori had to admit. She floated rather than walked down the aisle of the theatre in a strapless gown of pale rose silk with a crochetted white shawl around her smooth shoulders.

Tori drew a sharp breath as she caught sight of Grant walking beside Susannah. He looked wonderfully strong and handsome in a maroon dinner suit and snow-white ruffled shirt, which contrasted with his desert-tanned skin. As if mesmerised, Tori's gaze travelled to his face and she was appalled to see how tired and drawn he looked when he came near. There were lines etched in his face which hadn't been there before, and his mouth was set in a grim line. She was puzzled. This was his night of triumph but it was not reflected in his expression. Perhaps the strain of making the film had drained his strength. Or possibly he was still worrying about Nicholas, despite the newspaper reports of his progress. Either way, something had taken a toll on Grant. How she longed to reach out and touch him, giving him some of her own strength and support. Just in time, she drew her hand back and the party moved on towards the front of the theatre.

Grant went up on to the stage to say a few words of introduction and welcome everyone to the premiere. The children were thrilled when he mentioned the winning schools by name but when he looked their way, Tori bent her head to avoid meeting his eyes.

Then, to her relief, the lights dimmed and the film started. In the gloom there was no need to hide her face and she could sit back and enjoy the film, knowing she had made a small contribution to its success.

It seemed strange, seeing the finished footage after having been behind the cameras when some of the scenes were shot. With a surge of emotion, she recognised the place in the Pinnacles where Grant had kissed her so ardently. At last, the compelling storyline caught her up and she was as astonished as everyone else when the climax was reached and the film came to a happy ending. Before she knew what she was doing, she had joined the rest of the audience on their feet, clapping and cheering enthusiastically.

Grant went back on to the stage to thank everyone, then the house lights came up again and the evening was over. For everyone else, that was. Tori still had the ordeal of the party ahead of her.

For as long as she dared, she dawdled in the foyer but at last the children had all been collected by their parents and she had no reason to linger on. There was nothing for it but to go to the party.

It was already in full swing by the time she reached the penthouse offices of Stalker Productions. Although she hadn't been there since that first, devastating interview when Grant had kissed her, her feet found their way there as if she was a regular visitor. Like a robot, she rode the lift to the top floor and when the doors opened, she was assailed by noise, music and laughter.

Many of the guests were members of the film crew who recognised her and greeted her warmly. She scanned the crowd nervously but there was no sign of Grant. Damon spotted her standing there and hurried over to place a glass of champagne in her hand. 'I'm glad you decided to come.'

'You didn't give me much choice,' she reminded him and took a steadying swallow of the foaming liquid. 'I still don't know why you were so keen to have me come here.'

'I enjoy your company,' he said smoothly, 'besides there's someone I want you to meet—Susannah's fiancé.'

She swayed and for a moment she feared she was going to faint. 'No Damon, I can't. . .1. . .'

Damon caught her hand and tugged her through the crowd. 'Come on, you'll like Howard.'

'No please, I. . . Howard?' What was going on? Susannah was going to marry Grant, so what was Damon saying?

He grinned at her. 'Yes, Howard Jennings, the film's backer—and a much richer one for this film, if tonight's audience reaction is any guide.'

Her head was spinning, partly from the effects of the hastily swallowed champagne but also from Damon's bewildering chatter. But he still had a firm hold on her hand and was hurrying her through the throng to a corner office where a small group of people were chatting and laughing. In the middle, she could see Susannah.

The actress turned when Damon brought Tori into the room, and a pleased smile lit up her face. 'Hello, Tori, how wonderful that you could join us. We were all wondering where you'd disappeared to.'

'I went back to teaching again,' Tori explained for the second time.

'Of course, Damon tells me your class was one of the winners of the school poster contest. Congratulations.'

'Yes, congratulations,' echoed another woman standing behind Susannah.

The actress turned. 'Julie, you haven't met your successor, have you? Julie Henderson, or should I say, Brownleigh these days since you ran off and married our top cameraman, meet Tori Duncan.'

'Sorry about leaving you in the lurch,' Julie said after they had exchanged greetings. 'But Bob and I wanted a child as soon as possible, and I had some medical problems so I had to give up work quite suddenly.'

So that explained the sudden departure of Nicholas's previous tutor, Tori thought, remembering her unkind thoughts about Grant when she first heard why Julie had left. Not that it changed anything else, of course. Her eye went to Susannah's left hand and she drew a strangled breath as she saw the diamond ring sparkling there.

Susannah noticed the glance. 'Oh yes, thanks for keeping my secret Tori, although it's no longer a secret after tonight. You haven't met my fiancé yet. Howard, this is Tori Duncan, Nicholas's tutor while we were on location.'

The financier took her hand in a courtly gesture. 'Delighted to meet you, Miss Duncan.'

They exchanged a few pleasantries then Damon steered Tori to a corner out of the way and pressed another glass of champagne into her hand. 'What did you think of Susannah's intended?'

'I thought…'

'I know. You thought she was going to marry Grant, didn't you?'

She gave all her attention to the glass in her hand and said in a low voice, 'How did you find out?'

'Unit Manger's job,' he said, 'sees all, knows all. Susannah let me in on her secret after we got back to Perth. Since you'd already told me Grant was involved with someone at the studio or on the film, it didn't take me long to work out who you thought she was engaged to. What puzzles me is how you arrived at that conclusion.'

She took a quick sip of champagne. 'Susannah didn't mention Howard by name. She just said he was involved with the film and she couldn't make it public or . . .'

'. . . they'd think she got the part via the casting couch,' he finished for her. 'Strange minds some people have, mixed-up ones too.'

She knew he was referring to her with this last. 'I have been rather a fool, haven't I?'

He nodded. 'No argument from me on that. The point is, what are you going to do about it?'

She stared at him. 'What can I do? It's too late to change anything now.'

'It's never too late to admit you've made a mistake.'

She had made a mistake, she knew that now. Grant was never engaged to Susannah, and only her jealous imagination had made her believe it. But there was still the question of Tori's resemblance to Faye Mitchell. She couldn't just go to Grant and confess that she was hopelessly in love with him, knowing that when he kissed her he was really kissing someone else. And no amount of scheming on Damon's part could change that aspect. 'It's no good, I can't,' she said awkwardly.

'Stubborn as ever,' he sighed. 'Well surely you won't refuse to see Nicholas, at least. He's missed you terribly since you dropped out of sight.'

A stab of guilt shot through her. She hadn't intended to hurt Nicholas, but she couldn't take the risk of running into Grant at the hospital. 'I've been following his progress, he's doing very well,' she said defensively.

Damon snorted derisively. 'Medically, maybe. But the poor kid is heartbroken because he thinks you don't care enough to come and see him.'

This was the last thing she wanted Nicholas to think. 'Oh, but you know I do,' she protested.

'Then let me take you to visit him now. He'll still be awake because he was going to watch the premiere on television, then some of us were going to see him afterwards so he wouldn't feel too left out.'

What could she say? It would be heartless to refuse to visit Nicholas. He must be feeling cheated on what should have been his night of nights. 'All right, I'll come,' she gave in.

'Good girl, I knew you would.'

' Will Grant. . .'

He waved a dismissive hand. 'He's around somewhere, I expect, so we're not likely to run into him at the hospital if that's what's eating you. So come on, let's go before he gets the same idea.'

That decided her. Wearily, she followed Damon back to the lift and down to the basement car park. On the way down, she couldn't resist asking, 'Why were you so keen to clear up that misunderstanding about Grant and Susannah?'

'Much as I would like it to be otherwise, I know you will never come to care for me. But that's no reason to stand back and see you suffer, when I can do something about it,' he told her.

A short time later he deposited her outside Nicholas's private hospital room, and announced that he was going to see the sister to check on the child's progress. She looked after him hesitantly, then told herself she was only going to visit a sweet young boy who had come to mean a great deal to her. Resolutely, she pushed open the door.

He was sitting up in bed, propped against a bank of pillows. A portable television set played on a table near his bedside. His eyes lit up when she walked in. 'Miss Duncan, you came! Did you see the premiere of my film on television?'

'I did better than that,' she told him, 'I was there.'

'Did you hear them clapping like anything?'

She smiled. 'I sure did. They thought you were wonderful.'

He leant back against the pillows, obviously tired out by the excitement, but his eyes were shining. 'What about Dad's speech, wasn't he great?' he said sleepily.

A lump rose in Tori's throat until it threatened to choke her. 'I thought he was wonderful, too,' she whispered.

'Kind of you to say so,' drawled an all too familiar voice behind her.

She jumped and whirled around to find Grant leaning against a wardrobe where he had been out of her line of sight when she walked in. 'Grant!' she gasped. 'I didn't expect to find you here.'

'I could say the same about you,' he said coldly. 'I didn't expect to see you again, period, after the way you took off without a word.'

'My job was finished,' she said despairingly. 'I didn't think you needed me any more.'

He took a step towards her then seemed to hold himself back with an effort of will. 'That's half your trouble, you don't think.'

'I don't have to take this any more, I'm no longer in your employ,' she shot back.

'I don't recall your taking anything from me even when you were,' he said grimly. He passed a weary hand across his eyes and she was instantly mortified. He looked so tired and haggard that she was shocked.

'Please ... I don't want to fight with you, Grant,'

'Then why keep doing it?' he demanded. 'You know how I feel about you, Tori,'

She glanced anxiously at the bed but Nicholas had drifted off to sleep, drained by the evening's excitement. 'I know how you feel about Faye,' she hissed back, pitching her voice low to avoid disturbing Nicholas.

'Dammit, Tori, you keep saying that! Don't you know by now that it's you I love, not Faye or anyone else. Can't you get that through your head?'

She stared at him, stunned. 'Are you sure, Grant?' Anxiously, she waited for his answer. It could mean the beginning or the end of everything for them both.

'What do I have to do to convince you?' he asked. 'Oh, I don't deny that I was drawn to you at the start, because you looked so much like Faye. It was only when I came to know you that I realised you were everything she could never have been. Faye was an actress and a good one, but she was totally self-centred. She couldn't help herself. I'd fallen out of love with her long before she died. The only reason we were still together then was because of Nicholas.'

Tori could hardly believe what she was hearing. So everything said about Faye was true. 'I thought you were so in love with her that you only wanted me around because I reminded you of her.'

'No, never that,' he denied vehemently. 'The night Faye died, we'd been arguing because I wanted to stay at home and look after Nicholas, and she wanted to go to a party. Because I wouldn't take her, she went with someone else. The only regret I have is that, by refusing to go with her, I deprived my son of a mother.'

'You couldn't have known it would end like that,' she breathed.

'No, I couldn't, but it isn't an easy thing to live with.'

Involuntarily, she took a step towards him. 'Oh, Grant, I'm so sorry . . .'

'Don't,' he commanded and she froze in mid-step. 'For God's sake don't start feeling sorry for me. I can take any thing but that.'

'Then what do you want from me?' she asked in anguish. Why was he playing with her like this?

His steely eyes met her bewildered gaze and he held her as if in a laser beam. 'I only want one thing from you, Tori, but you seem determined not to give it to me.'

Her response was almost inaudible. 'What's that?'

'The only thing I've ever wanted since the day I met you—your love.'

The words were the sweetest she had ever hoped to hear in a lifetime. 'If only you knew how much I've longed to hear you say that,' she confessed.

With a muffled curse, he covered the distance between them in a stride and swept her into his arms so that the breath was driven from her body. 'You what? But all this time you let me think you didn't care. You even told me you were in love with Damon Barlow.'

She had difficulty meeting his eyes. 'I said that because I thought you were engaged to Susannah,' she admitted.

He laughed harshly. 'Well, that's a twist, considering she's going to marry Howard Jennings.'

'I know that now, but for a long time I believed you were in love with her and only wanted me around to prove to yourself that you were over Faye's death.'

'What an incredibly devious mind you have,' he said in astonishment. 'I couldn't have dreamt up a plot as convoluted as that for a movie. Don't tell me you really believed such rubbish?'

She bit her lip. 'Worse than that, actually.'

His hold on her tightened. 'You may as well tell me the rest.'

She took a deep breath which was difficult since his arms were like steel bands around her. 'I didn't know that you weren't in love with Faye when she died. Oh Grant, you don't know what it did to me when I thought you only loved me because I reminded you of her—it was like my worst nightmares come true.' Haltingly, she told him about her foster family, and her experience with Doug at college.

He stroked the hair back from her forehead. 'My poor darling. You thought you were destined to be a stand-in with me, too. No wonder you couldn't face the idea.'

'It seemed to add up, especially when you got so angry at Doug's insinuation that we'd been sleeping together— which was utterly untrue. I thought, because I looked like Faye, you were jealous of Doug.'

'I was,' Grant agreed, 'but not because of Faye. I was already attracted to you so I saw red when Doug turned up and acted as if you were his property.'

'Now you know why I left without a word,' she said simply. 'At the time, I thought it was the right thing to do.'

'The right thing,' he groaned. 'If only you knew! The last few months have been hell for me, without you. I imagined all sorts of things—you and Damon seeing each other. It almost drove me out of my mind. It's a wonder I still have any crew left after the way I've been acting lately.'

She laughed. 'That explains why Damon was so anxious to get us back together tonight.'

'Anything for a quiet life, huh? Shall we make his life even easier?'

She looked at him in confusion. 'What do you mean?'

'Say you'll marry me, for God's sake.'

'To please Damon?' she asked, a flirtatious smile playing around her mouth.

'No, damn it, to make me the happiest man in the world.'

'In that case, yes—with all my heart,' she responded. There was no reason to fight him any more and it was heaven to be able to melt into his arms and give full vent to all the love she had stored up inside ever since she left Nambung. He responded with a passion which left her breathless, as his kiss claimed her in a sweet, heady foretaste of the way she knew he would claim her body after they were married.

She had always been his from the moment they met, she knew that now. She had been fighting a phantom. Now she knew that he loved her for herself alone, there was no reason not to admit that he was everything to her, and always would be. It was just as well that Nicholas lay sleeping only a few feet away because the tide of passion which was sweeping over them both, could easily have led them to even dizzier heights.

She looked up at him loving adoration. 'Isn't this the moment when the director usually calls "cut"?'

All the tension had gone out of his expression and he smiled back at her with a tenderness which set the blood singing in her veins. 'Not this time,' he said thickly. 'This is one production which I guarantee will go on for ever.'