Golden Fever. Кэрол Мортимер

when it came to it she didn’t feel like staying in her room. Her shower had refreshed her, her hair was newly washed and gleaming, her dress a deep shade of pink, off the shoulders, resting provocatively on her uptilted breasts. Her legs were bare, deeply tanned, the pink of her high-heeled sandals exactly matching the colour of her dress. As a child she had hated her height, always being taller than her classmates, but now it was a definite asset. Most of the popular actresses of her generation seemed to be taller than average, a new era in sex symbols.

      She hated that description of herself, but was well aware of the fact that the media referred to her as such, that some even compared her with her still popular mother.

      The latter she detested even more than being referred to as a sex-symbol, seeing no resemblance between her slender coolness and the kittenish image her mother cultivated.

      At times she even managed to forget Carlene Walters was her mother, and she felt sure she had tried to do the same thing. After all, when you had stopped ageing at thirty-six it was a little hard to admit to having a twenty-three-year-old daughter. Her press releases always claimed she had been a child bride, but even so …

      Damn! She hadn’t wanted to think about her mother, had studiously avoided doing so on the flight over here. Why on earth Harvey had had to call her she had no idea. No, that wasn’t strictly true. She did know. Her mother was still the undisputed Queen of Hollywood, and Harvey hoped to use her influence while they were here.

      She couldn’t altogether blame him, after all it was his job to see that her career reached its highest pinnacle. But she drew the line at asking her mother for anything. She had reached this stage in her career, and she wasn’t being conceited when she knew that she was quite successful, without any help from her mother, and she would continue to do so.

      She could hear someone moving about in the adjoining suite, whistling to themselves as they seemed to be preparing for lunch. Thoughts of the latter reminded her that it was almost one o’clock, and it was some time since she had eaten anything but plane food.

      The Capstan appeared to be quite busy, but the boy at the door found her a vacant table near the window. The view of the harbour was breathtaking, with ships waiting in line to dock.

      Clare had quite a view of Long Beach from the porthole windows in her suite on the other side of the ship, everywhere looking very white and clean from here, the sea a greyish-blue, and several people were out in speedboats when she had last looked out.

      A young boy came to take her order, and she looked up and smiled at him, the smile deepening to sympathy as he recognised her and instantly dropped the menu on the floor.

      He fumbled picking it up again. ‘I—Sorry.’ He licked his lips nervously. ‘It was just that for a moment you——’ He frowned, shaking his head. ‘You are Clare Anderson, aren’t you?’ he queried disbelievingly.

      Maybe she would have been wiser to have eaten in her room after all; she didn’t relish the thought of being on show as she ate. If this boy had recognised her then other people would too.

      She didn’t bother to look at the menu, neither confirming nor denying the boy’s statement. ‘Could I have a chicken salad?’ she requested softly, finding the boy’s stares a little unnerving.

      ‘I’m sure you could,’ he nodded eagerly. ‘Are you here with the others making the movie?’

      ‘Yes,’ she sighed, realising he wasn’t going to give up.

      He nodded again. ‘There are several other people in here that are going to be in it too. I’m David, by the way. If you need anything, just ask.’

      ‘Thanks, I will.’

      She accepted the offered coffee, glad when David at last left. By tonight she was going to be dead on her feet; the time difference would have caught up with her by then, although right now she didn’t feel too bad.

      ‘Clare!’

      She turned with a frown, her tension relaxing as she recognised Rena Dawes. Rena was to play her sister in the film. The two of them had been at drama school together, and Clare had been delighted when she found the two of them were to be working together.

      ‘How lovely to see you,’ she said warmly. ‘Can you join me?’

      ‘Of course,’ Rena was a pretty girl of her own age, also blonde, with a mischievous grin never far from the surface. She sat in the chair next to Clare. ‘I was sitting over the other side of the room with some of the camera crew, but their talk got a bit technical for me.’

      Clare laughed. ‘It gets too technical for them sometimes!’

      Her friend looked at her appreciatively. ‘I don’t have to ask how life’s been treating you—you look marvellous. And where’s that handsome fianc$eA of yours?’

      ‘Resting. Have you eaten?’

      ‘Not yet.’

      Rena ordered her meal, and the two girls chatted as they ate, recalling old times; the two of them had once shared a flat for a few weeks.

      ‘Whatever happened to that boy Alan you were always trying to evade?’ Clare teased, relaxed as they drank their coffee.

      Rena spluttered with laughter. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t remember that.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘I married him!’

      ‘Rena!’ Clare laughed, a low husky sound that had several male heads turning in their direction, obviously appreciatively. ‘Did you really?’ she asked once she had sobered.

      ‘Mm,’ Rena nodded. ‘I got tired of running.’

      ‘And?’

      Her friend gave a rueful shrug. ‘I love him too much to describe how happy I am, how happy being with him makes me. But then I don’t need to explain that to you, do I?’

      Didn’t she? The sadness returned to her golden eyes, the cool haughtier back. She was fond of Harvey, knew that he was equally fond of her, that they would have a good marriage, but they certainly didn’t have the nerve-shattering ecstasy Rena meant. They were comfortable together, shared the same interests, but their lovemaking never gave her such intense pleasure that the rest of the world ceased to exist.

      But no, Rena didn’t have to describe those feelings to her. She knew about them, she just didn’t have them with Harvey.

      ‘Do you have any children?’ she asked now.

      ‘Not yet,’ Rena grinned. ‘Maybe soon, although we aren’t in any hurry.’

      ‘Where is Alan now?’

      Her friend pulled a face. ‘In England,’ she sighed. ‘He’s a lawyer, a busy one. It gets harder and harder to accept these parts that take me away from him.’

      ‘Then don’t,’ Clare said simply.

      ‘It’s this business, it gets into your blood,’ Rena dismissed. ‘One day I’ll know it’s time to stop, but I’m not quite ready yet.’

      ‘Talking of business,’ Clare looked pointedly at her wrist-watch, ’I’d better go and tidy up for this meeting this afternoon. Jason doesn’t like unpunctuality.’

      ‘Jason?’ the other girl frowned.

      ‘Our director, dear,’ she teased.

      ‘Oh, but he isn’t,’ Rena shook her head. ‘At least, he wasn’t the last I heard.’

      Clare frowned her puzzlement. ‘And what did you hear?’

      She shrugged. ‘That Faulkner had an accident of some sort, I’m not sure what. They were looking around for another director.’

      ‘Did they find one?’

      ‘Well, we’re here, aren’t we?’ Rena grinned.

      ‘I