Angel. Barbara Taylor Bradford

face it, we’re a couple of regular Errol Flynns,’ James answered, winking at Gavin. ‘It’s a pity Kevin Costner just did that remake of Robin Hood, or we might have had a stab at it ourselves.’

      Gavin laughed and nodded, and then noticing Aida’s expression he exclaimed, ‘Hey, don’t look so worried, honey. My neck’s okay, honest it is. I’m even going to make the wrap party later.’

      ‘I’m glad, and that’s lovely,’ the producer said, then cautioned, ‘but only if you’re up to it.’

      Gavin’s eyes swept over the crew. ‘Thanks,’ he said with genuine sincerity. ‘Thanks for everything, you’ve all been terrific, and we’re gonna have a real celebration later today.’

      ‘You bet we are, Gavin,’ the gaffer answered, and the crew surged around him, to tell him what a great guy he was, the best in the business, and to shake his hand.

      A short while later, Rosie and Gavin left the huge sound stage where the Great Hall of Middleham Castle had been re-created, and went out into the corridor behind the set.

      Here it was a jumble of cables, and scaffolding rising to the ceiling, the latter built to hold the Klieg lights used to provide simulated sunshine outside the castle walls. Carefully, they picked their way through the maze of wires and equipment; for different reasons, they were both relieved the last scene had been shot, that the film was in the can. Silently, lost in their own thoughts, they headed for Gavin’s quarters on the back lot.

      ‘Are you really going to New York at the end of the week?’ Gavin asked, hovering in the doorway of the bathroom which adjoined his dressing room, tightening the belt of his white terrycloth robe while staring at her intently.

      Rosie looked up from her notebook, returning his long stare.

      ‘Yes,’ she said after a moment, and put the notebook back into her bag. ‘I have a meeting with some Broadway producers. About a new musical. And I have to see Jan Sutton as well. She’s thinking of putting on a revival of My Fair Lady.’

      Gavin began to laugh. ‘That wouldn’t be very rewarding for you, would it?’ he asked, moving swiftly across the floor as he spoke. ‘After all, Cecil Beaton made an unforgettable statement with the costumes he designed for the original production. Everybody remembers them.’

      ‘That’s true, yes,’ Rosie agreed. ‘But, you know what, it could be very challenging. I wouldn’t mind tackling it…we’ll see what happens.’ She shrugged, and went on quickly, ‘I’m going to LA from New York. To see Garry Marshall. He wants me to do the clothes for his new movie –’

      ‘Instead of the Broadway shows, or as well as?’ Gavin interrupted.

      ‘As well as.’

      ‘Rosie, you’re crazy! ‘It’s too much! You’re killing yourself with work these days. Why, this year alone you’ve done two West End plays and my film, and let’s face it, this one hasn’t been easy. In fact, it’s been very demanding, to say the least. Is it going to be the same again next year? Three or four projects? Enough’s enough, for God’s sake.’

      ‘I need the money.’

      ‘I’ll give you as much as you want. Haven’t I always told you, anything I have is yours.’

      ‘Yes, and thank you, Gavin, you know how much I appreciate that. But it’s not the same – what I mean is, money from you is not the same as the money I earn myself. Besides, it’s not really for me. I need the extra money for my family.’

      ‘They’re not your family!’ he shot back with uncharacteristic vehemence, and a look of irritation crossed his face.

      Rosie gaped at him, taken by surprise, and bit back the words that had instanly sprung to her lips. She remained silent, baffled by the flash of anger, so transparent, the strong reaction, so unexpected.

      Swinging around abruptly, Gavin seated himself in the chair facing the dressing table, reached for a jar of cold cream and a box of tissues, obviously intent on taking off his theatrical make-up.

      ‘They are my family,’ she said finally.

      ‘No. We’re your family. Me and Nell and Kevin!’ he exclaimed, pushing the tissues and cream away with a sudden harsh movement of his hand.

      Ignoring his impatience, she thought: And Mikey. He is family too, wherever he is. And Sunny. A faint shadow fell across her heart, and she sighed under her breath, thinking of them, concern surfacing.

      A split-second later, pushing herself up from the sofa, Rosie walked over to Gavin and stood behind him, resting her hands on the back of his chair. Her burnished chestnut head hovered above his darker one, and her green gaze was questioning as it met and held his grey-blue eyes reflected in the mirror.

      As if in answer to her unspoken question, he murmured in a gentler voice, ‘We said we were a family, remember?’ and then he lowered his eyes and focused on the photograph on the dressing table.

      Rosie followed the direction of his glance, her own settling on the images in the silver frame. There they all were. She and Nell, Gavin, Kevin, Mikey and Sunny, arms looped, shining faces smiling, eyes bright with expectation and hope. It had been taken such a long time ago. They had been so young…and orphans, each one of them.

      ‘We promised we’d always be there for one another, no matter what, Rosie. We said we were a family,’ Gavin persisted. ‘And we were. We are.’

      ‘Yes,’ she whispered, ‘a family, Gavin.’ She pushed back a sudden rush of sadness that threatened to overwhelm her…the tragedy was that they had all broken their promises to each other…

      Gavin lifted his head, caught her eye in the mirror again, and his familiar crooked, and now famous, smile flashed endearingly, lighting up his face. ‘If you’re so hell-bent on killing yourself, then it had better be on one of my movies, where I can at least pick up the pieces, if needs be. How about it, will you do my next picture?’

      Her serious expression dissolved, the solemnity in her eyes vanished, and she started to laugh. Then she exclaimed, ‘It’s a deal, Mr Ambrose. You’ve got yourself a deal!’

      There was a sudden knocking on the door, and Will Brent came in. Will was from Wardrobe, and he said quickly, ‘I came to help you get out of your costume, Gavin, but I see you’ve already done so. Sorry to be late.’

      ‘No problem, Will, I’ve only taken off my doublet. Perhaps you’ll help me with the rest of my stuff, especially these boots.’ Gavin grinned at Will and stuck out a leg.

      ‘Right away,’ Will said, loping across the room.

      ‘I’ll see you at the wrap party,’ Rosie murmured, kissed Gavin lightly on top of his head, and went over to the sofa to retrieve her bag.

      ‘Remember what I said, Angel Face. You’re on for my next picture,’ Gavin called out before turning his attention to the surgical collar. Gingerly, he adjusted it on his neck, grimacing as he did.

      TWO

      A blast of cold air hit Rosie in the face as she stepped outside. Shivering, she pulled her jacket closer around her and looked up.

      Above her the sky was bleak and unremitting, filled with clouds the colour of lead. Even though it was still afternoon it was already gloomy and growing darker, the kind of English winter’s day to which she had grown accustomed of late.

      There was a hint of drizzle in the wind, and she could not help wondering what the children of England would do if it rained after all.

      Today was November the fifth. Bonfire Night, they called it. Aida had told her this over lunch last week, and the producer had recited the ancient verse, passed down over the centuries, which she had learned as a child: ‘Please to remember the fifth of November,