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thing.’
    ‘Do people write more than once?’ asked Harriet.
    ‘Darling, sometimes they write every week,’ laughed Rowena. ‘The only difference then is that we call them cranks, not fans, and bin the letters.’
    ‘Haven’t you ever had a crush on a film star?’ asked Lewis.
    Harriet shook her head. ‘I’m not very well up on films, or plays for that matter. I like museums, art galleries and antique shops, but not acting.’
    ‘You’ll be good for us then. We’re usually surrounded by people bitten by the acting bug.’ He looked thoughtfully at her. ‘I imagine you’re too sensible to let your heart get the better of your head in any situation.’
    He made the remark sound like an insult. ‘I prefer to keep my emotions hidden,’ said Harriet coolly. ‘Now, perhaps there are some things I could do for you, Miss Farmer.’
    ‘Please, not Miss Farmer,’ laughed Rowena, suddenly relaxed and friendly again. ‘You must always call me Rowena. I’m sure we’re going to be friends.’
    Harriet wasn’t sure about anything any more, except for the fact that watching Lewis’s hands stray over Rowena’s arm and neck had been highly unsettling and left her face feeling hot. ‘I’m sorry, Rowena it is. What would you like me to do?’
    ‘The fan mail then, if you’re desperate to start earning your keep. Lewis, be an angel and show her the room where she’ll be working. I simply must have another cup of coffee.’
    ‘Sure.’ Lewis put his own mug down and led Harriet up the open staircase and through a door on the first floor. ‘We’ve earmarked this for your office. The computer, telephone and fax machine are all in place, but although we’ve got the filing cabinets in I’m afraid none of Rowena’s correspondence has been put away. We thought you’d like to use your own system.’
    Harriet stared about the room. It was light and airy, the furniture all solid mahogany and the walls covered in heavy patterned wallpaper. ‘It’s certainly big enough!’ she said with a smile.
    ‘All the rooms are large. This seemed the best because Rowena has a room through the adjoining door there where she goes to learn her lines, try on clothes, experiment with make-up – that kind of thing. It means you’ll be near when she might need you.’
    ‘Fine. So where are the fan letters?’ asked Harriet, standing facing the desk and looking over the piles of papers set out on it.
    Lewis came up behind her and she felt his body brush against her back as he reached over her shoulder. ‘I think they’re there,’ he said quietly.
    Harriet straightened slightly and her buttocks and thighs pressed up against him. She half-turned in order to move away but her arm caught the pile of papers at the end of the desk and it went flying. As she bent down to pick them up, Lewis bent as well and their hands met as they reached in unison for one of the letters.
    Again, just as at their first meeting, Lewis’s fingers seemed to linger on hers. This time the pads of his fingertips brushed along the tops of her fingers and she shivered suddenly. Slowly her stood up, letting his hand trail up her arm and over her shoulder before removing it.
    ‘I’ll leave you to sort them out then,’ he said calmly.
    Harriet nodded, her mouth so dry she wasn’t sure she’d be able to speak. It had been deliberate, she was certain of that; his touch, the way his body had moved against hers had indicated that. Yet in his eyes and voice there was no sign of interest or desire. Perhaps he was just very tactile, she told herself as he left the room.
    After leaving Harriet, Lewis went in search of Rowena. He found her sitting on the tiles by the side of the large, heated indoor pool, her arms wrapped round her knees. For a moment he looked down at her thoughtfully, well aware of the kind of thoughts that must be going throughher head at the moment, then he pulled one of the loungers forward and sat down on it.
    ‘As I thought, she’s perfect,’