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well-dressed
woman with styled chestnut hair and patrician features greeted
Mark, calling him Mr Lord. Her gaze swept over Carrin with deep
disparagement as she guided them into a viewing room with a ramp.
Mark had arranged a fashion show just for her, it seemed, and
Carrin found it rather embarrassing.
    As they
settled into upholstered chairs, Carrin leant closer to mutter,
"You didn't have to organise a fashion show, you know."
    Mark glanced
at her. "You have to see the dresses."
    "I usually
just try them on."
    "These don't
come in different sizes. When you choose one, it will be made to
fit you."
    Carrin stared
at him in amazement, then her attention was diverted as the first
model stepped out onto the ramp. Carrin eyed the frothy creation
without any enthusiasm. Mark evidently did not like it either, and
a flick of his fingers sent the model hurrying back into the
dressing room. Another girl appeared, clad in a sleek white gown.
She could not take her eyes off Mark, and almost tripped over her
long skirt. The saleswoman frowned and went backstage. The next
model did not look at Mark at all, but stared over his head. Carrin
sighed and watched the parade of lovely dresses, none of which
would suit her. At last a model appeared wearing a floating
creation of gossamer white petal skirts attached to a bodice of
honey silk picked out with stripes of white and pale blue. Mark
glanced at her, and she knew that this was the right dress. She did
not need his approval, but she could tell that he liked it as
well.
    "That one,"
she said.
    Mark nodded,
and the saleswoman hurried over. The seamstress took Carrin's
measurements, and when they left the shop a crowd of
autograph-hunters accosted Mark. He signed the slips of paper that
they thrust at him, and John cleared a path to the car. Safely
inside, he sighed and took off the sunglasses.
    "At least
they're not as bad as the paparazzi."
    "They're your
fans. Without them, you'd be nobody," Carrin pointed out rather
testily.
    Mark shot her
a surprised look. "I know. I don't dislike them. In fact, I wish it
was safe to mingle with them, but there are always a few nuts who
want a lock of hair or a bit of your clothes, and they can be
dangerous."
    "I
suppose."
    "It's a lovely
dress."
    "Yes. I only
hope I do it justice."
    "You
will."
    His slight,
famous smile tugged at his sensual lips, and Carrin wished he would
just smile properly and get it over with. The question bubbled out
of her without any thought.
    "Why do you
never smile?"
    He shot her a
startled glance, then his smile widened. "I do."
    "Not properly,
and never in the movies."
    "Ah, well I
was advised not to. I was told that I look like a schoolboy when I
smile, so I got into the habit of not doing it. After all, villains
and tough heroes aren't meant to grin like schoolboys."
    "I suppose
not."
    His
explanation was a relief to Carrin. At least there was nothing
wrong with him, and he didn't have missing teeth or anything. Not
that it was any concern of hers. Besides, she had occasionally
glimpsed the edge of a set of perfectly even white teeth when he
spoke. She would have liked to have seen the schoolboy smile, but
did not push the issue.
    At the
mansion, she returned to the computer, only to receive a shock. Her
file was gone, and, with it, all her changes. She searched every
directory, but there was no sign of the file. Carrin was certain
that she had saved her work before she left, but she had not made a
backup. The only backup she had was the original one that she had
brought with her. Many hours of work had just vanished. She
remembered Helen's angry look before she left, but did the maid
know enough about computers to erase a file? Switching the machine
off, she went down to the lounge bar to pour a stiff drink. As she
sat contemplating her frosted glass, Mark walked in.
    "Hello. I
thought you'd be working."
    "I would," she
retorted, "except someone's erased my file."
    He paused in
the process of pouring a drink to stare at