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good news is that while you’re filming, no one can get near you. The private land surrounding the house is a good few hundred acres, and it’s about half a mile or so from this entrance to the house itself.”
    Rebecca saw that they had arrived at a pair of vast wrought-iron gates with a security guard on duty beside them. Graham signaled to him and the guard opened the gates. Rebecca looked in wonder as they drove through parkland dotted with ancient oak, horse chestnut and beech trees on either side of the road.
    Up ahead was a vast house, more of a palace, really, the kind she had only seen in books or on historical programs on the television. A baroque confection of carved stone and fluted columns.
    “Wow,” she breathed.
    “It’s pretty spectacular, isn’t it? Although I’d hate to think what the heating bills are like,” Graham commented.
    As they drove closer and Rebecca saw the vast marble fountain at the front of the house, she wished she knew enough correct architectural terms to describe the beauty in front of her. The graceful symmetry of the building, with two elegant wings on either side of a crowning central dome, made her catch her breath. Sunlight was glinting from the perfectly proportioned paneled windows set like jewels along the entire front, the stonework between them interspersed with carved cherubs and urns. Under the massive central portico, supported by four enormous columns, she glimpsed a magnificent double-fronted oak door.
    “Fit for a queen, eh?” said Graham as he skirted around the house to a courtyard at the side, which was filled with vans and lorries. A hubbub of people were carrying cameras, lights and cables inside through a door. “They’re hoping to be ready to start shooting tomorrow, so I’m told,” Graham added, parking the car.
    “Thank you,” said Rebecca as she climbed out and the driver walked around to the trunk to retrieve her case.
    “This all you brought with you, Miss Bradley? Film stars like you normally have a container full of luggage,” he teased her good-naturedly.
    “I packed in a hurry,” Rebecca admitted as she followed him across the courtyard toward the house.
    “Well, just remember, Miss Bradley, I’m on call for the whole of the shoot, so if there’s anywhere you need to go, you just tell me, okay? It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”
    “Ah, you made it!” A lean young man strode toward them. He held out his hand to Rebecca. “Welcome to England, Miss Bradley. I’m Steve Campion, the production manager. I’m sorry to hear you’ve had to run the gauntlet of our appalling gutter press this morning. You’re safe from them here, at least.”
    “Thank you. Do you know when I’ll be able to go to my hotel? I could use a shower and some sleep,” said Rebecca, who was feeling bedraggled and travel-weary.
    “Of course. We didn’t want to put you through another ordeal at the hotel after the airport this morning,” said Steve. “So, for now, Lord Astbury has very kindly offered you a room here in the house to use until we find you alternative accommodation. As you may have noticed”—Steve indicated the huge building and grinned—“he has a few going spare. Robert, the director, is very keen to start shooting tomorrow and didn’t want your concentration, or that of the other actors staying at the hotel, to be disturbed.”
    “I’m sorry to be the cause of all this trouble,” Rebecca ventured, blushing with a sudden wave of guilt.
    “Well, never mind, that’s what we get for having such a famous young actress in the film. Right, the housekeeper said to find her when you arrived and she’ll take you upstairs to your room. There’s a full-cast call in the drawing room at five p.m. tonight, so that gives you a few hours to sleep.”
    “Thank you,” Rebecca repeated, not missing the timbre in Steve’s voice. She knew she’d already been labeled “trouble” and was sure that the cast of talented British actors—none of