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whose fame or box-office power could currently match her own—would agree with him.
    “Wait there and I’ll go and find Mrs. Trevathan,” Steve said, leaving Rebecca to stand uncomfortably in the courtyard, watching the camera crew heave their equipment past her.
    A minute later, a plump, middle-aged woman with graying curly hair and a rosy complexion bustled out of the door toward her.
    “Miss Rebecca?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, of course it is, dear.” The woman smiled broadly. “I recognized you immediately. And let me tell you, you’re even more beautifulin real life. I’ve seen all your films and it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Mrs. Trevathan, the housekeeper. Follow me, and I’ll take you up to your bedroom. It’s a long walk, I’m afraid. Graham will bring up your case later,” she commented as Rebecca made to pick it up. “You can’t imagine how many miles I cover each day.”
    “I probably can’t,” said Rebecca, struggling to understand the woman’s thick Devon accent. “This house is totally amazing.”
    “Less amazing now there’s just me and some daily help here to care for it. I’m run ragged. Of course, many years ago, there were thirty of us working here full-time, but things are different now.”
    “Yes, I suppose they are,” Rebecca said as Mrs. Trevathan led her through a series of doors into a huge kitchen, where a woman in a nurse’s uniform was sitting drinking coffee at the table.
    “The servants’ stairs are the fastest way to the bedrooms from the kitchen,” Mrs. Trevathan said as Rebecca followed her up a steep and narrow flight of steps. “I’ve put you in a nice room at the back of the house. It’s got a lovely view of the gardens and the moor beyond. You’re very lucky Lord Astbury agreed for you to use a room here. He doesn’t like houseguests. Sad really, this house could once sleep forty comfortably, but those days are long gone.”
    Finally, they emerged through another door onto a wide mezzanine landing. Rebecca gazed up in wonder at the magnificent domed cupola above her, then followed Mrs. Trevathan along a wide, shadowy corridor.
    “You’re in here,” she said, opening the door to a spacious, high-ceilinged room dominated by a large double bed. “I opened the windows to air it a while ago, so it’s a little chilly. But better than the smell of damp. There’s an electric fire you can use if you’re cold.”
    “Thank you. Where is the restroom?”
    “You mean the bathroom, dear?” said Mrs. Trevathan. “It’s two doors down to the left, on the other side of the corridor. I’m afraid we haven’t quite run to en suite facilities just yet. Now, I’ll leave you to rest.”
    “Would it be possible for me to have a glass of water?” asked Rebecca timidly.
    Mrs. Trevathan paused on her way to the door, then turned around, her face sympathetic. “Of course, you must be all in. Have you eaten anything?”
    “No, I couldn’t face breakfast on the plane.”
    “Then how about I get you a nice pot of tea and some toast? You really are looking quite peaky.”
    “That would be wonderful.” Rebecca thanked her, feeling suddenly dizzy and sitting down abruptly in an armchair placed by the empty fire grate.
    “Right then, I’ll be off to get it.” Mrs. Trevathan gazed at her thoughtfully. “You’re only a slip of a thing underneath all that glamour, aren’t you, dear? Now, you sort yourself out and I’ll see you in a bit.” She smiled kindly and left the room.
    Shortly afterward, Rebecca made her way along the corridor and, after a number of false starts into a linen cupboard and another bedroom, found a large bathroom with an old-fashioned cast-iron tub sitting in the center of it. A rusting metal chain dangled from the cistern above the toilet, and having drunk some water from the tap, she returned to her room. Walking over to the long windows, she gazed out over the view below. The garden beyond the wide terrace that flanked the rear of the