She recognised the voice of her agent immediately, and her fingers tensed on the receiver in response to its jovial tone, hope feathering fingers of tension along her spine.

‘Good news,’ Carew told her buoyantly, ‘and not ad-work this time, before you ask. It’s a film part, and a good one. Want to hear more?’

The teasing enquiry reminded her that she was twenty-three and not eighteen, and long past the stage of dry-mouthed excitement over any part.

‘It depends,’ she responded cautiously. Her voice was warmly husky; extraordinarily sexy, was how one director had once described it, but Sarah had made it clear to Carew before she became one of his clients that she had no intention of accepting parts that emphasised or relied on her sexuality—in any way. And she had stuck to her statement rigidly, even though it had often meant that she had been forced, on more than one occasion, to take other jobs to pay her rent—working in shops and offices, glad of the odd well paid commercial which came her way.

‘It’s a beaut,’ Carew assured her, and although she could not see his face she could picture it well enough, and the jumbled chaos that passed for his office.

‘You’ll love it,’ he continued. ‘I’m having the script sent round to you right away. We’ve got a meeting with the director tomorrow. Lunch at the Savoy. You’re one lucky female, Sarah. The part was as good as cast, and then Guy Holland happened to see that ad you did for the shampoo people. You’ll be flattered to know that he rang me at home last night. It’s only by chance that he’s over here at all. A large part of the filming is going to take place in Spain. He’s a stickler for authenticity, and he was only in London overnight, so…’

‘Carew, tell me more about the film,’ Sarah cut in quickly. She knew Guy Holland’s reputation—who didn’t in the film world?—and there was only one other director that she could think of who possessed an equivalent aura; whose name provoked the same powerful charisma.

‘Oh, it’s about Richard the First,’ Carew told her obligingly, ‘and before you ask, it’s no mere costume piece. According to Guy the screenplay is one of the best he’s ever seen, and it’s been written by an amateur, someone who has guarded his identity so closely that no one seems to know exactly who he is. Anyway,’ he seemed to collect his thoughts with an effort, as though he realised how tense and impatient she was growing, ‘it seems the long and short of it is that Guy wants you to play Joanna—Richard’s sister. The part’s a gem, Sarah. I’ve only glanced through the screenplay, but what I’ve read is enough to convince me that Guy isn’t exaggerating when he says he’s got half a dozen top actresses going down on their knees for it.’

‘But his budget is limited, and so he’s got to make do with me,’ she cut in drily.

‘No way. Like I told you, Guy is a stickler for accuracy, and according to him your colouring is exactly right for Joanna. The first thing he wanted to know was if your hair was natural.’

Sarah pulled a wry face into the receiver. Her hair was a particularly distinctive red-gold, and she had the pale Celtic skin to go with it—unfashionably pale really, her eyes a deep smoky grey, bordering on lavender whenever her emotions were intensely aroused.

‘The second thing he wanted to know was how long it was. It’s just as well you didn’t agree to have it cut for that ad. Apparently whoever plays Joanna must have long hair.’

Sarah grinned to herself as she listened to him. At the time he had been all for her having her hair cut as the shampoo company had wished, but she had been with Carew long enough to accept that at bottom his clients’ interests were paramount.

‘Excited?’ he questioned.

‘I might be—when I’ve read the part.’

She didn’t say any more, but he interpreted her remark easily.

‘It’s perfectly all right—there aren’t any sex scenes. At least, not for you. I’ve already checked that out. The script should be with you within the hour. Give me a ring when you’ve read it, won’t you?’

As she replaced the receiver Sarah tried not to give in to the insidious tug of excitement spiralling through her. A film part as juicy as this one promised to be was a gift she had long ago made up her mind she would never receive. For one thing, she liked living and working in London, which was hardly the Mecca of the film world. For another, her insistence on parts without any sexual overtones automatically narrowed her field considerably. She knew quite well that Carew was curious about her rigid refusal, his instinct telling him that there was more to it than a natural disinclination to use her body to further her career. After all, she had joined him straight from her part in the highly acclaimed film of Shakespeare’s life in which she had played the wanton Mistress Mary Fitton of Gawsworth—Shakespeare’s ‘Dark Lady’.

For that part she had received rave reviews. She had put her heart and soul into it, immersing herself completely in it, so much so that afterwards she had wondered if she hadn’t been infected with some of Mary’s wantonness herself. Certainly that would explain why she had…

The heavy clatter of something falling through her letter box dragged her thoughts away from the past, and she hurried into the small hall, picking up the heavy package, and retreating with it to the comfort of her sitting room.

Her flat might only be small, but Sarah had an inborn flair for colour and tranquillity—something she had inherited from her parents, no doubt. Her father had been an acclaimed interior designer, and her mother his assistant. The one shred of comfort she had been able to salvage from the destruction of her life after they had been killed in a plane crash had been that they had gone together.

She had only just entered drama school when it happened; a late entrant, having decided at the last minute not to go on to university, but to try her hand as an actress instead.

She had only been nineteen when she was offered the part of Mary Fitton. Shakespeare had been played by Dale Hammond, an actor whose star was very much in the ascendant. Unlike her, Dale had gone on to international fame, and a smile plucked at Sarah’s lips as she remembered several instances of his Puckish sense of humour. They had got on well together, so well that she had found no embarrassment in their intensely emotional and sensual scenes together, unlike those she had had to play with Benedict de l’Isle, the actor who was playing the Earl of Southampton, her other lover, and reputedly Shakespeare’s as well!

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Shadow Marriage Penny Jordan

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

Shadow Marriage

Penny Jordan