The man waited a few seconds, then, when nothing else was forthcoming, said tactfully: 'Could you just remind me of your name, sir?'

'It's Turnbull. Leyton Turnbull.'

'Of course.' He glanced briefly down a list of names, and took a key from the board behind him. 'You're in Government House, sir, just to the left of the Bell Tower. Your suite's on the top floor.' Turnbull followed his gesture and saw an apricot-coloured building with a red hipped roof, the largest and most normal-looking structure on the cliffside. 'I'll get someone to take you across now.'

'Don't bother a I can see where it is. Just drop my luggage off and make sure my car's parked safely.'

'Certainly, sir. The garages are back up the hill on the right-hand side, and she'll be perfectly safe there.' He picked up the keys that Turnbull had slid across the desk. 'We'll keep these here until you need them. I'm James Wyllie, the hotel's manager, and if there's anything I can do this weekend, just let me know.'

'You could start by telling me where the bar is.'

'Through the hallway and on the right, just before the stairs. If I could ask you to sign in?'

Turnbull took the pen and was fumbling in his pocket for his gla.s.ses when a young girl joined him at the desk. 'Mr Turnbull? I had no idea you were going to be here. How nice to see you.' He looked at her face a not strikingly beautiful, but warm and open in a way that made glamour irrelevant a but couldn't place it. She smiled. 'Astrid Lake,' she said. 'We worked together on Dancing Days but I wouldn't expect you to remember me. I was only fifteen, and hopefully I've changed a little since then.'

Certainly, the intervening years had been enough to wipe out any traces of the child he remembered from that film. Her voice no longer had the unpleasant whining quality that signalled immaturity, and the roundness was gone from her features; most importantly, she seemed to have shed the child without losing the innocence, and it was a remarkably attractive combination. 'More than a little, Miss Lake,' he said, taking her hand, 'and definitely for the better. I only wish I could say the same, but at my age another year is rarely an improvement.' She laughed politely, but hadn't yet learnt the professional insincerity which a denial would have required, and he noticed the staff at the reception desk exchange a sly smile. He had been about to invite the actress for a drink but something stopped him, something about her freshness and youth that made him feel world-weary, even ashamed. Instead, he simply askeda 'Are you here for the weekend?'

'Yes. Mr Hitchc.o.c.k's office called my agent last week with the invitation. I couldn't . . .' The rest of her sentence was lost in a volley of barking from the hallway and a small Jack Russell ran into reception, trailing its lead. Astrid bent down to catch it but the dog slipped through her grasp and made straight for Turnbull's ankles. Without thinking, he kicked it away, catching the side of its face with his foot, and the girl looked at him in surprise.

'Still the same old Leyton Turnbull, I see. Preying on children and small animals.' It was the sort of voice that would have cut through any crowd, even without an insult to help it. There was an embarra.s.sed silence, during which Astrid Lake flushed and excused herself from the room, and the staff at reception glanced nervously at each other. The only person who seemed in control was the woman who had spoken, and Turnbull turned round in astonishment.

'Bella Hutton,' he said, recovering quickly and glaring at her. 'No party's complete without the b.i.t.c.h.'

Reluctantly, Wyllie started to come out from behind his desk but Bella waved him back. 'It's all right. I only ever spare Mr Turnbull one line at a time. It's all he can cope with, on or off screen.' She picked the dog up and caught the arm of a waitress who was pa.s.sing through the foyer with a tray of dirty crockery from the terrace. 'I'll have tea in the Mirror Room,' she said. Already hot and bothered, the waitress seemed about to answer back but caught the eye of her manager and decided against it. Bella Hutton watched her go and put a hand on Turnbull's arm. 'Try that one,' she whispered in his ear. 'She's more your type.'

Angrily, he shook her off. 'Tell Mr Hitchc.o.c.k I'm here,' he snapped over his shoulder as he headed for the bar. 'He'll want to know.'

Bella started to leave but Wyllie cleared his throat. 'Dogs aren't strictly allowed in the hotel's public rooms, Miss Hutton.'

She turned and beamed at him. 'And I'm not strictly inclined to pay my bill, Mr Wyllie. Shall we both see how we feel in the morning?' The Mirror Room was next door, and Bella hesitated in the doorway before going in. It had been such a long time since she was last in this house a nearly twenty years a but she was less disoriented by what had changed than by how much had remained the same. These days, the room was used mostly for coffee after dinner. Its jade and gold decor was new and immaculately presented, if far too fussy for her taste, but a unlike much of the hotel a the fundamental structure of the s.p.a.ce was exactly as it had always been, and its main feature was as startling and impressive as ever: the enormous, gilt-edged mirrors covered most of the walls, making the room seem much larger than it really was and filling it with light. There was no one else about and Bella walked across to the fireplace, her footsteps echoing on the polished floor just as they had on her last visit. The stone surround was elaborate and a little incongruous, with the solemn figure of a monk on either side and a frieze of cherubs and angels along the mantelpiece. She bent down to look more closely at the carving on the left and ran her finger over the damaged stone. Such a small mark for so much anger, but still there a lasting and hidden like the pain it represented. Was she the first to seek it out this weekend, she wondered, or had other fingers traced that scar, remembering?

The dog in her arms struggled to be put down, and Bella took a table by the window. She looked out across the estuary to a substantial house on the opposite sh.o.r.eline, separated from Portmeirion by a mile and a half of water, but linked to the old mansion by memory. The village's distinctive skyline was reflected in the mirror to her right, but she was more interested in the image of Astrid Lake, sitting alone at the edge of the terrace. She seemed lost and suddenly very young, and Bella realised that her anger in reception had had unforeseen casualties. She remembered how she had felt when her own career was new and uncertain, how difficult it had been to maintain an air of confidence whilst desperately looking for a friend on every set, and she went outside to make amends. 'Miss Lake, I owe you an apology,' she said. 'Leyton Turnbull deserves to be humiliated, but you don't. Will you join me for tea?' Astrid hesitated, and Bella added. 'I don't blame you for thinking twice about it, but a contrary to what some people will tell you a I'm not always a b.i.t.c.h.'

The girl smiled. 'I'm sure there are times when you have to be and secretly we all admire you for it, so please don't disillusion me.'

'You'll risk it, then?'

'Of course.'

'Do you mind if we go back inside? I hate the heat.'

Astrid shook her head and followed Bella into the hotel. 'How's your dog?' she asked.

'Chaplin? More robust than he looks. He's like most men a never learns from past disappointments and has a rather distorted view of what he can take on, especially in hot weather.' They sat down, and the waitress arrived with the tea. 'Another cup,' Bella said without looking at her. She wiped her brow and pointed across the water to the hills in the distance. 'There's a storm coming. The sooner it gets here, the better.'

'Not for a while, surely? This heat feels as though it will go on for ever.'

'It's always like that. Then the clouds appear from nowhere, and the storm is as fierce as you'll see a biblical, almost.' She poured tea and handed the cup to Astrid. 'And there's nothing like the morning after. If you think this place is beautiful now, you should see it immediately after rain: the colours are so intense, the landscape so fresh and a well, cleansed. If I were a religious woman, I'd read something into that.'

'It sounds like you know it well.'

'We go back a long way, although I've neglected it recently.' It was ironic, she thought, that this resort a used by so many as a sanctuary from their everyday lives a should be the burden that refused to leave her. 'My family had connections with this part of the world.' She could have used a more emotive word, but she had no wish to allow a stranger into her past.

'Lucky you. It's beautiful. I went for a walk in the woods this morning and they're stunning a except for the graveyard. That strange place where they buried dogs?'

'Yes, I know it.'

'It's such a shock when you come across it unexpectedly. One of the staff told me that the old woman who used to live here started it.'

'That's right.'

'They say she was a recluse and had nothing to do with anyone except her dogs. All I could think about was her up there alone, digging those graves.' She shuddered. 'What would drive you to that, I wonder?'

The second cup was delivered, this time by a different waitress, and Bella thanked her. 'I dare say she had her reasons,' she said, pouring her own tea. The legends that had grown up around the house were well known to her and, when told in a particular way, could easily have been borrowed from the strangest of fairy tales; sometimes, though, the idea of shutting yourself off from the outside world seemed to Bella to be remarkably sane, and she saw nothing intrinsically odd in preferring the company of dogs and creating a cemetery in their honour at the heart of your land. 'Is this your first visit here?' she asked, changing the subject.

'Yes. I didn't even know where it was when I got the invitation.'

'You mean the summons,' Bella said dryly, and Astrid smiled.

'I suppose it was more like that. It's not the sort of offer you turn down, is it?'

'That depends. At your age, with so much ahead of you, probably not. It's different for me. Those days of jostling for position are over, thank G.o.d, and being old has its compensations. Not giving a d.a.m.n is one of them. There's something very liberating in having nothing left to prove.'

Astrid looked at her curiously. 'You're still here, though. You didn't turn the invitation down.'

Bella smiled. 'Oh, I have my own reasons for being in Portmeirion this weekend and they have nothing to do with Hitch, as much as I enjoy working with him. I suppose you could say I invited myself.'

'And I'm sure you can have your pick of scripts. Mr Hitchc.o.c.k would be lucky to have you.'

There was no calculation behind the remark, and Bella a who had reached a stage in her career when very few people were brave or generous enough to pay her a genuine compliment a was touched. 'Tell me, Miss Lake a what do you hope to get out of being here?'

'The chance to learn something,' she said, without having to consider the question. 'Obviously, I'd love to land a part in a Hitchc.o.c.k film a he's the greatest director we have, and I know what that would mean for my career. But just to be around him and the people he works with, even for a couple of days a that's a fabulous opportunity.' Bella nodded approvingly. 'It's an odd sort of audition, though. To be honest, I'm not really sure why any of us are here.'

'There's no such thing as a straightforward audition where Hitch is concerned. He'll reveal his plan when he's ready. The people who get on best with him are those who can cope with that.'

'So what advice would you give me?'

'Be yourself. He'll either like you or he won't, but there's no point in trying to be what he likes.' She would have told Astrid to hang on to that una.s.suming quality for as long as possible, but it would disappear the moment she became conscious of it. Innocence was one of the few qualities that could never be faked. That was what made it so precious. 'There's something real about you, something very English, and women will like that. Women like any star who reminds them of their daughter a or rather, of the person they'd like their daughter to be a and women buy the tickets. All directors know that.' A young man walked past the window and winked when he saw Astrid. 'Of course, men aren't immune to those charms either,' Bella added with a wry smile. 'Just be careful.'

'Oh, I wouldn't . . . That's Daniel Lascelles. We've worked together a couple of times, and I was so pleased to b.u.mp into him. We both felt a bit out of our depth, but . . .'

'Look, I don't care about your honour,' Bella said, laughing. 'I know what it's like when you're young and you want to get on and everyone's telling you what's good for you and what isn't. Believe me, when I was your age, I sometimes thought I'd have more freedom to do what I wanted if I signed up with her lot.' She pointed over to the coastal path, where a nun was strolling out towards the headland. 'A film set can be worse than a convent a financers, directors, producers, all telling you what to do and what to be, and every single one of them looking out for themselves and their investment.' Astrid smiled wearily, and Bella realised that the pressures of the studios were already beginning to threaten the very qualities that gave her potential in the first place. 'You remind me of myself, a long time ago,' she said, 'and there's nothing wrong with having some fun and making your own mistakes. I'm not saying don't do it a just don't get caught. Apart from anything else, Hitch doesn't approve of fraternisation among his chosen ones, so be discreet about it.' She put her cup down and added more seriouslya 'And whatever you do, stay away from Leyton Turnbull.'

'Oh, I just felt sorry for him. It must be terrible to be his age and to know in your heart that you're not as good as you used to be.'

'He was never good.'

'But he's harmless enough.'

'Don't be fooled. He once raped a girl on set.'

Astrid looked shocked. 'I'm sure that can't be true,' she said. 'Everyone would know about it if it were.'

'Would they?' Bella asked cynically. 'No charges were ever brought, of course. n.o.body wanted a fuss, and we work in an industry where everything can be bought, especially a blind eye. But that didn't help the girl. She tried to kill herself a unsuccessfully, thank G.o.d, but it might have been kinder if she'd managed it. She was destroyed in so many other ways.'

'What happened to her?'

'Her career, her self-respect, her life a they were all ripped out from under her. Not surprisingly, she found that difficult to cope with, so she relied on anything that would help her to forget what had happened: drink, drugs, pills, whichever form of oblivion was closest to hand. Of course, with the way the world works, it was she who acquired the unfortunate reputation, not Turnbull. No one will touch a hysterical actress. It plays havoc with a budget.' Astrid continued to look disbelievinga and Bella addeda 'I don't want to frighten you, Miss Lake, and I certainly don't want to patronise you, but can I say something?' The actress nodded. 'These are dangerous times, and they will only get worse. People can be born with nothing and transformed into G.o.ds overnight a that's the magic and the danger of cinema. Looks are important, talent less so, but ambition is what really counts. Having the taste for it. Marlene Dietrich is rumoured to have signed a deal for eighty thousand pounds for her next picture, so the money alone is incentive enough to lose any capacity to care about other people. But it's about more than money. It's about power. When people start to believe that they really are G.o.ds, nothing can stop them. This might sound like bitterness from a woman nearing the end of her career, Miss Lake, but please believe me when I say it's not.'

'It doesn't sound like bitterness,' Astrid said. 'It sounds like disappointment.' Bella looked at her in surprise. 'I'm sorry if I'm speaking out of turn, but it sounds like advice from a woman who's been let down by someone she loves.'

The comment was so perceptive that it disarmed Bella completely, and she stood up to go. 'I think you'll be more than a match for Hitch, Miss Lake,' she said admiringly. 'In fact, I almost feel sorry for him.'

5.

Marta pulled the car over to the side of the road. After views that alternated between a landscape disfigured by mining and small towns packed with dark-walled chapels and tired-looking houses, it was a relief to be out on the moors. 'What are you doing?' Lydia asked impatiently. 'We should get on if we're going to have time to settle in before dinner.'

'We're already late, thanks to that Stratford crowd, so another ten minutes won't matter.' Marta reached across her to rummage in the glove compartment. 'I need a cigarette.'

Lydia sighed. 'That Stratford crowd is my best chance of work for the autumn. Did you have to be so rude to everybody?' She took a magazine from the back seat and began to fan herself, but there was no refuge in the open-top car from the late July sun. 'In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly flooded with offersa and your Greta Garbo act doesn't help.'

'Fine. Next time, leave me at home.' Marta got out and slammed the door, ignoring Lydia's glare. The hot metal burnt her skin as she leant against the car, but, as hard as she tried to blame her mood on the heat of the day or Lydia's endless socialising, she was really only angry with herself: she had spent weeks longing to see Josephine; now the moment had come, she was so nervous that all she wanted to do was run in the opposite direction.

'Can I have one of those?' Lydia's tone was placatory, and Marta knew that she was biting her tongue, wanting to avoid a full-blown row just before they entered company. 'I'm sorry, darling, but you know how important it is to stay on the right side of people. I can't live off thin air.'

'I've got money. We don't have to spend our lives running round with people we don't like.'

'That's not the point. I need to work, Marta.' She threw the cigarette onto the ground, barely touched. 'Anyway, things might look up after this weekend. Let's just enjoy it.'

The sun emerged from behind a rare cloud, and Marta watched as the stain of light spread across the hills, transforming each shade of green into a sharper, more intense version of itself. There was no point in saying anything more: it was an argument they had had many times before and would no doubt have again, part of the settling of two lives into one, so she finished her cigarette in silence and got back into the car.

They drove for another hour before joining the main road. 'I'm not sure we were right to book into a village room rather than the hotel,' Lydia said. 'We don't want to miss anything. Where are the Hitchc.o.c.ks staying?'

'I've absolutely no idea. Look, this is Minffordd a isn't that where we turn off?'

'Yes. Left at the post office.' Marta did as instructed and followed a discreet sign onto a private woodland drive. 'We can find out when we check in,' Lydia continued. 'It's not too late to change rooms.'

'I hope you're not relying on this weekend to solve all your problems,' Marta said, exasperated. 'I've got no influence with the Hitchc.o.c.ks.'

'You seem to know a lot about them.'

'It's just gossip, Lydia. They enjoy the notoriety but they keep their privacy intact. No one gets through. And we could all learn a lesson from that,' she muttered, wishing she had the will power to bring a halt to the bickering.

Lydia didn't hear the final comment, or simply chose to ignore it. 'Josephine seems to have managed it,' she said peevishly. 'You obviously know Alma Reville well enough to give her a reading list.'

'That was just lucky,' Marta insisted, aware of how defensive she must sound. 'If Alma hadn't liked the book a or at least seen some potential in it a the fact that I gave it to her wouldn't have made any difference.'

'I know that,' Lydia said, as if she were dealing with an obstinate child. 'All I'm asking you to do is introduce me. I'll do the rest. Then perhaps some of that famous Highland luck might come our way for a change.' She looked impatiently at Marta. 'Can you manage that?'

Marta nodded, happy to promise anything for a quiet life. The trees cleared for a moment, long enough to reveal an extraordinary castellated building, striking rather than attractive; apart from a heavy covering of ivy, there was something playfully bogus about its Gothic facade. 'What the h.e.l.l's that?' Marta asked. 'It looks like a lunatic asylum.'

'It was once, I think. Now it's a hotel.'

'Or something Bertha Mason's about to burn down. Please tell me that's not where you want us to stay.'

Lydia laughed. 'Of course not. The main hotel's by the estuary and it's beautiful.'

'Thank G.o.d, but I still think it would be nice to be able to get away from everything.'

'You make it sound like such an ordeal. What is there in a friend's birthday party to get away from?'

It was a rhetorical question but Marta could have responded with a list. 'I just thought it would be nice to spend some time together,' she said weakly, drawing to a halt by the gate which protected the private peninsula from the outside world.

'That's sweet, but we'll have plenty of time for that at home.' Lydia jumped out of the car to give their names to the man on duty, and Marta stretched in her seat, consciously avoiding the rear-view mirror; she didn't need to look at herself to know that her clothes were sticking to her and her face was red from the sun, and she hoped to G.o.d that they could get to their room without b.u.mping into anybody. Lydia climbed back in and the man waved them through. 'We've got to check in at the hotel,' she said, 'so we might as well see if they're full. But we can leave the car in one of the garages on the way down.'

The approach to Portmeirion had given Marta no hint of what lay ahead in the village itself; after such dense woodland, she was shocked to emerge into an open s.p.a.ce, full of light and colour. Everywhere she looked she found something magical: balconies, arches, terraces, statues and steps, all cl.u.s.tered together in unexpected combinations which both disoriented and delighted her. 'I knew you'd love it,' Lydia said. 'Isn't it romantic? When Josephine and I first came here, we couldn't believe what we were seeing.' Marta bit her tongue at the reminder of Lydia's long-standing friendship with Josephine and followed the single unfenced road which curved down around the central piazza. 'We're supposed to be staying in Neptune,' Lydia added. 'It's on the other side of the square.'

As the road descended, the Piazza disappeared from view behind a high stone wall which seemed to be left over from a kitchen garden. On their right, an old stable block had been colourfully converted into a shop and cafe. They watched for a few moments as an attractive, dark-haired woman worked on a mural above the arched windows overlooking the courtyard, then drove on to find their accommodation.

Neptune a lots of the buildings had a vaguely nautical name, Marta noticed a was a pretty yellow and white house whose leaded windows and uneven slate roof gave it an exaggerated feeling of age. Situated on the edge of the Piazza, it had good views over the heart of the village and, to the rear, of the wild, overgrown woodland which lay on the other side of the road. The ground floor was given over to garages, and Marta's temper was not improved by the three attempts it took her to squeeze the Morris into the narrow s.p.a.ce allocated to them. 'The hotel's just down here,' Lydia said, snapping her compact shut and putting her lipstick away. 'Let's go and find everyone.'

Marta caught her arm. 'Why are we always surrounded by people?'

'We're not. But this is a party, and they do tend to involve groups of people.'

'I'm not just talking about now. It's always the same, even at the cottage: we plan a quiet weekend and you turn up with half the cast.'

Lydia shook her off. 'I'm not the one who laid down the rules on our relationship, Marta,' she said angrily. 'Surely I don't need to remind you of that? Anyway, what's wrong with having friends? I would have thought you'd had enough of isolation after your little spell at His Majesty's pleasure.'

Marta could see by the look of horror on Lydia's face that the remark was regretted as soon as it came out, but she didn't wait for the apology. 'I'm staying here,' she said, hauling a suitcase out of the car. 'You do as you like.'

6.

Alma Reville sat under the loggia roof outside the Watch House, shading her eyes against the glare of sun on white stone and absent-mindedly stroking the dog on her lap. Caught on the cliff between the village and the sea, the building was part of a small enclave cl.u.s.tered around the ornamental Bell Tower and the houses nearby were occupied by Hitch's guests a actors he was interested in trying out, or trusted colleagues, carefully chosen because of their loyalty or technical skill and vital to the success of every film. The cottage, though small and simply furnished, more than lived up to its name: in front of her, glistening and mirage-like in the heat of the day, the Dwyryd Estuary stretched out to the sea; and below to her right, an uninterrupted view of the hotel and terraces had entertained her since lunchtime with a steady stream of new arrivals.

She heard her husband walk up behind her and waited for the familiar touch of his hand on her shoulder. 'David chose well,' he said, smiling as he took in the view. 'We can keep an eye on everything a from a distance.'