Sometimes journalists tried to lull their interview subjects into a false sense of security. They softened them up with compliments, then wrote an all-out bitchy piece.

'Your husband has to be very proud of you,' the journalist continued, tapping his stubby fingers on the table.

'He is,' she replied, thinking of Linc passed out on their bed still reeking of liquor. Was he proud? Probably. In his own way.

'Linc Blackwood is a much more accomplished actor than everyone thinks. It's a shame the public don't get to see how good he is.'

'I agree,' she said, happy to talk about Linc. 'My husband is definitely underrated.'

'Surely it upsets him, not getting the recognition he deserves?'

'Not really,' she answered carefully, aware how her words could be twisted and turned.

'I read that he's considering tackling a romantic comedy.'

'Yes,' she said, wondering where this interview was headed. 'Linc would be wonderful in that kind of role. It's not exactly general knowledge, but he has an excellent sense of humour.'

'I bet he didn't find your nude scene too funny.'

There it was. The zinger. Up went her guard. 'Excuse me?' she said, a touch frostily.

'Well, you know,' the journalist said, leaning closer, 'a man watching his wife with everything on show up there on the big screen. It can't have been easy for either of you.'

She glanced around for her publicist, who appeared to have vanished. Damn! This man was not to be trusted, she sensed it.

'We're both actors,' she said, endeavouring to remain calm. 'Linc understands that it's my job.'

'And his, of course.' A beat, then - 'How do you feel about him doing steamy love scenes with beautiful younger women?'

'Perfectly fine,' she replied, trying not to grit her teeth. And what was that crack about younger women? She was only thirty-two, for God's sake. 'As I said before,' she added graciously, 'we're both professionals.'

'You certainly are.'

How she loathed the process of giving interviews. Unfortunately it was a necessary part of her job.

Smile firmly in place, she continued to be as charming as humanly possible. The pen was a dangerous and slippery weapon.

The first thing Cat did when she awoke was try to reach Jump on the phone. It seemed there was never any answer from his hotel room. She dressed, finished packing and immediately went to see the captain. The sooner she was off this boat, the better.

'I'll be leaving today,' she said briskly. 'Please arrange to have the tender take me to shore as soon as possible.'

'Mr Zandack didn't say anything about this,' the captain said, frowning.

'Mr Zandack has no say in when I come and go,' she replied, sounding a lot calmer than she felt.

The captain nodded unsurely, and Cat made her way on to the deck where breakfast was laid out.

It was a glorious day. The sea was calm and smooth, like Venetian glass, and the sky a perfect blue. She poured herself a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and sat down at the table.

A few minutes later Jonas appeared, his hair kind of rumpled as if he'd recently fallen out of bed. She decided that he looked much better when he wasn't so groomed.

'The captain tells me you want to leave,' Jonas said, coming right to the point.

'Correct,' she replied.

'Why?' he demanded, staring at her.

'Because I want to,' she said, sipping her juice and returning his gaze, daring him to argue. 'Is that okay with you?'

'Does Mr Zandack know?'

'What is this obsession with Mr Zandack?' she said irritably. 'I keep on telling you, I'm a free person. Don't you get it?'

'You can't leave without his knowledge,' Jonas said, circling her.

'I can do what I want.'

'I'll have to wake him and, believe me, he does not appreciate being disturbed this early in the morning.'

'Tough, huh?' she said sarcastically.

'Maybe you can tell me exactly what happened?' he said, ignoring her sarcasm as he sat down next to her.

'What makes you think anything happened?' she said defensively. Ha! Like he doesn't know what his boss is all about.

'Something must've happened to make you want to leave so abruptly.'

Absently she picked up a piece of watermelon and popped it into her mouth. 'Come on, Jonas. You know exactly what his trip is.'

'No, I don't. How about filling me in?'

A long, meaningful pause. 'Your boss is a major pervert,' she finally blurted.

'Is that what you're waiting to hear?'

There was a short silence, during which Jonas remained stony-faced. 'I'll have to wake him before I can authorize your departure,' he said at last.

She was fed up with his attitude, not to mention disgusted with Merrill. Screw her movie, she wanted out. The old man was a pervert, and she was not about to put up with his crap.

'If you don't let me get the hell off this fucking boat,' she said, green eyes blazing, 'I'm sure you realize that keeping me here against my will could be construed as kidnapping. And you'd be an accessory.'

'Then I guess you'd better consider yourself kidnapped,' Jonas said. And he got up and walked inside.

Linc Blackwood awoke with a major hangover. 'Jesus!' he groaned, rolling off the bed. 'I gotta stop doin' this to myself.'

He staggered into the bathroom where he peered at his reflection in the mirror.

He did not like what he saw: bags under his eyes, blotchy skin and thick eyebrows screaming out for the talented attention of Anastasia - the best little plucker and waxer in Beverly Hills. 'Crap,' he muttered, stripping off his crumpled clothes. Then he yelled his wife's name. 'Shelby? Shelby, where are you, sweetie?'

He didn't expect her to answer; he knew that she had a shitload of interviews to get through, so it was highly likely that she'd left early.

He glanced at his watch, noting that it was half past twelve. His mouth felt like a birdcage that hadn't been cleaned in a week, and his head throbbed as if a jackhammer was busy doing double duty. Reaching for a bottle of mouthwash he tried recalling the events of the previous evening. He could just about remember seeing Shelby's movie, hitting the after party, and that was it, although he did recall that watching his wife on the screen had been a most uncomfortable experience. He'd seen a rough cut of Rapture earlier, and it hadn't bothered him that much when she'd taken off her clothes for the extremely graphic sex scene.

But sitting in an audience filled with his peers, he was incredibly pissed. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, sharing his naked wife with the world.

Oh, yeah, he knew he was probably being unreasonable, Shelby was an actress and it was part of her job. But he still couldn't help feeling disturbed. Shit!

Maybe it was time he gave her the baby she was always carrying on about. Knock her up. Keep her off the screen. Show the world she was his and only his.

A baby. That was a big responsibility. Children always got in the way. However, if it was what she really wanted, then he should do it for her.

He loved his wife - she had so many amazing qualities apart from being talented and beautiful. The quality he appreciated most of all was the way she watched his back at all times, refusing to let him get out of control. Before they'd married, he'd spent endless nights out with the guys, nights where he'd get piss-faced and end up with a stripper or a semi-hooker in a hotel room, thoroughly regretting it the next morning. He'd always been petrified of commitment: women were there for the taking. He was a movie star for Crissakes, he could have his pick, so why make it more than a one-or two-night stand?

Then along came Shelby, and her inner strength and kindness completely changed his world. With Shelby by his side he felt safe and protected. She wouldn't allow him to get into trouble, she loved him too much. And he loved her, although sometimes he needed to let loose, and booze always helped.

Today she'd be mad at him, he knew it. He'd ruined her special evening, and he couldn't blame her for being angry. Had to do something about that.

He wandered back into the bedroom, picked up the phone and spoke to the concierge. 'Call Chopard and arrange to have some pieces sent up to my suite.

Diamond bracelets, earrings - something expensive.'

'Certainly, Mr Blackwood,' said the concierge obligingly. 'I will speak to the manager at Chopard, and they will send you a magnificent selection.'

'Make it soon.'

'Yes, Mr Blackwood.'

'Morning,' Matt said, stroking Lola's smooth-as-satin back, hoping she was in a responsive mood.

Lola opened her eyes slowly. For a moment she lay there imagining she was in bed with Tony Alvarez, until she realized that if it was Tony, she would be awakened with far more than just a stroke. Tony was an extremely virile Latino man, a very powerful and skilled lover. Matt was just the opposite. He was a white-bread puppet with no raging passion, a one-minute man with a distinct lack of technique, although she had to admit that he did have a big cock. It was his one major asset.

Unfortunately there were times when size simply wasn't enough. Lately she was beginning to realize exactly how much she missed Tony, especially his presence in her bed.

Matt began making another move. She hurriedly rolled away from his eager hands.

'What's the matter?' he asked, sounding hurt.

She was tempted to say, 'You.' Only this was not the time or the place to tell him it was over. Besides, she planned on having her lawyer do the dirty deed.

She'd been thinking about it a lot, and divorcing Matt was definitely the right move. He was a big boy, he'd soon get over her. And to sweeten his departure she was prepared to pay him a healthy sum of money to walk away quietly, as long as he agreed not to sell his story to the tabloids.

God! How she hated the tabloids. They were always making up scummy stories about her - calling her a demanding diva and all kinds of other things. She often threatened to sue. Her lawyers always talked her out of it, assuring her that getting involved in a lawsuit was more trouble than it was worth.

'My hair and makeup people will be here any minute,' she said, stretching languidly. 'I'm lunching with Merrill at the Hotel du Cap.'

'We are?' Matt said, perking up.

'No. I am,' she corrected.

'What about me?'

'You'll find something to do,' she said, sitting up and stretching again. 'Do me a favour, Matt. Call room service and order orange juice, croissants and coffee for six. Faye will be here soon, so you'd better get dressed.'

Matt was not giving up easily. He had a major hard-on and a gorgeous wife. What was wrong with a quickie? He started with the stroking again.

'Matt!' she scolded sharply. 'Aren't you listening to me? There's no time.'

'Yes, there is,' he said sulkily, thinking how much she'd changed from the warm, loving woman he'd married only months ago.

'No, Matt, there's not,' she replied.

Lola Sanchez was a busy woman. Even though she did not have a movie showing at the Festival, she was very much in demand. There was nothing like being a hot commodity with everyone wanting a piece of her. She loved all the attention - it suited her just fine.

How different from her first visit to the famous Cannes Film Festival. How very different.

Flash Back Five Years 'You gotta change your name, kiddo,' Lou Steiner said, slurping down a cappuccino.

'Why?' Lucia Sanchez demanded, her big brown eyes scanning the crowded Croisette, secretly thrilled that she'd been transported to such a magical place.

'Too ethnic.'

Oh, man! If she only had a dollar for every time she'd heard those words. 'I'm not changing anything,' she said stubbornly.

'Who's the boss here?' Lou said rudely. 'I say change -you change.'

Who did he think he was? She wasn't his girlfriend. Her roommate, Cindi Hernandez, was. Cindi, now known as Cindi Heart - thanks to Lou's name-change fetish - had been sleeping with Lou for several months.

They'd met him at the same time. He used to come into the diner where they worked as waitresses. Every day he arrived promptly at eight for his breakfast, a skinny man with pale yellow hair carefully arranged across his scalp in a cross-over style designed to hide the fact that he was rapidly going bald. Lou favoured tight suits, striped shirts and featured a large diamond ring on his pinkie. He soon informed them he was a personal manager and dropped many famous names, including Pamela Anderson and Carmen Electra, both of whom he claimed he'd discovered.

Lucia didn't believe him: she thought he was a boastful creep. Cindi was convinced he had career advancement potential, especially when she found out he drove a Rolls-Royce - even though it was twelve years old.

Now the three of them were at the Cannes Film Festival, thanks to Lou and a deal he'd made with a cheapo hotel and American Airlines.

Before leaving the States he'd taken them to Frederick's of Hollywood and bought them a series of sexy and revealing outfits. Then he'd asked them both to sign ten-year contracts giving him exclusive management rights and twenty-five per cent of any future earnings. Lucia flatly refused. Cindi went for it. He took Lucia to Europe with them anyway, because two girls were better than one, and Lou wanted to put himself back on the map. His plan was to parade Cindi and Lucia along the beach where all the photographers gathered. When he gave them the signal, the girls would begin posing, attracting plenty of attention.

'How will that help our careers?' Lucia had asked.

'It'll get you noticed,' Lou shot back. 'From there you'll leave it to me. It'll be an all-win situation.'

Lucia was uncomfortable with the whole deal, but since she'd never been to Europe, Lou's invitation was too tempting to turn down.

At least you don't have to sleep with him,' Cindi had grumbled. 'I'm doing it for both of us.'

'How can you ?' Lucia had asked. 'He must be at least - I dunno - fifty?'

'Yes, but he certainly knows how to treat a girl,' Cindi had confided. 'And he discovered Pamela Anderson.'

'So he says.'