After a moment he came in. 'I can't thank you enough for this afternoon,' he said. 'Phoebe's clothes-mad, like all girls of her age, and this has been a great treat for her.'

She smiled and thanked him, but something told her that Daniel had misread his daughter. There was nothing immature in Phoebe's sense of style, and the delicate beauty of her face was given character by firm chin. Lee wondered if Daniel Raife might yet have a shock waiting for him in the not too distant future.

'You'll have to tell me what kind of portrait you want,' she said.

'Just show me as I really am.'

'But how are you? How do you see yourself? That's what people really mean when they say "as I am". I'll be honest, Mr Raife-'

'Don't you think we've advanced to the first-name stage by now?' he asked. 'After all the other names we've called each other?'

She laughed. 'All right-Daniel. I'm not happy with this assignment. I've seen the current picture on your covers and I couldn't do anything like it.'

'Thank heavens!' he said fervently. 'I loathe that monstrosity. It's touched up till I look like some damned matinee idol. People expect me to look like that and when they see me they say, "My God, hasn't he aged?'' I want you to make me look middle-aged, and if possible a little bit raddled. Then, when people see me, they'll say, "By Jove, he's worn well!"'

Lee stood back and regarded this madman who'd erupted into her studio like the breath of life. She took in the lines of his lean, yet muscular frame, the length of his thighs in a pair of well-cut trousers, the breadth of his shoulders. She saw the healthy look of his brown skin, the laughter lines of his face, the gleaming dark eyes with a hint of the devil in their depths, the aura of controlled yet powerful masculinity that made her office seem suddenly more cramped than usual.