But to be alone was what she needed in case the screams rising within her broke out. When he reached for her she flailed madly to fend him off, and the next moment she heard a loud crack as her hand made contact with his face.

The sound was shocking and the way he rubbed his cheek told its own story. Charlene backed away, hands over her mouth, eyes wide with horror. But, incredibly, he wasn’t offended.

‘Hey, it’s not that bad,’ Travis said. ‘No big deal.’

‘It is. Oh, heavens, I hit you really hard. I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry-’

‘You will be if you don’t let me buy you a coffee. Come on, no more arguments or I’ll get tough.’

His tone was light but he held her arm in a no-nonsense grip. Nor could she have defied him now. All the strength seemed to have drained out of her. The next thing she knew, she was sitting at a table in the corner of the studio canteen.

‘I’m going to the counter,’ he said. ‘Don’t even think of escaping while I’m gone, or I’ll get mad.’ He gave her a kindly smile. ‘I can be very nasty when I’m mad.’

He left her and she sat there, without the strength to move. She felt herself sagging everywhere-body, mind and heart. How had she been such a fool as to let it come to this? Plain, sensible Charlene, famed for her common sense! And she’d gone down like a row of ninepins.

Travis Falcon. Now she recalled that he was the star of the show. He didn’t act like a star, proud and pompous. He hadn’t been offended when she’d failed to recognise him, or even when she’d accidentally struck him. More like a nice guy than a star.

She dived into her bag and pulled out the newspaper with the picture of the man in the nightclub. As she opened it another picture fell out. It had been taken on a stage and showed a young man and a girl in nineteenth-century costumes, fervently clinging to each other. She took it with her everywhere.