That evening Cameron took his wife and her parents out to dinner in one of Sydney's most prestigious restaurants as a way of making up for his embarrassing display the night before. He was charming, witty, sparkling company and the evening was a great success. As they sat at a private window bay overlooking the harbour, the glorious view spread out before them, the family relaxed and chatted. Rosie was elated and vivacious, her face bright and radiant, her eyes rarely leaving her husband. From time to time he dropped his hand across hers as it rested on the table and they shared a smile. Rosie's parents did not miss the signals; their daughter's marriage had survived some kind of threat but the two of them had clearly worked through it and were back, as besotted with each other as ever.

The restaurant was used to celebrities and most of the diners were unimpressed by the stellar patron in their midst. For once there was little attention paid to them, other than the arrival when they disembarked from the transport and made their way along the busy harbour walk. Cameron and Rosie had walked hand in hand behind Rosie's parents, unaccompanied by bodyguards for once, at Rosie's request. The minders were present but at a distance and able to be summoned by cell phone if necessary. Bystanders stopped and gaped as the couple passed. Rosie and Cameron paid little attention to it but it was a lesson to her parents as to how hard it was for them to conduct a normal life - and how impressively they had raised their children and lived their lives in the light of all that.

But now in the restaurant for a while they could enjoy public life without the goldfish bowl attention that was generally attracted. It was also hard not to enjoy the other benefits of celebrity: the best table, the most assiduous service, no need to wonder at the cost of anything or think oneself a nuisance if one ordered a dish not on the menu. There was no doubt a certain attraction about that, and perhaps they indulged in the luxury more than they ought, partly because it was a form of revenge for the restrictions that their life placed upon them, partly because they had slowly come to expect it: the insidious lure of fame.

"When are you off back to the States?" Ewan asked over coffee. 

Cameron rubbed his chin. "Friday. For another month or so. Gonna be hard to crank myself up again now," he observed.

Rosie went a little quiet; he noticed that. He wasn't much looking forward to it either on a number of levels but it was something that was unavoidable. Maybe he ought to pull all the kids out of school, get a tutor and they could all decamp over there for a month or two? It was unlikely Rosie would be happy with that; she was already concerned that they had missed too much time this term.

Changing the subject, he asked what they wanted to do while they were there. Trip up north to the Reef? Get out of the winter weather? Ewan and Mary shook their heads. "We just want to be with the kiddies. Maybe we can take a weekend away with them somewhere but we're happy just to hang around and fit in with everyone else," Mary observed.

Cameron had an idea but he held onto it. He'd have to work this one in subtly knowing Rosie's current frame of mind.

"What's going to happen about George?" Ewan asked. "Is he a permanent fixture now or what?" They knew a lot more of the circumstances of George's relationship with the family now but were still bemused by Cameron's penchant for picking up lost strays.

"Got a proposition for him," Cameron said obliquely. "Tell you about it if it works." It was clear he wasn't divulging anything more than that.

They sat back with cigars and brandy and the conversation carried on with Cameron entertaining them to a lively account of his last film set where he had enjoyed a notoriously stormy encounter with a director who was as stubborn and unbending as he was. No doubt the same director had equally scandalous tales to tell about Cameron's unreasonable outbursts and how difficult he had been to work with - but it was unlikely the stories would have been told with quite the same effect, lacking Cameron's uncanny mimicry, his unerring eye for detail and his shamelessly cruel wit. There were several outbursts of near hysterical laughter from their table, which only made him worse. It seemed Cameron Steele was back to form.

"I've got an appointment at eleven with Mr. Conte," Mark Challender addressed the spunky little blonde on the reception of Conte Associates, a well- known theatrical agency in Sydney. He had received an unsolicited call from them; they had a part they wanted him to read for. Little other information had been forthcoming, but you don't turn your nose up at a call from Conte himself.

"Mr Conte sends his apologies, I'm afraid, Mr Challender," the little blonde replied, openly eyeing up the stud at the other side of the desk. "But he has asked the director to see you. I'll just let him know you're here..."

Mark sat down and waited, a little pissed at the turn of events. It was interesting to get to meet the director this early in negotiations but he would rather have had a chance at Conte himself. If this part didn't fall his way at least he would have had the opportunity to sell himself for others.

"This way, sir..." The girl re-emerged and he followed her down the corridor to a large office at the end. She was a bit of all right this girl and he mentally made a note to have a word with her on the way out, maybe even call her with some query later. He felt in need of a bit of action to ease his recent melancholy.

She knocked and stepped in. "Mr Challender..." Mark walked through. There was a man sitting in a high-backed leather chair across the large room; he was looking out at the window behind. At the voice, he swivelled round in his seat and made the impression he must have been aiming for. It was Cameron Steele.

"Well, what a surprise...! How nice to see you again," Steele said in a sarcastic manner. "...Now, close your mouth and take a seat. What happened to your hand? Got it trapped in some place it shouldn't have been?" He waved over in the direction of Challender's bandaged right hand.

"Broken glass," Mark muttered.

"Shame," Cameron smirked.

Doing a good job of hiding his shock, Mark sat down on the seat facing the desk and waited. He hadn't a clue what was coming next, but no doubt Steele had set him up and was going to tell him that he was blacklisted or something. The most important thing was not to let him see he gets to you, Mark thought. I won't give him that satisfaction, the bastard.

Cameron tossed over a script. "My next project. Think you might fancy one of the young leads. Take it home and have a good look at it. Tomorrow at nine I want you to read. Scene 12. Billy. Don't mess up, kid. This is your big break."

This time Mark forgot to hide his surprise. "What? You're offering me a part in your movie? What's the catch? I read for it and then you tell me I'm not good enough? Can't you get your kicks some other way?" He stood up as if to leave, throwing the script back onto the large desk before him.

Cameron put his hand up. "Stop and think. Don't have a tantrum. You're not a diva yet, son. Sit down and listen."

Mark hesitated, wanting to make the flamboyant gesture but his curiosity and his ambition getting the better of him. He sat back down but kept a wary look on his face. He didn't trust Steele one bit.

"War film. We make it up north, but it's set in the Pacific. Famous incident from World War II. My first tour as a director on a major film. I'm also playing one of the leads - a sadistic officer. Billy is a young soldier who is something of a witness to the main event and the breakdown in discipline caused by the unpopular bastard in charge...you can read, can't you? So go home and read it. I'll see you tomorrow and we'll find out if you can deliver the goods. But I'll tell you this. You impress me that you can swing this part, then it's yours. You fuck up and it isn't. Simple as."

Mark frowned. "You trying to tell me that right out of the blue you suddenly get this idea to give me the chance of a lifetime? After what I did? I might be young but I wasn't born yesterday. Go stick your fucking script..."

"Unwise, sunshine. Use your head. This could be it. You gonna let personal feelings stand in the way of your career? Let me tell you something. I'm a mean son of a bitch. I can't stand the fucking sight of you. But I'm also a realist - and a very good judge of the zeitgeist, mate. You are on the brink and it is getting closer and closer. I want a piece of your action. This film is a big step for me. There are a lot of people waiting for me to fall on my fucking arse. Nothing is going to stop me getting the best team together..."

"So I'm the only young actor in Oz capable of this? Fuck off!" Mark retorted. "I can smell the set up a mile off. You think you can con me by playing to my ego? Fuck you!"

Cameron smiled. "Your choice. I want you to read and I intend to give my unbiased opinion on you as an actor and a screen presence. Doesn't matter what I think of you as a man. But I know this for sure. My wife is a very good judge of people. I listen to her instincts. I am also a fair reader of them, too, and my radar says you're pretty enough, hungry enough, photogenic enough and just might have the petulant bravado that this part needs. If you walk now, you'll regret it. This film will be big and international. Can you afford not to take a chance on my integrity?"

Mark thought about his words. "You're still going to shaft me though, aren't you? If I read for it, don't think I'm fooled by you."

"Works both ways. If I sign you on, I won't be fooled by you either, mate. But I'll tell you this. I'll fucking use you, if it suits me. If you use me, then that's your call. I have this philosophy about little pricks like you. 'Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.' Know that one? On a film set, a little tension works well, you know? Dynamics. I'm all for it. Imagine working with each other every day for five months on a closed set? We'll fucking kill each other. That will come out on screen. Jesus...you might even get nominated for an award. The 'More Surly than Steele' gong. Take a chance, why don't you?"

The younger man rested his joined hands against his mouth and gave the offer some thought. "I don't know if I'm falling for this line but I guess I have to give it a go. Okey dokey. I read for you tomorrow and then you can play your little games. But I'll tell you something as well. My test will be the best fucking one you'll get and you'll know it when you see it. Turn me down but it's still only a matter of time. Can't wait for the first reviews. 'The New Steele?' they'll call me. March of time, mate, ya know?"

Cameron grinned at Challender's balls. "We'll see. Nine sharp. Make sure you know your lines...because I will..."

"You? I'm reading against you?"

"Oh yes - against me...let's see how you hold up against the real scene stealer. Nothing like a challenge, hey?"

Mark stood and picked up the script warily but with scarce concealed desire. Steele might be on the up and up and he could not afford to miss this golden opportunity. He might have to swallow his pride but - what the hell? He might  also just have the last laugh on Steele after all if he did sweep the accolades from under his nose. Now there was a challenge...

"Make sure you know your lines, too, mate. I wouldn't like to throw you off your cue..." And with that he walked out, without a thank you or a further word. Steele lit up and lay back in the leather seat. "Fuck me, if I don't like the little bastard's style," he thought, shaking his head. But then he had caught Rosie's eye...

He picked the children up himself from school that day, walking into the grounds nonchalantly, despite the looks of astonishment from other parents and staff. Rosie was sauntering up to her car, her arms full of exercise books, when he approached. "Hey, Miss...about that after school detention..." he joked. Rosie grinned broadly.

"DADDDDD!" The two of them screamed and bounded over, attracting even more attention. 

"See you at the ranch," Cameron shouted over at her and swung Molly up into his arms as Jake ran after him, babbling about his track session earlier in the day; Jake seemed to think classroom lessons existed merely to fill in the time between different sports' activities.

He stood back while they piled into the SUV, checked they were belted and the child lock was on. Then donning a cap, he jumped behind the wheel and drove off.

"Fancy an ice cream, kids?"

"YEAH!!!" They chortled, so he drove into Double Bay where he took them to a Haagen Dazs café and settled them with enormous sundaes and a coffee for himself. Staff tiptoed around in awed silence, other customers watched spell bound as the famous man sat at a table and fooled around with two of his children. Molly was sitting on his knee and feeding him from her bowl.

"Wait up, Molls...I'm on a low fat diet. You want me to be fat again?"

The two of them giggled at that. Cameron sat her back down on her own chair and wiped his mouth on a tissue.

"Now - bit of attention, if you please. I wanted to ask your advice. Got a bit of a proposition for you..."

"What's a pro- prop-prop...that word, Dad?" Molly asked, her mouth dripping chocolate ice cream.

"You know how I'm going back to the States on Friday...?"

"Awwwwwwww! NO!!" They both shouted. "Do you have to?"

"Yes, I do, I'm afraid. It's my job. But I was wondering if you'd let me borrow Mum for a while...?"

"Borrow Mum?" Jake asked. Molly just looked confused.

"I want her to come with me. I'll get lonely on my own and you three have your Grandma and Granddad...would you let me take Mum away for a bit?"

"Mummy, go away?" Molly asked a little uncertainly.

"Just for a while. And you've got Nanny and Gramps and Grace and..."

"George," Molly added with a flourish.

"Yeah...George, too. You OK with that? You won't shout at me if I steal Mum away for a week or two?"

Jake grinned widely. "That'd be great! You and Mum could have a lot of fun and we could do what we liked. Grandma lets us do anything. And I think Mum would like to spend some time with you, Dad," he gave a little knowing look at his father; Cameron was again amazed at how acute his son's perception actually was, considering the little bugger did his best to act like he was brainless most of the time - particularly at school.

"Right, that's settled then. We'll tell your Mum when we get back. Family decision, majority vote...she has to do what we say, now."

The children laughed and carried on eating messily. Cameron settled back and lit up a cigarette. Jake said "No smoking, Dad!" and pointed at the sign. "Who taught you to read, smart arse?" he answered, flicking the tip with this finger.

Later that evening, Cameron called George into his den and sat him down with a bottle of beer and a pack of cigarettes. "How's it hanging, George?"

George eyed him suspiciously. "None of your fucking business, mate. You after my body or something?"

Cameron snorted. "Hardly. Listen, mate, I want to make you a proposition. Been doing a lot of that today..."

George looked even more suspicious. "You asking me to fuck out of here now. Just say it, mate, No arsing about."

"That's not what this is about, so stop jumping the gun. Now, I know your lifestyle takes some beating and this may come as a big sacrifice to an independent minded bloke such as yourself, but I want to ask you to do me a favour..."

"... Another one? Saving your kid wasn't enough?" he responded tartly. Cameron shook his head and pulled a face.

"Shut up and listen, will ya? Jesus, does no one ever let me finish a single fucking sentence?"

George shrugged for him to go on.

"I want you to hang around a coupla of weeks. Jim's moving out of the apartment above the gym; it's yours if you want it. I know it isn't up to your usual standard but you can distress it anyway you like. I'm off to the States and Rosie's coming with me, so we could need the extra hand with the children while she's gone. If it goes all right then I might be able to offer you a job. Sort of adoptive Granddad. Ya see, I've got no parents. Well, obviously I did have, not being an Immaculate Conception even if I am God - but my Dad fucked off after depositing his load, and my Mum dropped out of sight years ago. Reckon she probably drank herself to death. Who knows? Who fucking cares? But my kids need an Aussie granddad. I mean - would you want your kids to only have Poms in the family?"

"I'm a Pom..."

"Barely...and you're the best available at the moment. So you squat down here, give a hand with the kids, clean yourself up and cut back on the booze to a reasonable level. I don't want you drunk in charge. I also think the groundsmen could do with a bit of a hand about the place and the fresh air and exercise would do you good..."

"You've not mentioned money. I don't work for peanuts, mate. It's an employees' market. You're in my debt..."

"Where the fuck you learn talk like that, you lazy bastard? Yeah, I'm gonna pay you alright, but not with a fist full of dollars. You think I'm mental? You'll be off down the nearest bottle-O in five if I do. You get your salary minus rent, food, maintenance, clothes, a decent but not bottomless supply of booze, your fags and a car at your disposal. Then I deposit the balance into a long-term investment deposit for you. You'll need to give a month's fucking notice and there's a limit to what you can withdraw at any given time. In the meantime, you sort your head out and attend some sort of dependency therapy classes. And watch your fucking language. If my daughters come out with any profanity they heard from you, then you are in the shits. Got that?"

George sniffed and helped himself to another cigarette. "Anything else on the fucking job description? Jesus...you a slave driver, or what? All right, all right, keep your hair on. I'll give it a whirl. But only for the pride of Oz. Just to ensure those kids grow up with a sense of their heritage...and, mate...I appreciate it. Ya know?" Suddenly George turned to look at Cameron and he saw the true reaction, tears in the older man's eyes - and this time they weren't the result of alcohol-induced sentiment. "And, mate, those kids...I wouldn't let any harm come to them, ya know? They're little stars...and while I'm here...you look after that girl of yours. She's a bit highly strung - and she needs fattening up - but she's a good girl and a great Mum. And she's fuckin' loves you, ya bastard, so make sure you know that. Or your Dad will have something to say about it...ya know...you got any Abo blood in ya, mate? Cos, it is possible I once met your Mam..."

Cameron threw his head back and roared with laughter. "How old were you when you started fucking? Ten? Don't answer that. None that I know of but- it's possible and with my life, quite fucking likely. But if you ever so much as mention your theory outside these walls, I will throw you out on your arse."

"You racist? Don't like to think you might be an Abo, hey?"

"No, mate. It's the Pom blood I object to. Enough of that around here already."

They both laughed and Cameron slapped George on the back. "Well, Dad...isn't it time you gave me the birds and the bees chat?"

George looked up. "Should have asked me that a couple of years ago, son. S'been so long I've forgotten how that works now. Mind you, that nanny woman looks like she could do with her pipes cleaning out. Reckon I'm in with a chance?"

"I'm up early in the morning," Cameron observed, as they changed for dinner. Grace had cooked one of her roast lamb specials and they were making an effort for once.

"What's up?" Rosie asked as he zipped up her dress.

"Ah...just a meeting about my next one. Need to get this in before I leave. Any chance you could meet me for lunch?"

Rosie shook her hair. "No. I'm meeting Niq for a shopping trip when I get off work and then we intend to go hit a wine bar and get oiled. Tomorrow's my half day."

"I'll join you. Ring me when you know where you're going. I'd like to see Niq before I leave. Think I owe her an apology."

"Yeah? Don't even tell me. I can imagine."

 "...Mum...can I come down, I'm sick of being in bed?" Emy wandered in, looking much livelier, but still milking the attention.

"Sure...as long as you promise not to honk up over me!" Rosie asked and Emilia laughed. "OK, come on, let's get you showered and we'll dress you up. Cam...go and drag Jake from in front of the TV and get him cleaned up. He's a lazy tyke..."

It was a fine meal and a large company - the family plus the grandparents, George and Grace. Rosie insisted she should sit down with them. "Maybe we should take a step back, hey? Grace - I made a mistake and I paid for it. Now Cameron has coped with it and I guess you have, too. We go back a long ways and I don't want this tension between us. The kids love you and... well, so do I. Truce, hey?"

The older woman smiled. "That's all I want, Rosie. And I owe you an apology. I don't want you to think that it was just about my salary cheque. I didn't know what else to do and I thought you were wrong. I thought he would make you see sense. But Rosie...I want you and Cameron to be together. That's how it should be. I just wanted you to realise what you had..."

Rosie patted her arm. "I know. And I do. Please, let's just forget it now and move on. Frankly, I'm just sick of thinking of it all. I just want everything to be as it was..."

All resolved? It appeared so until Cameron called the party to order and stood up in one of his declamatory moods. Raising a toast to all present, he made a rather sentimental speech about family and friends and what counts in life until even the children were saying: "OK, Dad...that's enough!! But, despite his hamming it up mightily, it was evident that much of what he had said was what he felt and everyone there was on message.

"Nearly there, kids...finally, as you know, I'm off to the States on Friday. That means another month of freedom from you lot," he looked wickedly at the three little ones who giggled riotously at him. "Now this is for Rosie, so if the rest of you feel the need to chuck, use a plate. I don't want to go without you, love. I want you to come with me. At least for a couple of weeks..."

"But..." Rosie interrupted. He held up his hands.

"Let me finish. I've had a few words with my team. Your Mum and Dad say they would love to hold the fort. Grace is all for it. George is bringing up the rear. I called Sr. Alphonse, or whatever her name is at school, and told her that this job lark wasn't working and you were finding too many public commitments interfering with your ability to hold the position. I asked her to let you go on Friday with the following incentives: that I would waive this months' salary in lieu of finding a replacement at short notice, that you would like to be on her books for temporary work when you're free, that I would agree to be the guest of honour at Prize-giving, that I would open the school Fair - and do a one day workshop next term with the VIth Form Drama Group. Oh, and I would pay for the refurbishment of the school theatre. She went for it. So, as of Friday, you're unemployed, love."

"You did what?" Rosie gasped.

"Well you asked me to sort it - so I did. You can still teach but you know you can't keep to a regular schedule - never gonna work. Not if I keep getting in fights and Jake keeps doing his disappearing act, hey, mate?" Jake nodded vigorously.

"But...Emy's sick and the others might go down with it and..."

"I'm better now, Mum!" Emy piped up.

"I've asked the permission of Jake, Ems and Moll and they all say yes. They reckon they'll get spoiled rotten anyway when we're away and, of course, lots of pressies when we come back..."

"You mercenary lot!" Rosie laughed. "Well, fait accompli, eh? That means - I've no way out, have I?" The children shook their heads. "So, I guess I have to say yes. I'll come with you. This time!" She warned but danced round the table to where he was standing and he swung her round in his arms. George and Jake whistled and stamped their feet.

"But..." Rosie insisted as he put her down again. "Next time - ask me... not everyone else. I would have said yes anyway!" She laughed and Cameron groaned. One of these days he would get her right. Not too soon, though, he hoped.

The management of the wine bar willingly stowed the excessive number of bags and boxes that Niqui Hanson and Rosie Steele had amassed on their shopping trip, while the two women were settled in a private booth with a bottle of chilled Verdelho. Rosie called Cameron and he said he would be over soon when he had finished the screen test he was still looking at.

"We've not got long then until he arrives so quick...what happened?" Niq observed, lighting up and settling back for a good gossip.

Rosie got her up to speed as she chuckled to herself at Cameron's unique way of dealing with his problems. Only one thing surprised her. "He admitted to an affair with Ellie Barker? He said he'd been sleeping with her all this time? I don't believe it. I just don't believe it! I would never have thought it of him..."

Rosie smiled. "He was lying, of course. I was upset that night and didn't think about it, but afterwards I realised that all the signs were there. He turned his back on me and wouldn't meet my eyes. That's not him. When he tells you something, he gives it to you straight. Except when he tries to lie. He might be a great actor but that's because when he acts he's telling the truth. Give him something to say in his real life that he doesn't believe in and you can see right through him. Just like Jake. The pair of them. It's in their eyes. Anyway, I know he was lying. It was too pat, too easy a solution..."

"Why did he say it? Why bring that into it?" Niqui asked.

Rosie shrugged. "Not sure. Maybe because he wanted to make it equal guilt so that I would feel better. To give me a valid excuse. To admit that he had thought about it and wasn't entirely free of adultery, if only in his mind. Because he loves me..."

Niqui sighed. "God Almighty! You know what I'd give to be loved like that?"

The two women mused on that for a moment, but were soon rudely interrupted. Cameron burst through, his leather coat flying behind him as he strode with intent through the crowded early evening bar.

"I'm fucking starving. I hope they do real food here. Guess who I've been with all day? Your boyfriend. Fuck, but he can act, the little tosser! I had to work for it for once. Still blew him off the screen, of course, but he had me there for a minute. Christ, he's gonna make me a fucking packet. Imagine all those prepubescent girls going to see my war film with their Mums and Grannies (who'll be there for me, of course). Might even take my own shirt off..."

Niqui and Rosie exchanged stunned glances. Would he be prepared to have offered Mark a part? Well, would he?  Oh yes, he would. That would appeal to Cameron's sense of the absurd. It would also keep Mark away from his wife and under his thumb, - not to mention forever in his debt. The master strategist strikes again.

On the way to the airport on Friday evening, in a convoy of cars and luggage, the Steele family enjoyed their last time alone for a while. Cameron drove their black Mercedes, Rosie by his side and the children in the back, all chattering mindlessly. The radio was playing. Jake was trying to make Emilia throw up again by coming out with increasingly foul things to eat; Molly and Emilia were complaining and begging Mum to: "Tell him!" Cameron was throwing in added suggestions to keep him going.

"Cam! If she throws up in here, you can bloody clean it this time!" Rosie shouted. "Shut up, Jake - and stop whining, you two! Can't we ever go anywhere and be a normal happy family? Be quiet and listen to the music..."

Rosie turned up the volume to drown them out, only to find it was the hourly news bulletin. Her hand went back to find a better channel when...

...this morning from the Hawkesbury river has been identified as David Murphy, aged 28, from Mittagong, NSW, now residing in the city. Murphy was recently bailed on unspecified charges concerning young children and was scheduled  for a trial later in the year. Police are treating this as a suicide, although no note has been found...

She looked in horror at her husband, who reached past her and snapped off the button.

"Cam...that's...!"

"Yeah...pity, hey?  Cut short in his prime. But never mind...no courtcase now, hey? Not to mention the amount of money saved the tax payer..."

"Did you do this! Did you?" Rosie demanded in an agitated whisper.

He placed a finger to her lips. "Don't ask! I won't tell. But I don't think you're gonna cry over him, are you?" He indicated that she should keep it down and that little ears were listening, although so far they hadn't understood  what their parents were referring to.

Rosie sank back into the leather seat and tried to take in the enormity of what Cameron might have done. No, not might - she knew he had done it. It was against everything she believed in - but she knew something straight away. He was right. She wasn't going to cry over this man but rejoice that her child was free from the horror of a trial and the media furore that would surround it. She was also relieved that no other mother had to fear what Murphy might do to her child. Yet she still felt sad that in the end such a thing had happened and that Cameron's hands were stained with another man's blood. It was typical of him, though; he would feel no conscience pricking him once he had made his decision. His child or this man? Was there any real moral issue in his mind?

Cameron was at the computer screen answering mails that had piled up over the past few days. He had been working late on the set and playing even later with his wife; business had had to take a back seat. Deep in concentration, he failed to notice Rosie approaching, until she cleared her throat. Looking up, he saw her standing by the open door, dressed in a cream silk bustier with a pure lace robe framing hanging wide open; the rest of her, apart from the strappy stilettos she was wearing, was naked. His mouth fell open.

"Jesus Christ!" he muttered. Rosie giggled. He whistled and swivelled round, his work forgotten. "Where did that come from? And ...Christ, you've shaved...all of it...Fucking hell...." He seemed incapable of anything else but monosyllabic exclamations as he grinned and got an eyeful of his wife standing temptingly displayed before him.

"Waxed...softer...I went shopping today and bought this and....this...she held up a tub of chocolate sauce. "...And clit oil for me...and...this..." In her other hand was an object of a rather curious shape.

"What the fuck's that for?" he asked, openly laughing now.

Rosie shrugged. "Not sure, but we can work it out together...that is if you can drag yourself away from the computer..."

Even Rosie was surprised at the speed in which he leapt at her and carried her into their bedroom, throwing her onto the bed and stripping his clothes off unceremoniously. Work was definitely over for the night.

Some time later, with Rosie sitting on him as he lay thrusting slowly into her and she writhed and ground down on him, he struggled, features clenched in a rictus as he tried to hold on. Rosie was crying quietly, weak from orgasm, clenching him tight in her strong muscles. With a roar, he upended her onto her back, raised her left leg on to his shoulder and knelt up to push into her with maximum drive. The position was deep and stimulating; his heavy balls smacked against her sensitive ring as he pounded in and out, no longer going slowly, unable to hold back further. His thumb slipped down to play tenderly with her clitoris, already hyper sensitised by the oil and her previous orgasms. As she bucked, her head ramming back into the pillow, her spine arched bringing herself wider and even more open to him, he relaxed and let himself go sobbing as his body shook with the powerful release.

Gently now he lowered himself down beside her and they lay intertwined, sweating and loose, unable to think, let alone speak. The room fell silent as they recovered. Finally he rolled to his side and stroked a tender hand down his wife's nakedness, the sexy lingerie long discarded. He seemed pensive.

"What is it, sweetie," she whispered, drawing her fingers back through his hair.

"I was just thinking...why not skip your next injection...you know, try for another?"

"Another? A baby?" Rosie gasped.

"Yeah...why not? It'd be great to have another boy..."

"Might be a girl..."

"Don't care. Girl or boy... what d'ya say?" he grinned and put on his appealing look, hard to say no to that.

"NO! I mean it, Cam.No! I don't want to be pregnant again. I'm thirty-five and we've got three beautiful kids - it's enough. Please...this time, you are not having your way...no more babies?"

He shrugged. "We make such gorgeous kids, though. Shame not to. Up to you, though. Just a thought?"

Rosie snuggled up to him. "Ever thought of adoption? Take some poor kid in and give them a chance? Wouldn't that be something?"

He thought about it. "Just adopted a new Dad. But...why not...? You've got a point there, kid. I'll give it some thought..."

"Just listen to us!" Rosie giggled. "We've just had the dirtiest sex in a dog's age, and we lie here in the aftermath talking about babies? You reckon we're just a boring old married couple, after all?

He blew air out slowly. "Mate...you nearly fucking killed me then. But...after all...it's only sex. Life's better than that any day, don't you think?"

ONE YEAR LATER

The session was in a small auditorium more used to school functions and amateur concerts than the celebrity audience that it had attracted tonight. Filming was two thirds completed and everyone was glad for a break from the gruelling conditions on the set and this concert, arranged in aid of a local charity (and to appease some of the residents who had been inconvenienced at times by the invasion of the film people), was a welcome respite. Cameron also liked to have group activities that bonded the cohesion on set and this 'Concert Party', in the style that soldiers in the 1940s might have put on to amuse themselves while on active service, was typical of his blend of real and method style on both acting and ethos.

Many of the cast members, and even some of the crew, were putting on acts for an audience made up of locals and VIPs, a very eclectic mix. Cameron was closing the show with a few numbers from his band who were in rehearsal for a concert tour when the film closed. This would be a useful warm up. There was stand up comedy, a dance sequence, a skit of the film by a few of the camera crew, a few individual singers, a group doing impressions...a short melodrama in the style of the silent movies, an Australiana tribute and a set by Marco Challender's band Wannabe  who just happened to have a chart hit at the moment. He was hot stuff now. You could hardly open a magazine or gossip rag without some mention of him, and interest was high on his forthcoming performance in this A-list movie.

Rumours abounded about his stormy relationship with the director Cameron Steele - that they had come to blows, constantly baited each other, had both walked off the set at times - but none of it was confirmed. However, rushes suggested the film was edgy and would be a huge success. Challender would make his name and Steele reinforce his already sky high reputation. A little media frenzy building up the bad feeling between the two men could only help the advance publicity.

But Steele was here in the same hall as Challender tonight and there seemed to be no obvious sign of enmity. Cameron even obliquely referred to the press theory that he was uneasy at Challender's talent and saw himself displaced in his own film as the eye candy by a younger (and much prettier) lead, in his introduction of the band.

"Keep it quiet...who said you were here to have fun? Next up is a band that really shouldn't be here tonight. They can play their instruments and sing in tune. Don't know how they got on the list. Let me explain about their name. Wannabe. No, let me not bother...think the Telegraph have made a case for that already, don't you? Reminds me. Ever heard the definition of a wallaby? Small marsupial that wants to be a kangaroo? Reckon that works the same for wannabes?"

There was a roar of laughter from the audience who all got the joke. Rosie raised her eyes at his comment as he ran down from the stage and came up to join her where she was sitting in the gallery. The band was already launched into their first piece when he slumped down by her.

"They're good," she said, watching the band and Mark's hypnotic performance.

"Yeah...I know," Cameron observed with little enthusiasm. She smiled over and put her hand on his; he grinned and turned his head, grasping her hand and squeezing.

"Who's the blonde with him? I didn't get a good look at her," Rosie asked.

Cameron giggled. "Have another look..."

She strained over to see where a petite blonde, dressed casually with her hair in a plait, hung by the stage, dancing. "You know it looks a bit like...shit! Is that Ellie Barker?"

He threw his head back and guffawed. "Jeez, I'm good. Read she was in Sydney so I called her and said, come up and visit the set...she did, a couple of week's back, and guess what...she's still here..."

"You old woman, you! You set them up! What are you now- a Lonely Hearts' agency as well?"

He sniffed and rubbed his stubble. "Well, I knew he'd have a hard on at the sight of her- he can't keep it in his pants, as we know, at the best of times. And he goes for the same women I do. But if he plays his cards right for once, he just might find a woman who might do him some good. And Ellie might find a guy worth having. I say- might - because the jury is still out on him..."

The music was a dance number and many of the audience were already on their feet. Rosie jumped up and pulled Cam to his, flinging herself into his arms. "Why is it that once you have established how awful you can be, you suddenly become an absolute darling?"

He pulled a face. "Don't ever call me darling, darlin'. Jeez - you could ruin my reputation!" But he held her close and then spun her off into a jive.

The number came to a stop and she rested back against his chest watching, his arms wrapped round her and his mouth nibbling at her ear, whispering suggestions. She blushed and giggled. Then Mark took the microphone.

"I'd like to do our latest release. Nothing to stop me getting a bit of free self- publicity, now, is there? Don't worry, boss, I've been learning at the feet of the master" He looked up at Cameron and saluted. "This song's got a special memory for me... of a special girl. She's here tonight and I owe her a lot. Just want to make sure she knows that..." The look to the gallery had not just been for Steele.

Ellie put her hands to her face and clearly thought it was her that he meant. But as the familiar beat of the song began, Rosie knew that was not the case at all. The hands that tightened around her waist told her that Cameron had not missed the comment's significance either.

If you find someday
Find some freedom and relief
And with this freedom, maybe
Maybe you can find some peace
And with this peace, baby
I hope it brings you back to me,
Take me home, take me home...

Cameron bent close to her ear and whispered the chorus to her as she lay back against him and smiled:

If you don't let me fall for you
Then you won't see the best that
I would love to do for you
 Instead, you will be missing me when I go
'Cos I'm bored of hanging out in your cold

Whoah...take me home...whoah...take me home...

"Take me home, love," Cameron muttered as she craned her neck back and kissed him softly. Mark looked up and saw them. He looked over at Ellie and smiled. She mouthed: "Take me home!" He was almost there.