Golden fever [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONEIt was amazing how Los Angeles airport never seemed to change, just as the people never seemed, to change. Clare had lost count of the amount of times she had landed here, and yet each time it looked like the same people milling around, the same engrossed faces, the eagerness of a holidaymaker, the world-weary one of the businessman.What category did she fall into? She wasn't a holidaymaker, that was for sure. The days of her carefree youth spent on Malibu Beach were long gone. She was here to work, so that probably put her in the latter category.And yet she felt as if she had come home. The last five years of living in London might not have happened. She felt like the eighteen-year-old she had been then, just newly left school, the whole world at her feet. Only she hadn't seen the whole world, only-No! She wouldn't think of him. She never thought of him now, or of the time she had spent with him.'The baggage!' Her voice was sharp as she turned to the man walking at her side.Harvey Pryce looked his usual calm, unruffled self, not at all like a man who had just spent over nine hours on an aeroplane. And why should he?he had been asleep five minutes after take-off, only waking up in time to freshen up, change his jacket, and leave the plane.And Clare had spent the same time wondering if she had made a mistake in agreeing to do this film. Of course, when she had accepted the part she hadn't realised that some of the filming would take place .in Long Beach. If she had known that she wouldn't even have looked at the script.