Penguin Books Australia

It was eight o'clock, and the fans outside the hotel on Miniver Boulevard had been milling about behind the barriers for hours. It was a hot night and there were the first rumblings of a thunderstorm. The people at the front, who were squashed up against the crowd fences and actually had a chance of seeing the Minivers when they arrived, had been sprayed several times with water to keep them from fainting. The news helicopters, buzzing overhead, sent warm air gusting over the greasy pavements and swept their searchlights over the glass and chrome frontages of the surrounding buildings.

Walkie-talkies clicked and crackled. Security men in blue uniforms looked anxiously at the crowd barriers and stopped the fans who were silly enough to try and
jump them. From time to time, limousines pulled up at the end of the long red carpet. Each time this happened, there was a flurry of excitement, but the people who got out were only guests, who passed quickly through the waiting news crews and went into the hotel. In the foyer, encased in perspex and surrounded by admirers, was a shoe box. It was nothing special, just a little red and blue battered bit of cardboard, but it had a security guard all to itself, and from the look on his face and the gun in his belt, it was clear that he meant business.

Soon after eight o'clock, a roar went up at the far end of Miniver Boulevard. This time there was no mistake, for the car had a red flag with the sweeping initial M on the bonnet.

'It's them! It's them! It's the Minivers!' cried the crowd. As the great black limousine crawled, bit by bit, towards the hotel, the fans swelled forward until the barriers rocked and sent the security guards scurrying to hold them hack. By the time the limousine hulled up at the red carpet, the screams were so deafening it was hard to believe they could get louder. But they did, as the driver got out of the car and produced a step; they got louder again as he put the step beside the rear passenger door, and when he opened the door and Rosamund Miniver climbed out of the car, they echoed off the surrounding buildings until it sounded as if their glass fronts must shatter and the whole lot fall down in a heap.

Rosamund Miniver was wearing a red silk halterneck dress, covered with sequins that caught the flash of a thousand cameras. The rich colour made her pale skin look paler, and her dark hair and eves even darker than they were. A smile broke over her lovely face at the sound of the cheers, and she lifted a small white hand in acknowledgement.

Her sister Emily followed, dressed in shimmering green, with gold sandals on her feet and dozens of sparkling butterflies scattered through her hair. The fans roared, and the Minivers paused to wave again and blow kisses.

'Rosamund! Rosamund! Happy birthday, Rosamund! We love you, Rosamund! Emily! Emily, we love you, too!'

The two girls linked hands and walked towards the building. Unable to see them, the fans at the back started jostling for position. Children and grown-ups alike were pushed forward, fainting and screaming, until the fences bulged and threatened to give way.

'Rosamund! Emily!' they sobbed, as the Minivers disappeared into the building. 'Come back!' A few people climbed on each other's shoulders to catch one final glimpse, but for most of them, it was hopeless. For Rosamund and Emily Miniver, though slim, dark-haired and beautiful were not like any other girls alive.

The most famous people in Artemisia were only two feet tall.