Superstar (14 page)

She stared at
him in surprise, not knowing what to say.

He went on,
"It's private. No paparazzi, I promise. I have a security team
there to ensure that. What do you say?"

Carrin found
herself nodding before she had given the matter any thought. His
generosity astounded her, and her love for him grew, filling her
with despair.

He smiled.
"Good. I'll have my jet fly you up. You'll like it there, it's in
the country. It should remind you of home."

"Your
jet?"

"It's a long
way. Too far to drive. You might as well use the plane, it's just
sitting at the airport while I'm here."

Carrin gave
herself a mental shake. Of course he had a private jet. He could
hardly travel on a commercial flight, could he? At least, not
without fans bothering him. She nodded again and returned his
smile, already excited at the prospect of seeing his real home,
where he spent most of his private time. The house in Beverly Hills
was convenient as a base when he was working, but the ranch was his
retreat.

Mark said,
"I'll make the arrangements. Tomorrow John will take you to the
airport, and I'll tell my staff that you'll be arriving. They'll
take good care of you, and you'll be back in time for the next
scene."

"Thank you,
that's very nice of you. I was wondering what I was going to do for
a whole week." The words sounded stilted and inadequate, but he
nodded, looking pleased.

Gregory came
over to inform Mark that he was needed back on the set, and he
grimaced, then rose with a sigh to walk over to his marks yet
again.

For the
remainder of the day, Carrin basked in pleasant anticipation,
imagining what Mark's ranch would be like. That evening, she popped
into his dressing room to thank him again for his generosity, and
she wanted to see him before she left. Jerry was removing Mark's
make up as usual, and Carrin stopped inside the door. Janice sat on
a counter close to Mark, talking and laughing, a cigarette dangling
artfully from one hand. They all looked up when Carrin appeared,
and she felt like an intruder. Janice glared, and Carrin regretted
seeking Mark out. He was obviously busy.

"I just
stopped in to say goodbye," she explained.

Mark nodded
and raised a hand. "See you next week. Have a good time."

She smiled,
ignoring Janice's inquiring glance. "I will. Thanks again."

As she
left, Janice turned to Mark, obviously about to ask him a question.
Well, if he had not told his girlfriend, that was his problem. He
seemed to treat his friends well, but his girlfriends like dirt.
Perhaps he only respected women who did not chase after him. The
thought comforted and saddened her. It meant that she fell into the
right category, but it was not the category that she wished to be
in. In the circumstances, though, it was the best one.

That night,
she packed a few clothes, and in the morning John waited outside
the hotel as Mark had promised. He grinned at her as she slid into
the car, then climbed into the driver's seat and pulled smoothly
into the traffic. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, she caught him
staring at her. The glass barrier between them whined down, and he
said, "So where are you off to, Miss York?"

"To Mark's
ranch. Didn't he tell you?"

"No. He just
told me to take you to the airport." He looked surprised. "Did you
say you're going to his ranch?"

"Yes."

"In
Louisiana?"

"How many
ranches does he have?"

John shook his
head. "It's just... well I've never known him to send guests to his
ranch. He usually does all his entertaining at the Beverly Hills
house. He goes to the ranch to be alone. It's his retreat."

She shrugged.
"He won't be there. It's just that I have a week to kill, and he
thought there would be more for me to do on the ranch."

John looked
unconvinced, but nodded, concentrating on the road.

"Surely,"
Carrin asked, "he takes close friends and girlfriends there?"

"Never. Most
of his friends don't even know where it is."

How odd,
Carrin thought. What did this mean? She brushed it aside. There
were too many confusing, conflicting things about Mark Lord, and
she was tired of trying to figure them out. She would just enjoy
herself, and not worry about his motives. The car slid into the
airport and stopped. John got out to open her door and carry her
case. No paparazzi lay in wait today, and she walked unheralded
into the airport. This time there were no customs, and no conveyer
belt to swallow her case. Instead, John led her into a lounge where
two uniformed, well-groomed men rose to greet her.

John
introduced them as Mark's pilots, and they shook her hand. The
co-pilot took her case from John, and the chauffeur said goodbye
and left. The pilot, a tall, austere man with a moustache and a
gruff manner, led the way down several corridors to another part of
the airport, where they quit the building and walked out onto the
runway. There, a sleek white Lear Jet sat on the tarmac, gleaming
and beautiful. The only reservation that she had about it was that
it was far too small. Compared with the massive passenger liners,
it looked like a toy.

The pilot
preceded her up the steps and showed her into the cabin. The
co-pilot followed and stowed her case on one of the twelve empty
seats in the narrow cabin. The captain pointed out the bar, where
drinks and snacks were available. Like the limousine, everything
was spotless and appeared to be brand new. She settled into one of
the seats and buckled on her belt as the captain and co-pilot
disappeared into the cockpit. The door slid shut, and she waited
for what seemed like a long time before the engines came to
life.

First one,
then the other whined in a rising pitch to a muffled scream, then
settled down to a powerful howl, and there was a slight jerk as the
aircraft began to move. Carrin clutched the arms of her seat as the
airport buildings moved past. The jet bounced and bumped along the
runway, swaying alarmingly. It came to a stop, the unexpected
braking making her lean forward. Another long wait followed, as,
she supposed, they waited for clearance. This was a busy airport,
and small jets had to wait their turn amongst the commercial
traffic, which was running on a schedule.

The engines'
whine rose to a thunderous roar, the brakes released with a jerk,
and the aircraft shot ahead as if loosed from a bow. Sitting back,
she tried to relax as she was crushed into the soft seat. The
runway raced past in a blur, making her wonder how fast they were
moving. Abruptly the cabin tilted, and she had a feeling of
weightlessness. It soon changed to one of heaviness, then vanished
as she the ground fell away below.

The aircraft
rose at an amazing rate, and the earth shrank as they went into a
steady climb, until the clouds closed in behind them and blocked
her view. When they levelled off, she unstrapped her belt and had a
drink.

The
flight lasted about two hours, and the co-pilot came back twice to
ensure that she was comfortable. When the seat belt light came on
again, Carrin buckled in with some trepidation, wondering if the
landing would be as bad as the take-off. If anything, it was worse.
She shut her eyes, unable to watch as the runway rushed up to meet
them, then the plane touched down with a bump that made its frame
shudder and creak. She was glad when they taxied to a stop, the
plane swaying slightly.

The jets
whined down, and the pilot came back to guide her out. She
disembarked on wobbly legs, and the pilot escorted her to a white
limousine. A middle-aged, pleasant-looking man waited beside it.
The pilot handed her case to the chauffeur, then saluted her and
walked off with the co-pilot in the direction of the airport.
Carrin sank into the car with a sigh. The driver slid into his
seat, and once again they were gliding out of the airport.

Certainly for
Mark Lord, travelling was easy. Everything waited for him. He did
not have to spend hours sitting in a departure lounge waiting for
his flight, nor did he have to battle through crowds to retrieve
his luggage from the fiendish conveyer belt. She considered her
bank balance and wondered how much one of the neat little jets
cost. She would get used to the bumpy ride, she supposed. The
chauffeur watched her in the rear-view mirror, and smiled when she
met his eyes.

"I'm Bert,
miss."

"Hello Bert,
I'm Carrin York."

"Pleased to
meet you. Anything you'd like to know?"

He must have
seen her contemplative look. "Yes, do you know how much one of
those planes cost?"

"Mr Lord's
jet?"

"Yes."

He puffed out
his cheeks. "A lot, Miss York. Several million, I think."

"Ah." She
nodded. Well, scratch that idea. "How far is it to the ranch?"

"About an
hour. There's drinks and snacks -"

"I know." She
helped herself and sat back to enjoy the ride. Soon they left the
city behind and moved into rolling countryside. Miles of empty
grassland stretched away on either side, golden and serene. They
turned off the main road onto a smaller tar road that seemed to go
on forever. After a while, fences appeared on the side of the road,
and a herd of horses grazed in the distance. They passed through
shady groves and crossed narrow bridges that spanned shining
creeks. The fences changed from wire to white poles, and more
horses galloped over rolling grass.

"How much
further, Bert?" she asked.

"Well, we're
here, miss. This is all Mr Lord's, from the turn off."

Carrin's mind
boggled. They had travelled miles since the turn off. The ranch
must be thousands of hectares. That meant that all those horses
were his. Excitement filled her. She loved horses, but why did he
have so many? She asked Bert.

"He breeds
them, miss. Produces about a hundred yearlings every season."

"What sort?
Thoroughbreds?"

He smiled. "No
miss. Mr Lord's not into racing. They're crossbreeds, mostly.
Quarter horse cross Arab, or saddler cross Arab, quarter horse
cross thoroughbred. He breeds good hardy utility stock, mostly
exotics."

Carrin was
delighted. That meant fancy colours like black, piebald, skewbald,
roan and palomino. All the rare ones. He seemed to be a man after
her own heart, at least when it came to horses. The road turned
into a tree-lined driveway, and they drew up at a rambling ranch
house set in park-like gardens. Tar roads led towards rows of
white-painted stables shaded by spreading trees. In the distance,
training yards, lunging rings, exercise paddocks and sandpits
bustled with activity. Horses trotted around the lunging rings,
cantered in the training arenas, or followed grooms and riders
along pole-fenced tracks to and from the stable yards. It looked
like a racing stable, but instead of lean, lanky thoroughbreds, the
horses were rounded, high-stepping animals with tails that flew
like banners and proudly arched necks. Sorrels, dapple-greys,
appaloosas and duns mixed with golden palominos, skewbalds and
roans.

Carrin longed
to go and watch them, soak up their beauty and breathe their clean
spicy scent. Bert opened the door, and as she stepped out, a
grey-haired woman came out of the house, wiping her hands on her
apron. The plump, handsome woman with a motherly air about her
beamed at Carrin as Bert carried her case into the house.

"I'm Mrs
Martin. You must be Carrin. Mr Lord telephoned to say you would be
arriving today. Welcome to Paloma Blanca."

"Thank you."
Carrin followed the housekeeper through a spacious, well-furnished
house, which the breezes that blew in through the many open doors
and windows cooled. They arrived at a pretty bedroom decorated in
cream and pale fawn, with white curtains and dove grey bedclothes.
Bert had put her suitcase on the bed, and Mrs Martin smiled at
her.

"You can
freshen up if you like, then I'll serve lunch on the veranda.
There's a pool and a tennis court. Bert will play with you if you
want, or one of the grooms. There's no shortage of tennis players,
Mr Lord keeps them all in practice. Or there's squash, pool, a
Jacuzzi -"

"I'd just like
to see the horses."

"Well, there
are plenty of those. One of the grooms will pick one out for you if
you like."

Carrin sighed.
"This place is a paradise."

"Country girl,
are you?"

"Very
much."

Mrs Martin
chuckled. "Then you'll enjoy it here."

Carrin gazed
out at the training yards visible through the windows. "I only wish
I was staying longer than a week."

"Well, who
knows?" Mrs Martin winked and left.

Carrin went
into the en-suite bathroom and had a quick shower, then dressed in
jeans and a T-shirt. When she wandered onto the veranda, a place
was already laid for her on a patio table covered with a lace
cloth.

After eating a
light lunch, she wandered over to the stables, where the bustle had
died down somewhat. Most of the horses were in their stalls, and
grooms hurried about with manure barrows and water buckets. The
efficiency of the staff impressed her as she walked through the
vast buildings, pausing to pet the horses. All the animals were in
beautiful condition. She stopped to watch two grooms bath a young
strawberry roan in a special stall with a drain in the floor.
Outside, a pretty piebald yearling with a dished face and a showy
action trotted around a lunging ring, bucking occasionally. She
stroked the velvet nose of a magnificent blue roan stallion, a
colour so rare that it was the first she had ever seen.

Carrin spent
the afternoon at the stables, admiring the horses and meeting some
of the grooms. She chose a lovely skewbald mare to ride the next
day and returned to the ranch house filled with a happy glow.