Superstar (36 page)

Thinking that
he looked far too smug, Carrin decided to drop her bombshell. "She
also told me that you put up most of the money for the film.
Why?"

He hesitated,
clearly discomfited. "You wouldn't believe me."

She frowned.
"Tell me anyway."

Mark sighed
and studied the amber liquid in his glass. "Well, after you went
home I tried to sell your script, but -"

"Olivia told
me all that. Why?"

He glared at
his drink. "If I hadn't, I'd never have seen you again."

Carrin
swallowed a lump, looking away. He was certainly pulling out all
the stops to try and convince her of his affections, even to the
point of being a little pathetic. If it was true, he was indeed the
man of her dreams, and desperately in love with her, but it was
just too good to be true. There had to be another explanation. She
remembered how she had missed him for those months, longing to see
him again, yet afraid to.

"You don't
believe that either, do you?" he asked, dragging her from her
memories.

"I don't
know."

"Well, that's
progress, I suppose."

She sighed and
sipped her drink. "When do we start organising the wedding?"

"My
secretary's already doing it, unless you'd like to."

"No. I
wouldn't know where to begin."

He drained his
glass. "She should have it sorted out by next weekend."

Carrin stared
at him in surprise. Two weeks, maybe three, but next week? "Surely
it will take longer than that to get my family here and send out
the invitations?"

"It shouldn't.
I'm not planning on inviting the whole of Hollywood, so the
invitations can be hand delivered. Your family's tickets are
already booked and waiting for them in Africa."

"When did you
organise that?"

"This
morning."

They discussed
the wedding for a while, then Carrin phoned her mother to give her
the good news. Mrs York was remarkably calm about it, and asked
when she would meet her future son-in-law. That was when it struck
Carrin. Mark had never had a family, but soon he would have a
mother-in-law and brother-in-law. How would he feel about marrying
into a family of dirt-poor South African farmers? After hanging up
the phone, she went back to the study. Mark was engrossed in the
script, studying for Monday's shoot. He looked up when she came
in.

"Got to learn
my lines. Why don't you go for a swim or something?"

"I'd like to
go back to the hotel, I'm tired."

"Okay." He
looked down at the script.

Carrin
frowned. "Will you tell John?"

He looked up
and raised a brow. "Why? You'll have to start telling him yourself
sometime."

Carrin nodded,
feeling foolish and betrayed. Did he have to put it like that?
Saying goodbye, she turned to leave, but his soft call stopped
her.

"Hey."

Carrin turned
to find that he had put down the script and risen to his feet. He
walked over to her and took her hands, raising one to his lips. "I
guess you're a bit unsure right now, huh? You still think that this
might all be some weird game." She nodded, and he cupped her chin,
smiling. "That's okay, try not to worry about it, all right?" He
bent and gave her a gentle, lingering kiss that made her knees
weak. Straightening, he smiled and released her hands to open the
door. "I'll see you later."

Carrin nodded
again, trying to calm her pounding heart, caught between resentment
and amazement at how easily he could reduce her to a quivering
wreck with a few soft words and a brief kiss. The little voice in
the back of her mind still shouted words of warning, but she
strived to ignore them. The only way to find out if this was all an
elaborate game or the real thing was to play along. She was
becoming more and more convinced that it was real, and strangely,
that made her shy. Already he wanted her to act like the mistress
of the house, and she was finding it all rather overwhelming.

Shooting him a
sad smile, she left to find John, but found Rita instead, and the
maid went to tell John. Carrin waited on the steps for the
limousine to purr alongside, then opened the door herself and slid
in before John could get out of the car. He looked at her
reproachfully in the mirror.

"That's my
job, Miss York."

"I just
thought I'd save some time."

He shook his
head. "Please don't do that in public."

She sighed.
"Okay."

There were no
paparazzi at the gates, or at the hotel, to her relief. In her
room, she lay down and closed her eyes, falling asleep in the rose
jungle that was her bedroom.

A knocking at
the door woke her again, and she opened her eyes to find the room
in darkness. Switching on the light, she went to the door and
opened it. Mark swept in, taking in her dishevelled, bleary-eyed
appearance.

"Been having a
nap?"

Carrin nodded
and went into the bathroom to splash her face. He switched the TV
on, and she returned to the lounge as the announcer said, "Today
Mark Lord, one of Hollywood's most celebrated stars, announced his
engagement to Carrin York, a screenwriter from Dubala in South
Africa."

She glanced at
Mark, who smiled. "I thought you'd like to see yourself on TV."

Carrin sat and
watched a film of her and Mark standing on the steps, fascinated.
To her surprise, she did not look as awkward or shy as she had
felt. Mark looked incredibly handsome, as usual, relaxed and
assured. The announcer detailed all of their answers to the
questions, then went on to give a thorough background on
Carrin.

At the end,
Mark switched it off and sat back, spreading his arms along the
back of the sofa as he regarded her. "You'd better get ready."

"For
what?"

"We have to go
out."

Carrin raised
a brow. "We do?"

"Yeah.
We've just announced our engagement; we're supposed to be
celebrating."

"Couldn't we
be celebrating at home?"

He pulled out
a cheroot and lit it. "No. That would seem odd, and besides, it'll
be good publicity for the film."

"Is that what
this is all about?"

Mark regarded
her flatly through a cloud of smoke. "You really think that I would
marry you just to promote the damned film? If I'd wanted to do
that, I'd have married Janice."

Put like that,
it sounded ridiculous, which of course it was, she realised. She
was becoming desperate to find out the real reason behind his
proposal, if there was one. Apologising, she went to shower,
leaving him to watch TV. When she emerged in her bathrobe, a snow
white dress was spread out on the bed. Silver straps held up a
delicate bodice of white silk picked out with exquisite silver
embroidery. The long, layered skirt was made up of panels of lace,
longer at the back than the front. She stroked the soft
material.

"It's
gorgeous, Mark."

He spoke from
his chair in the lounge. "This time it's a gift, not a loan.
Actually, the other one is still hanging in the cupboard at home.
That was a gift too, only you wouldn't accept it."

Carrin
picked up the dress and closed the bedroom door before she put it
on. With the high-heeled silver sandals, it was stunning, and clung
to her curves like a second skin. She applied her make-up,
satisfied with the results. As she was putting the final touches to
her hair and spraying on a little perfume, Mark strolled
in.

He considered
her. "Lovely. But it needs something, don't you think?"

She looked
down at herself. "It's perfect."

He pulled a
slim box from his jacket pocket. Within it lay a circle of white
fire, a choker of diamonds with a 'V' of drop fire opals that burnt
with ruby fire in their black depths. He smiled as he lifted it
from the box.

"I know, I'm
spoiling you, but I can if I want."

Carrin shook
her head, gazing at him in confusion as he fastened it around her
throat. He stepped back and nodded.

"That's
better. Where's your ring?"

Carrin glanced
down, discovering that her left hand was bare. She had left it in
the bathroom. Fetching it, she put it on, and he shook his head,
looking exasperated.

"It's a good
thing it's insured. You might lose it by accident on purpose."

"I would never
do that."

Once again
they were the same height, and he gazed at her, then leant forward
and kissed her. "I know. Just kidding." He turned away. "Oh, while
you were dressing, I found these."

Carrin gasped
in horror. Her sketches were spread out on the bed. Leaping
forward, she started to gather them up. Mark sat on the bed and
watched her.

"I've already
seen them. They're very good."

"How dare you
poke through my things?"

"I didn't.
They were on the dressing table." He picked one up. "A little
flattering, don't you think?"

Carrin gave up
trying to hide them and sat on the bed, frowning. He was never
supposed to see these. If he wanted proof that she loved him, he
had it now. He put aside the drawing.

"Hey, what's
the matter?"

"These were
private."

"I'm sorry. I
didn't mean to upset you. So, you like to draw me, so what? I'm
flattered, that's all. I never realised you were such a good
artist."

She glared at
him, trying to hide her embarrassment and despair behind an angry
scowl. Was it possible that he couldn't see it? That to him they
were just drawings? He watched her warily, then picked up the best
drawing and studied it.

"This one's
good, but I don't look like that."

"Then how can
you say it's good? It's supposed to look like you."

"Well, it
does, sort of. Is that how you see me?"

She shrugged,
trying to be off-hand. "It must be."

"When did you
do these?"

"Recently."

He glanced at
her and picked up an older sketch. "Really? This one has a date on
it, six months before we met."

Carrin
snatched the drawing from him and started to gather them up again.
"Yeah, well, I liked the look of you. Why do you think I chose you
for the lead in my screenplay?"

Carrin stuffed
the offending drawings into the dressing table drawer, then glanced
at him. He gazed at her with a slight, crooked smile, his eyes
shining with such tenderness that her heart skipped a beat.

"If you say
so." He got up. "We'd better be going."

Glad that the
drawings were forgotten, she picked up her evening bag and followed
him to the door.

In the lobby,
two reporters lay in wait, and jumped in front of them to snap
their picture. The flashes blinded Carrin, and Mark guided her out
to the waiting car.

Mark took her
to an opulent, glitzy nightclub frequented by the rich and famous.
A crowd of fans and media waited at the door, and again they ran
the gauntlet of flashing lights and screaming girls. Within the
club's plush confines, Mark greeted many acquaintances on the way
to their secluded table. They ate a superb meal and danced, drank
champagne and talked. Mark was attentive and witty, but quite
formal towards her. He seemed to enjoy himself, except when a
photographer sneaked up to their table and all but blinded Carrin
with his camera flash. He fled when Mark jumped up, and the manager
came over to apologise, but Mark waved it away like a bad smell.
They did not stay late, and he dropped her back at her hotel before
midnight, kissing her goodnight.

Carrin
went up to her room and removed the fortune in jewels that he had
given her. He was treating her with kid gloves, it seemed, until
after they were married and she had been cured of her mistrust. For
the moment, she would give him the benefit of the doubt. She went
to bed wearing his ring.

On Sunday,
Carrin overslept. She woke at nine o'clock, washed and dressed in
her floral jungle. Her eyes were drawn constantly to the sparkling
diamond on her finger, still fascinated by its beauty. At ten
o'clock, Mark took her out to lunch, then they walked in the park
with a following of press and fans. When the crowd got too big and
pushy, they drove to his house and spent the afternoon relaxing by
the pool. Simon dropped by, adding to the day's pleasure. Carrin
found that she was starting to relax and enjoy it, the nagging
doubts pushed into the background for now. Simon went home at dusk,
and she and Mark had a candlelight dinner before Mark took her back
to her hotel.

On Monday
morning, she rose early, eager to go to the location and see Mark.
When she phoned for breakfast, she was told that an envelope had
arrived for her late the previous night. She asked them to send it
up with the tray, wondering what it could be. The plain brown
envelope had her name scrawled on the front in a black marker. She
had a bad feeling about it, but she had to see what was inside, and
she ripped it open. Some glossy magazine cuttings fell out, along
with a note. A crude scrawl said, 'See what you're marrying.'

Carrin knelt and picked up the clippings, a cold sensation
stealing through her gut. A photograph of Mark made her heart
quiver, then pound. He stood in front of a church, dressed in a
groom's suit. He looked dashing, and quite young. A radiant bride
stood beside him, a dark-haired beauty who gazed at him with
adoring eyes. Underneath, a brief article stated, 'Mark Lord, an up
and coming young star, weds Alisha Trimble, a model from the
Fashion First agency. Mark Lord has just been cast in his third
film,
Meet
Me at Midnight
, an action thriller in which he plays...'

Carrin dropped the cutting and picked up another. This time
the picture was only of Mark, and underneath it said, 'Mark Lord,
having just completed his new film,
Meet Me at Midnight
, has divorced Alisha Trimble
Lord after a four-month marriage. The star would not comment on the
reasons for the breakdown, but in Hollywood, nothing stays the
same. Mark stars with...'