Superstar (37 page)

The clipping
fell from her nerveless fingers as a sob closed her throat. She
gazed his young, beautiful face with its slight, secret smile. With
a trembling hand, she picked up the last clipping. At the top was a
black-edged photograph of the laughing girl who was Mark's
erstwhile bride. Carrin read the article with growing horror.

'Alisha
Trimble Lord, former wife of actor Mark Lord, was found dead in her
Boston flat yesterday. Police have issued a statement to the effect
that Alisha died of an overdose of sleeping pills. This, just a
month after her divorce from her husband, has many speculating that
this was the reason for her suicide. After marrying and losing one
of the most eligible young stars in Hollywood, is it possible that
Alisha died of a broken heart? Alisha leaves her parents,
father...'

Carrin let the
paper fall and swallowed the sour sting of bile. Her heart was a
painful lump, and a sob racked her. Cruel talons of pain tore her
heart. Her dreams lay shattered in the pile of clippings on the
floor, ruined forever. Not even friends. He was evil! She raised
her fists and pounded the scraps of paper.

"Liar!
Liar! Liar!" Her hands ached, and she covered her eyes, tears
running down her face. "You bastard! You lying bastard!"

It seemed like
hours that she sat there, rocking as she wept. When at last the
storm of her sorrow subsided, she picked up a cutting and gazed at
Mark's young face, her grief a mighty tide that tugged at her
reason. How could someone so handsome be so rotten inside? He had
broken his first wife's heart so badly that she had been driven to
take her own life. That must have been his greatest conquest ever.
Had he also married her to convince her of his love, then tossed
her aside like a broken toy? He was twisted and bitter from a
childhood without love, and now he was exacting vengeance for his
mother's sin. Little did he know, his mother was blameless. Now he
planned to make Carrin his next victim.

Anger
blossomed within her, washing away her sorrow. Her hands shook as
she wiped her eyes and gathered up the clippings. Stuffing them
back into the envelope, she put it on the table and went to wash
her face. The reflection that gazed at her from the mirror had
puffy eyes and a red nose.

Back in the
lounge, she phoned the airport. Ten minutes of arguing with a
belligerent woman gained her a seat on a plane to South Africa,
first class. The flight left in three hours. Savagely she stuffed
her clothes into her suitcase, only one thought drumming in her
mind. She had to get as far away as she could from Mark Lord. She
would go back to her African farm, where he would never find her.
Her suitcase was packed when the front desk clerk phoned to tell
her that the limousine was waiting to take her to the location. She
told him that she was not going and slammed the phone down.

Seething, she
called a taxi. Time was running out. She had to be at the airport
an hour before an international flight, but she still had to face
Mark. She wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of him. She
called Mark's house, knowing that he would already be at the
location, but John would be there. Rita put her through, although
Carrin's request seemed to confuse her a little.

When John's
husky voice came on the line, she said, "John, I need your help. My
mother has fallen ill suddenly, so I have to go home. My plane
leaves in two hours, but I won't make it in time. I must speak to
Mark first."

"Sure, Miss
York, what can I do?"

"I need you to
collect my luggage from the hotel, then go to the airport and get
my ticket. Put my luggage on the flight and book me in. Got
it?"

"Don't
you worry; I'll get you on that plane, Miss York."

Feeling
like a heel for deceiving him, she gave him the flight number, and
then hurried downstairs. The desk clerk promised to allow John up
to the suite, and Carrin ran to the waiting taxi. In the heavy
traffic, it took almost half an hour to reach the location. Cursing
the delay, she asked the taxi driver to wait.

He shook his
head. "My shift's over, lady."

"Just for a
minute, then you can take me to the airport."

He
shrugged.

Carrin jumped
out and trotted through the extras and crew who thronged the
location's streets. It did not take long to reach the spot where
cameras and sound booms surrounded a section of road. Carrin took a
pair of sunglasses from her bag and put them on. Mark must not see
the ravages of her tears. She would not even allow him that small
victory. The cast and crew were taking a break, standing around
drinking coffee and talking. Several people greeted her, and she
forced a stiff smile. Mark chatted to Warren and Harold, dressed in
the black shirt, slim-fitting jeans and leather jacket. Carrin did
not pause to let her anger cool, but marched into the middle of
them.

Mark's brows
rose. "Carrin!" His eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?"

"You bastard!"
she shouted.

He stepped
back. "What's wrong?"

"You're a
lying bastard, that's what's wrong, as if you didn't know! You
thought you could con me too, didn't you? And you nearly did! My
god, you're scum! I don't know how I could ever have admired
you!"

Mark looked
stunned, and she pulled the white dress and jewellery box
containing the necklace that he had given her from her bag and
threw them at him. Warren and Harold gaped at her.

Mark glanced
down at the expensive missiles at his feet, then back at her. "Tell
me what's wrong."

She
threw the envelope at him, and the cuttings fluttered out.
"Remember her? Another of your conquests! Remember Alisha? The wife
you killed!"

Mark's eyes
flicked down to the cuttings, his expression one of disbelief and
horror. Carrin spun on her heel and marched away.

"Wait!" Mark
overtook her in a few strides, grabbed her arm and yanked her
around. "Listen to me."

"I'm sick of
your lies! Let me go!"

He shook his
head. "I can explain!"

"I'll just bet
you can, you bastard!" She pulled the ring off her finger and threw
it in his face. "It's over!"

"No, you've
got to listen to me!" He hung on when she tried to wrench free, and
in desperation, she punched him in the face. Mark released her and
recoiled with a curse, clutching his eye. Carrin turned and
ran.

When she
reached the place where she had left the taxi, she found it gone.
Cursing, she looked around as the sound of running footsteps came
from behind her, adding to her panic. He must not catch her now,
and spin his web of lies and magic around her again. She could not
bear it so soon after her discovery. She ran up the street,
searching for a way to escape. Refreshment tents lined the road,
and the parked cars of extras and actors. Her eye fell on Mark's
black Lotus Esprit.

Running to it,
she yanked open the door. The keys were in the ignition, and she
slid into the cool leather seat. The turn of the key brought a
powerful growl from behind her, and she glanced in the rear-view
mirror. Mark ran towards the car, just a few feet away. In a panic,
she gunned the motor and let out the clutch. The engine roared, the
tyres spun in a cloud of blue smoke, and the Lotus shot ahead,
narrowly missing the car parked in front of it. Carrin wrestled
with the steering wheel as the Lotus slewed, its wheels still
spinning because her foot had the accelerator jammed to the
floor.

The tyres
gripped, and the powerful car howled up the street. She changed
down, and was slammed back in the seat as the car leapt ahead
again. Buildings flashed past at breakneck speed, and a corner
loomed ahead. She lifted her foot off the accelerator and jammed it
on the brake pedal. The car skidded, turning sideways as she yanked
the steering wheel around at the same time. A wall rushed at her
from the side, and terror filled her. Then the tyres gripped again,
and the car straightened with a jerk. She changed up, and the Lotus
accelerated up the narrow street towards the highway. Forcing
herself to relax, she eased up on the juice and let the engine
settle to a steady growl.

Even though
she had left him far behind, Carrin kept glancing in the rear-view
mirror, afraid that Mark would catch her before she was safely on
the plane. The drive to the airport seemed like a nightmare. She
strayed onto the wrong side of the road constantly, causing other
drivers to hoot and curse her. The car's power frightened her. It
accelerated much too quickly whenever her foot touched the pedal.
The heavy traffic made it worse, and she pulled into the airport
with a sigh of relief. Abandoning the car, she sprinted into the
building. The PA announced her flight, and John waited with her
ticket.

She took it
with a smile. "Thanks John, you're an angel."

"You'd better
hurry, Miss York, they're calling your flight."

"Yeah. Bye
John."

Carrin trotted
towards the departure lounge, where a queue stood at the boarding
gate. The woman at the counter took her ticket, stamped her
passport and gave her a boarding pass. The queue was dwindling
rapidly, and she hurried towards the boarding gate as her flight's
final call echoed around the airport.

"Carrin!"

Horrified, she
glanced back. Mark ran through the airport, dodging people. He
looked desperate, and pushed through the crowd, some of which
protested and glared after him. Carrin ran to the departure lounge
and joined the queue. To her relief, the security men stopped Mark
at the doors, since only passengers were allowed beyond them. He
argued with them while she showed the attendant her boarding pass
and started up the tunnel into the plane.

"Carrin!"

Carrin looked
back as Mark stretched out a hand towards her in a desperate,
pleading gesture. Her throat closed, and she turned to hurry to the
plane. She would never see him again. It was over, finished; the
friendship, the engagement, everything but the love. That would
never die, no matter what he had done, but she could not bear to
see him again. She could only hope that the pain of his betrayal
would fade with time.

On the plane,
she flopped into her seat and closed her eyes, trying to banish the
image of Mark's desperate face and outstretched hand, his voice
cracked with emotion. It seemed to be burnt into her retinas,
however, and closing her eyes only made it more vivid. It was all
an act, she told herself, a first class one. Another Oscar-winning
performance from the great Mark Lord, deceitful superstar. She
tried to imagine what he was doing now that she was gone. He was
probably angry, and cursing her for getting away. To distract
herself, she flipped through a magazine, but Mark's despairing face
would not leave her alone.

Carrin
could not sleep on the long flight. The images haunted her.
Alisha’s laughing face, Mark's wedding photograph, so young and
handsome, his lips curved in that famous smile. His face at the
airport, calling her name in a cracked voice. She tried to watch
the film, but it did not help. The morning's events ran before her
eyes like an endless film. The photos, the fight at the set, the
race in the car, and worst of all, his face as she left the
airport. She wished that she had stayed and listened to him, and
cursed her soft heart. It would have been lies, what else? How
could he explain this? She tried to think of an explanation that
would exonerate him, and drew a blank.

By the time
she reached her destination, Carrin was exhausted. Her nerves
jangled, and her stomach was a knot of misery. Catching a taxi, she
went back to her little empty house. It was familiar, and felt like
home, welcoming for all its emptiness. Safe from Mark's silver
tongue, burning eyes and deadly attraction. She dumped her bags and
flopped down on the bed. A deep, exhausted sleep claimed her.

When she
woke, birds sang outside, the workers tended the land and the
horses grazed in the paddocks. Sunlight shone through the windows,
gilding the dust on the floor and stabbing her eyes with lances of
pain. She showered and changed into a pair of old jeans and a
ragged T-shirt, then drank a cup of coffee while she sat on the
veranda. Mark's face returned to haunt her, and she wept for what
could have been. The dream was shattered forever. Never again would
she be able to meet him in her dreams without remembering what he
had done to his young wife. She had barely escaped the same fate,
it seemed. Alisha must have loved him a lot, to kill herself when
he left. Carrin understood, although she would never contemplate
suicide.

In the
afternoon, she phoned her mother and told her that the wedding was
off. To her relief, Mrs York accepted her brief explanation. Things
had not worked out, that was all there was to it. Mrs York did not
sound surprised, so perhaps she also thought it was too good to be
true. Well, it had been, hadn't it? It had all been a lie.

The first
letter arrived a week after she got back. Mark's bold handwriting
leapt at her from the envelope, bringing fresh tears. She burnt it
unread. Even in his writing, she sensed the tug of his magic. The
next letter she shredded, and the third she burnt. Soon he would
give up and look for another victim. He would forget about her,
just as she tried to forget him.

Three weeks
later, she dragged herself from the deep gloom that kept her
sitting listlessly in the safety of her home. Arming herself with a
slasher, she attacked the weeds that invaded her garden. Blisters
formed on her hands and burst. She put plasters on them. The work
helped to numb her misery, though sometimes tears ran down her face
as she cut and slashed savagely. Time would heal the pain, she told
herself, but it was taking too long. A deep-seated misery suffused
her, which she could not shake off. She missed him terribly, and
nothing could fill the void that he had left. She burnt his last
letter, and the following week none came.