Superstar (38 page)

Carrin
took long rides in the bush every day to enjoy the peace and quiet
that seemed to fill the empty space within her somehow. Wild
gallops helped to leave her misery behind, but it soon caught up
with her. The spring rains turned the brown veldt into rolling
fields of green. All around her, life burgeoned. Her neighbour's
sheep gave birth to beautiful little lambs; the cows dropped
wobbly-legged calves. Her brother helped to plant her land, a quiet
steady presence. He brought soup and stews from her mother, for she
was getting thin, he claimed. Carrin did not care, but she ate the
food. Her life resumed its former grey, dull routine, and only a
lingering misery reminded her of the pain in her heart.

Two months
passed, and Hollywood seemed like a distant dream. Some nights she
woke sweating from a terrible nightmare of Mark, his hand
outstretched, calling her name in a despairing voice. It echoed in
her mind as she jerked her awake, and she longed to reach out to
him, but was unable to. A month had passed since his last
letter.

Chapter
Sixteen

Carrin sat on
Smoke, her big grey horse, and stared across the veldt and bush
around her. Smoke was not as big or as beautiful as the palomino
that Mark had given her, but he was a steady bush horse that did
not shy at things that rustled in the long grass. He was the sort
of animal one needed in the treacherous bush, where a rustle could
be a snake.

A hawk high
above caught her eye, she watched it hover on quivering wings, then
fold them and plummet from the sky. Moments later it rose again
with something in its talons. It winged away, carrying its meal to
a safe place to eat, or maybe to a chick in a nest somewhere. Life
was cruel. Some had to die so that others could live, and sometimes
beauty perished to feed ugliness. She touched her chest, where her
heart was a dead, hollow lump. She had burnt her drawings of Mark,
along with his letters and anything else that reminded her of him.
She almost wanted to sell her farm and donate the proceeds to
charity, but she could not sell her brother's precious tractor, or
take back the money that had paid her mother's bond. Her new
computer sat idle in her study; she could no longer write.

Carrin sighed
and turned Smoke onto the trail. Looking up, she spotted a distant
horseman and reined in to watch him. When he vanished behind a
hill, she urged Smoke away. She did not wish to meet anyone out
here. This was her quiet time, just her and Smoke. Following a
faint trail, she traversed a ridge and a shallow valley. On top of
the next hill, she spotted the rider again, still far off. He rode
a big black horse with consummate skill, and she admired his
mastery. When he vanished into a patch of bush, she continued along
the trail. Some young farmer, no doubt, or a farmer's son. She
guided Smoke into a donga with a stream at the bottom. There she
dismounted in the shade and let Smoke drink. He pawed the water,
sending up great showers, and she laughed and pulled him away
before he rolled and ruined her saddle.

"You can roll
in the dam when we get home, Smoky." She patted his neck. "You
always wanted to be brown, I know."

Carrin sensed
someone watching her, and glanced around. Dismounting in the bush
was not really safe. A glance up at the ridge from which she had
just descended found the eyes that she could feel. The horseman was
silhouetted there, standing quite still, and she frowned, annoyed
to be spied on by some farmer's son. The man side-reined his mount
and descended into the donga. He rode the black horse as if he was
a part of it, and there was only one person she had ever seen ride
like that. She froze, her breath stopped and her heart
hammering.

Galvanised by
a strong, irrational need to escape him, she gathered up Smoke's
reins and swung into the saddle. Turning the big grey, she kicked
him hard, urging him up the other side of the donga. Smoke sprang
up the bank even as the black horse reached the bottom behind them.
On the ridge, Carrin jerked her horse's head to the side and sent
him cantering down a steep muddy path, skidding and sliding. Never
had she traversed this trail at such a speed, but fear made her
reckless. They entered a tunnel of bush, the branches overhead
dappling the bright sun. She bent low to avoid the sharp branches
that stuck out of the thicket, urging Smoke into a gallop.

Clattering
over a patch of rock, she entered the stream lower down, and guided
Smoke into it amid showers of spray. The black horse burst from the
tunnel behind her, its rider bent low over its neck. She lashed
Smoke's haunches, sending him careering down the stream, snorting
in surprise and fear. He negotiated the treacherous rocks, jumping
and sliding, then clambered up the bank into more bush. She ducked
just in time to avoid the tree that hung across the trail, praying
that Mark would hit it. The black horse was closer now, a faster,
lighter built animal than Smoke. A glance back allowed her a
glimpse of his grim, angry face, which made her gasp in fright and
lash Smoke again.

They burst
into open veldt, the black horse close behind. With drumming hooves
they shot across the grass, and Carrin turned away from the black
horse as it pulled alongside. She headed for another patch of bush,
crashing into a copse. Mark forced his horse closer, and grabbed
one of Smoke's reins. He pulled up his horse, turning Smoke's head
and forcing the grey to slow. The horses propped and swung, and
Smoke threw up his head. Carrin tried to tug the rein from Mark's
grip, but only succeeded in jerking the grey's mouth. Smoke reared
in protest, ripping the reins from her grasp. With a yell, she fell
backwards, rolling over the horse's quarters onto the ground.

Carrin lay on
her back, stunned and a little winded. Mark fell to his knees
beside her and grabbed her arms to pull her upright.

"Are you
okay?"

She glared at
him, trying to pull away. "No thanks to you!"

"That was a
stupid stunt to pull. How far did you think you would get?"

"Not far
enough from you! Let me go!" She raised her riding crop, but he
caught her wrist.

"No. You're
going to listen to me."

"Why the hell
should I listen to more of your lies, you bastard?"

Carrin
struggled to free her hand, but he held her easily. She knew that
it was hopeless to fight him, and tears of frustration burnt her
eyes. Giving up the unequal battle, she glared at him, hating the
feelings his closeness aroused in her. He wore a pair of
slim-fitting black jeans and a matching denim shirt with silver
buttons. A trickle of blood ran down his cheek from a scratch under
his eye, giving her a twinge of satisfaction. The bush had taken
its toll, probably in the tunnel. Forcing herself to relax, she
scowled at him as he took away her whip and put it out of reach.
She jerked her wrist from his grasp and rubbed it.

Mark
held up a placating hand. "Just calm down, I don't want to fight
you. I have to tell you... about Alisha."

"Oh, I'm sure
you've thought up a great story."

Mark sighed.
"You're angry and hurt, I know, but just listen to me, okay?"

"Do I have a
choice?"

"No." He ran a
hand through his hair. She lay propped on her elbows, but when she
tried to sit up, he pushed her back. "Just stay there where I can
watch you. You're too slippery by far."

Carrin snorted
and turned her head away.

Mark gripped
her chin and forced her to face him. "Look at me, Carrin. I've come
halfway around the world to find you and tell you something, the
least you can do is pay attention."

She jerked
free and glared at him. "You've wasted your time. I hate you."

He nodded.
"Even so, you're going to listen, if I have to sit on you to make
you keep still. I'll try and be brief. I met her at a party, ten
years ago. I was drunk, and we went to my home together. The next
morning I could hardly remember bringing her home at all. I thought
that was the end of it, but a month later she rocked up on my
doorstep. She was pregnant. She had a doctor's certificate to prove
it, and she said it was mine.

"I
didn't know what to do. If it was my child, I wanted it, but Alisha
refused to settle for child support. She wanted marriage. I knew it
would never work, we didn't even know each other. Still, I was
determined to do the right thing and raise my child. I married her,
and for four months she made my life a living hell. Eventually I
filed for divorce. Alisha threatened to abort the child, but she
was five months pregnant. I thought it was safe, and that she
couldn't harm the baby, but a month after the divorce she …
died."

"That's it?"
Carrin sneered. "That's supposed to make it all better? She must
have loved you so much that she couldn't bear to live without you,
and you kicked her out, pregnant!"

He shook his
head. "She was a drug addict."

"Oh, that's
even worse!"

"No, you don't
understand what she was like. She only wanted my money, not me. She
seemed to hate me, in fact, and the baby she was carrying. She made
herself sick with drugs, and god knows what she was doing to the
child. I put her into rehab, but she ran away, used my money to buy
drugs and take her friends gambling in Las Vegas. I used to track
her down and bring her home, try to dry her out, but she would
scream and hit me. She threatened to rip the baby out with a
coat-hanger." He looked away, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

"She didn't
commit suicide," he went on. "She tried to abort the baby at six
months with drugs and a coat-hanger. I think her friends helped.
When she haemorrhaged, they abandoned her. The police agreed to say
that it was an overdose, for my sake and her parents."

Carrin stared
at him, bile stinging the back of her throat. She had never heard
such a vile tale, but how did she know that it was true? Quelling
her sympathy, she said, "How do I know that's the truth?"

He smiled
faintly. "I knew you wouldn't believe me. I wrote and told you all
about it, but you didn't believe my letters, did you?"

"I didn't read
them," she said. "I burnt them."

"Ah." He
nodded. "Of course, you would. I knew you wouldn't talk to me on
the phone, that's why I didn't call. I thought there was a slight
chance that you might read the letters, though. The only proof I
have is her letters, which fortunately I didn't burn. You could
also talk to Mrs Martin, she looked after Alisha at the ranch many
times. I used to send her there, thinking she couldn't escape, but
she always did. I sent you copies of some of her letters. Good
thing I didn't send the originals. I have them at the hotel where
I'm staying."

"You still
kicked her out without a penny when you divorced her. You left her
alone, a drug addict, carrying your child."

He gazed at
her with sad eyes. "Come on, do you really believe I would do that?
Don't you know me at all yet?"

She looked
away, a twinge of shame making her wish the words unsaid.

Mark wiped the
drying blood off his cheek. "I bought that flat in Boston. I paid
all her bills, and gave her enough money to buy anything she
wanted. She had a sports car, fur coats, and of course, her drugs.
By then, I had realised that she had no intention of stopping. You
can't cure a junky unless they want to be cured. If the baby was
mine, I was going to take it away and raise it myself, which is
probably why she was so desperate to kill it." He leant closer and
took her hand. "It's the truth. My god, what have you done to your
hands?"

Carrin
snatched away the grubby, callused paw. "Leave my hands out of it.
I've been working."

Rising to her
feet, she dusted off her riding slacks and looked around for her
horse. If he thought that she was going to fall into his arms, he
had another think coming. He looked up at her, then stood, dusting
his black jeans. He tried to take her hand, but she jerked it
away.

"Leave me
alone."

Mark smiled
and shook his head. "You're a stubborn creature. I've missed you.
If only you'd given me a chance to explain, we could have avoided a
lot of pain. Instead, you gave me a black eye and two months of
misery."

"So why did it
take you two months?" she demanded, then looked at him in surprise.
"I gave you a black eye?"

He nodded.
"Harold was furious. So was Jerry. It took me two months because I
couldn't leave. I have a contract, which Harold wouldn't let me out
of. I had to finish the filming. That took six weeks, then I came
in search of you. Your mother wouldn't tell me where you were. She
said you didn't want to speak to me. She was very nice about it,
but wouldn't budge an inch.

"It seems that
word has spread that you'd been jilted by this film star monster
called Mark Lord. No one would tell me anything. At first, I drove
around to the farms in this area, but then I realised I was wasting
my time. The moment you saw me coming, you'd head in the other
direction. The hotel where I'm staying has stables, but the nags
look like they'd drop dead if they had to gallop. So I bought this
fellow."

He gestured at
the handsome black horse. "I stabled him at the hotel. I knew that
you had horses and rode, so I figured the best way to find you was
to ride around until I spotted you out riding, then chase you down.
I knew you'd run." He smiled. "I'm getting to know you pretty
well."

"You could
have hired a private detective or something."

"I could, but
I wanted to find you myself. Besides, in a small community like
this, he wouldn't have had much success either."

Carrin walked
over to Smoke and stroked his nose, sorry that she had ridden him
so hard. He nudged her, and she squinted at Mark.