Superstar (4 page)

Mark's reply was soft
. "Don't worry, she can take care of
herself."

"How do you
know that? Why don't you just tell her that you're not
interested?"

Mark sounded
bored. "I will, but for the moment I have a use for her."

"You're a
cold-hearted bastard. If you won't tell her, I will."

"Go ahead; she
won't believe you. You've got enough women chasing after you to
know what it's like. They're only after money and fame. I don't
know why she doesn't switch to you, if you're keen on her."

Carrin
pressed back against the wall, waves of horror making her heart
pound and her mouth dry. Mark’s callous remarks showed his true
nature, and shattered her image of him as a kind, sensitive man.
The revelation made her want to be sick. She went back to her room,
where she flung herself on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Mark’s harsh words, spoken in the same sneering tone that he had
used in his films when he played the villain, had destroyed her
dream.

A knock at the
door made her sit up and call out to the person to enter. A young,
shy-looking maid stood there, awkward in her stiff uniform. She
bobbed and fiddled with her apron.

"Mr Lord wants
to know when you'll be joining him for tea, Miss York."

"I won't." The
words were out before she could think about them, driven by her
resentment. "I - I'm not feeling well."

The maid
bobbed again. "I'll tell him."

As the maid left, Carrin glared at the inoffensive
door.
Yes,
tell him he's a cold-hearted bastard while you're at it,
she wanted to
add.
Tell
him that all his good looks don't make up for his nasty
personality, and I wouldn't touch him with a barge pole.
Going onto the
balcony, she gazed out at the acres of garden. Cool pathways wound
between spreading trees, and bright flowers bordered them. Tiny
artificial springs fed rockeries of creeping plants.

The warm
pool's deep blue mocked her with its cool appearance, much like
Mark Lord's handsome exterior hid a cold, cruel mind. She looked
down as Mark emerged from the patio, evidently having received her
message. He wandered to the edge of the pool and stared into the
water. What was he thinking? Was he relieved not to have to spend
time in her boring company? She scowled, wishing that she had a
water bomb to drop on his head. He had said that he was using her,
but for what? To get her screenplay? To make the lovely Jenna
jealous? Surely Helen would be a better choice for that? Jenna
would hardly consider a plain young writer a threat. Mark left the
pool and wandered away into the garden.

Chapter
Three

That night,
dinner was an awkward affair. She dined alone with the superstar at
a table in an alcove off the main dining room. Carrin concentrated
on enjoying the delicious food, and made no attempt to converse
with Mark. He studied her, which made it impossible for her to look
at him. Eventually, he broke the silence.

"You seem to
be feeling better."

"Yes, thank
you."

"Too much wine
last night?"

"Something
like that."

"I read your
screenplay this afternoon."

Carrin looked
up at him. "Did you like it?"

Mark looked
down at his half-eaten roast beef and potatoes drowned in creamy
sauce, as if unable to meet her gaze. That probably meant that he
hated it, she thought, her heart sinking. She took the opportunity
to study his face from yet another angle, longing to draw it.

"It needs some
work. Your characters are a little vague. Some of your
conversations are inane and unnecessary, but otherwise, yes, I
do."

Relief washed
through her. "I'll work on it." Her eagerness to get somewhere with
the screenplay banished her resentment momentarily.

Mark raised
his eyes, toying with his food. "I have several computers you can
use. I trust you brought backups with you?"

"Of
course."

He sat back,
and the maid removed his plate. "You're very quiet this
evening."

She shrugged.
"I'm a quiet person."

"Tell me about
yourself."

Carrin stared
at him, hoping that her anger did not show in her eyes. The candles
on the table bathed his face in a warm golden glow; softening its
lines and making him look younger.

"There's
nothing much to tell. I was born in Africa, went to school, almost
got married at eighteen but he ran off with another woman. I worked
in various jobs, then started writing three years ago. I've had
four books rejected, and this is my first screenplay."

He folded his
hands, and she noticed how long and slender they were. The hands of
an artist, or surgeon. "What about your family?"

She shrugged.
"I have a brother and mother, my father's dead. We stay on a small
farm with my sister-in-law."

Mark gazed at
her, probably waiting for her to go on. If he was expecting her to
ask him questions about himself, he was disappointed. Although she
burnt with curiosity, she refused to give him the satisfaction. He
unfolded his hands, and his lips curved in a slight smile.

"There's
someone I'd like you to meet, before you work on the screenplay.
She's a writer, and I think she can give you some good tips."

Carrin looked
doubtful. Another girlfriend?

Mark sat
back as the maid served dessert. “If you like, I'll take you to
meet her tomorrow. I have a meeting, so I'll drop you off and
collect you later, okay?"

She shrugged
again. "Okay."

"Good." He
tucked into the strawberries and cream, and the meal was completed
in silence. Afterwards, she claimed to be tired and left him to sip
a brandy alone. She gained the impression that he was disappointed,
but dismissed it as imagination. In her room, she pulled out the
sketches and gazed at them. If only he was as nice inside as he was
on the outside.

Why was it
that beautiful people were sometimes cursed with such horrible
personalities? Why couldn't her dream be real? In it, he was
sensitive, loving and tender, but in reality he was not a nice
person at all. Picking up her pencil, she drew another picture,
trying to catch the essence of his character. She made his crooked
eyebrows more prominent and his dark eyes glared, his mouth twisted
in a sneer. Yet no matter how she twisted his features, he still
wasn't ugly.

Giving
up, she put the drawings away, then turned at a splash outside.
Walking onto the balcony, she looked down at the warm pool. Mark
Lord swam in it, using an energetic crawl that ploughed a foaming
wake from one end to the other. He seemed intent on exhausting
himself, swimming as if demons were after him, and she hoped that
they would catch him. After a few minutes he climbed out, clad only
in a brief pair of swimming trunks. Muscles rippled on his tanned,
well-built torso as he towelled his hair. Carrin noticed a woman
walking towards him from the patio doors. He greeted Jenna, who
walked into his arms. Carrin left to shower and go to bed. Jenna
was welcome to him.

The following
morning, after eating breakfast in her room, Carrin came down to
find the limousine parked at the front doors. Mark sat in it,
talking on a mobile phone. John held the door for her, and she
climbed in beside Mark. The glass barrier between them and the
driver was in place, and she settled uncomfortably beside Mark as
he ended his call. He glanced at her and folded the phone.

"Sleep
well?"

"Yes, thank
you. I'm sorry if I kept you waiting."

He gave her
that slight, famous smile. "Not at all. I had to make some calls
anyway."

Carrin stared out of the window as the car glided down the
driveway, wondering where Jenna was. Was she still in Mark's bed,
while a resentful Helen served her breakfast, or had she left last
night after they had made love?
He did not even look tired, but
disgustingly healthy, with no sign of a late night at all. His
voice dragged her from her reverie.

"You seem
unhappy, Carrin. Anything wrong?"

She turned to
look at him, wishing he did not look so handsome in the car's dim
interior. "No, just... a little homesick, I guess."

He stared at
her in surprise. "Yes, I suppose you would be missing your family.
Perhaps we should go out and do something; that would take your
mind off it."

"I have to
work on the screenplay."

"There's
plenty of time for that. Perhaps you'd like to come to my ranch? We
could go horse riding."

Carrin
wondered why he was trying so hard to be nice. Maybe he sensed her
hostility, and wanted to win her over for whatever use he had for
her. Well, it would not work.

"Thanks, but I
want to get the screenplay finished and go home."

"I see." He
looked confused. "Of course, you must have a boyfriend over there,
who you're missing."

"No. I miss my
horses, and my dog."

Mark's face
became unreadable, and she smiled inwardly. Let him think that a
few animals were more important than him; that would put him in his
place. He stared out of the window as the car whispered along, then
cursed. Carrin followed his gaze. They approached a set of steel
gates much like his, and a crowd of photographers clustered around
them. At the sight of the car they gave glad cries, and the swarm
descended on the limousine. Flashes went off like strobe lights as
the car pulled up at the gates, and Mark frowned as the pushing
crowd clustered close. The paparazzi banged on the windows and
shouted questions through the glass.

"Mr Lord, when
will your next movie be out?"

"What are you
working on currently?"

"Are you
and Jenna planning on tying the knot?"

"Is it true
you're in financial difficulties?"

The gates
swung open and the car purred through, leaving the disappointed
reporters milling. Mark glared at the back of John's head and
pushed a button on the console, which made the partition slide
down.

"How the hell
did they know I was coming here?"

"I don't know
sir." John glanced at his boss in the rear-view mirror. Mark
shifted irritably and tugged at the lapels of his immaculate black
suit. Surrounded by so much opulence, and his debonair presence,
Carrin felt plain and out of place in her faded summer dress. His
aftershave tickled her nose with a cool masculine scent that mixed
well with the leather smell of the car's upholstery.

They pulled up
in front of a single storey, ivy-covered house, whose garden was
not as well tended as Mark's. Hedges straggled, and creepers
invaded areas where they should not be. Molehills dotted the lawn
amongst the fallen leaves. It was still pretty, and more natural,
Carrin thought. As Mark stepped out of the car, a barrage of
cameras clicked and flashed from the gate. The paparazzi were now
armed with telephoto lenses, she noticed, which they pushed through
the bars. Mark ignored them as he helped her out, his touch cool
and impersonal, though it sent shivers through her. She turned her
back on the media as the cameras clicked in a frenzy. Mark walked
up to the front door as it was flung open and a grey-haired,
motherly woman flew out. She flung her arms around Mark's neck and
kissed him on both cheeks. He bore it with a slight smile, kissing
her back.

"My darling
boy," the woman gushed, "it's so good to see you. It's been so
long!"

"I know,
Ollie. I've been busy."

"And you must
be Carrin." The woman approached Carrin, hand outstretched. Carrin
shook it, and the woman beamed. "It's so nice to meet you."

Mark said,
"Carrin, this is Olivia Reed, a good friend, and writer."

"Oh, I'm
retired now, dear." Olivia waved a hand. "Let's go inside before
those ghouls at the gate get too many blurred photos."

Mark
scowled in the direction of the still-clicking cameras. "How on
earth did they know I was coming to see you, Ollie?"

"I don't know,
unless they've stooped to tapping phones."

They followed
her into a cosy interior furnished in chintz and polished antiques,
walking through it to a back patio beside a pool and a rockery.
When they were seated at a garden table, a maid appeared with a tea
tray. The tea set looked like Dresden, and a collection of creamy
cakes filled two plates. Olivia poured the tea and made sure that
everyone had a cup and a cake before settling back.

"So, Carrin,
you're a writer."

"Trying to
be."

Olivia
smiled. "If you don't try you'll never succeed my dear, and if Mark
likes your work, you must be good." Carrin glanced doubtfully at
Mark, and Olivia chuckled. "Don't worry; he's not just being kind.
He's very serious about his work. He'll always tell you the
truth."

Carrin nodded.
"Oh, I'm sure he's not trying to be kind." As soon as the words
were out, she regretted them. Mark's brows rose, and Olivia glanced
at her sharply.

"I mean... as
you said, he's a serious actor," Carrin hurried on as a tense
silence followed her ill-considered remark. "And why should he be
kind? He hardly knows me. It's not as if I'm a friend, is it?"

Mark shifted,
staring at Carrin as if she was some rare and indescribably ugly
bug he had just found swimming in his bathtub. Olivia looked
uncomfortable and gulped her tea. Carrin reached for a sticky cake
and got her thumb stuck in it. Mark cleared his throat, finished
his tea and rose to his feet.

"Ollie,
I must go. I'm late for a meeting with my accountant."

"Of course,
darling." Olivia gazed up at him with adoring eyes as he bent to
kiss her. He nodded at Carrin. "I'll send John for you."