Superstar (5 page)

After he had
gone, the silence stretched until Olivia replaced her cup with a
clatter. "May I ask what brought on that display of bad manners,
young lady?"

"It's the
truth. We only met two days ago."

"He sent you a
ticket to come here. You're staying in his house, enjoying his
hospitality, to say nothing of his much sought after company. Don't
you know how lucky you are? He's trying to get your script made
into a movie. He's allowing your name to be linked to his in order
to help your career. My god, girl, he's doing everything he can to
help you. How dare you be so nasty to him?"

Carrin's eyes
burnt with mortification, and her nose itched as it always did when
she was embarrassed. Put like that, it did seem terrible. "I only
said the same thing as you did."

"Not quite.
What has he done to you to make you dislike him?"

"Nothing. I -
I just don't think he's as nice a person as you think he is."

Olivia looked
aghast. "What? Mark Lord is the kindest, gentlest, most generous,
unselfish man I have ever met. He's not like most movie stars who
love themselves to bits and look down on everyone else. Don't you
realise how lucky you are to have met him?"

Carrin sucked
the cream from her thumb miserably.

Olivia sighed.
"I think I know what the problem is. You've developed an enormous
crush on him, and he's not interested. Hell hath no fury and all
that, hey?"

Carrin
schooled her features, determined not to let Olivia see how she
felt. No one must know, ever! Especially a close friend of Mark's,
who would tell him.

"No, you're
wrong. I've seen the way he treats people, that's all, and he seems
cruel."

"Cruel! Mark?
Never." Olivia looked thoughtful. "To whom?"

Carrin wanted
to shout, 'To me! He's using me, but I don't know what for!'
Instead she shrugged. "I've heard things about him, that's
all."

"Ah, from
Helen, no doubt." Olivia leant closer. "I don't know why he puts up
with her, you know. She's been trying to get her hooks into him for
a long time, but he won't fall for her charms, and that's driving
her nuts. Don't let her poison your mind; she's bitter."

Carrin
sniffed. "I suppose he'll marry Jenna one day."

"Ha!"
Olivia gave a bark of laughter. "Never. That tramp doesn't stand a
chance with him. If I was twenty years younger, I'd be after him
myself, dear. Unlike most movie stars who hop in and out of
marriage, he's waiting for the right girl, and that's rare. He
won't marry for anything but love, you know. Jenna’s just
window-dressing. Something to keep the press happy; a date when he
needs to go to a function, that's all."

Carrin looked
amazed. "You mean he doesn't love her?"

"Let me tell
you something about Mark Lord, Carrin. He was an orphan, abandoned
as an infant. When he left the orphanage at eighteen, all he wanted
was to be rich and famous. He felt that he was worthless, you see.
Unloved. Even his mother didn't want him. That's hard to live with.
He put himself through acting school by working as a labourer. He
struggled for years to get a good part, and eventually he did. Do
you know how many millions he gives to charity? He supports at
least five orphanages and dozens of soup kitchens. He employs
hundreds to staff his homes. Why, he's a walking benefactor to all
who need him, including you."

Carrin fiddled
with her teacup. "I think he needs a good screenplay."

"Posh!" Olivia
banged the table. "You're not listening, and I haven't finished.
When he received your letter, he phoned me, and he was excited. Not
about doing another movie, but about helping a struggling writer.
He needs another movie like he needs a hole in the head. He's
turned down five offers in as many months. He doesn't need the
money or the aggravation."

Carrin stared
at her. Well, that blew one of her theories out of the water, but
what other use could he have for her? Olivia watched her, and
Carrin felt foolish.

"Maybe you're
right," she murmured. "You know him much better than I do."

"Damn right
I'm right, and I think you owe him an apology."

Carrin nodded,
deciding that the sooner she got out of this web of intrigue and
deception the better. Olivia obviously liked Mark Lord, but from
what she had overheard in the garden, Carrin knew that he was not
as innocent as Olivia liked to think. Olivia relaxed as Carrin
nodded and poured more tea.

"Now, dear,
what did you need help with?"

They spent the
rest of the day working on Carrin's screenplay. Olivia proved to be
a font of wisdom on writing and all its difficulties. After lunch,
John collected Carrin, whose head was abuzz with new ideas. A few
tired-looking paparazzi still hung around the gates, but John
barely slowed down, and left them running after the car in obvious
frustration.

Back at
the mansion, Carrin asked Helen where Mark was, only to be told
simply that he was out. She located one of the many computers in
the house and settled down to work on the script. At around seven,
Helen brought a tray, and said that Mr Lord was sure that Carrin
would rather eat alone while she worked. The maid looked smug and
triumphant, which Carrin took to mean that Mark was not happy with
his guest. At around ten o'clock, she decided to go to bed, and
wandered into the garden to enjoy a breath of fresh air first. She
stretched and yawned, then spotted a dark shadow by the pool. She
turned to leave, but Mark's soft voice halted her.

"Carrin."

Carrin turned
to face the man she had insulted earlier. He smoked a cheroot, a
brandy snifter in one hand, and his eyes were shadowed with
fatigue.

"I don't know
what I've done to offend you, but I wish you'd tell me so that I
can make amends."

Carrin
experienced a weird mixture of emotions so strong that she longed
to turn and run. His soft voice and the sincerity with which he
spoke warmed her heart and sent a pang of remorse through her. It
was as if her dream had come to life. Alarm bells sounded in her
brain, however, and her hackles rose. She had heard that same soft,
sincere tone in his films. It was as easy for him to fake now as it
was then. He was a charmer, and whatever he had planned for her, he
obviously needed her co-operation, so he was trying to lull her
into thinking that he was a nice guy. She steeled herself, refusing
to look at that famous, beautiful face and his intense eyes that
pierced her soul, studying her feet instead.

"Nothing.
You've done nothing. I'm sorry for what I said; it wasn't meant the
way it sounded."

"I see." He
puffed the cheroot. "Then you wouldn't mind coming out with me to a
function I must attend on Friday?"

Carrin's
head jerked up, and she stared at him. Was this it? Why on earth
would he want to take her when he had Jenna? Was he using her to
make Jenna jealous? How ridiculous. Aware that he was waiting, she
blurted, "What about Jenna?"

He
ground out the cheroot with his boot. "Jenna’s going with Simon
Grey."

Carrin
frowned. What the hell was going on? At the dinner party, Jenna had
not had any time for Simon Grey. Now she was going out with Simon?
She had left Mark? Just last night they had made love, and now she
was with another man? Things moved too fast for a simple country
girl, in Hollywood. Mark still waited for her answer, and she put
aside her pride to tell the truth. No other excuse would
do.

"I don't have
anything to wear."

"Ah. Yes, I
noticed. If you don't object, I can order a dress for you."

Carrin
suppressed a gasp. She did object, most strongly! She would not
accept expensive gifts from a man she barely knew. Mark must have
divined her objection, for he held up a hand before she could air
it.

"On loan."

Carrin
considered his suggestion, which was more reasonable. She could not
think of another valid excuse, and besides, it sounded rather
exciting, going to a function on the arm of a world-famous actor.
If he was using her, then she would use him too.

As if worried
that she needed more persuading, Mark added, "It will be good
publicity for you. There will be lots of producers, directors and
such there. I'll introduce you."

She smiled.
"I'd like that very much."

"What, being
introduced?"

"No, going
with you."

"Ah." He
seemed startled. "Well good. How's the screenplay coming
along?"

"Very
well."

Mark sipped
his brandy. "I'll take you to a boutique tomorrow, okay?"

She nodded.
"Sure."

An awkward
silence fell, then Mark said, "Good night."

He entered the
house, and Carrin stared after him. He seemed so nice, but she knew
what a cold-hearted man he really was. He was just a good actor,
she told herself. The problem was, he was always acting.

The next day,
at lunchtime, Helen came into the room where Carrin was working to
announce that Mr Lord was ready to take her to the boutique. Carrin
saved her work and stood up, not missing the angry glint in Helen's
eyes. Downstairs, Mark waited in the car, talking on the phone as
before. He hung up when she climbed in and cast her a slight,
inscrutable smile. She returned it stiffly, and he looked away. On
the way to the boutique, he asked about the screenplay and she
discussed her changes with him, the conversation business-like.
Mark donned sunglasses when they left the car, but still, people
stopped to stare, and a few started forward as if to intercept him.
Carrin followed him into the shop's cool confines, and the door was
closed to the public.

A well-dressed
woman with styled chestnut hair and patrician features greeted
Mark, calling him Mr Lord. Her gaze swept over Carrin with deep
disparagement as she guided them into a viewing room with a ramp.
Mark had arranged a fashion show just for her, it seemed, and
Carrin found it rather embarrassing.

As they
settled into upholstered chairs, Carrin leant closer to mutter,
"You didn't have to organise a fashion show, you know."

Mark glanced
at her. "You have to see the dresses."

"I usually
just try them on."

"These don't
come in different sizes. When you choose one, it will be made to
fit you."

Carrin stared
at him in amazement, then her attention was diverted as the first
model stepped out onto the ramp. Carrin eyed the frothy creation
without any enthusiasm. Mark evidently did not like it either, and
a flick of his fingers sent the model hurrying back into the
dressing room. Another girl appeared, clad in a sleek white gown.
She could not take her eyes off Mark, and almost tripped over her
long skirt. The saleswoman frowned and went backstage. The next
model did not look at Mark at all, but stared over his head. Carrin
sighed and watched the parade of lovely dresses, none of which
would suit her. At last a model appeared wearing a floating
creation of gossamer white petal skirts attached to a bodice of
honey silk picked out with stripes of white and pale blue. Mark
glanced at her, and she knew that this was the right dress. She did
not need his approval, but she could tell that he liked it as
well.

"That one,"
she said.

Mark nodded,
and the saleswoman hurried over. The seamstress took Carrin's
measurements, and when they left the shop a crowd of
autograph-hunters accosted Mark. He signed the slips of paper that
they thrust at him, and John cleared a path to the car. Safely
inside, he sighed and took off the sunglasses.

"At least
they're not as bad as the paparazzi."

"They're your
fans. Without them, you'd be nobody," Carrin pointed out rather
testily.

Mark shot her
a surprised look. "I know. I don't dislike them. In fact, I wish it
was safe to mingle with them, but there are always a few nuts who
want a lock of hair or a bit of your clothes, and they can be
dangerous."

"I
suppose."

"It's a lovely
dress."

"Yes. I only
hope I do it justice."

"You
will."

His slight,
famous smile tugged at his sensual lips, and Carrin wished he would
just smile properly and get it over with. The question bubbled out
of her without any thought.

"Why do you
never smile?"

He shot her a
startled glance, then his smile widened. "I do."

"Not properly,
and never in the movies."

"Ah, well I
was advised not to. I was told that I look like a schoolboy when I
smile, so I got into the habit of not doing it. After all, villains
and tough heroes aren't meant to grin like schoolboys."

"I suppose
not."

His
explanation was a relief to Carrin. At least there was nothing
wrong with him, and he didn't have missing teeth or anything. Not
that it was any concern of hers. Besides, she had occasionally
glimpsed the edge of a set of perfectly even white teeth when he
spoke. She would have liked to have seen the schoolboy smile, but
did not push the issue.

At the
mansion, she returned to the computer, only to receive a shock. Her
file was gone, and, with it, all her changes. She searched every
directory, but there was no sign of the file. Carrin was certain
that she had saved her work before she left, but she had not made a
backup. The only backup she had was the original one that she had
brought with her. Many hours of work had just vanished. She
remembered Helen's angry look before she left, but did the maid
know enough about computers to erase a file? Switching the machine
off, she went down to the lounge bar to pour a stiff drink. As she
sat contemplating her frosted glass, Mark walked in.

"Hello. I
thought you'd be working."

"I would," she
retorted, "except someone's erased my file."