Superstar (6 page)

He paused in
the process of pouring a drink to stare at her. "Who would do a
thing like that?"

"Good
question. It's your house. Any ideas?" She was aware that her tone
was terse, to say the least, but the loss of her changes made her
furious.

Mark eyed her,
his gaze intense. "Maybe."

"Who?"

"It's not your
concern. I'll deal with it."

Carrin stood
up. "It is my concern, Mark. I want to know. I've lost a lot of
work, and I can't remember all the changes I made. It'll take ages
to redo."

He sipped his
drink. "I understand. You're angry, and it won't happen again,
okay?"

Carrin calmed
herself with an effort and turned away to hide the suspicion in her
eyes. He looked so damned sincere, but she didn't trust him. Maybe
he'd done it himself, but why?

"How am I
going to finish it in four days now?"

"Stay another
week if you like."

She
stared at him, meeting his riveting eyes. "No. I want to go
home."

He turned away
with a shrug. "Then send the changes later."

Carrin's
heart sank. If only she could stay another week. She longed to
spend more time in his company, but she would only be torturing
herself. Mark Lord would never see her as anything but a small time
writer whom he was generous enough to help, for whatever reason.
Perhaps it was all a publicity stunt to show what a kind, generous
man he was. That must be it. He certainly had Olivia Reed fooled.
She glanced at him, and found him staring into space with a
preoccupied look, as if he was thinking of something unpleasant. A
muscle twitched in his jaw, and his upper lip was almost invisible,
revealing the tense line of his mouth.

The young maid
appeared in the doorway to announce that a friend had arrived, and
Mark left. The awe-stricken girl almost curtsied as he strode past
her, and Carrin pitied her. She finished her drink and went up to
her room. Pulling out her drawings, she sketched one that captured
the tense look that he had worn.

At dinner he
seemed withdrawn, and hardly spoke to her, except for a few polite
comments. Carrin longed to talk to him and make him smile, even if
it was only that half smile. How she wished that he was not a
cold-hearted bastard. Strangely, the revelation about his
personality had not altered her feelings at all. Was she only
infatuated with his looks? Perhaps it because he was always kind
and polite to her, and gave her no reason to dislike him in spite
of what she had overheard.

The shock of
that revelation had faded somewhat, and she was able to put it from
her mind occasionally and see only the good in him. Or rather, the
good act he put on. Deep down, where her pride became
insignificant, she knew that if he ever spoke tender words to her
she would fall into his arms like an overripe fruit. She would be
unable to resist his attraction, no matter how false his words
might be. Almost, she longed for him to tell her those sweet lies,
just for the memory of it. Common sense warned her that the pain
that would follow would dwarf any other.

Carrin glanced
up to find him watching her, his unguarded expression brooding. It
changed the moment she looked at him, becoming unreadable, a
testament to his acting abilities. Had he learnt that trick in the
orphanage, or was it acting school that had taught him the art of a
poker face? His soft voice broke into her reverie.

"You know,
your homesickness could be a problem if we film your
screenplay."

It took her a
moment to react to this sudden announcement. Why on earth was he
thinking about her homesickness? Realising that she was staring at
him, she asked, "Oh? Why?"

"Because
you'll have to be here when we shoot it."

This was news
to her. "Why?"

"I will
require it, of course. I don't want anyone misinterpreting your
work, or changing it, do you?"

"No." Carrin
frowned. "Would they?"

"Probably. No
one sees things precisely the same way. You wrote it, so you're the
best person to give advice on its making."

"Surely that's
up to the director?"

He nodded.
"Usually, but writers are often consulted about the meaning of
their scenes, if the director's unsure. They're there in an
advisory capacity. Naturally the director has the final say,
because he knows what works on film. Often even the actors are
consulted, since they have to play the part. And there will be
changes; rewrites, additions, editing, that kind of thing."

She considered
this. "So I'll have to be here when - if you film it?"

"You should
be."

"And it could
take months to shoot?"

He smiled.
"Usually. This one will, because it involves a lot of action and
stunt work."

Carrin stared at the dessert that she had mashed into an
unappetising mess. It had been a fruit salad, but now it looked
more like vomit. The idea of spending months working with him every
day, and giving advice on her brainchild appealed to her. Could she
keep her feelings hidden from him for so long?
It would be a mammoth task. One
slip and her secret would be out. She would be the laughing stock,
and Mark Lord would have conquered another hapless heart. She could
just imagine the sneers that would follow her, a silly little
country mouse hopelessly in love with a mighty superstar so far out
of her reach that it was ridiculous. If she had to be around
though, what choice did she have?
It was a bittersweet situation. Her
longing to be near him was offset by her wish to escape the
hopeless situation. She looked up, and caught him watching her
again. This time he did not look away, his eyes were already
guarded.

"Couldn't it
be done on the phone?" she suggested. "You know, if the director
has a question, he could phone me."

"No." His
reply was flat, then he tempered it. "You'd have to see what was
going on, and you can't do that over the phone."

She sighed.
"Then I guess I'll have to be there, won't I?"

Mark smiled,
and she glimpsed the boyishness that came with it. "It'll be
fun."

"They still
might not make the movie, anyway."

Mark
shrugged and turned his attention back to his dessert. The topic of
conversation changed to hobbies, and she discovered that they
shared a love of horses and fast cars, good books and fine art. She
was surprised by how much they had in common, and how much she
enjoyed his company. He also appeared to enjoy himself, and became
quite animated on some topics. He had a quick wit and an excellent
sense of humour, as well as an extensive knowledge of her favourite
subjects. His expression became unguarded, and on several occasions
she glimpsed warmth in his eyes. He even chuckled at some of her
wittier remarks, although he still did not smile properly. It
seemed as if they could become good friends, and her suspicions
appeared to be ridiculous. Time flew past, and only when Carrin
started to yawn did she realise how late it was, and went to
bed.

Chapter
Four

The next
morning, she came downstairs to find that Mark had gone out. The
shy maid brought her coffee in the room where she worked on her
screenplay. Working on the computer renewed her anger at the loss
of her changes, and she asked the maid where Helen was.

"Mr Lord
dismissed her last night, Miss York," the girl replied. "He ordered
her to pack and leave immediately, so she's gone."

Carrin stared
at her. "I see."

So her
suspicions had been right, and Mark had known that it was Helen.
The girl went on, "She was terribly upset. There was quite a scene
after you retired."

"I'll bet,"
Carrin muttered. "How did Mr Lord know it was her?"

"Who wiped out
your file?"

Carrin
nodded.

"She worked
with computers before she came here, so she knew how to do it. He
made her admit it before he fired her, anyway."

Carrin
wondered how he had done that, but perhaps it was better that she
did not know. She let the girl go and returned to the mammoth task
that now faced her.

By lunchtime,
she needed a break, and went into the garden to stretch her legs.
It was pleasant to walk amongst the clipped hedges and bright
flowerbeds. The garden at her home was a sorry collection of tough
shrubs that hardly ever had a flower on them. A sound behind her
made her turn, expecting it to be Mark or Rita, the maid. Instead,
Helen stood there, and Carrin gasped in horror. A huge bruise
covered one side of her face, her jaw was swollen, and a gash
marred the creamy skin of her temple. Mascara streaked her cheeks,
and her hair straggled in a matted mess. Carrin stepped back in
shock, and Helen smiled lopsidedly.

"So, Miss
York, you see what your wonderful Mark Lord is capable of?"

"He did
that?"

"Of course.
How do you think he made me admit to doing something I didn't? He
beat me!"

Carrin
clutched a nearby bush for support. "He beat you?"

Helen scowled.
"What, is there an echo around here? He beat me! Didn't know that
about him, did you? Why do you think he's still single? Everyone
knows what he's like. I would have taken it, if he'd married me,
but he wouldn't marry a maid any more than he'd marry a little
nobody like you. Would you take it, Miss York, huh? None of the
supermodels would. They need their precious faces."

Carrin found
it hard to breathe. A lump formed in her chest, as if her heart had
turned to stone. "I don't believe you. I spoke to Olivia Reed; she
swore that he's a good man."

"Hah! Olivia's
his little pet! She'll say anything he wants; he pays her
bills."

Hot, burning
bile crept up Carrin's throat. "But why?"

"Why
what?"

"Why... what
does he want from me? Why are you telling me this?"

Helen sneered,
"Even you deserve fair warning, I guess. I've got nothing to lose
now, do I? As for what he wants you for, I've no idea. Perhaps it's
that air of purity you have; that untouched look. Maybe he's tired
of the Hollywood types. I don't know!"

Carrin
tottered to a stone seat and sat down. Her hands shook and her skin
was cold. The sight of Helen's battered face brought fresh nausea
to tighten the knot in her gut. Helen sat beside her, a ghastly
smile on her bruised face.

"So, now
you know the truth. He's not your knight in shining armour; he's
like Jekyll and Hyde. One minute sweet and nice, the next he'll
smack you across the room. He's a good actor, Miss York, a very
good actor. He's won two Oscars. Remember that. The best thing for
you to do is catch the first plane home, and stay
there."

Carrin shook
her head. "I can't believe it. If you didn't wipe out the file,
then who did?"

"He did of
course!" Helen snorted. "He thought you'd stay the extra week."

"Why?"

"How should I
know? Maybe he's determined to add another notch to his
bedpost."

"But he hasn't
-"

Helen gave a
harsh laugh. "He doesn't just conquer bodies; that's too easy. He
wants your heart, so he can twist it and mangle it before he tosses
it aside. That's what he does best. He never had love as a child,
now he's incapable of it."

"But as long
as he doesn't know what I feel, I'm safe?"

Helen leant
closer. "What do you feel?"

Carrin became
cautious. "Nothing. I like him... used to like him, that's
all."

"Then I guess
you're safe," Helen said.

Carrin nodded,
still stunned.

Helen stood
up. "I'd better go. I don't want him to catch me here."

The erstwhile
maid hobbled away, and Carrin was surprised that Helen had the
decency to warn her about Mark. She waited for the shock to wear
off, and tried to imagine Mark hitting Helen, his handsome face
twisted in hatred, yet somehow the image did not gel. The
revelation of Mark's brutality would let her think of nothing else,
and she had no desire to go back and work on the screenplay, but
stared across the garden numbly. A chill invaded the air as the
afternoon wore on, and she jumped as a voice spoke behind her.

"So, here you
are."

She turned to
face Mark, rising to her feet. He sauntered closer, his hands in
the pockets of a well-cut blue linen suit.

"Taking a
break?"

Carrin tried
to force words past the lump in her throat and failed, staring at
him.

He peered at
her. "Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine,"
she said, but Mark still eyed her.

"Has something
happened?"

"No." She
hesitated. "Just homesick."

He studied
her. "Wow, this homesickness really eats you up, doesn't it?" His
dark eyes became more piercing.

"Perhaps I
could go home early; change my ticket?" she asked.

A muscle
jumped in his jaw, revealing his tension. "If you want. But you
promised to come out with me Friday, remember?"

"Oh, yes." She
stared at the ground, unable to meet his puzzled, angry eyes.
"Saturday then?"

Her flight was
booked for Monday, so it was only two days earlier. He shrugged,
scowling. "If you must, you must. I'll have my secretary change the
reservation."

"Thank
you."

"Maybe if you
phoned home, it would help."

Carrin winced
inwardly. So much for her being homesick. He knew she had not
phoned home once since she had been here. Did he suspect? She
risked a glance at him, but he stared across the garden, looking
thoroughly annoyed.

"I'll do that
now, maybe it will make me feel better." She turned to leave,
wanting to get away from him; his presence was so unnerving.

Mark gripped
her arm and swung her to face him again. She flinched, even though
his touch sent tingles through her.