Superstar

by Southwell, T C

  "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.

  "What's the real reason, Carrin?"

  "I told you."

  "Tell me the truth, I want to know."

  She jerked her arm from his grip and rubbed it. "I'm homesick."

  He nodded. "That's your story, and you're sticking to it."

  "It's the truth."

  "No it isn't."

  Swinging away, she strode back to the house, leaving him staring after her. In her room, she dialled her home phone number and waited while it rang. Julia was far too lazy to answer it, and her mother would probably be outside somewhere. Carrin counted the rings. On the tenth, it was picked up, and the sound of her mother's voice brought a gush of relief. Mrs York sounded pleased.

  "You gave us quite a start, vanishing like that, Cary. Luckily Paul found the note you left in your cottage."

  "I know, but I did try to tell you."

  "And we didn't believe you. Well, we do now. What's it like in Hollywood?"

  Carrin hesitated. "Different. I've been working, so I haven't had any chance to explore."

  "What's Mr Lord like?"

  Carrin swallowed. "He's... nice. Listen, mom, I'm coming home on Saturday instead of Monday. Can Paul pick me up from the airport?"

  "Of course dear. We'll talk when you get back. Have a nice time."

  Carrin said goodbye and hung up, feeling a little better. She dreaded facing Mark at supper, and went down late, only to find that he had gone out and she was to dine alone. With a mixture of relief and disappointment, she ate her solitary meal, then went to bed.

  On Friday, she met Mark's secretary, a short, plump blond woman with horn-rimmed spectacles who exuded an air of efficiency. She gave Carrin her new ticket and wished her a happy trip, then vanished into whatever part of the huge mansion she inhabited. Carrin sat on the bed and stared at the ticket. Tonight would be her last night in Mark Lord's house.

  Tomorrow morning she would fly back to Africa, and she might never see him again. She wanted to cry, and she forced herself to remember Helen's battered face. That strengthened her resolve and banished the tears, yet she looked forward to her evening out with the superstar. Well, it would be a unique experience, and she would be safe in the crowd. Strangely, Mark did not strike her as a violent man, and she was usually good at seeing through people. Yet, as Helen had pointed out, Mark Lord was an excellent actor. An Oscar winner. Sighing, she put the ticket in her bag and went to the computer room. At lunchtime, her dress arrived.

  At five o'clock she soaked in a bubble bath, then set her hair and daubed on various body lotions. She put on her meagre make-up and donned the dress. Standing before the full-length mirror, she stared at her reflection, stunned. A lovely woman had replaced the cheap, untidy tomboy. Carrin hardly recognised herself. The dress hugged her figure, making her appear taller and more slender. The strappy high-heeled sandals gave her poise and elegance that she had never dreamt of possessing. Her hair shone, her skin glowed, and her blue eyes sparkled between black lashes. Carrin was impressed.

  In this dress, she would give even the supermodels a run for their money. She twirled, making the skirts fly, and laughed. Tonight would be the best night of her life; a dream come true.
If only the rest of her fantasy had come true as well. If only Mark Lord had been a gentleman instead of a monster. Her dream of happiness with him intruded with disturbing vividness, and she banished it.

  A knock at the door startled her, and the young maid peered in, grinning with delight.

  "You look lovely, Miss York!"

  "Thank you."

  "Mr Lord is waiting downstairs."

  Carrin experienced an odd mixture of dread and delight at the prospect of facing him again, but steeled herself. Tomorrow she would go back to the safety of her home, far from the intrigues of Hollywood and Mark Lord's devastating charm. Just one more evening to get through without her secret being discovered, and she would be safe. Smoothing the dress over her hips, she left her room and descended the marble stairs, wary of her shoes' high heels. The last thing she wanted was to trip over her feet and end up in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Mark leant against the banister, clad in a black dinner jacket with velvet lapels over a spotless white silk shirt open at the throat. A black sash hugged his narrow hips above well-cut black trousers. His dark hair gleamed, and she had never seen a more beautiful man.

  At the clicking of her heels he turned to look up at her. His face remained expressionless, and she stared at the pure lines of his features, consigning this moment to her memory forever. His nostrils flared, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. His eyes raked her and he frowned. She shivered at the flat look in his eyes, accompanied by a pang of sorrow. All that masculine beauty, and the eyes of a cobra.

  When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she discovered that her three-inch heels made her almost as tall as him. One corner of his sensual mouth curved up.

  "So, tonight we're equals."

  His soft tenor sent another shiver through her, and his cool, spicy aftershave made her light-headed. She could not drag her eyes from his face, then his gaze flicked down, and she looked at the flat box that he held. With a click, he opened it, revealing a diamond necklace resting on a bed of black velvet. Carrin gasped.

  "Another loan, of course. The dress needs something."

  "Of course."

  Mark lifted the necklace out and fastened it around her neck, encircling her with his arms to do so. His proximity made her want to reach up and caress the flawless features so close to her. The touch of his fingers on her neck sent thrills through her, which she struggled to hide. Stepping back, he studied her.

  "That's better."

  Carrin gazed at him, sure that her feelings were written all over her face, but unable to hide them. His dark eyes seemed to pierce her soul, yet they remained unreadable.

  "You look exquisite."

  "Thank you. So do you."

  His smile widened. "I've never heard a man described like that."

  "Few men deserve it."

  His eyes slid away, and he turned to indicate the door. "Shall we go?"

  Smiling at his embarrassment, she preceded him to the purring limousine, where John held the door for them. Within its rich interior, she no longer felt out of place. The dress made her worthy of the luxury and wealth that surrounded her. She felt like Cinderella, and was giddy with happiness. The car whispered through the city and glided to a halt outside a brightly lit nightclub, where the flashes of hundreds of cameras strobed it. Paparazzi pushed at a barrier of policemen, who held the swaying line at bay.

  A liveried flunky opened the door, and Mark slid out. Flashes exploded all around him, and he raised a languid hand. Girls screamed his name and papers fluttered, held out to him in the hope of receiving an autograph. Carrin hesitated in the car's dimness. Even though Mark was the centre of attraction, she was reluctant to face all those flashing cameras. Mark reached in and took her hand, pulling her from the car.

  He muttered, "Don't make me stand out here any longer than I have to."

  A fresh wave of flashes strobed her with brilliance, and she winced as the light stabbed her eyes. Someone threw a rose at Mark, which he caught and waved, bestowing his slight, famous smile in the general direction of the thrower. Carrin stayed close to him, and his hand on her elbow guided her through the blinding barrage. They entered the foyer and left the lights behind. TV reporters waited in ambush there, and rushed forward to thrust microphones in Mark's face, cameras and lighting booms clustering close. The babble of questions was almost unintelligible, but Mark said her name as he forged through the media. When a persistent woman blocked his path, a security guard hustled her aside.

  At last they outdistanced the media, who gave up the chase to return for their next celebrity ambush. Entering the softer light within the club, Carrin found herself in a large hall filled with flower-decked tables. People sat and talked at them, while soft music played in the background. Beyond them, spotlights wandered around a dance floor and a stage.

  Evidently this was some sort of award ceremony. She followed Mark, who headed for a table, and she recognised most of the people who sat at it from the first dinner party where she had almost fallen asleep in her pudding. The women no longer looked at her condescendingly or scornfully, and the men's stares were admiring. Jenna sat beside Simon Grey, looking sour. Mark pulled out a chair for Carrin, and she was relieved to get off her rubbery legs after running the gauntlet outside. Spots still danced in her eyes from the flashes, and Mark noticed her blinking as he settled beside her.

  "You mustn't look at the flashes," he advised.

  "It's hard not to when they're everywhere."

  "You'll get used to it."

  She smiled. "I'll never be a superstar, like you."

  "Be thankful for that."

  Mark turned away to speak to another actor, who was trying to get his attention. Carrin gazed around, spotting many well-known faces and naming most of them. A week ago, she would not have dreamt of seeing these people in real life, never mind being amongst them. She was content to let the conversation flow around her and just soak up the ambience. The room filled to capacity, and a delicious dinner was served, which she ate as sparingly as the rest.

  After dinner, a well-known comedian took to the stage to make announcements. Celebrities mounted the stage to accept the awards, and it seemed like the Oscars, although not so grand. Mark was not amongst the recipients, but then, he had not made a movie for two years. One of his friends went up to collect an award, and Carrin applauded with the rest. TV cameras swooped around the stage on booms, or glided past on wheels, and the celebrities ignored them.

  When the awards were over, the lights dimmed and the music grew louder as people took to the dance floor. The cameras retreated, leaving the celebrities to enjoy the dancing unmolested. Famous film stars danced with singers and comedians, supermodels glided across the floor in the arms of directors and producers. Simon Grey rose and took Jenna onto the dance floor, and several other people from their table joined them.

  A touch on her arm made her look at Mark, and her heart leapt, thinking that he was going to ask her to dance, but instead he said, "Come on, I'll introduce you to some producers."

  Carrin rose and went with him to another table, where he introduced her to a well-known producer. After a brief discourse, he moved on to the next group of celebrities, who greeted him warmly. A comedian told Mark a witty joke, and he smiled. Carrin laughed at the gag, and the comic looked mournful at Mark's lack of mirth.

  "One day I'm going to make this man laugh," he promised Carrin, and she grinned at his determination.

  They went from table to table around the room, and Mark turned down many offers to join the occupants. A lot of lovely women kissed and hugged him, and men shook his hand. Many commented on how rarely they saw him out on the town, to which he shrugged and replied that he did not like to run the gauntlet of reporters that flocked to the functions. They all agreed with him and quipped about his being camera shy.

  Their faces became blurred in Carrin's mind, there were so many of them, and at last they returned to their own table. Most of Mark's friends were seated again, and Jenna leant close to Simo
n Grey, darting glances at Mark. Carrin decided to go to the ladies’ room, and excused herself. A security man with an earplug smiled as she walked into the bathroom, which was a palatial affair of marble and mirrors. She was washing her hands when Jenna came in, and the supermodel glared at her.

  "So, I see you managed to get him to buy you a dress."

  Carrin glanced down at her outfit. "No, it's on loan."

  "On loan! No one loans a dress like that."

  "Well I'm not keeping it."

  Jenna jeered, "You think you've landed him, don't you? Let me tell you -"

  "I'm not trying to land him, Jenna," Carrin interrupted. "Tomorrow I'm going home, and I'll probably never see him again."

  The supermodel laughed. "So he's tired of you already. That was quick. He usually keeps his bed partners for a few weeks at least."

  Carrin scowled. "I'm not his bed partner. I'm doing business with him, nothing more."

  "He doesn't buy dresses for business associates, or bring them to a do like this, stupid. You've been seen with him now, and photographed by the paparazzi. Your name will be linked with his, whether you like it or not, and they won't say that you're a business associate, believe me."

  "Everybody knows better than to believe the garbage they print in magazines."

  Jenna moved closer, towering over Carrin. "A lot of it is very accurate, and when they say that you're his latest conquest, they'll be right."

  Carrin glared up at the supermodel. "I know all about him, Jenna. I know his dark secrets, and I wouldn't touch him with a barge pole."

  Jenna Morden looked stunned, her mouth dropping open. "You sound like you mean it -"

  "I do." Carrin pushed past her and headed for the door.

  Jenna stared after her, looking confused. "What secrets?"

  Carrin returned to the table, where Mark glanced at her and raised a brow, probably noticing the sparkle of anger in her eyes. She was annoyed with him as well, for had it not been for his unpleasant personality, Jenna would not be so bitter and nasty.

  Simon Grey asked her to dance, and she accepted, ignoring Mark's glare. He looked annoyed when she rose, and several of his friends glanced at him with a mixture of sympathy and amazement. As she and Simon reached the dance floor, the music slowed and the lights dimmed. Carrin immediately regretted agreeing to dance with him, but it was too late. He took her in his arms, and she followed his lead. Since Simon Grey was six foot four, she soon got a crick in her neck, and her back grew stiff. Jenna returned and sat next to Mark, leaning close to speak to him.