Simon leant down to murmur, "You've certainly put Mark's nose out of joint."
"Why?"
"By dancing with me, of course."
"I can dance with whoever I like."
He chuckled. "But not before you've danced with your own partner."
A twinge of remorse went through her. "Well he didn't ask me. And why did you?"
"I didn't think you'd accept, to be honest. I was just having a dig at him."
"I thought he was your friend?"
Simon grinned. "He is. I was just a bit peeved about the way he dumped Jenna."
Carrin gasped. "He dumped Jenna? I thought she dumped him."
"Dump Mark Lord?" He laughed. "You must be joking."
"Well I think she had a lucky escape."
"Are you serious? Jenna would give her eye teeth to have him back."
"She's welcome to him."
Simon held her away to stare down at her. "You really are a strange girl, you know."
Carrin finished the dance in a daze of confusion. Why was Simon surprised? Surely everyone knew what Mark was like? Hadn't Helen said so? Maybe they all thought that he was such a good catch it didn't matter how badly he treated women. When Simon took her back to the table, Mark was expressionless, but Jenna looked triumphant. Several hard looks from Mark's friends unnerved Carrin as she settled into her seat. Mark ignored her for a few minutes, conversing with the man on the other side of him, and Carrin knew that he was chastising her.
Simon winked at her, which helped, but Jenna elbowed him, and they left the table to dance. Carrin sipped her drink and watched them, thinking what a lovely couple they made. Jenna was almost as tall as Simon, and his blond Adonis looks complemented her red-haired loveliness. When the music slowed again and the lights dimmed, they moved into an intimate clinch that left no doubt about their relationship.
Carrin jumped as Mark's soft voice spoke in her ear. "Are you going to dance with me, or would you rather wait for Simon?"
Carrin flushed with embarrassment, noticing that some of his friends watched them curiously. "Of course I'll dance with you, but can't we wait for a fast one?"
"What are you afraid of, Carrin?"
You, she wanted to say, but shook her head instead. "Nothing."
Mark rose and led her onto the dance floor. He held her loosely, but she still found his proximity unnerving. Dancing with him seemed far more intimate than with Simon, since Mark was almost the same height as her. She turned her head away, but could not ignore his warm nearness.
The sad ballad about lovers parted was one of her favourites, and her eyes burnt as she thought about her departure the next day. She was falling under his spell, her bones turning to jelly at his touch. She longed to rest her cheek against his and press her lips to his mouth. A glance at him showed her that he was looking elsewhere, his expression angry.
Following his gaze, she spied Jenna swinging past in a clinch with Simon Grey. Taking this rare opportunity to study Mark up close, she noticed a tiny scar on his cheek, and that his hair gleamed like watered silk. A flash lighted his eyes, revealing that they were tinged with green, and not merely dark blue as she had always thought.
Mark glanced at her, and she looked away, embarrassed to be caught staring. He pulled her a little closer, apparently to avoid the couple behind her, and she strived to quell her stomach's quivering. Her hand on his shoulder longed to creep up to his neck, but she restrained it. His nearness was intoxicating. Her wildest dreams did not compare to the magic of reality and the potency of his charisma.
Carrin prayed for the song to end, even as she revelled in his closeness. If only she could reveal her feelings. If only he was the kind, considerate man of her dreams, who would be delighted by her confession and admit his feelings for her. Then there would be no more barriers between them, nothing to stand in the way of their happiness, no nasty rumours, and no intrigue. It was just an impossible dream, though. She stared at the pulse that throbbed in the hollow of his smooth, tanned throat, her heart a lump of lead. He was a living, breathing fantasy, and utterly unattainable.
At last the dance ended, and she moved away when he released her, unable to look at him. Jenna and Simon were still locked in a lover's embrace, and Carrin glanced at Mark, surprised to find him gazing at her. She thought she glimpsed a hint of sadness in his eyes before he turned to lead her off the dance floor, but dismissed it as imagination.
Back at the table, the party continued. Champagne flowed, laughter wafted around them, and Carrin sat sunken in deep gloom. Over the next few hours, other men asked her to dance, and she danced a fast dance with Mark, surprised by how good he was. They left well after midnight, by which time Carrin was exhausted. At the door, the barrage of camera flashes was less than before, but she was glad to reach the safety of the car. She leant back and closed her eyes as the limousine whispered homewards.
At the house, she headed for her room, but his soft call stopped her.
"Carrin. Come for a night cap."
She shook her head. Her tiredness undermined her will to remain aloof, and the longing to surrender to his charms was becoming unbearable. "I'm tired."
"I want to talk to you."
"If you're angry about me dancing with Simon before you, I'm sorry. I didn't realise that I was making a mistake until he told me. I'm just an unsophisticated country hick. I don't know all the rules and regulations."
He regarded her steadily. "I'm not cross. I know you like Simon. It's understandable; he's a nice guy. But he's involved with Jenna, so... I just want to talk to you, that's all."
The sadness in his voice made her heart ache, but she hardened it. He was a very good actor. She had heard him use that seductive tone in his movies too, and she was too vulnerable to talk to him now. Shaking her head, she turned to mount the stairs.
"I'm going to bed."
He walked to the bottom of the stairs and looked up at her, the hallway lights throwing shadows into the contours of his face.
"Carrin, please."
The pleading in his voice spurred her, and she almost ran upstairs. In her room, she flung herself on the bed and glared at the ceiling, fighting the urge to weep. Why was life so cruel? Why did the man with whom she had fallen in love from an image on a screen have to be so bad inside? Helen was right, he had no real feelings. He used women and tossed them aside when he was finished. Jenna was proof of that. It was far better to love him from a distance, and let him remain an out-of-reach dream. She had enough pride not to join the droves of women who chased after him. She would be the one who got away, and leave with her dignity intact, no matter how much it hurt.
With a sigh, she rose and went into the bathroom to wash and remove her borrowed finery. Cinderella's ball was over, and it was time to become a commoner again. The diamond necklace formed a pool of white fire in her palm, and she placed it on the dressing table. It was probably worth more than her mother's farm all by itself. She folded the dress and placed it in the walk-in wardrobe with the shoes. Donning her well-worn robe, she went out onto the balcony. A splash made her look down. Mark forged through the water up and down the pool. She turned away and climbed into the big soft bed for the last time.
The next morning, Carrin packed her few clothes, put on a comfortable outfit for travelling, and went downstairs. She sat on the patio and ordered coffee, enjoying the cool, scented breezes that wafted through the garden. Rita looked upset, even tearful, and Carrin wondered why. Mark was out, apparently, and she was glad that she did not have to face him. When the time came for her to go to the airport, however, there was still no sign of him. Wasn't he even going to say goodbye? Her gladness at his absence turned into a fierce longing to see him one last time. By the time Rita informed her that John was waiting to take her to the airport, her wish had reached unbearable proportions. She rose and walked through the empty mansion. John waited by the car, she slid in, and he closed the door.
Rita waved from the steps, and Carrin returned the gestu
re before she remembered that the tinted windows hid her. She stared out at the passing scenery, her mind numb. At the airport, the limousine slid to a halt at the front doors, and a group of paparazzi rushed forward. John helped her out while the photographers peered hopefully into the empty car. Seeing that Mark Lord was not with her, they lost interest.
Carrin wondered how they had found out about his supposed trip to the airport. Perhaps that was why he had not come. Still, he could have said goodbye. Maybe that was what he had wanted to do last night? She regretted not speaking to him then, but she had not known that it would be her last chance. John carried her case through to customs, where the conveyer belt swallowed it. As she paused at the door to the departure lounge, he doffed his cap and held out a hand.
"Have a good trip, Miss York. It was a pleasure having you visit."
"Did Mark tell you to say that?" she asked, desperate for some last message.
He frowned. "No."
"Where is he?"
"He went out early this morning, Miss York." John lowered the hand that she had neglected to shake.
"Does he usually fail to say goodbye to his guests?" Anger made her tone sharp.
"No."
She held out her hand, and he shook it. "Goodbye John, it was nice to meet you."
John replaced his cap, looking confused. Carrin spun on her heel and marched into the departure lounge, where she turned in time to see him vanish into the crowd. Well, that was that. She was on her way. She settled on a seat and stared into space, listening to the constant bonging and soft-voiced announcements. When her flight number was called, she rose and wandered over to join the queue that formed at the boarding gate. The queue shuffled forward, and she was jostled out. Not caring whether she was at the front or the back, she allowed more eager passengers to push past. A touch on her elbow made her jump, and she swung around in surprise. There he stood. Mark Lord, superstar. He wore sunglasses and a baseball cap, which disguised him somewhat. She gasped, glancing around to see if anyone had recognised him, but the people were too intent on boarding their flight.
"Did you think I wouldn't say goodbye, Carrin?" he murmured.
"It didn't seem like it."
"I had a problem getting past the paparazzi. Someone tipped them off again."
She gazed at him, unable to read his expression behind the dark glasses. "Well, thanks for making the effort."
His brows rose. "Why do you dislike me so much?"
"I don't. It's just... well, you're a movie star, and I'm a hick writer from Africa. We have nothing in common."
"I disagree." He paused, looking around. "Carrin... "
A balding, middle-aged man clad in a loud Hawaiian shirt pushed between them. "Mr Lord? It is Mark Lord, isn't it?"
Mark frowned. "Excuse me, I'm busy."
The man held out his boarding pass. "Oh please, will you autograph this for me? It's for my daughter Kelly, she's mad about you."
Mark took the boarding pass, and the man hunted through his pockets for a pen. Carrin gazed at Mark sadly, noticing that her queue was almost gone. The flight attendant waited, looking expectant. A woman spotted Mark and hurried over, armed with a magazine and a pen. The man got his autograph and hastened into the gate. Mark tried to avoid the woman and failed. Carrin backed away towards the boarding gate.
Two more people came over to hamper the star, and others, who waited for later flights, saw that something was happening and joined the growing crowd. Two security men noticed the commotion and approached. An eager throng surrounded Mark, who tried to excuse himself, but they would not let him go. The security men tried to extricate him, and the final call for Carrin's flight echoed around the terminal. She raised a hand as she gave her pass to the attendant.
Mark was still trying to push through the fans when she turned to leave, her heart filled with sadness. How terrible it must be to be a star, she reflected, unable to go anywhere without being mobbed. She caught a final glimpse of him in the centre of the throng, gazing after her while the security men tried to rescue him.
Carrin spent the flight immersed in memories, burning his image into her mind forever. His every glance and touch were precious to her now, and she relived them in the safe sanctuary of her imagination, where reality did not intrude. Her dreams made the long flight more bearable, even though she had again neglected to bring a book to read. When the woman in the neighbouring seat tried to strike up a conversation, Carrin barely heard her prattle, and after a while she desisted, clearly put off by Carrin’s preoccupied air.
The sweltering African heat met her when she stepped out at Durban Airport, and she passed through the building without seeing it. Collecting her bag, she walked out of the sliding doors. Paul smiled and gave her a peck on the cheek, taking her bag.
"Welcome back."
"Thanks."
"Have a good time?"
She nodded. "Yes, it was fun."
"Good."
Paul slung her suitcase into the back of the truck and climbed in, starting the engine as she settled beside him. As they rattled along the freeway, he told her how many calves had been born on the farm, which were heifers, and which cows were milking well. One was lame, and he detailed the problem. The horses were fine, the weeds were lush, and her dog had howled every night that she had been gone. Carrin wanted to cry.
As they bumped up the rutted track, she spotted her mother hanging up washing, Julia lounging in a hammock nearby. Her dog rushed to meet her, and she fended off his muddy greeting. Paul parked the truck and strode off in the direction of the cowshed. Her mother waved, her mouth full of clothes’ pegs, and Julia glared. Carrin carried her case to her cottage and unlocked the door. In the sanctuary of her bedroom, she flung herself down on the bed and stared numbly at the ceiling. Well, that was that. It was over, her dream destroyed, her life back to what it had always been; drab, hard and cheerless. She almost wished that she had not met him, and she definitely wished that she had not found out the truth about him. Too late now, the damage was done, and her dreams would never be the same again. She still wanted to cry, but that was not something that she did easily. The trip seemed like a dream now, as if she had not left at all, but had just woken up from it a moment ago.
At dinner, she told her family a short, unadorned version of the story of her trip. Julia made some snide remarks, but no one asked about her screenplay, and she was glad in a way. It was unlikely that it would come to anything any way.
For the next week, she threw herself into the farm work that had accumulated in her absence. Mark Lord seemed like someone from a fairy tale that she had briefly lived. Her time with him played over and over in her mind like an endless reel of film. She cut weeds until blisters formed on her hands, put plasters on them and cut some more. A tractor was beyond her family's means, and the weeds grew at an astonishing rate. Her days were grey and colourless, her life a dull slog of work and sleep with little to relieve it. During the second week, she worked on the screenplay, but her concentration was poor. It took almost a month before she decided that it was ready, and she posted it, placing its fate in the lap of the gods. It would not be accepted, she was sure of it.
The summer rains watered the burgeoning weeds, and pools bred a plague of mosquitoes. A late calf brought the last cow into milk, and last year's bullocks, put out to pasture to fatten for slaughter, were ready to be rounded up. Carrin took long rides to brood in the bush. Time passed slowly, despite the amount of farm work, or perhaps because of it.
As autumn approached, the son of a neighbouring farmer asked her out, and she refused. Her collection of Mark Lord sketches increased. She had drawn him from every conceivable angle at least three times now. She watched his old films and tried to revive her dreams, but they remained elusive. Paul borrowed a tractor and cut the fields, then the hay had to be gathered. Carrin and Paul did most of it, with the help of a few labourers. The hay rake made fresh blisters on her callused palms, different from the ones the slasher had caused.
The winter winds had started when the letter arrived. It came in a plain white envelope with her address typed on it. Carrin stared at it, convinced that it was not from Mark. Opening it, she pulled out a letter from a film studio, which she read with incredulous delight. They were pleased, they wrote, to inform her that her screenplay had been accepted, and a contract was enclosed, which she must sign and send back. The contract was full of fine print, but she did not bother to read it.
Heart pounding, she turned to the final page and read the sum offered. Her eyes scanned it several times before the enormity of the figure registered. She gasped, and the room spun. They were offering a million dollars. Carrin stared at it. A million dollars! When it was converted to the local currency, she would be a multi-millionairess. Would she accept it? Would she ever! She hugged the contract and jumped for joy. Her hard life was over. She could buy a house. The interest would be enough to live on comfortably. It was a dream come true, and even if it did not include Mark Lord, it was still unbelievably wonderful.
Clutching the contract, she ran to the farmhouse to tell her mother. Mrs York was disbelieving at first, but the contract convinced her. She summoned Paul, who joined in the celebration. They opened a bottle of cheap wine and sat around the kitchen table. Julia looked miffed, but already cast coy smiles at Carrin.
Carrin did not bother to read the fine print. She found a pen and signed it, then tucked it into an envelope and wrote the address that they had given her on it. That afternoon she posted it, her heart singing with joy. For the next week, she could hardly stop smiling. Everyone told her what she should spend the money on. Paul wanted a tractor, Mrs York wanted to pay the bond, and Julia waved fashion magazines under Carrin's nose.
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