Superstar

by Southwell, T C

  They burst into open veldt, the black horse close behind. With drumming hooves they shot across the grass, and Carrin turned away from the black horse as it pulled alongside. She headed for another patch of bush, crashing into a copse. Mark forced his horse closer, and grabbed one of Smoke's reins. He pulled up his horse, turning Smoke's head and forcing the grey to slow. The horses propped and swung, and Smoke threw up his head. Carrin tried to tug the rein from Mark's grip, but only succeeded in jerking the grey's mouth. Smoke reared in protest, ripping the reins from her grasp. With a yell, she fell backwards, rolling over the horse's quarters onto the ground.

  Carrin lay on her back, stunned and a little winded. Mark fell to his knees beside her and grabbed her arms to pull her upright.

  "Are you okay?"

  She glared at him, trying to pull away. "No thanks to you!"

  "That was a stupid stunt to pull. How far did you think you would get?"

  "Not far enough from you! Let me go!" She raised her riding crop, but he caught her wrist.

  "No. You're going to listen to me."

  "Why the hell should I listen to more of your lies, you bastard?"

  Carrin struggled to free her hand, but he held her easily. She knew that it was hopeless to fight him, and tears of frustration burnt her eyes. Giving up the unequal battle, she glared at him, hating the feelings his closeness aroused in her. He wore a pair of slim-fitting black jeans and a matching denim shirt with silver buttons. A trickle of blood ran down his cheek from a scratch under his eye, giving her a twinge of satisfaction. The bush had taken its toll, probably in the tunnel. Forcing herself to relax, she scowled at him as he took away her whip and put it out of reach. She jerked her wrist from his grasp and rubbed it.

  Mark held up a placating hand. "Just calm down, I don't want to fight you. I have to tell you... about Alisha."

  "Oh, I'm sure you've thought up a great story."

  Mark sighed. "You're angry and hurt, I know, but just listen to me, okay?"

  "Do I have a choice?"

  "No." He ran a hand through his hair. She lay propped on her elbows, but when she tried to sit up, he pushed her back. "Just stay there where I can watch you. You're too slippery by far."

  Carrin snorted and turned her head away.

  Mark gripped her chin and forced her to face him. "Look at me, Carrin. I've come halfway around the world to find you and tell you something, the least you can do is pay attention."

  She jerked free and glared at him. "You've wasted your time. I hate you."

  He nodded. "Even so, you're going to listen, if I have to sit on you to make you keep still. I'll try and be brief. I met her at a party, ten years ago. I was drunk, and we went to my home together. The next morning I could hardly remember bringing her home at all. I thought that was the end of it, but a month later she rocked up on my doorstep. She was pregnant. She had a doctor's certificate to prove it, and she said it was mine.

  "I didn't know what to do. If it was my child, I wanted it, but Alisha refused to settle for child support. She wanted marriage. I knew it would never work, we didn't even know each other. Still, I was determined to do the right thing and raise my child. I married her, and for four months she made my life a living hell. Eventually I filed for divorce. Alisha threatened to abort the child, but she was five months pregnant. I thought it was safe, and that she couldn't harm the baby, but a month after the divorce she … died."

  "That's it?" Carrin sneered. "That's supposed to make it all better? She must have loved you so much that she couldn't bear to live without you, and you kicked her out, pregnant!"

  He shook his head. "She was a drug addict."

  "Oh, that's even worse!"

  "No, you don't understand what she was like. She only wanted my money, not me. She seemed to hate me, in fact, and the baby she was carrying. She made herself sick with drugs, and god knows what she was doing to the child. I put her into rehab, but she ran away, used my money to buy drugs and take her friends gambling in Las Vegas. I used to track her down and bring her home, try to dry her out, but she would scream and hit me. She threatened to rip the baby out with a coat-hanger." He looked away, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

  "She didn't commit suicide," he went on. "She tried to abort the baby at six months with drugs and a coat-hanger. I think her friends helped. When she haemorrhaged, they abandoned her. The police agreed to say that it was an overdose, for my sake and her parents."

  Carrin stared at him, bile stinging the back of her throat. She had never heard such a vile tale, but how did she know that it was true? Quelling her sympathy, she said, "How do I know that's the truth?"

  He smiled faintly. "I knew you wouldn't believe me. I wrote and told you all about it, but you didn't believe my letters, did you?"

  "I didn't read them," she said. "I burnt them."

  "Ah." He nodded. "Of course, you would. I knew you wouldn't talk to me on the phone, that's why I didn't call. I thought there was a slight chance that you might read the letters, though. The only proof I have is her letters, which fortunately I didn't burn. You could also talk to Mrs Martin, she looked after Alisha at the ranch many times. I used to send her there, thinking she couldn't escape, but she always did. I sent you copies of some of her letters. Good thing I didn't send the originals. I have them at the hotel where I'm staying."

  "You still kicked her out without a penny when you divorced her. You left her alone, a drug addict, carrying your child."

  He gazed at her with sad eyes. "Come on, do you really believe I would do that? Don't you know me at all yet?"

  She looked away, a twinge of shame making her wish the words unsaid.

  Mark wiped the drying blood off his cheek. "I bought that flat in Boston. I paid all her bills, and gave her enough money to buy anything she wanted. She had a sports car, fur coats, and of course, her drugs. By then, I had realised that she had no intention of stopping. You can't cure a junky unless they want to be cured. If the baby was mine, I was going to take it away and raise it myself, which is probably why she was so desperate to kill it." He leant closer and took her hand. "It's the truth. My god, what have you done to your hands?"

  Carrin snatched away the grubby, callused paw. "Leave my hands out of it. I've been working."

  Rising to her feet, she dusted off her riding slacks and looked around for her horse. If he thought that she was going to fall into his arms, he had another think coming. He looked up at her, then stood, dusting his black jeans. He tried to take her hand, but she jerked it away.

  "Leave me alone."

  Mark smiled and shook his head. "You're a stubborn creature. I've missed you. If only you'd given me a chance to explain, we could have avoided a lot of pain. Instead, you gave me a black eye and two months of misery."

  "So why did it take you two months?" she demanded, then looked at him in surprise. "I gave you a black eye?"

  He nodded. "Harold was furious. So was Jerry. It took me two months because I couldn't leave. I have a contract, which Harold wouldn't let me out of. I had to finish the filming. That took six weeks, then I came in search of you. Your mother wouldn't tell me where you were. She said you didn't want to speak to me. She was very nice about it, but wouldn't budge an inch.

  "It seems that word has spread that you'd been jilted by this film star monster called Mark Lord. No one would tell me anything. At first, I drove around to the farms in this area, but then I realised I was wasting my time. The moment you saw me coming, you'd head in the other direction. The hotel where I'm staying has stables, but the nags look like they'd drop dead if they had to gallop. So I bought this fellow."

  He gestured at the handsome black horse. "I stabled him at the hotel. I knew that you had horses and rode, so I figured the best way to find you was to ride around until I spotted you out riding, then chase you down. I knew you'd run." He smiled. "I'm getting to know you pretty well."

  "You could have hired a private detective or something."

  "I could, but I wanted to find y
ou myself. Besides, in a small community like this, he wouldn't have had much success either."

  Carrin walked over to Smoke and stroked his nose, sorry that she had ridden him so hard. He nudged her, and she squinted at Mark.

  "Who sent the clippings?"

  "You can guess that, can't you? Birdie's revenge."

  "What did you do to him?"

  He eyed her. "What makes you think I did anything to him?"

  "I know you."

  He smiled that slight, crooked, famous smile. "I turned him in to the police. He's going on trial for drug dealing."

  She gathered her reins and mounted the grey gelding. Mark came over and held the horse's head. "Where are you going?"

  "Home."

  He looked up at her, his eyes aglow in the sunlight. "Are you going to tell me where you live?"

  "If I don't, you won't let go of the horse, will you?"

  "Nope."

  When she had given him directions to her farm, he nodded.

  "I'll bring the letters."

  "You do that."

  Carrin turned Smoke's head and urged him from the copse, glancing back once. Mark stood holding the black horse as he watched her ride away. She kicked Smoke into a canter, eager to leave him behind. Her emotions were a mess. She knew, deep down, that Mark was telling the truth, and the more she trusted him, the more she regretted her past suspicions.

  After two months of misery, she needed time to let this sudden turn of events sink in. A terrible guilt plagued her; for hitting him, running away, and almost crashing his car. She regretted the pain that she had caused him. Why did he still want to have anything to do with her? How could she bear to see the tenderness in his eyes, when she did not deserve it?

  At the same time, immense elation suffused her. He had searched her out to explain his past mistake. Carrin wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, and on the ride home, she did. There was a new bounce in her step as she walked to the house after unsaddling Smoke and letting him out to graze with the other horses. Noticing the state that her home was in, she panicked, not knowing where to start. The dirty dishes in the sink or the clothes strewn all over the bedroom? How much time did she have? Opting for the dirty dishes, she washed them and put them in the cupboards still wet, then wiped the counters. She flew through the rest of the house with a duster, gathered up the clothes in the bedroom and had started sweeping the floor when the low hum of a car told her Mark had arrived.

  Running into the bedroom, she dragged a brush through her hair, glad that it was short. She glanced down at the riding slacks and T-shirt she still wore, but it was too late to change now. The front door was open, and she reached it as Mark climbed out of a sleek white Mercedes. He had not changed his clothes either, and Carrin looked away as he climbed the steps onto the veranda, inviting him in with a gesture. He looked around at the lounge and settled in a chair.

  "Would you like something to drink?" she asked.

  It was strange to have Mark Lord, superstar, in her humble sitting room. He made everything look cheap, even though he was not dressed all that smartly. The air of quality about him, or simply the way he carried himself, put everything else to shame.

  Mark shook his head. "No thanks."

  Carrin perched on the sofa, studying her callused hands. Mark took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her, and she pulled out some crumpled letters, glancing through them. There was no need to read them, the words, written in a childish scrawl, leapt out at her. That Alisha had hated Mark was quite obvious. She had hated the child too, and wanted only money and drugs. Most of the text was threatening, the remainder insulting or reproachful. Carrin got the impression of a selfish, desperate girl with no self-respect or gratitude. She stuffed the letters back into the envelope and tossed them on the coffee table.

  She could not bear to look at him, the guilt was too great.

  "Convinced?" he inquired.

  Carrin nodded, struggling to control the guilt and shame that threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted to beg his forgiveness, but was unable to speak past the lump in her throat. He had every right to reproach her for not giving him the chance to explain, and for believing that the magazine clippings told the whole story. She should have known better than to believe anything she read in the press. He waited, and she screwed up her courage, raising her head at last to look at him.

  "I'm sorry."

  Mark smiled crookedly and rose to join her on the sofa, where he put an arm around her and pulled her close. She turned and clung to him as the pent-up misery of the past two months, mixed with the enormous guilt, poured out in a flood of tears. His arms tightened.

  "It's okay. Please don't cry."

  That only made it worse, and he gave up with a sigh and held her while she wept it all out. When at last her tears dried, there was a damp patch on his shirt. She plucked at it.

  "You're all wet."

  "I noticed."

  She shot him a guilty glance. "Sorry."

  "I have a dry one in the car."

  Carrin jumped up and fled to the bathroom to wash her face and blow her nose. When she returned, Mark had donned a clean black shirt. He sat on the sofa, but she was shy again and headed for a chair.

  He smiled. "Come here."

  She joined him, and he dug in his pocket. "You left something behind."

  Taking her engagement ring from the box, he slipped it onto her finger again, then turned her hand over and examined it. She tried to tug it away, but he held on, his fingers tracing the calluses on her palm.

  "You know, when you took the Lotus, I was sure you were going to kill yourself. I've never been so scared in all my life. When I found you safe at the airport... I could have killed John, but you tricked him. He wasn't very happy with you."

  "Did I scratch it?"

  He looked up at her, clearly startled. "What, the car?"

  She nodded.

  "I don't care if you'd totalled the damned thing, so long as you were safe. In fact, I think I should get rid of it.”

  "No, don't. I like it."

  "All right. But don't ever drive like that again." He frowned. "And don't ever do this to your hands again. You have beautiful hands."

  She stared at her hand, hardly able to believe her ears. No recriminations at all? "What about, 'Don't ever believe the rubbish that you read in magazines again’?"

  He shrugged. "That too. I should have told you, so I share the blame. Simon told me to tell you, but I was afraid you wouldn't believe me. I would have told you after we were married, once I felt secure."

  Carrin gazed at him, making no attempt to hide her feelings. Olivia was right; he was the kindest, gentlest man in the world. She longed to tell him how she felt. It was on the tip of her tongue when he looked away and said, "Well, what's for supper? I'm starved."

  Distracted, she realised that there was hardly any food in the house. Mark saw her expression and jumped to his feet.

  "Come on, let's go get something."

  A trip through a supermarket with Mark was an interesting experience, Carrin found. He pushed the trolley cheerfully, as if he'd done it all his life, making comments about products that had her in fits of giggles, and greeted fellow shoppers with a smile. Twice, people told him how much he looked like a certain actor, and he blithely agreed that people made that mistake all the time. He did it in a broad Scottish accent, however, which always made the people shake their heads and tell him that no, the actor they were thinking of was an American. Once he switched to a plummy English accent, and claimed that the American actor in question was a 'dastardly fellow, a roguish seducer of young girls and elderly women'. Carrin's stomach ached from laughing by the time they left the shop. He seemed bent on entertaining her, and she had to beg him to stop before she was sick.

  At the till, he handed over an international credit card, and the checkout girl goggled at the name on it. Mark held his finger to his lips and winked at her, which made her blush and almost swallow her chewing gum.
/>   Back at the farm, they had what Mark called a barbecue and Carrin called a braai. Afterwards, he returned to his hotel, even though she wanted him to stay, but could not find the courage to ask him.

  The next day, Mark went with Carrin to the York farm, where he was welcomed into the family. Her mother treated him like another son, and Paul was his usual quiet self. Julia disappeared soon after Mark arrived, and returned clad in her best clothes and plastered with make-up. Carrin found her sister-in-law's flirting amusing and embarrassing, though Mark took it in his stride. When Carrin told him how much her brother wanted the children that Julia would not give him, Mark soon found an opportunity to tell Julia how much he liked children, and how motherhood was such a wonderful and miraculous thing. Julia soaked it up, and Paul looked hopeful.

  Mark spent a week at the hotel, and enjoyed the novelty of living amongst people who did not recognise him. Many clearly thought that his face was familiar, and he got a lot of suspicious looks, but no one could believe that Mark Lord would be staying in a farming town in the backwoods of South Africa. As the days passed, however, word got around, and he was pestered more and more for autographs. When the press finally got wind of it, Mark decided that it was time for him to go home to the security of his mansion with its high walls and iron gates. It was also time, he said, for them to get married. The arrangements had been postponed, and the press had been told that the ceremony was delayed due to a family commitment that Carrin could not avoid.

  Mark drove them to the airport, were Carrin expected to find his little jet waiting. Instead, after going through customs and passport control, he led the way to a much larger private jet. The Lear, he explained, did not have enough range for such a long trip, so he had chartered a larger plane. On board, a pretty flight attendant catered to their every whim. After two months of farm life, Carrin found it alien and daunting, and hid her rough hands. Mark's black steed had joined hers on her farm, where the farm workers would look after them.