Superstar

by Southwell, T C

  "Hey, aren't you -"

  "No, I just look like him," he snapped.

  Mark brushed past her, his grip on Carrin's arm painful. Outside, the cool air hit her like a slap in the face. Mark's sleek grey limousine purred on the curb, and he yanked open the door, starting to push her inside. She resisted, turning to him.

  "Am I fired too?"

  "Not here."

  Several curious people emerged from the club, and she realised that he was right. She climbed into the car, Mark sliding in beside her. The car pulled away and glided down the road. Risking a glance at Mark, she found him staring ahead, his mouth a hard line. The drinks that she had consumed, plus resentment at his timely rescue that seemed all too convenient, made her bold, and she folded her arms.

  "Well?"

  "Well what?" He stared ahead.

  "Am I fired too?"

  "Did you start the fight?"

  The question confused her, and she frowned. "No."

  "Then why should you be fired?"

  His logic angered her still more. "How the hell did you know where I was?"

  "I phoned Tony's agent. He knew Tony's favourite spots, they generally do."

  "Why?"

  Mark turned to look at her, and she almost cringed. His dark eyes burnt into hers. "I was worried about you. Tony's a drinker, he has a bad reputation. When the hotel told me you hadn't come back yet, I decided to come looking for you."

  His tone implied that she was a nuisance and monumentally stupid to go out with Tony in the first place. She glared at him, aware that she should thank him, yet resenting him for being right and making her feel like such an idiot. He continued to study her as if she was some bizarre new life form.

  "Why didn't you call a taxi?"

  "The phone was out of order."

  He nodded, and some of the anger left his eyes. "Are you all right?"

  "Maybe a few bruises, nothing serious."

  "You were lucky. You could have been hurt, you know."

  His concern drained the resentment from her, and a surge of gratitude replaced it. "You came in time."

  Mark leant back against the leather and closed his eyes. He looked tired; his hair was rumpled and his skin pale. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  "My timing's always been good. I might fluff my lines sometimes, but my timing's good."

  "Thank you."

  He sighed. "That's okay, just don't make a habit of it."

  "I think I learnt my lesson."

  He turned his head to look at her as she yawned, her eyes watering with fatigue. "Don't come in tomorrow morning, we're only shooting the street scene again. Get some sleep."

  His kindness made her heart ache with shame and sorrow. How could he be so kind? He had no right to act so perfect, when he was really such a bastard. How she wished he was as wonderful as he appeared. She blurted the question that was burning in her mind.

  "Why were you worried about me?"

  He looked up at the car roof as he considered her query. "Well, I guess I feel responsible for you. I brought you here. If not for me, you'd be safe at home in Africa. I suppose you're kind of under my protection, if you like."

  Carrin nodded, filled with a mixture of pleasure and disappointment. It was nice to be under the protection of a superstar like Mark Lord, yet how she wished that he had said that he cared. Helen's battered face intruded, sending her mind into a whirl of confusion. Why did she want a man like that to care about her? Did she think that if he did, she would be safe from his violence?

  Perhaps. Surely he would not harm someone he loved? Yet, a more logical voice said, he would never love a nobody like her. Perhaps Janice or some supermodel would be lucky enough to unlock his emotions. Even if the one he loved was safe from his aggression, however, they would still have to deal with his violence towards other women. She sighed, and the limousine slid to a halt in front of her hotel. John came to open the door on her side, and she turned to look at Mark as the interior light came on.

  "Thanks again."

  He smiled that slight, seductive smile and waved a negligent hand. "Forget it. What are friends for?"

  Climbing out of the car, she came face to face with John. The chauffeur smiled and winked at her. As the doorman held open the door, she turned to watch the limousine pull away. If only she was going with him, back to his house and his bed, to spend the night in his arms. An impossible dream, one that would never come true, because she would not let it. Mark Lord did not care about her, and never would.

  When she went into the studio the next afternoon, Tony was absent. His part was a small one, and it appeared that it had given to another. At first glance, Mark looked fine, but the make-up disguised his tiredness and his constant yawns gave him away. Twice the scene had to be re-shot because Mark failed to control a yawn in the middle of it. Harold stared suspiciously at Carrin when she came in, and she sent him a look of innocent confusion. Mark struggled through the afternoon, and Carrin pitied him. Eventually Harold wrapped up early and sent him home.

  Two days later, Harold informed her that they were shooting scene twenty-eight the following week, and she should make other plans. For the rest of the day, she wondered what she would do for that week. Sitting around in the hotel did not appeal, and she had visited all the amusement parks and seen most of the movies showing. In the afternoon, Mark had a break from his scene and came over to where she sat.

  "Harold told you about next week?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  He settled into an empty chair beside her. "If you like, you could spend the week at my ranch. You could go riding, and there's a pool, a tennis court and so on."

  She stared at him in surprise, not knowing what to say.

  He went on, "It's private. No paparazzi, I promise. I have a security team there to ensure that. What do you say?"

  Carrin found herself nodding before she had given the matter any thought. His generosity astounded her, and her love for him grew, filling her with despair.

  He smiled. "Good. I'll have my jet fly you up. You'll like it there, it's in the country. It should remind you of home."

  "Your jet?"

  "It's a long way. Too far to drive. You might as well use the plane, it's just sitting at the airport while I'm here."

  Carrin gave herself a mental shake. Of course he had a private jet. He could hardly travel on a commercial flight, could he? At least, not without fans bothering him. She nodded again and returned his smile, already excited at the prospect of seeing his real home, where he spent most of his private time. The house in Beverly Hills was convenient as a base when he was working, but the ranch was his retreat.

  Mark said, "I'll make the arrangements. Tomorrow John will take you to the airport, and I'll tell my staff that you'll be arriving. They'll take good care of you, and you'll be back in time for the next scene."

  "Thank you, that's very nice of you. I was wondering what I was going to do for a whole week." The words sounded stilted and inadequate, but he nodded, looking pleased.

  Gregory came over to inform Mark that he was needed back on the set, and he grimaced, then rose with a sigh to walk over to his marks yet again.

  For the remainder of the day, Carrin basked in pleasant anticipation, imagining what Mark's ranch would be like. That evening, she popped into his dressing room to thank him again for his generosity, and she wanted to see him before she left. Jerry was removing Mark's make up as usual, and Carrin stopped inside the door. Janice sat on a counter close to Mark, talking and laughing, a cigarette dangling artfully from one hand. They all looked up when Carrin appeared, and she felt like an intruder. Janice glared, and Carrin regretted seeking Mark out. He was obviously busy.

  "I just stopped in to say goodbye," she explained.

  Mark nodded and raised a hand. "See you next week. Have a good time."

  She smiled, ignoring Janice's inquiring glance. "I will. Thanks again."

  As she left, Janice turned to Mark, obviously about to a
sk him a question. Well, if he had not told his girlfriend, that was his problem. He seemed to treat his friends well, but his girlfriends like dirt. Perhaps he only respected women who did not chase after him. The thought comforted and saddened her. It meant that she fell into the right category, but it was not the category that she wished to be in. In the circumstances, though, it was the best one.

  That night, she packed a few clothes, and in the morning John waited outside the hotel as Mark had promised. He grinned at her as she slid into the car, then climbed into the driver's seat and pulled smoothly into the traffic. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, she caught him staring at her. The glass barrier between them whined down, and he said, "So where are you off to, Miss York?"

  "To Mark's ranch. Didn't he tell you?"

  "No. He just told me to take you to the airport." He looked surprised. "Did you say you're going to his ranch?"

  "Yes."

  "In Louisiana?"

  "How many ranches does he have?"

  John shook his head. "It's just... well I've never known him to send guests to his ranch. He usually does all his entertaining at the Beverly Hills house. He goes to the ranch to be alone. It's his retreat."

  She shrugged. "He won't be there. It's just that I have a week to kill, and he thought there would be more for me to do on the ranch."

  John looked unconvinced, but nodded, concentrating on the road.

  "Surely," Carrin asked, "he takes close friends and girlfriends there?"

  "Never. Most of his friends don't even know where it is."

  How odd, Carrin thought. What did this mean? She brushed it aside. There were too many confusing, conflicting things about Mark Lord, and she was tired of trying to figure them out. She would just enjoy herself, and not worry about his motives. The car slid into the airport and stopped. John got out to open her door and carry her case. No paparazzi lay in wait today, and she walked unheralded into the airport. This time there were no customs, and no conveyer belt to swallow her case. Instead, John led her into a lounge where two uniformed, well-groomed men rose to greet her.

  John introduced them as Mark's pilots, and they shook her hand. The co-pilot took her case from John, and the chauffeur said goodbye and left. The pilot, a tall, austere man with a moustache and a gruff manner, led the way down several corridors to another part of the airport, where they quit the building and walked out onto the runway. There, a sleek white Lear Jet sat on the tarmac, gleaming and beautiful. The only reservation that she had about it was that it was far too small. Compared with the massive passenger liners, it looked like a toy.

  The pilot preceded her up the steps and showed her into the cabin. The co-pilot followed and stowed her case on one of the twelve empty seats in the narrow cabin. The captain pointed out the bar, where drinks and snacks were available. Like the limousine, everything was spotless and appeared to be brand new. She settled into one of the seats and buckled on her belt as the captain and co-pilot disappeared into the cockpit. The door slid shut, and she waited for what seemed like a long time before the engines came to life.

  First one, then the other whined in a rising pitch to a muffled scream, then settled down to a powerful howl, and there was a slight jerk as the aircraft began to move. Carrin clutched the arms of her seat as the airport buildings moved past. The jet bounced and bumped along the runway, swaying alarmingly. It came to a stop, the unexpected braking making her lean forward. Another long wait followed, as, she supposed, they waited for clearance. This was a busy airport, and small jets had to wait their turn amongst the commercial traffic, which was running on a schedule.

  The engines' whine rose to a thunderous roar, the brakes released with a jerk, and the aircraft shot ahead as if loosed from a bow. Sitting back, she tried to relax as she was crushed into the soft seat. The runway raced past in a blur, making her wonder how fast they were moving. Abruptly the cabin tilted, and she had a feeling of weightlessness. It soon changed to one of heaviness, then vanished as she the ground fell away below.

  The aircraft rose at an amazing rate, and the earth shrank as they went into a steady climb, until the clouds closed in behind them and blocked her view. When they levelled off, she unstrapped her belt and had a drink.

  The flight lasted about two hours, and the co-pilot came back twice to ensure that she was comfortable. When the seat belt light came on again, Carrin buckled in with some trepidation, wondering if the landing would be as bad as the take-off. If anything, it was worse. She shut her eyes, unable to watch as the runway rushed up to meet them, then the plane touched down with a bump that made its frame shudder and creak. She was glad when they taxied to a stop, the plane swaying slightly.

  The jets whined down, and the pilot came back to guide her out. She disembarked on wobbly legs, and the pilot escorted her to a white limousine. A middle-aged, pleasant-looking man waited beside it. The pilot handed her case to the chauffeur, then saluted her and walked off with the co-pilot in the direction of the airport. Carrin sank into the car with a sigh. The driver slid into his seat, and once again they were gliding out of the airport.

  Certainly for Mark Lord, travelling was easy. Everything waited for him. He did not have to spend hours sitting in a departure lounge waiting for his flight, nor did he have to battle through crowds to retrieve his luggage from the fiendish conveyer belt. She considered her bank balance and wondered how much one of the neat little jets cost. She would get used to the bumpy ride, she supposed. The chauffeur watched her in the rear-view mirror, and smiled when she met his eyes.

  "I'm Bert, miss."

  "Hello Bert, I'm Carrin York."

  "Pleased to meet you. Anything you'd like to know?"

  He must have seen her contemplative look. "Yes, do you know how much one of those planes cost?"

  "Mr Lord's jet?"

  "Yes."

  He puffed out his cheeks. "A lot, Miss York. Several million, I think."

  "Ah." She nodded. Well, scratch that idea. "How far is it to the ranch?"

  "About an hour. There's drinks and snacks -"

  "I know." She helped herself and sat back to enjoy the ride. Soon they left the city behind and moved into rolling countryside. Miles of empty grassland stretched away on either side, golden and serene. They turned off the main road onto a smaller tar road that seemed to go on forever. After a while, fences appeared on the side of the road, and a herd of horses grazed in the distance. They passed through shady groves and crossed narrow bridges that spanned shining creeks. The fences changed from wire to white poles, and more horses galloped over rolling grass.

  "How much further, Bert?" she asked.

  "Well, we're here, miss. This is all Mr Lord's, from the turn off."

  Carrin's mind boggled. They had travelled miles since the turn off. The ranch must be thousands of hectares. That meant that all those horses were his. Excitement filled her. She loved horses, but why did he have so many? She asked Bert.

  "He breeds them, miss. Produces about a hundred yearlings every season."

  "What sort? Thoroughbreds?"

  He smiled. "No miss. Mr Lord's not into racing. They're crossbreeds, mostly. Quarter horse cross Arab, or saddler cross Arab, quarter horse cross thoroughbred. He breeds good hardy utility stock, mostly exotics."

  Carrin was delighted. That meant fancy colours like black, piebald, skewbald, roan and palomino. All the rare ones. He seemed to be a man after her own heart, at least when it came to horses. The road turned into a tree-lined driveway, and they drew up at a rambling ranch house set in park-like gardens. Tar roads led towards rows of white-painted stables shaded by spreading trees. In the distance, training yards, lunging rings, exercise paddocks and sandpits bustled with activity. Horses trotted around the lunging rings, cantered in the training arenas, or followed grooms and riders along pole-fenced tracks to and from the stable yards. It looked like a racing stable, but instead of lean, lanky thoroughbreds, the horses were rounded, high-stepping animals with tails that flew like banners and proudly arc
hed necks. Sorrels, dapple-greys, appaloosas and duns mixed with golden palominos, skewbalds and roans.

  Carrin longed to go and watch them, soak up their beauty and breathe their clean spicy scent. Bert opened the door, and as she stepped out, a grey-haired woman came out of the house, wiping her hands on her apron. The plump, handsome woman with a motherly air about her beamed at Carrin as Bert carried her case into the house.

  "I'm Mrs Martin. You must be Carrin. Mr Lord telephoned to say you would be arriving today. Welcome to Paloma Blanca."

  "Thank you." Carrin followed the housekeeper through a spacious, well-furnished house, which the breezes that blew in through the many open doors and windows cooled. They arrived at a pretty bedroom decorated in cream and pale fawn, with white curtains and dove grey bedclothes. Bert had put her suitcase on the bed, and Mrs Martin smiled at her.

  "You can freshen up if you like, then I'll serve lunch on the veranda. There's a pool and a tennis court. Bert will play with you if you want, or one of the grooms. There's no shortage of tennis players, Mr Lord keeps them all in practice. Or there's squash, pool, a Jacuzzi -"

  "I'd just like to see the horses."

  "Well, there are plenty of those. One of the grooms will pick one out for you if you like."

  Carrin sighed. "This place is a paradise."

  "Country girl, are you?"

  "Very much."

  Mrs Martin chuckled. "Then you'll enjoy it here."

  Carrin gazed out at the training yards visible through the windows. "I only wish I was staying longer than a week."

  "Well, who knows?" Mrs Martin winked and left.

  Carrin went into the en-suite bathroom and had a quick shower, then dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. When she wandered onto the veranda, a place was already laid for her on a patio table covered with a lace cloth.