Superstar

by Southwell, T C

  Realising what he meant, she quickened her pace. Fortunately, no one was around. In the lobby, the desk clerk straightened and stared, and two bellhops watched from the stairs. They had almost made it to the front door when a boy of about ten ran up.

  "Mr Lord, can I have your autograph?"

  Mark turned and smiled. "Sure, kid. What's your name?"

  "Tommy." The boy held out a scrap of paper.

  Mark took a gold pen from his jacket and scribbled a signature on the paper. "There you go, Tommy."

  He handed it back to the bright-eyed boy, who clutched it and grinned. Mark ruffled the child's blond hair, then turned and took her arm.

  "Let's get out of here."

  Outside, the limousine purred on the kerb. The doorman opened the door, and they slid in. John grinned at Carrin in the rear-view mirror.

  "Hi, Miss York. Congratulations."

  "Thanks, John."

  "I knew he'd fall for you the first time I laid eyes on you," John averred.

  "Shut up and drive," Mark said, smiling.

  Carrin giggled as John pulled a face.

  "Yes sir, your lordship sir," he quipped.

  Carrin relaxed as the limousine whispered onto the road and picked up speed. Mark helped himself to a drink, but she refused.

  The paparazzi had Mark's gates staked out as usual, and a crowd clamoured around the car as they drove in. Disembarking at the front door, Mark said to John, "Let them in."

  John nodded and drove the limousine to the garage, where she knew there was a gate control and a connection to the remote camera and intercom. She glanced at Mark, her nerves jangling. Her trepidation must have showed, for he smiled and took her hand.

  "They're just a bunch of really curious people, that's all. Just smile and say things like 'wonderful', 'ecstatic', 'soon' and 'we haven't decided yet.' That ought to cover it."

  Carrin tried to smile, but her face was stiff and her heart raced.

  Mark studied her and shook his head. "I never saw anyone with stage fright before."

  With an effort, she calmed herself, fiddling with the ring on her left hand. It was a perfect fit, but it felt strange. Never had there been a ring on that finger before. The crunch of approaching feet and voices distracted her. The paparazzi marched up the driveway, cameras swinging from their shoulders and microphones at the ready. Some had video cameras. Most were men, though one or two women softened the crowd. A few ran ahead to snap pictures. She glanced at Mark, glad that she wore flat-heeled boots. Without her high-heels, he was that much taller than her, and the cameras were focused on him. He smiled that slight, famous smile, looking relaxed. The first paparazzi to arrive started asking questions, but he ignored them until all had gathered before him. Cameras clicked and whirred, and photographers jostled for a better shot. Mark held up a hand, and a dozen microphones were thrust closer.

  "I have an announcement. Since you people have been most patiently hanging around my gate for the past few days, or is it weeks?" They laughed, and he continued, "I thought you should be the first to know. Of the media, that is. Carrin York and I are engaged to be married."

  A barrage of questions followed his announcement. "When will the wedding be?"

  "Are you planning a big wedding?"

  "How long have you known each other?"

  "How did you meet?"

  Mark answered them, and Carrin thought that she was safe, but a woman reporter moved closer and thrust a microphone at her.

  "Miss York, how does it feel to marry a superstar?"

  Remembering Mark's advice, she said, "Wonderful."

  "You wrote Mark's latest film, didn't you?"

  Carrin nodded. "Yes." A flash exploded in her face, and she winced, clinging to Mark's hand.

  "You've been seen out with Simon Grey, what's your relationship with him?"

  "He's a friend."

  The questions went on and on, and she thought that they would never end. The press seemed to have an insatiable curiosity. When the questions started to deviate from the subject of their engagement, Mark stepped back and raised his hand.

  "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen."

  Mark turned and entered the house, and Carrin held onto his hand as if it was a lifeline. Cameras clicked in a final barrage, and then they were in the sanctuary of the house. Carrin slumped, and he turned to her with raised brows.

  "That wasn't so bad was it?"

  "It was awful."

  Outside, she could hear John shooing the reporters away, and Rita hovered nearby, grinning. Mark turned and pushed open the study doors, and she followed him into its book-lined tranquillity. She flopped down in a chair, and he poured drinks, handing her one.

  "Never mind, you won't have to face them very often," he said.

  "That's a relief." She watched him settle into a chair. "What's next?"

  "Well, since we're planning on a very short engagement, the wedding."

  "We are?"

  He nodded. "Oh yes, the shorter the better."

  "What's the rush?"

  "Don't give me that suspicious look, you know perfectly well."

  "I want my family to be there."

  "Of course." He stared at her incredulously. "Why on Earth wouldn't they be?"

  "They wouldn't exactly fit in."

  "I don't care if they do a fandango in the aisle. Your brother will have to give you away, and your sister-in-law can be your maid of honour -"

  "No." She pulled a face. "Julia would probably take great pleasure in tripping me up or something. Olivia can be matron of honour, she played cupid for you."

  He raised his glass in a toast. "Thank you, Olivia."

  Thinking that he looked far too smug, Carrin decided to drop her bombshell. "She also told me that you put up most of the money for the film. Why?"

  He hesitated, clearly discomfited. "You wouldn't believe me."

  She frowned. "Tell me anyway."

  Mark sighed and studied the amber liquid in his glass. "Well, after you went home I tried to sell your script, but -"

  "Olivia told me all that. Why?"

  He glared at his drink. "If I hadn't, I'd never have seen you again."

  Carrin swallowed a lump, looking away. He was certainly pulling out all the stops to try and convince her of his affections, even to the point of being a little pathetic. If it was true, he was indeed the man of her dreams, and desperately in love with her, but it was just too good to be true. There had to be another explanation. She remembered how she had missed him for those months, longing to see him again, yet afraid to.

  "You don't believe that either, do you?" he asked, dragging her from her memories.

  "I don't know."

  "Well, that's progress, I suppose."

  She sighed and sipped her drink. "When do we start organising the wedding?"

  "My secretary's already doing it, unless you'd like to."

  "No. I wouldn't know where to begin."

  He drained his glass. "She should have it sorted out by next weekend."

  Carrin stared at him in surprise. Two weeks, maybe three, but next week? "Surely it will take longer than that to get my family here and send out the invitations?"

  "It shouldn't. I'm not planning on inviting the whole of Hollywood, so the invitations can be hand delivered. Your family's tickets are already booked and waiting for them in Africa."

  "When did you organise that?"

  "This morning."

  They discussed the wedding for a while, then Carrin phoned her mother to give her the good news. Mrs York was remarkably calm about it, and asked when she would meet her future son-in-law. That was when it struck Carrin. Mark had never had a family, but soon he would have a mother-in-law and brother-in-law. How would he feel about marrying into a family of dirt-poor South African farmers? After hanging up the phone, she went back to the study. Mark was engrossed in the script, studying for Monday's shoot. He looked up when she came in.

  "Got to learn my lines. Why don't you go for a swim o
r something?"

  "I'd like to go back to the hotel, I'm tired."

  "Okay." He looked down at the script.

  Carrin frowned. "Will you tell John?"

  He looked up and raised a brow. "Why? You'll have to start telling him yourself sometime."

  Carrin nodded, feeling foolish and betrayed. Did he have to put it like that? Saying goodbye, she turned to leave, but his soft call stopped her.

  "Hey."

  Carrin turned to find that he had put down the script and risen to his feet. He walked over to her and took her hands, raising one to his lips. "I guess you're a bit unsure right now, huh? You still think that this might all be some weird game." She nodded, and he cupped her chin, smiling. "That's okay, try not to worry about it, all right?" He bent and gave her a gentle, lingering kiss that made her knees weak. Straightening, he smiled and released her hands to open the door. "I'll see you later."

  Carrin nodded again, trying to calm her pounding heart, caught between resentment and amazement at how easily he could reduce her to a quivering wreck with a few soft words and a brief kiss. The little voice in the back of her mind still shouted words of warning, but she strived to ignore them. The only way to find out if this was all an elaborate game or the real thing was to play along. She was becoming more and more convinced that it was real, and strangely, that made her shy. Already he wanted her to act like the mistress of the house, and she was finding it all rather overwhelming.

  Shooting him a sad smile, she left to find John, but found Rita instead, and the maid went to tell John. Carrin waited on the steps for the limousine to purr alongside, then opened the door herself and slid in before John could get out of the car. He looked at her reproachfully in the mirror.

  "That's my job, Miss York."

  "I just thought I'd save some time."

  He shook his head. "Please don't do that in public."

  She sighed. "Okay."

  There were no paparazzi at the gates, or at the hotel, to her relief. In her room, she lay down and closed her eyes, falling asleep in the rose jungle that was her bedroom.

  A knocking at the door woke her again, and she opened her eyes to find the room in darkness. Switching on the light, she went to the door and opened it. Mark swept in, taking in her dishevelled, bleary-eyed appearance.

  "Been having a nap?"

  Carrin nodded and went into the bathroom to splash her face. He switched the TV on, and she returned to the lounge as the announcer said, "Today Mark Lord, one of Hollywood's most celebrated stars, announced his engagement to Carrin York, a screenwriter from Dubala in South Africa."

  She glanced at Mark, who smiled. "I thought you'd like to see yourself on TV."

  Carrin sat and watched a film of her and Mark standing on the steps, fascinated. To her surprise, she did not look as awkward or shy as she had felt. Mark looked incredibly handsome, as usual, relaxed and assured. The announcer detailed all of their answers to the questions, then went on to give a thorough background on Carrin.

  At the end, Mark switched it off and sat back, spreading his arms along the back of the sofa as he regarded her. "You'd better get ready."

  "For what?"

  "We have to go out."

  Carrin raised a brow. "We do?"

  "Yeah. We've just announced our engagement; we're supposed to be celebrating."

  "Couldn't we be celebrating at home?"

  He pulled out a cheroot and lit it. "No. That would seem odd, and besides, it'll be good publicity for the film."

  "Is that what this is all about?"

  Mark regarded her flatly through a cloud of smoke. "You really think that I would marry you just to promote the damned film? If I'd wanted to do that, I'd have married Janice."

  Put like that, it sounded ridiculous, which of course it was, she realised. She was becoming desperate to find out the real reason behind his proposal, if there was one. Apologising, she went to shower, leaving him to watch TV. When she emerged in her bathrobe, a snow white dress was spread out on the bed. Silver straps held up a delicate bodice of white silk picked out with exquisite silver embroidery. The long, layered skirt was made up of panels of lace, longer at the back than the front. She stroked the soft material.

  "It's gorgeous, Mark."

  He spoke from his chair in the lounge. "This time it's a gift, not a loan. Actually, the other one is still hanging in the cupboard at home. That was a gift too, only you wouldn't accept it."

  Carrin picked up the dress and closed the bedroom door before she put it on. With the high-heeled silver sandals, it was stunning, and clung to her curves like a second skin. She applied her make-up, satisfied with the results. As she was putting the final touches to her hair and spraying on a little perfume, Mark strolled in.

  He considered her. "Lovely. But it needs something, don't you think?"

  She looked down at herself. "It's perfect."

  He pulled a slim box from his jacket pocket. Within it lay a circle of white fire, a choker of diamonds with a 'V' of drop fire opals that burnt with ruby fire in their black depths. He smiled as he lifted it from the box.

  "I know, I'm spoiling you, but I can if I want."

  Carrin shook her head, gazing at him in confusion as he fastened it around her throat. He stepped back and nodded.

  "That's better. Where's your ring?"

  Carrin glanced down, discovering that her left hand was bare. She had left it in the bathroom. Fetching it, she put it on, and he shook his head, looking exasperated.

  "It's a good thing it's insured. You might lose it by accident on purpose."

  "I would never do that."

  Once again they were the same height, and he gazed at her, then leant forward and kissed her. "I know. Just kidding." He turned away. "Oh, while you were dressing, I found these."

  Carrin gasped in horror. Her sketches were spread out on the bed. Leaping forward, she started to gather them up. Mark sat on the bed and watched her.

  "I've already seen them. They're very good."

  "How dare you poke through my things?"

  "I didn't. They were on the dressing table." He picked one up. "A little flattering, don't you think?"

  Carrin gave up trying to hide them and sat on the bed, frowning. He was never supposed to see these. If he wanted proof that she loved him, he had it now. He put aside the drawing.

  "Hey, what's the matter?"

  "These were private."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. So, you like to draw me, so what? I'm flattered, that's all. I never realised you were such a good artist."

  She glared at him, trying to hide her embarrassment and despair behind an angry scowl. Was it possible that he couldn't see it? That to him they were just drawings? He watched her warily, then picked up the best drawing and studied it.

  "This one's good, but I don't look like that."

  "Then how can you say it's good? It's supposed to look like you."

  "Well, it does, sort of. Is that how you see me?"

  She shrugged, trying to be off-hand. "It must be."

  "When did you do these?"

  "Recently."

  He glanced at her and picked up an older sketch. "Really? This one has a date on it, six months before we met."

  Carrin snatched the drawing from him and started to gather them up again. "Yeah, well, I liked the look of you. Why do you think I chose you for the lead in my screenplay?"

  Carrin stuffed the offending drawings into the dressing table drawer, then glanced at him. He gazed at her with a slight, crooked smile, his eyes shining with such tenderness that her heart skipped a beat.

  "If you say so." He got up. "We'd better be going."

  Glad that the drawings were forgotten, she picked up her evening bag and followed him to the door.

  In the lobby, two reporters lay in wait, and jumped in front of them to snap their picture. The flashes blinded Carrin, and Mark guided her out to the waiting car.

  Mark took her to an opulent, glitzy nightclub frequented
by the rich and famous. A crowd of fans and media waited at the door, and again they ran the gauntlet of flashing lights and screaming girls. Within the club's plush confines, Mark greeted many acquaintances on the way to their secluded table. They ate a superb meal and danced, drank champagne and talked. Mark was attentive and witty, but quite formal towards her. He seemed to enjoy himself, except when a photographer sneaked up to their table and all but blinded Carrin with his camera flash. He fled when Mark jumped up, and the manager came over to apologise, but Mark waved it away like a bad smell. They did not stay late, and he dropped her back at her hotel before midnight, kissing her goodnight.

  Carrin went up to her room and removed the fortune in jewels that he had given her. He was treating her with kid gloves, it seemed, until after they were married and she had been cured of her mistrust. For the moment, she would give him the benefit of the doubt. She went to bed wearing his ring.

  On Sunday, Carrin overslept. She woke at nine o'clock, washed and dressed in her floral jungle. Her eyes were drawn constantly to the sparkling diamond on her finger, still fascinated by its beauty. At ten o'clock, Mark took her out to lunch, then they walked in the park with a following of press and fans. When the crowd got too big and pushy, they drove to his house and spent the afternoon relaxing by the pool. Simon dropped by, adding to the day's pleasure. Carrin found that she was starting to relax and enjoy it, the nagging doubts pushed into the background for now. Simon went home at dusk, and she and Mark had a candlelight dinner before Mark took her back to her hotel.

  On Monday morning, she rose early, eager to go to the location and see Mark. When she phoned for breakfast, she was told that an envelope had arrived for her late the previous night. She asked them to send it up with the tray, wondering what it could be. The plain brown envelope had her name scrawled on the front in a black marker. She had a bad feeling about it, but she had to see what was inside, and she ripped it open. Some glossy magazine cuttings fell out, along with a note. A crude scrawl said, 'See what you're marrying.'

  Carrin knelt and picked up the clippings, a cold sensation stealing through her gut. A photograph of Mark made her heart quiver, then pound. He stood in front of a church, dressed in a groom's suit. He looked dashing, and quite young. A radiant bride stood beside him, a dark-haired beauty who gazed at him with adoring eyes. Underneath, a brief article stated, 'Mark Lord, an up and coming young star, weds Alisha Trimble, a model from the Fashion First agency. Mark Lord has just been cast in his third film, Meet Me at Midnight, an action thriller in which he plays...'