Superstar Page 4

  "Posh!" Olivia banged the table. "You're not listening, and I haven't finished. When he received your letter, he phoned me, and he was excited. Not about doing another movie, but about helping a struggling writer. He needs another movie like he needs a hole in the head. He's turned down five offers in as many months. He doesn't need the money or the aggravation."

  Carrin stared at her. Well, that blew one of her theories out of the water, but what other use could he have for her? Olivia watched her, and Carrin felt foolish.

  "Maybe you're right," she murmured. "You know him much better than I do."

  "Damn right I'm right, and I think you owe him an apology."

  Carrin nodded, deciding that the sooner she got out of this web of intrigue and deception the better. Olivia obviously liked Mark Lord, but from what she had overheard in the garden, Carrin knew that he was not as innocent as Olivia liked to think. Olivia relaxed as Carrin nodded and poured more tea.

  "Now, dear, what did you need help with?"

  They spent the rest of the day working on Carrin's screenplay. Olivia proved to be a font of wisdom on writing and all its difficulties. After lunch, John collected Carrin, whose head was abuzz with new ideas. A few tired-looking paparazzi still hung around the gates, but John barely slowed down, and left them running after the car in obvious frustration.

  Back at the mansion, Carrin asked Helen where Mark was, only to be told simply that he was out. She located one of the many computers in the house and settled down to work on the script. At around seven, Helen brought a tray, and said that Mr Lord was sure that Carrin would rather eat alone while she worked. The maid looked smug and triumphant, which Carrin took to mean that Mark was not happy with his guest. At around ten o'clock, she decided to go to bed, and wandered into the garden to enjoy a breath of fresh air first. She stretched and yawned, then spotted a dark shadow by the pool. She turned to leave, but Mark's soft voice halted her.

  "Carrin."

  Carrin turned to face the man she had insulted earlier. He smoked a cheroot, a brandy snifter in one hand, and his eyes were shadowed with fatigue.

  "I don't know what I've done to offend you, but I wish you'd tell me so that I can make amends."

  Carrin experienced a weird mixture of emotions so strong that she longed to turn and run. His soft voice and the sincerity with which he spoke warmed her heart and sent a pang of remorse through her. It was as if her dream had come to life. Alarm bells sounded in her brain, however, and her hackles rose. She had heard that same soft, sincere tone in his films. It was as easy for him to fake now as it was then. He was a charmer, and whatever he had planned for her, he obviously needed her co-operation, so he was trying to lull her into thinking that he was a nice guy. She steeled herself, refusing to look at that famous, beautiful face and his intense eyes that pierced her soul, studying her feet instead.

  "Nothing. You've done nothing. I'm sorry for what I said; it wasn't meant the way it sounded."

  "I see." He puffed the cheroot. "Then you wouldn't mind coming out with me to a function I must attend on Friday?"

  Carrin's head jerked up, and she stared at him. Was this it? Why on earth would he want to take her when he had Jenna? Was he using her to make Jenna jealous? How ridiculous. Aware that he was waiting, she blurted, "What about Jenna?"

  He ground out the cheroot with his boot. "Jenna’s going with Simon Grey."

  Carrin frowned. What the hell was going on? At the dinner party, Jenna had not had any time for Simon Grey. Now she was going out with Simon? She had left Mark? Just last night they had made love, and now she was with another man? Things moved too fast for a simple country girl, in Hollywood. Mark still waited for her answer, and she put aside her pride to tell the truth. No other excuse would do.

  "I don't have anything to wear."

  "Ah. Yes, I noticed. If you don't object, I can order a dress for you."

  Carrin suppressed a gasp. She did object, most strongly! She would not accept expensive gifts from a man she barely knew. Mark must have divined her objection, for he held up a hand before she could air it.

  "On loan."

  Carrin considered his suggestion, which was more reasonable. She could not think of another valid excuse, and besides, it sounded rather exciting, going to a function on the arm of a world-famous actor. If he was using her, then she would use him too.

  As if worried that she needed more persuading, Mark added, "It will be good publicity for you. There will be lots of producers, directors and such there. I'll introduce you."

  She smiled. "I'd like that very much."

  "What, being introduced?"

  "No, going with you."

  "Ah." He seemed startled. "Well good. How's the screenplay coming along?"

  "Very well."

  Mark sipped his brandy. "I'll take you to a boutique tomorrow, okay?"

  She nodded. "Sure."

  An awkward silence fell, then Mark said, "Good night."

  He entered the house, and Carrin stared after him. He seemed so nice, but she knew what a cold-hearted man he really was. He was just a good actor, she told herself. The problem was, he was always acting.

  The next day, at lunchtime, Helen came into the room where Carrin was working to announce that Mr Lord was ready to take her to the boutique. Carrin saved her work and stood up, not missing the angry glint in Helen's eyes. Downstairs, Mark waited in the car, talking on the phone as before. He hung up when she climbed in and cast her a slight, inscrutable smile. She returned it stiffly, and he looked away. On the way to the boutique, he asked about the screenplay and she discussed her changes with him, the conversation business-like. Mark donned sunglasses when they left the car, but still, people stopped to stare, and a few started forward as if to intercept him. Carrin followed him into the shop's cool confines, and the door was closed to the public.

  A well-dressed woman with styled chestnut hair and patrician features greeted Mark, calling him Mr Lord. Her gaze swept over Carrin with deep disparagement as she guided them into a viewing room with a ramp. Mark had arranged a fashion show just for her, it seemed, and Carrin found it rather embarrassing.

  As they settled into upholstered chairs, Carrin leant closer to mutter, "You didn't have to organise a fashion show, you know."

  Mark glanced at her. "You have to see the dresses."

  "I usually just try them on."

  "These don't come in different sizes. When you choose one, it will be made to fit you."

  Carrin stared at him in amazement, then her attention was diverted as the first model stepped out onto the ramp. Carrin eyed the frothy creation without any enthusiasm. Mark evidently did not like it either, and a flick of his fingers sent the model hurrying back into the dressing room. Another girl appeared, clad in a sleek white gown. She could not take her eyes off Mark, and almost tripped over her long skirt. The saleswoman frowned and went backstage. The next model did not look at Mark at all, but stared over his head. Carrin sighed and watched the parade of lovely dresses, none of which would suit her. At last a model appeared wearing a floating creation of gossamer white petal skirts attached to a bodice of honey silk picked out with stripes of white and pale blue. Mark glanced at her, and she knew that this was the right dress. She did not need his approval, but she could tell that he liked it as well.

  "That one," she said.

  Mark nodded, and the saleswoman hurried over. The seamstress took Carrin's measurements, and when they left the shop a crowd of autograph-hunters accosted Mark. He signed the slips of paper that they thrust at him, and John cleared a path to the car. Safely inside, he sighed and took off the sunglasses.

  "At least they're not as bad as the paparazzi."

  "They're your fans. Without them, you'd be nobody," Carrin pointed out rather testily.

  Mark shot her a surprised look. "I know. I don't dislike them. In fact, I wish it was safe to mingle with them, but there are always a few nuts who want a lock of hair or a bit of your clothes, and they can be dangerous."
/>   "I suppose."

  "It's a lovely dress."

  "Yes. I only hope I do it justice."

  "You will."

  His slight, famous smile tugged at his sensual lips, and Carrin wished he would just smile properly and get it over with. The question bubbled out of her without any thought.

  "Why do you never smile?"

  He shot her a startled glance, then his smile widened. "I do."

  "Not properly, and never in the movies."

  "Ah, well I was advised not to. I was told that I look like a schoolboy when I smile, so I got into the habit of not doing it. After all, villains and tough heroes aren't meant to grin like schoolboys."

  "I suppose not."

  His explanation was a relief to Carrin. At least there was nothing wrong with him, and he didn't have missing teeth or anything. Not that it was any concern of hers. Besides, she had occasionally glimpsed the edge of a set of perfectly even white teeth when he spoke. She would have liked to have seen the schoolboy smile, but did not push the issue.

  At the mansion, she returned to the computer, only to receive a shock. Her file was gone, and, with it, all her changes. She searched every directory, but there was no sign of the file. Carrin was certain that she had saved her work before she left, but she had not made a backup. The only backup she had was the original one that she had brought with her. Many hours of work had just vanished. She remembered Helen's angry look before she left, but did the maid know enough about computers to erase a file? Switching the machine off, she went down to the lounge bar to pour a stiff drink. As she sat contemplating her frosted glass, Mark walked in.

  "Hello. I thought you'd be working."

  "I would," she retorted, "except someone's erased my file."

  He paused in the process of pouring a drink to stare at her. "Who would do a thing like that?"

  "Good question. It's your house. Any ideas?" She was aware that her tone was terse, to say the least, but the loss of her changes made her furious.

  Mark eyed her, his gaze intense. "Maybe."

  "Who?"

  "It's not your concern. I'll deal with it."

  Carrin stood up. "It is my concern, Mark. I want to know. I've lost a lot of work, and I can't remember all the changes I made. It'll take ages to redo."

  He sipped his drink. "I understand. You're angry, and it won't happen again, okay?"

  Carrin calmed herself with an effort and turned away to hide the suspicion in her eyes. He looked so damned sincere, but she didn't trust him. Maybe he'd done it himself, but why?

  "How am I going to finish it in four days now?"

  "Stay another week if you like."

  She stared at him, meeting his riveting eyes. "No. I want to go home."

  He turned away with a shrug. "Then send the changes later."

  Carrin's heart sank. If only she could stay another week. She longed to spend more time in his company, but she would only be torturing herself. Mark Lord would never see her as anything but a small time writer whom he was generous enough to help, for whatever reason. Perhaps it was all a publicity stunt to show what a kind, generous man he was. That must be it. He certainly had Olivia Reed fooled. She glanced at him, and found him staring into space with a preoccupied look, as if he was thinking of something unpleasant. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and his upper lip was almost invisible, revealing the tense line of his mouth.

  The young maid appeared in the doorway to announce that a friend had arrived, and Mark left. The awe-stricken girl almost curtsied as he strode past her, and Carrin pitied her. She finished her drink and went up to her room. Pulling out her drawings, she sketched one that captured the tense look that he had worn.

  At dinner he seemed withdrawn, and hardly spoke to her, except for a few polite comments. Carrin longed to talk to him and make him smile, even if it was only that half smile. How she wished that he was not a cold-hearted bastard. Strangely, the revelation about his personality had not altered her feelings at all. Was she only infatuated with his looks? Perhaps it because he was always kind and polite to her, and gave her no reason to dislike him in spite of what she had overheard.

  The shock of that revelation had faded somewhat, and she was able to put it from her mind occasionally and see only the good in him. Or rather, the good act he put on. Deep down, where her pride became insignificant, she knew that if he ever spoke tender words to her she would fall into his arms like an overripe fruit. She would be unable to resist his attraction, no matter how false his words might be. Almost, she longed for him to tell her those sweet lies, just for the memory of it. Common sense warned her that the pain that would follow would dwarf any other.

  Carrin glanced up to find him watching her, his unguarded expression brooding. It changed the moment she looked at him, becoming unreadable, a testament to his acting abilities. Had he learnt that trick in the orphanage, or was it acting school that had taught him the art of a poker face? His soft voice broke into her reverie.

  "You know, your homesickness could be a problem if we film your screenplay."

  It took her a moment to react to this sudden announcement. Why on earth was he thinking about her homesickness? Realising that she was staring at him, she asked, "Oh? Why?"

  "Because you'll have to be here when we shoot it."

  This was news to her. "Why?"

  "I will require it, of course. I don't want anyone misinterpreting your work, or changing it, do you?"

  "No." Carrin frowned. "Would they?"

  "Probably. No one sees things precisely the same way. You wrote it, so you're the best person to give advice on its making."

  "Surely that's up to the director?"

  He nodded. "Usually, but writers are often consulted about the meaning of their scenes, if the director's unsure. They're there in an advisory capacity. Naturally the director has the final say, because he knows what works on film. Often even the actors are consulted, since they have to play the part. And there will be changes; rewrites, additions, editing, that kind of thing."

  She considered this. "So I'll have to be here when - if you film it?"

  "You should be."

  "And it could take months to shoot?"

  He smiled. "Usually. This one will, because it involves a lot of action and stunt work."

  Carrin stared at the dessert that she had mashed into an unappetising mess. It had been a fruit salad, but now it looked more like vomit. The idea of spending months working with him every day, and giving advice on her brainchild appealed to her. Could she keep her feelings hidden from him for so long? It would be a mammoth task. One slip and her secret would be out. She would be the laughing stock, and Mark Lord would have conquered another hapless heart. She could just imagine the sneers that would follow her, a silly little country mouse hopelessly in love with a mighty superstar so far out of her reach that it was ridiculous. If she had to be around though, what choice did she have? It was a bittersweet situation. Her longing to be near him was offset by her wish to escape the hopeless situation. She looked up, and caught him watching her again. This time he did not look away, his eyes were already guarded.

  "Couldn't it be done on the phone?" she suggested. "You know, if the director has a question, he could phone me."

  "No." His reply was flat, then he tempered it. "You'd have to see what was going on, and you can't do that over the phone."

  She sighed. "Then I guess I'll have to be there, won't I?"

  Mark smiled, and she glimpsed the boyishness that came with it. "It'll be fun."

  "They still might not make the movie, anyway."

  Mark shrugged and turned his attention back to his dessert. The topic of conversation changed to hobbies, and she discovered that they shared a love of horses and fast cars, good books and fine art. She was surprised by how much they had in common, and how much she enjoyed his company. He also appeared to enjoy himself, and became quite animated on some topics. He had a quick wit and an excellent sense of humour, as well as an extensive knowledge of he
r favourite subjects. His expression became unguarded, and on several occasions she glimpsed warmth in his eyes. He even chuckled at some of her wittier remarks, although he still did not smile properly. It seemed as if they could become good friends, and her suspicions appeared to be ridiculous. Time flew past, and only when Carrin started to yawn did she realise how late it was, and went to bed.

  Chapter Four

  The next morning, she came downstairs to find that Mark had gone out. The shy maid brought her coffee in the room where she worked on her screenplay. Working on the computer renewed her anger at the loss of her changes, and she asked the maid where Helen was.

  "Mr Lord dismissed her last night, Miss York," the girl replied. "He ordered her to pack and leave immediately, so she's gone."

  Carrin stared at her. "I see."

  So her suspicions had been right, and Mark had known that it was Helen. The girl went on, "She was terribly upset. There was quite a scene after you retired."

  "I'll bet," Carrin muttered. "How did Mr Lord know it was her?"

  "Who wiped out your file?"

  Carrin nodded.

  "She worked with computers before she came here, so she knew how to do it. He made her admit it before he fired her, anyway."

  Carrin wondered how he had done that, but perhaps it was better that she did not know. She let the girl go and returned to the mammoth task that now faced her.

  By lunchtime, she needed a break, and went into the garden to stretch her legs. It was pleasant to walk amongst the clipped hedges and bright flowerbeds. The garden at her home was a sorry collection of tough shrubs that hardly ever had a flower on them. A sound behind her made her turn, expecting it to be Mark or Rita, the maid. Instead, Helen stood there, and Carrin gasped in horror. A huge bruise covered one side of her face, her jaw was swollen, and a gash marred the creamy skin of her temple. Mascara streaked her cheeks, and her hair straggled in a matted mess. Carrin stepped back in shock, and Helen smiled lopsidedly.

  "So, Miss York, you see what your wonderful Mark Lord is capable of?"