Superstar by T C Southwell Page A

shining
armour? A prince charming waiting at the altar? Instead he was a
beautiful, flawed man, cold and hollow inside that handsome facade.
He seemed so genuine and good, but he was a very good actor, wasn't
he? How was she going to get through months of filming when she was
in turmoil after just one morning? Her determination flared. She
was not going to be another of Mark Lord's conquests. She would do
whatever it took to stay out of his poisonous clutches, even if it
meant lying. If he found her infatuation so amusing, it would serve
him right to find that he was wrong, after all.
     
    The next day, Carrin went to the studio fortified by her
resolution. When Mark greeted her, she was polite in an offhand way
that made him look a little confused. Damned actor, she thought angrily. She had
spent most of the night lying awake, wrestling with her problem.
Helen's bruised face was burnt into her memory, as was Mark's
conversation with Simon Grey that she had overheard, and she was
tired and irritable. She resented his look of innocent uncertainty,
sure that he was mocking her behind it. Well, he would not have the
last laugh.
    All that
day, she watched from the side lines as Mark moved from wardrobe to
make up to the set. Janice hung around, looking very much like the
overripe fruit that she had accused Carrin of being. Several times,
she noticed Mark looking at her curiously, and pointedly turned
away. She left while Jerry was removing Mark's make up, avoiding
any contact with him. For the next two days she successfully eluded
him, and his glances at her became angry. On the third day, as she
was making her escape towards the side door where her limousine
waited, a dark shadow stepped into her path, making her
jump.
    "What
the hell's going on, Carrin?" Mark stepped into the light. He was
still in make-up, and from his dangerous demeanour, he appeared to
be still in character too. She retreated a step.
    "What do you
mean?"
    "I mean why
are you avoiding me? Why the cold shoulder?"
    "I've just
been staying out of the way, that's all. Everyone has his or her
job to do. I don't want to get underfoot."
    He seemed to
relax a little. "Well you don't have to do such a good job of it."
He paused. "Will you have dinner with me tonight?"
    "No." The word
leapt out before she could temper it, and he looked surprised.
Inwardly she smiled. It was doubtful that the great Mark Lord ever
got rejected so bluntly.
    "May I ask why
not?" he murmured, sending shivers up her spine at his soft,
dangerous tone.
    "I have a
boyfriend at home, and I don't think it appropriate to go out with
other men." She congratulated herself for her quick thinking.
    Mark's face
became expressionless, but a muscle jumped in his jaw.
    She hurried
on, embroidering, "The paparazzi follow you around. What would he
think if he saw me in a photo with you in some magazine? He'd never
believe that we were just friends, would he?"
    Mark's face
was inscrutable. In the dim light, he looked so handsome that she
longed to change her story, laugh it off as a joke and tell him
that she would love to go out with him. If only she could. Instead
she said, "He's looking after my house while I'm away."
    "Your new
house? The one you bought with the money for the screenplay, no
doubt?"
    "Yes."
    "When did you
meet him? After you got the cheque?"
    She saw the
trap and sidestepped it. "No, I've known him for years, but we only
realised how we felt recently."
    "I see. Well,
that's quite understandable." He inclined his head. "Good
night."
    Carrin watched
him stride away into the studio, feeling lost and forlorn, as if
she had just destroyed something precious. It was not like that
though, she reflected. She had avoided a lot of pain. Maybe it
would have been worth it, her heart cried, just for a week, a month
of happiness. The pain that followed would be too great, however.
Shaking off her doubts, she went out to the waiting limousine.
    That night she
lay awake for a long time, filled with regret