Protection (4 page)

In the entrance hall again, she'd still felt silly and crossing over to her study, she'd hastily let herself in. Only then starting to feel better.

This was her sanctuary. Her bolt hole. A place that not even Amanda was allowed to enter. A rule which drove the loyal housekeeper mad with frustration, but which no amount of pleading would make Carrie sway from. This space was hers, and if it needed dusting or hoovering, she would do it. Amanda could stand on the other side of the door gasping at the thought of her employer actually running a bit of pledge over the shelves all she liked, it wouldn't change anything. In here, she had total control. She could lounge in her leather chair with her bare feet on the desk and do nothing if she wanted. She could eat a sandwich and not care about crumbs. She could even swig straight from the bottle and then belch without anyone raising a disapproving eyebrow. It was wonderful and safe and it was here, more than anywhere else that Carmichael's words finally began to make sense.

In the framed photographs, newspaper clippings and trophies. All evidence of her success. Proof positive of her achievements.

And okay, she admitted it, she had been amazingly lucky in getting the break in ‘ Friends and family', but afterwards she had worked damn hard. Episodes of the soap were churned out daily, weekends off a rarity, and it hadn't got any easier once she'd started in the movies. Her first had worn her out, merely because she'd spent much of it standing around doing nothing and the second, in which she'd starred, had knackered her for the simple reason she was practically in every scene. So, yes. If anyone deserved to go home to a nice, warm, comfortable house at the end of the day it was her.

Now she was all dressed up again and ready to attend her third movie premiere.

She had top billing, too. Above Ray Stephenson. A jaw dropper if ever there was one. Stephenson's star, she'd once read somewhere, shone so bright it made the sun jealous, but here she was with her name way above his and with a larger slice of the action to boot.

Fortunately Ray hadn't complained and had even whispered to her over coffee and bagels, that he was, in fact, rather glad he didn't have the starring role. He was, he confessed, getting far too old for all this running about nonsense, and if she wanted to take over all that bloody hellish stuff, she was more than welcome to it. He was more than happy to sit back, take it easy, and collect his cheque at the end of the day. Having his name at the top of the flyers no longer mattered to him. Living his life and actually enjoying it, did.

Laughing, Carrie had thanked him and toasting his very good health with decaf, wondered if she would ever reach a point in her career when she could afford to be as magnanimous.

It certainly wasn't now, that was for sure. She still had a long way to go before she reached the heady heights of global fame that Ray Stephenson enjoyed. The entire world recognized him, whereas only the UK and parts of Europe greeted her with any enthusiasm, and she suspected some of that was only because Carmichael coached them beforehand on how vigourously to clap.

Still, if Carmichael was to be believed, this, her third movie, was the one destined to bring her international fame, although the USA hadn't exactly gone wild for the first one. Instead America had practically ignored it in favour of some corny comedy with Steve Martin, and her disappointment hadn't been overly soothed by Carmichael telling her that ‘ Angels with Attitude', had already been done in the States. Under a different name, of course, and using American actors, but undoubtedly done, meaning that the interest in an almost identical English version hadn't been exactly forthcoming.

The follow up movie, therefore, hadn't been released on the other side of the pond, although her latest movie, entitled ‘ Walking Wild' was due to be shipped out amid as much publicity as they could manage. Why, when the other two hadn't exactly set the Yanks on fire, was a mystery to her? But as usual Carmichael had all the answers and remained convinced that not only would ‘ Walking Wild' become a phenomenal success but come the end of the year, she would be on the cover of America's ‘The Face' magazine. Yeah. Right.

It was done.

The ritual circuit of the house complete, and although by now she wasn't entirely convinced she still needed to walk this personal tour, she was loathe to give it up. Somewhere along the line, it had transcended beyond simple ritual to an all powerful talisman and she was scared that if she gave it up something disastrous would happen.

Not that she truly believed it would. But you never knew.

Still she was finished now and settling herself into her leather chair- trying not to think about how far the dress was sliding up her thighs- she steepled her fingers under her chin and glanced around her study, wishing she had time to light the fire but knowing there would be plenty of cold, winter evenings when she could and when she could sit right in front of it, hugging her knees and waiting for her face to go a ridiculous shade of red.

Smiling to herself, her eyes rested on the mantlepiece above it and to the photograph of her parents and little brother, Darren.

Her family lived in an old farm house in Wiltshire, and although she knew they were enormously proud of her success, they'd never once been down to London to share in it properly. London was too busy and intimidating, her mother had explained, and they were frightened that if they did land on her doorstep they'd either get in her way or say something they shouldn't to one of those dreadful ‘ camera people?' And then how would they live with themselves? If they ruined everything for her? No. It was better if they stayed in Wiltshire where they could do least harm. Didn't mean they didn't love her and it certainly didn't mean they weren't as proud as punch!

Carrie would have liked to argue the point, but fearing she might upset her mother, had ultimately dropped it, figuring she couldn't really blame them for being apprehensive. London was alarming at times, Heaven knows she'd sweated over it enough. But it would have been nice if they could have made it down just once instead of keeping in touch over the phone. She missed them terribly and praise and congratulations just weren't the same when they were diluted by distance.

Not that her mother's worries had stopped her brother, Darren. He'd trundled up by train, accompanied her to lunch and proceeded to chat up every female in sight with the wonderfully witty opening line of , “My sister's Carrie Shilling. Want an autograph?”

Cringing into her Caeser salad, Carrie could have slaughtered him on the spot for embarrassing her, but the swine had actually ended up marrying one of the girls he'd got chatting to and she could hardly hate him for finding happiness. She could gladly have lived without him trotting out the same, old line at his wedding, however, causing her to blush furiously and for every head to turn in her direction as the entire room clapped and then lined up for an autograph.

Fifty she must have signed. Easily. And the rotter hadn't even brought her a drink!

But one day, she smiled, gazing at her brother's grinning face in the photograph, she would get her own back.

An Owl hooted out in the garden and she stared at the large windows either side of the fireplace, seeing nothing but her reflection and that of her bookshelf Reading, she would have been the first to admit, wasn't really one of her favourite pastimes, but it was clearly the ‘done thing' to have a bookcase in a study and so she had purchased one, filling it with books she promised herself she would read ‘ one day' but never had.

A row of shelves placed behind her desk occupied that wall, each adorned with a variety of accumulated stuff. Film scripts, awards, magazines, candles, ornaments, all kinds of bits and bobs arranged in no particular order to anyone else other than Carrie, giving her yet another very good reason for baring Amanda.

An hour in here and Amanda would have it so neat and tidy she wouldn't be able to find a thing!

A battered but incredibly comfy sofa, rescued from her old house, claimed the left side of her study and nothing on earth could have persuaded her to part with it. Here she could cuddle up with a script in one hand, glass of wine in the other, safe in the knowledge there was absolutely no chance of being disturbed if she didn't want to be. Her sofa was bliss on a stick and looking at it now, she wished she could just curl up and sleep. But the door to the outside world was beckoning and picking up the remote control, she swiveled round to face the colour television nestling on a shelf and flicked through the various channels, finally arriving at one showing a live outside broadcast of her own, impending premiere.

The crowds were already beginning to build. The red carpet the focal point, even though the only people anywhere near it at present were security, trying very hard not to shiver in the freezing weather.

Watching them, Carrie sympathized, appreciating how cold they must feel. It truly was bitter out there tonight and the last time she'd looked the weather channel had shown a map literally covered with little, blue symbols.

If she didn't get hypothermia, going out in nothing but a flimsy, silver strap then she would count herself lucky!

The camera angle changed again and Carrie gasped when she saw the waiting crowd. Standing three deep, they were wrapped up against the winter chill and jostling for position. Holding aloft cameras, camcorders and mobile phones, whilst the police urged them to stay behind the barriers and linked arms to form an impenetrable line as the first in a line of limousines pulled up and a teenage star from a soap opera stepped out to rapturous applause and a thousand flash bulbs.

Safely dispatched inside the building, he was then instantly forgotten as a second limo discharged its passengers and a famous film star turned and waved. Smiling confidently at the cheering masses, his latest escort hanging delicately onto his arm.

By the time the third car arrived, the crowd had reached fever pitch and pushing against the barriers, Carrie saw the first of many heated arguments start to explode between police officers and besotted fans.

“... and the star of the show, Carrie Shilling, hasn't even arrived yet.”The news reporter said into the lens. “We can only hope that when she does, the police presence is strong enough to cope.”

You're not kidding, Carrie thought, and snapping off the television set, poured herself a large brandy.

Shit! It's worse than I thought.

In the back of her limousine, Carrie stared out of the window and picked at one of her false fingernails.

London was in the grip of a cold, fine drizzle, and the modern buildings looked as care worn as their historic counterparts. The rain blurrying the city into one, dismal façade miserable to behold.

With effort, Carrie forced her hands apart and nervously bit her lip, glancing at Carmichael and knowing, thanks to the continued news coverage, that the waiting crowd had now swollen to twice its previous size.

Unconcerned Carmichael raised his glass of champagne and proposed a toast.

“Your very good health.”He said. “And don't worry! You should take it as a compliment that so many people want to see you. Some of these so-called stars would give their eye teeth for a turn out like this. Cheer up, we're going to have a great time.”

“Maybe.”Carrie said dubiously. “If we make it inside with our lives. Look at them Barry. There must be thousands! Tell me that's not scary?!”

Leaning forwards, Carmichael peered out of the window and frowned.

They were now one street away from their destination and the car was beginning to slow down. Forced to a crawl by a bunch of idiots who'd wandered into the road in the hope of a premature gawp and whose shouts of triumph were not completely quelled by the darkened, security glass of the car's windows.

Hearing the din, he conceeded that Carrie might have a point. The crowd did seem rather large, but on the other hand the rain was distorting his view, making it difficult to ascertain just how many bodies there were, and with a heavy sigh he rapped smartly on the opaque divide between himself and the chauffeur. Waiting for the glass panel to slide smoothly down before addressing their driver, Brick.

Brick was thirty two, darkly skinned and built like an American football player, except Bricks' padding was all his own. His rather odd name deriving from the fact that he'd once been rumoured to have crushed a house brick to dust with his bare hands, a story that so far, no one had cared to dispute.

“Think we're going to make this all right?”Carmichael asked him now, noticing how the steering wheel all but disappeared inside Brick's giant mitts.

The chauffeur nodded. “Leave it to me, Mr. Carmichael. I'll get you there even if I have to get out of this car and physically move these morons by hand.”

“Let's hope it doesn't come to that, eh?”Carmichael replied, patting the back of his seat. “And take it steady, there's no rush. It's not as if they can start without us.”

Brick voiced his agreement, and flashing a brilliant, white smile of reassurance slide the panel silently back into place, effectively sealing Carmichael and Carrie back inside their leather bound sanctuary.

Around them, the car inched forwards. Halted. Inched forward again. The police converged to protect them and they moved more swiftly, gliding to a halt in a matter of minutes.

“This is it Carrie.”Carmichael said, peering out of the window at the extra security all rushing to surround the car. “All set?”

Unable to trust her voice, Carrie nodded silently and reached for his hand, shuddering. Carmichael might be fine, but she was scared to death! The crowd was too big! Her dress too small! What on earth had she been thinking of, agreeing to wear it? Everyone would laugh at her or hate her for daring to think she could get away with wearing something so minuscule. It was a mistake, a horrible mistake and the people! They were everywhere! Hundreds of them. Pushing and shoving and screaming. It was terrifying!