Her Leading Man

by Duncan, Alice

  He waved, and the younger man waved back. “What’s up, George?”

  Gran squinted at George, scowled hideously, and snarled. “Who’s that?”

  “Someone called George,” Christina answered her gentlest voice.

  Glancing between the two women, Martin couldn’t tell which one, if either, was acting a role. Grandmother Mayhew looked as though she were acting the part of crotchety old woman Christina appeared be acting a role requiring faux sweetness and light, with a vast underlay of irony. He shook his head, wondering if it was a good thing that he’d begun viewing everything and everyone in the world in terms of roles and parts.

  “George Peters,” he said “He’s the chief set designer.”

  “Ah, so that’s George Peters,” murmured Christina.

  “Heh,” said Gran.

  “Hey there, Martin.” George gave Martin a crisp but casual salute and turned his attention to the two ladies.

  His smile was boyish and charming. Martin generally had nothing but good feelings toward George. Today, when he saw George’s gaze get stuck on Christina, he felt a sudden and inexplicable urge to hit him in the teeth.

  Good Lord, whatever was the matter with him? He shook off the mood instantly, knowing it did him no credit. “Mrs. Mayhew, Miss Christina Mayhew, please allow me to introduce you to the best set designer in the industry, George Peters.”

  George executed a spiffy bow. “Good morning, ladies. I’m very pleased to meet you both.”

  “How do you do, George? Please call me Christina.”

  Martin thought he wouldn’t mind greeting every day with one of Christina Mayhew’s smiles. A single one of them could perk up a man for hours, if not the whole day.

  “Young man,” growled Grandmother Mayhew. She held out a bony hand for George to take.

  He did it without even a pause, lifted it to his lips, and brushed a kiss on it. He did all that without even flinching, which made Martin wonder about George’s family. He knew George’s brother, Colin, who had married Brenda Fitzpatrick a few years back, could be a fussbudget without half trying. Perhaps George was accustomed to dealing with prickly people.

  He shook off his speculations. “Are you ready to go over the set design, George?”

  “That’s why I came out here,” George said, having to drag his gaze from Christina’s face. She certainly did have an alarming effect on men; Martin wasn’t sure he approved. “I want you to look at the designs and see if you want any changes made before we start putting it all together.”

  “Right. I’ll come along with you.”

  “Do you mind if I come, too?”

  Christina’s question startled Martin, who wasn’t used to actors taking an interest in set designs. As long as they looked good on the screen, most of them didn’t care what the set looked like.

  George answered the question before Martin could. “Sure. Come along.” Almost as an afterthought, George said, “Both of you. You’re both welcome to look over the designs.”

  “Thank you very much, George.”

  Christina gave George such a lovely smile, Martin’s insides clenched. If the two of them were going to carry on in this unseemly way, he didn’t know if he’d be able to tolerate it. Glaring at Grandmother Mayhew, he wondered why the old lady hadn’t smacked George with that damned cane of hers.

  “I’ll come along, too,” said she in her acidic voice. “I want to see where my granddaughter is going to be cavorting around naked.”

  Christina rolled her eyes. “Gran, stop it.”

  Horrified, Martin said, “Good Lord, Mrs. Mayhew, she won’t be naked!”

  George blushed.

  “She’s only being tasteless because she can be,” Christina muttered, as if even she were put out by her grandmother’s tongue this time.

  “Heh, heh, heh,” said Grandmother Mayhew.

  Martin was not amused.

  Christina wasn’t amused, either, if it came to that, but she’d learned long since that it didn’t do to react to Gran’s more extravagant statements, because that only encouraged her. The more offended people became with her, the more she pushed the limits of their tolerance. She was a wicked old woman, and Christina loved her for it, even though she also often wished Gran would shut up.

  George opened the door of the resort to let the ladies pass through. Christina smiled at him He seemed like a nice boy. Young and clearly caught up in what he perceived as the glamour of his job, but nice for all that. Personally, Christina preferred Martin’s more subdued elegance to George’s fashionable flashiness, although she understood how a young man might fall into the trap of believing the image portrayed so well in the pictures.

  She was surprised when she turned to see where Martin had got himself off to during the course of their walk to the resort, and discovered him frowning at her She lifted a brow in inquiry, and he seemed startled. “Anything wrong, Martin?” She hoped he wasn’t angry because of—or at—her grandmother. She’d believed him to be made of sterner stuff than most men and would be disappointed if she discovered herself to have been in error about him.

  “Wrong?” He blinked and reached for the tuft of hair he’d been yanking on when Christina had first seen him this morning. “Er, no. Nothing’s wrong. Why do you ask?”

  How fascinating. He must do that hair-pulling thing when he was upset about something. She suppressed an almost overwhelming urge to go over to him, take his hand, and try to soothe his nerves.

  She said, “I noticed you were frowning.” She didn’t mention the tress, in case he was sensitive about it, though she didn’t know why he should be. Everyone had their little quirks. Although she wasn’t sure what her own were—it was so difficult to see oneself as others did—she could spot Gran’s a mile away.

  “Oh,” he said. “No. I didn’t mean to frown at you.”

  He cast a withering glance at George, who appeared quite shocked to be its recipient, and Christina wondered if George had done something wrong. If he had, he plainly didn’t know what it was.

  Hmm. All of this human interaction was quite fascinating. Christina, who believed medical doctors should study their fellow human beings from not merely a physical standpoint, but from a psychological one as well, was a keen student of human deportment and social behavior.

  She let George and Martin go ahead of her and Gran, and watched the two men deal with each other. From everything Christina had heard Martin say about George, she’d judged that Martin not only approved of George, but liked and admired him. Everyone she’d ever spoken to about Martin Tafft considered him the best in the business. Martin had seemed quite pleased to see George when he’d joined them out by the camels.

  So something must have happened since then to set Martin’s back up, and it must have done so within the last few minutes. She cast her mind back—and came up blank. The only thing that had happened was that George had seemed to admire Christina.

  She eyed Martin closely, then transferred her gaze to George. They seemed to be conversing easily with each other now. Perhaps she’d been mistaken about Martin’s sudden and transitory hostility toward the young set designer.

  Then George turned, smiled at her again, she smiled back, and when she glanced at Martin, he’d started scowling again.

  Goodness, this was very strange. Christina could have better understood it if Martin had scowled at Gran. At least Gran deserved a good scowl from time to time. Most of the time, even.

  Martin Tafft couldn’t possibly be jealous of George, could he? Christina was so accustomed to receiving lust-filled glances from men that they hardly even registered on her consciousness any longer. And, really, George hadn’t looked at her lustfully, but only appreciatively, and that was nothing to worry about. And she’d only smiled back at him to be polite. Surely Martin wasn’t jealous of George. Was he?

  Christina scoffed at herself. Of course he wasn’t! They’d barely met, and she’d never even set eyes on George Peters until this morning, about ten minutes ago. There
wasn’t any way in the universe Martin Tafft could be jealous of George over her.

  Perhaps some of Gran’s concern about Christina’s virtue had rubbed off on Martin. Christina squinted at her grandmother. Gran could set anyone’s back up and generally did. Perhaps that was the problem. Or perhaps Martin resented Gran’s snide comment about naked scenes. That had been pretty low, even for her grandmother, who never shrank from saying anything, especially when it might outrage her listeners.

  Fiddlesticks. After mulling over the situation for several seconds, Christina gave it up. If Martin seemed to be acting strangely later on, perhaps she’d think about it again. Right now, she wanted to look over the set design plans.

  George, on his knees, unrolled a long parchment-like paper on the floor of the resort’s front parlor. He glanced up and grinned. “It’s six feet long. There aren’t any tables around here long enough to accommodate it.”

  “That’s fine, George.” Martin sounded perfectly civil when he, too, knelt beside the plans. Christina decided what the heck, and she knelt beside Martin and George. Gran huffed, which Christina had expected, and said, “I’ll pull up a chair and sit on it.” Her tone was unmistakable. It as much as told the other three that she considered them boors, not complete monsters, for not seeing to her comfort before they started working.

  George glanced up, his face showing clear signs that he didn’t understand why Gran had used that tone. Christina smiled inside. He was still such a boy. A likable boy, true, but he was nowhere near as grown-up as he thought himself to be.

  Martin jumped to his feet. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Mayhew. Let me get a chair for you. I was so interested in George’s plans, I didn’t think about anyone else. Please forgive me.”

  Gran offered him a terse humph.

  How sweet he was, really. Christina appreciated Martin a lot in that instant. Few men, after having received the full glory of Gran’s uncivil tongue, remained polite to her. In fact, most of them tried with all their might to ignore her. Martin didn’t even flinch at her humph.

  Looking more closely at her grandmother, Christina discerned signs that she was pleased with Martin Tafft, too. That made Christina feel pretty good, actually.

  Placing the chair so that Gran would be able to see from one end of the design to the other if she stretched her neck a little, Martin asked, “Is this close enough, Mrs. Mayhew? I think this is about the best place, if you want to take in the whole set.”

  Gran sat with a slight crunching sound of stiff silk and propped her cane at her side as if it were a queen’s scepter. “It’ll do,” she conceded as if it hurt her to do so.

  Martin only smiled. “Good.” He rubbed his hands together in a gesture of happy anticipation and knelt beside George again.

  Christina took note of Martin’s pleasure in this aspect of his craft. She also noticed that he chose to sit on the other side of George. Before Gran had interrupted things, he’d been kneeling beside her. She shot her grandmother a frown. Drat the old bat. Christina wondered if she’d disrupted things on purpose. She wouldn’t put it past her

  Then Gran sneaked a peek at Christina, smirked, and Christina knew it for a fact.

  “Darn you, Gran,” she muttered.

  Her grandmother adopted an innocent expression that sat about as well on her face as it would on a hippopotamus, and peered serenely at the design plans resting at her feet. Knowing she’d lost this round, Christina gave up thinking and did likewise.

  Four

  “This is going to be wonderful, George.”

  Although he wouldn’t admit it to a soul, Martin was glad Mrs. Mayhew had put on her act of offended dignity Perhaps because he hadn’t slept well last night, his nerves were on edge today. Every single time he got near Christina Mayhew this morning, they tingled as if somebody had plugged him into an electrical socket.

  “Glad you like it.”

  George gazed serenely at his handiwork, but Martin wasn’t fooled. He was as proud as punch, although he’d never let on. Martin was glad George hadn’t let success go to his head, but he was sorry that he’d begun to suppress his boyish eagerness. He’d probably done so because he thought it denoted lack of sophistication. As far as Martin was concerned, sophistication was an overrated commodity. Martin much preferred unstudied enthusiasm and honest reactions to an appearance of languor.

  “Oh, my, this is breathtaking, George. Can you really create this set out here? In this desert?”

  Martin glanced at Christina with gratitude. That’s what he liked. Just that very thing: real, down-to-earth enthusiasm. “George can do it,” he said with confidence. He was glad to see that George retained the ability to blush and get confused under the influence of praise.

  “Why, it’s beautiful. It looks exactly like reproductions of ancient Egyptian cities I’ve seen in museums.” Christina reached out and allowed one of her beautifully shaped fingers to trace the outline of the biggest building, shown as being the centerpiece of the set. “I’m very impressed. Maybe this picture won’t be totally idiotic after all.”

  Some of Martin’s affinity for Christina dimmed. Frowning, he turned toward her. They were both kneeling over the plans, and both leaned inward. George obliged them by backing up a foot or two so they could see each other without him in the way. “Why did you think the picture was going to be idiotic?” he asked, perhaps a shade too sharply.

  She shrugged her slender, elegant shoulders. Her whole body was slender and elegant, and Martin could hardly wait to see it undraped.

  Instantly, he caught himself up short, aghast.

  Good God, had he really thought that? Appalled by his own disrespectful thoughts, he sat back slightly. Since he was still curious to hear her answer to his question, no matter how horrified he was at his own prurient urges, he kept looking at her.

  “I think motion pictures are basically all pretty silly, Martin. I’m very glad to know this one won’t be as silly as most of them.”

  “Heh!” Gran said.

  Martin darted a peek at her, but didn’t let his gaze linger. The blasted old woman was enjoying her granddaughter’s outrageousness almost as much as she enjoyed her own. Martin didn’t aim to add his approval to theirs.

  Affronted and indignant, he said, “I don’t agree with you, Christina. And I hope this picture will help to change your mind.”

  He heard her sigh from where he sat. “I’m sorry, Martin. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “You didn’t insult me;” he lied. “But you must know that I love the industry, which Phin and I have helped to build.” Recalling the swarm of recent events surrounding the picture industry that had started earning salacious headlines across the country, and although it pained him to say so, he added, “I understand how some people might look upon pictures as less than a stellar means of mass education and entertainment.”

  Which he resented, blast it. The pictures were a medium that held out incredible promise to the world. Through moving pictures, people could get to know each other. They could learn about each other’s cultures, and discover that, no matter how different they appeared on the surface, they were all human underneath. And every man and woman on earth possessed the same needs and desires as every other man and woman.

  At least that’s what Martin had always believed. He’d held on to a perhaps foolish confidence that pictures would spread the word as he perceived it. He’d even allowed himself to envision world peace and prosperity once or twice, although he knew it would take more than motion pictures to achieve those objectives.

  So far, the pictures hadn’t delivered on Martin’s hopes. He hated to acknowledge the bitter truth, When Christina’s hand touched his knee, he jerked his head up, not having expected it. Every blasted time he came into contact with Christina Mayhew, his body and mind experienced the oddest sensations. Now, for instance, all of his worries had seemed to fly right out of his body the moment her hand rested on him.

  “I’m sorry, Martin.” Christina sounded sincere. �
��I understand your great love for motion pictures. And I agree with you. It’s a shame everyone who works in the industry doesn’t share your integrity and vision.”

  George nodded and murmured something unintelligible but conciliatory.

  Behind them, Grandmother Mayhew snorted. Christina shot her a withering glance, which slid off the old woman as if she’d been greased. Nothing, obviously, withered that old coot.

  Christina continued. “The pictures are a powerful medium and a phenomenal means of communication. If everyone believed as you do, the world would be a better place. I respect your appreciation for the power of motion pictures and am only sorry more people don’t.”

  Martin was sorry about it, too. Darned sorry. He sighed heavily. “Yes, well, I guess there’s still hope.”

  “Yes. I’m sure of it.”

  Wonderful. Now she was humoring him.

  George cleared his throat, and Christina appeared to be as startled as Martin. Good God, he’d forgotten George was even there.

  “Well,” the set designer said, “would you like me to explain this to you? You and Miss Mayhew can go over the shooting schedule and plot out the action scenes, using the drawing here. Then I’ll know how to go about setting it all up. Which order to build the set, and all that. You understand.”

  “Right,” said Martin, trying to get down to business and forget the strange effect Christina had on him.

  “How long is it going to take to put the whole set together, George?”

  As he gazed at Christina, who’d lifted her head to peer at George, Martin realized he’d be happy to have her around to look at forever. He guessed she could be considered beautiful, but there was more to her, at least in his estimation, than mere beauty. Her big hazel eyes held a world of intelligence and curiosity, two commodities sadly lacking in most of the actors Martin came across in his work. Most of the actors he’d met were interested only in themselves. Christina seemed interested in a number of things other than herself, and Martin approved heartily.