Her Leading Man (4 page)

Martin, on the other hand, appeared slightly taken
aback
.
“I hope that’s not the only reason,
Pablo,” he
said gently. Christina had to give him credit for
being
able to
put up with guff remarkably well
.
“We at
Peerless always
strive to deliver a superior product.”

Since he was talking about an industry Christina
despised as
manipulative and mind-numbing drivel,
she was proud of herself when she
restrained a contemptuous
g
uffaw
.

Nevertheless, she was more encouraged than not
when she returned to
her hotel room to report to her
grandmother.

Elizabeth Noble Mayhew
,
“
Gran” to
Christina,
clumped down the stairs of the Desert Palm Resort
holding tightly to
the banister with one hand and
clutching her cane with the other. Christina had
asked
if she
could be of help to her, but as usual her grandmother
had refused
assistance.

“
l’m
old, not helpless, drat you, child.”

Grinning at her back, Christina made her voice
sound contrite.
“Yes, Gran. I’m so sorry
.
”

Her grandmother sniffed
.
“Don’t mollycoddle
me,
damn
it
.
”

“
Never?” Christina wondered what the gallant
Pablo
Orozco would make of an old lady who swore
like a sailor and
had more brains than ten of him
.
Nothing good, she
hoped.

Martin Tafft passed across the hotel lobby at the
foot of the stairs.
Christina watched him with more
interest than she usually paid to men. She
couldn’t
afford to be interested in men until she’d finished
her education—if she
ever did.

Yet Martin appealed to her. She thought
her reaction
had
something to do with his dedication to his chosen
field of work, even
if his field wasn’t one of which
she particularly approved. She felt the
same degree
of dedication to medicine. Medicine, she reminded
herself so that she
wouldn’t get foolish notions about
Martin, was an ennobling profession.
Moving pictures
were merely entertaining trash.

“
Who’s that?” her grandmother barked, and
she
held out her cane to point at Martin.

“
That’s Mr. Tafft. He’s the director and
producer
of
Egyptian Idyll
, Gran. He’s the power behind the
Pharaonic throne, as
it were.”

“
Humph.
Looks too smart to be in the pictures.”

He did look smart. “Yes. I believe he’s considered
to be rather
intelligent.”

“
Why’s he wasting his time in pictures,
then?”
Gran reached the bottom stair and balanced carefully
before taking the
last step onto the lobby floor.

Christina shrugged. “Money, I suppose. Like the
rest of
us.”

She was startled when a voice spoke from a few
feet off. “Miss
Mayhew! Please, allow me to assist
your grandmother.”

Martin Tafft hurried up to the two of them and
held out a hand.
Gran slapped it away brusquely.
“Lay off, you. I might be old, but I’m not
in my
dotage
yet.”

Martin jumped back, startled. Christina didn’t
blame him. “Gran,”
she said, “there’s no need to be
rude. M
r.
Tafft was only being
polite.”

“
Pshaw,” said her grandmother with
admirable
conciseness.

Christina wasn’t generally embarrassed by her feisty
grandmother’s
less-than-stellar behavior, but she
believed Martin Tafft deserved better, at
least at this
point. If he should turn out to be a rat later on,
then
Christina would let her grandmother go at him all
she wanted. She
smiled at Martin, having learned
from experience that men got dippy when
she did
that.
“I’m so sorry, Martin. Gran’s touchy about her
independence.”

Martin’s gaze flew between the two women for a
second. He was
clearly trying to figure them both
out. Christina wished him luck. “Er, I
see.”

Finally he smiled, too, and Christina felt her heart
hitch. How strange.
Her heart didn’t do things like
that on a normal basis. She hoped she
wasn’t catching
something.

“
If your grandmother won’t let me help her,
may
I
walk with you, Christina? If you’re going to the
restaurant, that is.
That’s where I was headed when
I spotted the two of you coming
downstairs.”

Gran muttered something under her breath.
Christina didn’t
hear what it was, but she was pretty
sure it was rude. She didn’t care. “Thank
you, Martin.
I’d like to ask you about something in the picture,
if you’d care to
take your meal with us.”

“
I’d
love to, thanks.”

“
It’s all balderdash,” Gran declared. “The
whole
thing.” She’d achieved balance by this time and took
off at a pretty good
clip toward the hotel’s restaurant.
Once she got her feet and her cane
coordinated, she
could make excellent time.

Christina watched her fondly. “She’s such a dear,”
she murmured, and
wasn’t surprised when Martin
looked dubious.

“
Is
she?”

Christina laughed. “She really is.
But she has this
reputation as a hellion to maintain, you see, so
you
can’t be
expected to get by unscathed on first meetin
g her.”

“
I see.” A pause. Then Martin added, “At least
I
think I do.”

With another laugh, Christina said, “I come from
a long line of
extremely
independent
women
.
Matriarchs, if you will. Gran’s only
the latest of a
whole string of them.”

“My
word.”

“
She’s a
mathematician, you know.”

“
A
mathematician? Good Lord.”

“
Yes. Astonishing, but true. She and my
grandfather
used to work together, although Granddad got
all the writing
credits. He solved some spectacular
problem
back in the 1870s with Gran’s help, and is
quite famous in
mathematical circles.”

“
My goodness.” Martin chuckled. “I fear I
don’t
go around much in mathematical circles.”

With a sigh, Christina said, “No, you probably
don’t. Not many
people do.” She wished it weren’t
so, but there you were.

The world turned the way it turned, and not many
people in it were as
smart as the people in Christina’s
family. Finding people with whom she could
communicate
comfortably had always been an effort since
she wasn’t
interested in fashions, babies, boys, and
things deemed appropriate for
females. It was a
shame, too, because she really did like Martin. If
it
turned out
that he had a brain, he might even be
perfect.

It had been a long time since Christina had actively
searched for a
companion in intellect, however. She’d
been disappointed so many times that
she’d finally
quit looking. But at least Martin knew about
Egyp
t.
Egypt was interesting.

Gran had entered the restaurant by this time, and
Christina urged
Martin to hurry up a tad. “It doesn’t
do to let her start talking to the
waiters, because she
always makes them mad,” she explained.

“
My word. Your grandmother is, ah, an
exceptional
woman, Christina.”

“
I suppose she is. And I love her for it.”
She’
d
never admit to wishing Gran didn’t try
quite so hard
to live up to her reputation as an eccentric
individual.
Christina supposed the old lady wouldn’t be the Gran
she loved if she
were like other people’s grandmothers
and baked pies and knitted sweaters and
did other
grandmotherly things of a like nature.

“
I can see that you do,” Martin said. He
smiled
at the old woman, who glared back at him as if
challenging
him to offer to help her again.

“
There’s no need to frown, Gran. Mr.
Tafft
wouldn’t dare try to take your arm again.” Christina
grinned at Martin to
let him know she was kidding.

Martin grinned back. “Absolutely. I’m scared to
death of you
already, Mrs. Mayhew,”

Although she didn’t go so far as to
smile
,
Gran did twinkle to a degree. Christina
considered
this a good sign. She’d like it if Gran took to
Martin
Tafft,
because Christina already had. One couldn’t
have too many friends, especially if
one were
Christina Mayhew and didn’t make friends easily. She
didn’t want Gran to
drive Martin away.

The restaurant’s host, who appeared to be slightly
gaga over the
intrusion of the Peerless Studio folks
into his small
oven
-
like world, fairly groveled before
Christina and
Martin. Having met Gran before, he
stood clear of her lest, Christina
assumed, Gran swing
her cane at him.

“
Right this way, Mr. Taf
ft,
Miss
Mayhew, Mrs.
Mayhew,” he
said
in what he probably
thought
was a
suave voice but which sounded affected to
Christina. “I have a delightful
corner table for you.”

Delightful, in this instance, was rather an
overstatement,
Christina noted. She didn’t care, though.
Frankly, she’d been
surprised to find any
accommodations
at all in this
revolting desert. That the Desert
Palm Resort aspired to airs and graces
above its st
ation was a plus. The
place would never do
more than
aspire, in
her considered opinion, but at
least it was
comfortable
. Except for the heat. And there
wasn’t
anything anyone could do about the heat.

The waiter, after mentally negotiating with himself
for a minute, took
the safe route and held Christina’s
chair for her. Martin did the same for
Gran. Christina
figured the poor waiter feared Gran would bop
him one if he tried
to assist her. And she might have.
Gran was unpredictable sometimes,
especially if she’d
already pegged someone as contemptible. Anyone she
could intimidate was
contemptible in her eyes.

With a soft sigh, Christina wondered if she’d be
like Gran someday.
She was already too darned opinionated
and mouthy; she’d been told so over
and over
again by various people, from teachers to young men
who hardly knew her.
Men didn’t appreciate women
with ideas of their own. Which meant she’d
probably
never have a man in her life—although both Gran
and Christina’s
mother had managed to snag one
somehow.

The notion of having to rope in a husband brought
to her mind the last
picture she had acted in, a cowboy
epic in which the starring role had been
played
by a
real cowboy. He’d roped and tied a steer on
celluloid in no time at all, and his
performance had
been an astonishing thing to watch. She shook her
head as she laid her
napkin in her lap. Sometimes
her mind wandered down most unproductive
paths.