Her Leading Man (8 page)

Christina shot him a look of surprise that quickly
transformed into one
of appreciation, and she grinned.
“Yes, Gran. Tell Mr. Tafft why you carry
that cane.”

“
I need it because I have the lumbago, you
young
whippersnapper,” Gran growled.

But Martin could have sworn he saw those
bird
-
of-prey eyes twinkling at him. “Lumbago, eh? I
hope
if I
ever get lumbago, I’ll stay as spry as you.”

This time the cold lady chuckled. Martin could
scarcely believe his
ears. When he glanced at
Christina, he found himself the recipient of such
a
warm look,
he went light-headed for a minute. His
reaction to Christina Mayhew was
exceptionally unusual.
Martin wasn’t sure if it meant anything, or
if
he was
only tired from overwork.

The animal trainers had clipped the leads onto the
camels’ bridles and
now led the animals away.

“
Where
will they stay?”

Martin had allowed his mind to wander after the
camels, but
Christina’s question jerked it back again.
“Where? Oh, we had a stable of sorts
built behind
the resort. It’s sturdy, too. If the Desert Palm
ever
decides
to offer horseback riding to its guests, I expect
they’ll be able to
use it.”

A lovely eyebrow arched over an equally lovely
eye. “Oh?
T
hat’s rather nice of Peerless, isn’t it? I
mean, did you get a
discount from the resort because
you built them a permanent
stables?”

An actor had never asked him such a pertinent
question before, and
Martin was impressed. Except
for Brenda Fitzpatrick, who didn’t count because
of
her family
circumstances, most actors couldn’t spare
a thought for anything but their own
careers and
looks. He had to adjust his thought processes in
order
to take
in her question, then he began answering only
tentatively, sure her attention
span
wasn’t
long
enough
to last through an explanation.

Christina surprised him Not only did she continue
to gaze at him with
interest, as if awaiting an answer,
but when he spoke, she listened. Curiouser
and
c
uriouser,
he thought as he talked.

“
Actually, yes, we cut a pretty good deal with
the
Desert Palm. The resort is new, as you might have
gathered, and the
only reason it’s here at all is because
they’ve recently discovered they can
grow date
palms out here. The owners of the resort took a risk
by planting several
acres with date palms. Then, because
they thought they might be able to make a
little
more
money if they could lure vacationers out to the
desert, they started hawking it
as a desert oasis.
They’re publicizing it back East, as a restorative
resort
for
lung patients.”

“
Ah,” said she. “Clever of them.” Her
glance
turned to the retreating camels. “You know, Martin,
they might make even
more money if they could advertise
camel rides.”

Martin looked at her sharply, his eyes narrowing.
By God, she wasn’t
kidding. He cleared his throat.
“Um, yes, the resort’s owner and I had
long discussions along
those very lines, Christina. We’re both
hoping to make a
tidy profit from this
picture.” He
smiled to show her that, while he meant every
word,
he
didn’t mean the comment to be in any way ironic
or disparaging of either
endeavor.

Grandmother Mayhew snorted. Christina eyed her
slantways. “I think
they’re both very smart, Gran.
After all, why should only one side of a deal
make
money
from it?”

“
Heh.”

The sound of approaching footsteps made all three
of them turn. George
Peters, a jaunty young man and
the most talented set designer Martin had ever
met,
was
nearing
. George had changed a good
deal
the few
years since he’d come West. In 1909, when
Martin had first met him, George had
just dropped
out of college without telling his parents, hopped a
train, and headed to
Los Angeles in search of a career
in
pictures. His family
had been disgusted with him
.
Martin had been
elated to discover so ingenious and
artistic a sensibility in the young
ma
n.

George had gained confidence in the few years
since he’d started
working for Peerless. He now
looked the picture of a bright young man,
fashionably
dressed in plain summer knickerbockers, a sleeveless
vest over a sporty
white shirt with a casual polka-dot
cravat tied loosely at his neck, and a
soft tweed cap
on his dark head. Martin couldn’t help but grin
whenever
he
saw George
.

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,
p
lease 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,”
Geor
ge
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.