The Spiral Path (29 page)

He turned from the window. "Not to
mention the fact that the hardest part is yet to come. The rest of the
production will be difficult for both of us. One might even say
'excruciating.'"

She shivered at how menacing the word
sounded in his level voice. "Harder on you than on me, I'm afraid."

"You have to direct me, which
you're going to hate, just as you're going to hate playing Sarah's more
emotional scenes."

"You're beginning to sound as
ominous as Macbeth's witches."

"They weren't only ominous. They
were right."

She thought about the brilliant scene
he'd just done with Sir James. Kenzie knew the character of John Randall inside
out. If he said that the next weeks were going to be excruciating, he was
undoubtedly right. Now that it was too late, she wondered if the end product of
a movie justified what she was asking of him.

Was it too late? As soon as the thought
struck her, she dismissed it. Too much money, too many people, too much trust,
were bound up in this production. Marcus Gordon might give her a second chance
if she failed to deliver a movie as strong as her vision, but he'd never
forgive her if she turned coward in the middle.

"You look like you just bit into an
apple and discovered half a worm."

Kenzie's voice snapped her out of her
reverie. She said, "I was having a horrified moment of wondering what I
got myself into with this project."

"You'll survive, Rainey. You always
do. It's a most intimidating virtue." Kenzie stretched out and closed his
eyes, ending the conversation.

Maybe sharing a car wasn't such a great
idea after all.

CHAPTER 16

I
t
didn't take long for Nigel Stone to move into action. The next morning Rainey
and Val had a quiet breakfast together in Rainey's suite, both of them skimming
the London newspapers to check coverage of the production. Val picked the
Inquirer
from the pile, then whistled softly. "Hell and damnation. Take a look
at this."

Rainey accepted the tabloid with a
sinking heart. The whole front page was a sinister-looking photo of Kenzie with
a headline that screamed, "Do You Know Who This Man
Really
Is?"
She flipped to the story inside. A double-page spread with a blaring head
asked, "Rich Man, Poor Man, Beggar Man, Thief? Is Britain's Most Popular
Movie Star a King or a Criminal?"

Half a dozen photos of Kenzie showed him
in roles where he played dark and dangerous characters, or wearing as few
garments as possible, preferably both. Since he was a workaholic who'd made a
lot of movies, the tabloid had plenty of material. One shot was of her and
Kenzie in a steamy embrace in
Lethal Force,
a thriller they'd made
together the year before. The caption below asked ominously, "Did Raine
Marlowe Leave Kenzie Scott When She Discovered the Real Man Behind the Handsome
Mask?"

The sneering text said that Kenzie Scott
claimed to be British, but his stories about his past were one long string of
lies designed to make fools of his countrymen, who generously accepted him as
one of their own. Stone challenged his readers to come forward if they'd known
Kenzie Scott in his youth. The
Inquirer
would pay handsomely for early
photos. Together, Nigel Stone and his readers would uncover the truth!

Rainey swore. "This makes Kenzie
sound like an ax murderer. Can he sue the
Inquirer
for libel?"

Val shook her head. "Everything is
done with questions and suggestive pictures. They don't actually accuse him of
anything, so there's no libel."

A pity. Knowing Kenzie wasn't much of a
newspaper reader, Rainey stood, retrieving the tabloid. "I'd better show
this to Kenzie so he's prepared."

His suite was just down the hallway from
hers. She knocked crisply. "It's me."

A minute passed before the door opened
to reveal Kenzie in a bathrobe and damp hair. A faint shock jolted along her
nerves. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It was hardly the first time she'd seen his
chest, and a great deal more.

He ushered her in with a courtly
gesture. "I suppose the obvious, vulgar implication of your calling on me
is too much to hope for."

"In your dreams, Scott." She
handed him the newspaper. "You're not going to like this."

His levity vanished as he saw the front
page. "You're right. I don't."

He turned to the story with the granite
expression that appeared whenever the subject of his past came up. Hesitantly
she said, "I've tried to respect your privacy, but under these
circumstances, I need to know if anything illegal might turn up."

His mouth twisted. "You think I'm a
criminal?"

"No, but I've had to wonder what
you're so secretive about. If really catastrophic information might become
public, I'd like some advance warning. It's my neck the investors will chop if
the production is jeopardized by something you did."

"You can relax. There are no
outstanding warrants for my arrest."

Which was not the same as saying that he
had a guiltless past, but she didn't pursue the point. "Anything else that
might cause trouble if it's made public?"

After a long silence, he said,
"There are ... incidents that would make splendid tabloid headlines, but no
one will come forward to talk about them."

She sighed. "Why am I not more
comforted by your confidence?"

"It's all you're going to get, but
don't worry. Nigel Stone will be swamped with spurious leads that I'll be able
to deny with complete sincerity." He handed the tabloid back. "If
you'll excuse me, I need to get ready for the last day of rehearsal."

Troubled, she returned to her suite,
hoping that whatever her husband wanted so much to hide would stay hidden.

Thoughts
of Nigel Stone's crusade to unmask "Britain's most popular movie
star" gnawed at Kenzie all day. There was almost no one left who could
connect the boy he was with the man he became, and those few had good reason to
stay silent. But...

When the rehearsal ended, he told
Rainey, "You can have the hired car. I'm going to visit an old
friend."

She managed not to ask where he was
going, barely. "Have a nice evening."

Since reporters waited in front of the
building, he used the back door and hailed the first taxi he saw.
"Ramillies Manor, please."

A half hour ride in heavy traffic
brought him to a quiet corner of Kensington. Though it had never been a manor,
the sprawling Victorian brick house made a handsome retirement home. He entered
the familiar beveled-glass front door. The elderly receptionist finished up a
phone call, then greeted him with a smile. "Why, Mr. Scott, how nice to
see you again. Mr. Winfield will be ever so pleased."