The Spiral Path (31 page)

K
nowing
she should monitor the
Inquirer,
Rainey reluctantly reached for a copy
to skim during her breakfast. The photograph splashed on the front page of the
tabloid almost caused her to lose her eggs and British bacon. "Kenzie
Steps Out" the headline screamed over a picture of him and a gorgeous
brunette whose figure and cleavage could raise the dead.

Queasily she read the caption. The woman
was Jenny Lyme, and she and Kenzie had dined at Cachet, an ultra-fashionable
restaurant. Rainey studied the photo, recognizing Kenzie's protective posture
toward his date, the surprise on both their faces as the photographer caught
their picture. If they'd wanted anonymity, they should have gone to a less
trendy eatery.

Jenny Lyme was a RADA classmate and
longtime friend of Kenzie's, and Rainey suspected they'd been lovers, though
Kenzie had never said that. So what were they now--friends or lovers?

Not that it was any of Rainey's
business--she was just Kenzie's director. He had every right to boff old
girlfriends as long as it didn't interfere with his work on
The Centurion.
If
she could only convince her stomach of that...

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply
until her nerves settled down. It was fortunate that today would be spent
preparing an old train barn for the biggest, most complicated scenes of the
movie. She would buzz around monitoring details such as lighting, set dressing,
and the crowd of extras, but she wouldn't have to really concentrate until they
started shooting, which wouldn't be until after dark.

She flipped to the entertainment
section, and saw that Stone had done an article on Kenzie's early BBC work,
with quotes from people who'd known him then. It looked as if the reporter was
digging for negative statements, but had trouble finding anyone willing to
knock Kenzie. About the harshest words were, "He was real quiet like."
At least the tabloid wasn't fabricating nastiness.

Yet.

Pulse
racing, Rainey surveyed the vast train barn from her perch on a crane that held
a camera and crew. Two hundred extras in period dress were being herded into
position, while outside the barn a steam train rumbled expectantly.

They were about to do her "money
shot"--the big, complicated, expensive scene that would eat up a huge chunk
of her budget. She'd be glad to have this shot in the can before Marcus could
have more doubts about the cost.

Her radio crackled to life with the
voice of her first assistant director, who was responsible for setting up the
crowd scene. "Picture's up in five minutes, Raine."

"The second camera crew is in
position?"

"Yep."

"Good. Five minutes, then."
She lowered the radio, her gaze sweeping the set again. The location manager
had done well to find this long-unused train barn. Hard work and too much money
had transformed it into a mock Victorian railway station. While the
electricians had spent all day lighting the echoing space, set dressers worked
feverishly on the period details like lampposts and railings that made the set
look convincing.

Greg Marino was personally operating the
main camera beside her, and he gave a thumb's-up when he saw her glance. She
smiled, trying to look confident, then adjusted the belt that secured her in
the seat, trying to reduce the pressure of the whalebone corset on her ribs.
Damn Jane Stackpole for slighting her obligations. Since Rainey would be in
several shots later, she had to wear full costume and makeup. Directing was
much easier in jeans.

The radio crackled. "We're ready,
Raine."

One last look, knowing that the weight
of cast, crew, extras, and equipment all rested on her shoulders. Taking a deep
breath, she said, "Roll 'em!"

The camera started to whir as Greg
focused on the dark entrance to the train barn. Since modern London was
directly outside, the shoot had to be done at night to avoid glimpses of a
twenty-first-century city.

A beam of light slashed through the
darkness, followed by the menacing bulk of the locomotive. Pistons churned,
wheels whirled, and smoke poured from the stack as it rumbled to a halt with
bone-vibrating power.

The camera was set low to emphasize the
mass and power of the locomotive, so different from the sand and horses of the
desolate land where John Randall had been imprisoned. Inside the cars, dimly
visible moving figures prepared to alight.

The camera panned to the second
carriage, fixing on a door as it swung open and passengers began to emerge. An
elderly lady, a young couple. Then Kenzie, his scarlet uniform loose and his
face haggard from captivity. Damn, Kenzie was good.

He stepped onto the platform, and a roar
of voices greeted him. A brass band struck up as he looked around, shocked and
confused. The crane began to smoothly rise and move backward, gradually
revealing the massed people who'd come to welcome their hero home.

As they lifted, Greg and his camera crew
maintained their focus on Kenzie, whose attempt at retreat was blocked by
passengers behind him. The crane stopped so near the ceiling that Rainey
instinctively ducked. Below, Randall had almost vanished among the crowd of his
admirers, a man being eaten alive by celebrity. His scarlet uniform coat blazed
like a splash of blood in a sea of civilian black.

Everything was just as Rainey had
envisioned it years earlier when she'd first read the novel, and seen it in her
mind as a movie. She felt a combination of exultation and terror. This was the
essence of moviemaking--creating images that told a story. This was what she'd
been born for. "Cut!"

After they returned to ground level, she
and Greg studied the video monitor replay. "It works for me, Greg. What do
you think?" He gave a nod of approval, so she called, "Print."

A second take just in case, then on to
the next setup. Vignettes were shot--the brass band, a child waving a Union
Jack, the prime minister welcoming the hero home because an election was coming
and he wanted good press. Some things never changed.

While the second camera crew shot crowd
details at the other end of the barn, Greg filmed Randall woodenly meeting the
prime minister. His father greeted him, beaming with pride and total
insensitivity. After the official welcome, Randall began a painfully slow
attempt to move through the crowd.

Then it was Rainey's turn. While lights
and camera were reset, the head makeup artist did a touch-up, muttering
fretfully at the challenge of making a woman over thirty look ten years
younger. Rainey was equally anxious, though she tried to conceal it. She'd
never directed herself before.

Despite knowing what she wanted on film,
Rainey found it disorienting to sink into Sarah while at the same time having
to remember to think like a director. She missed her marks on the first take,
then blanked on the dialogue and blew the second take as well. "Steady,
TLC. Just do it," Greg said quietly.

Rainey swore at herself and tried again.
This time she nailed the scene, a simple one that showed her watching Randall's
arrival. At first she was exhilarated, but her expression changed. "Papa,
something is wrong. Why won't they leave him alone?"

Though Sarah had meant to stay at her
father's side on the fringes of the crowd, once she saw Randall's face she
plunged into the mass of people. As the chant, "Randall, Randall!"
echoed through the vast station, she fought her way toward him, ignoring her
father's calls to retreat.

Some men smiled indulgently and squeezed
aside, while others frowned at her boldness. She scarcely noticed, all her
attention fixed on Randall. She was perhaps the only one in the vast train
station who saw the panic in his eyes. He looked as if he were being flayed
alive.

Kenzie's frantic gaze touched hers, and
she gasped. The horror in his face was so compelling that both Sarah and the
director fell away, leaving Rainey, who feared for her husband. "John!
John!"

Staring at her as if she were an angel
descending from on high, he reached out. Her gloved hand stretched toward him
until they clasped fiercely across three men, her green sleeve bright against
the black coats.

For an instant the pressure of his hard
fingers was crushing. Then his grip relaxed as his expression shifted to
distress. Sensing that she was losing him in more ways than one, she tightened
her grasp, refusing to let him escape.

They clung like that for long moments,
until Rainey called, "Cut!"

She released Kenzie's hand, chest
heaving in the tight costume after her struggle through the crowd, and joined
Greg to watch the video. He'd done his job perfectly, zooming in until the
clasping hands became an emblem of their relationship--the man in retreat, the
woman determined to hold on no matter what dark forces tried to separate them.
"Just what I wanted, Greg. Print."