The Spiral Path (51 page)

Charles
Winfield's memorial service packed the small chapel to overflowing. He'd made
many friends over the years, and a dozen distinguished members of the British
theatrical community had asked to speak in his honor.

As executor and organizer of the
service, Kenzie spoke first. He kept his remarks short, saying only that he
owed his career to Charles Winfield, then recounting an anecdote that showed
Charles at his most charming and generous. Struggling to keep his voice from
breaking, he ended with, "Charles told me once that he had no family, but
he was wrong. The British theater was his family, and today we all mourn his
loss."

Rainey gave a smile of approval when he
returned to his seat beside her. She wore a severe, tailored black suit, and
looked even more alluring than the night before.

As the service unfolded, she quietly
took his hand. He squeezed hers gratefully. Saying good-bye to his mentor and
oldest friend was a painful reminder of all of the other losses of his life.
For better and worse, Charles had been the last link to his childhood.

The service ended with a powerful organ
rendition of the hymn "Jerusalem." Slowly the crowd began to leave,
with knots of people reminiscing and making plans for lunch. Several, including
Dame Judith Hawick, paused to exchange memories of Charles and to thank Kenzie
for organizing the service.

Just before they reached the carved
double doors, they were intercepted by Jenny Lyme and a man who looked vaguely
familiar. She hugged Kenzie hard. "That was perfect, Kenzie. Charles would
have been delighted by the turnout." She gestured to her companion.
"You remember Will Stryker, don't you? He was with us the first year at
RADA, then dropped out to study set design. He's the best in London."

"Of course I remember." Kenzie
offered his hand. "Good to see you again, Will."

Jenny turned to Rainey and said warmly,
"You don't know me, but my name is Jenny Lyme, and I'm a huge admirer of
your work."

If her aim was to counter any jealousy
caused by the tabloids' stories, she succeeded. Rainey extended her hand,
saying with equal warmth, "As a matter of fact, I do know you, or at
least, your work. Your ITV series,
Still Talking,
was wickedly funny. I
had a friend in London taping episodes for me every week. I wish I had your
talent for comedy. Have you considered doing movies?"

Jenny shook her head. "No, I'm the
approachable girl-next-door type that does best on television. I can't do
larger-than-life the way you and Kenzie do."

Kenzie suspected that given half a
chance Rainey and Jenny would become friends. After a few minutes of chatting,
they said their farewells and stepped outside.

It was an overcast morning, and mourners
leaving the chapel were hit by a barrage of electronic flashes and television
lights. "Damnation," Kenzie muttered under his breath. "I'd
hoped the service wouldn't be noticed by the press hounds, but I suppose that
was too much to expect."

"At least they have plenty of
celebrities to choose from," Rainey said as she took his arm. "Look
suitably sad for the camera, and we'll be out of here in no time."

Since the occasion was a memorial
service, the reporters were well-behaved. Kenzie spotted the hired car waiting
nearby at the curb. The plan had been to drop Kenzie at the hotel, then take
Rainey directly to London City Airport, but maybe he'd go with her to the
airplane. The longer he could put off saying good-bye, the better.

They were nearing the car when a harsh,
familiar voice barked, "I know the truth now, Scott."

Blood chilling, Kenzie turned to see
Nigel Stone bearing down on them, flanked by a photographer and a
television-cameraman. The last few days had been so demanding that he'd half
forgotten about the reporter and his bizarre crusade. Josh monitored the
tabloids daily, and had assured him that Stone was saying nothing Kenzie needed
to know.

Stone's eyes gleamed with vicious
triumph. He
knew.
This was no longer a ploy to increase circulation, but
a full-blown, malicious attack. The reporter had remembered their early
acquaintanceship. The whole, vile truth would come out, and there wasn't a
damned thing Kenzie could do. His vision began to blacken and his stomach
twisted with the sick knowledge of inevitable destruction felt by a man
plunging from a cliff.

With one hand Stone shoved a microphone
in Kenzie's face while the other held up a copy of the
Inquirer.
The
headline screamed, "The Queer Truth about Kenzie!" "Would you
care to comment,
Jamie Mackenzie,"
the reporter sneered, "on
your first career as a male whore?"

ACT III

Walking the Labyrinth

CHAPTER 30

R
ainey
gasped. How dare Nigel Stone say something so slanderous!

Then she felt Kenzie's arm spasm under
her hand. Glancing up, she saw that his face seemed to have turned to granite.
Something was disastrously wrong.

She gripped his arm hard, digging in her
nails in an attempt to jolt him from his paralysis. "That's almost as wild
as some of your own stories, Kenzie," she said lightly. "Though I
think your claim to be the true king of England is more believable."

She gave him a quick glance. Kenzie had
the rigid expression of a man who'd been mortally wounded. Guessing that he
wouldn't be able to come up with a coherent response, she swung her gaze to the
reporter and said with delicate contempt, "Have you considered writing a
novel, Mr. Stone? Obviously fiction is your strong point."

His eyes narrowed with malice.
"While researching your husband, I discovered that your mother was
Clementine, rock star and drug addict. Father unknown. Care to comment on why
you're so ashamed of her you've kept it a secret all these years?"

"My mother's identity has never
been a secret, Mr. Stone." She managed, barely, a cool smile. "I'll
admit I don't make a point of mentioning who she was. I never wanted to trade
on her fame to help my own career, particularly since I lack her musical
ability."

Anger at her calm, controlled reply
sparked in the reporter's eyes, but there was no opportunity for further talk,
because pandemonium had broken out. Other reporters crowded around shouting
questions while mourners emerging from the chapel demanded to know what was
going on. The twenty feet to the hired car looked like a mile.

Behind the television camera, Rainey saw
Jenny Lyme, her expression appalled. Rainey sent her a fierce mental plea;
If
Kenzie is
your friend, help him!

Jenny seized her escort's arm and the
two of them pushed between Kenzie and the television camera. "How
bizarre!" she said with her famous husky laugh. "I've known Kenzie
since our first day at RADA, and trust me, Nigel darling, he's
not
gay."
She batted long, dark lashes at the reporter, her voluptuous and totally
feminine figure angled to the best advantage.