Her Leading Man (32 page)

Christina wanted to shake her. “Gran, that’s not
fair. I have a job
to get back to. It wouldn’t be right
of me to leave Peerless and the rest of
the cast in
the lurch.”

Her grandmother waved a hand in an airy gesture.
“Do what you must
do, child. I shan’t leave here
without my fellow fighters for the cause of
freedom
and
justice.”

Christina shut her eyes and prayed for inspiration.
Or a lot of money.
She’d bail everybody out and forget
it. She felt Martin’s hand on her
shoulder, and
opened her eyes to glance at him. She loved his
face.
It
looked so kind and gentle while, at the same time,
retaining a
remarkable strength of
character. Now his
face, unlike that of her grandmother,
seemed to hold
all the characteristics Christina admired. Her
grandmother’s
countenance only appeared sly and cantankerous.
In other words, it
told the truth, blast it.

“
Try not to worry, Christina. I’ll do what I
can
here.”

“
But—”

He shook
his head. “It’s all right. I’ll do my best.”

She felt humble in the face of his great generosity.
“Thank you,
Martin.”

Her
grandmother said “Heh.”

It took Martin three hours and a great deal of
money to effect the
release of all the suffragists from
the Los Angeles Police Department’s
holding cell in
which they’d been incarcerated for approximately
twenty-four hours.
By the time the release took place
Christina had a raging headache, was
ravenously hungry
and felt abysmally depressed.

As much as she didn’t want to—after all, even though
she hadn’t intended
to get arrested, she vehemently believed
that women deserved the
vote
—
she kept wanting
to apologize to Martin. Furthermore, she
felt he deserved
an apology from her.

Oh, it was true Martin was a man and, therefore,
privileged to enjoy
all the freedoms denied to women
.
But he was still a
kind man and more understanding
than any other man she’d ever met outside
those in
her
own family. She loved him.

She didn’t want to love him, either, because she
feared it boded ill
for her peace of mind; not to
mention
her future plans. She couldn’t help it,
tho
ugh.
She loved him
.

“
Are you all right, Christina?” he asked in
his
wonderful, empathetic voice as he assisted her into
his gigantic Pierce
Arrow motorcar. It was a grand
car; much grander than Christina’s own dinky
Olds
Runabout.

She gave him what she imagined was a fairly wan
smile. “I have a
little headache, is all. Thanks.” Impulsively,
she added, “I can’t tell you how
much I
appreciate all you’ve done for us today, Martin.
I’
m
so sorry you had to go through all this

His own smile was as warm and wonderful as he
was. “Stop
apologizing, Christina. You did nothing
wrong. I believe civil disobedience
in pursuit of a
just cause would have been honored by our
forefathers.
And foremothers,” he added conscientiously.

She couldn’t speak because her throat was too
tight.

Gran
said, “Heh.”

Christina
sighed.

“
And now, ladies, I’m driving us to the
Melrose
Hotel, where we’ll have something to eat and rest
up. Tomorrow
morning, I’ll drive us back to Indio’’

“
You mean we aren’t going back there
tonight?”
Christina hardly dared believe her ears. The notion
of driving back to
Indio in her present bedraggled
,
headachy, and
exhausted condition held no appeal
whatsoever, but she’d have done it
because, after
all,
it was
her duty. Plus, she never wanted to let Martin
down again.

“
Nope. You’ve been through too much already
today.
You don’t need to drive for hours on top of
everything
else. Besides,” he added, sending her a
sidelong glance, “no matter how
much you say you
feel fine, I don’t believe it.”

She sighed again. “You’re right. I have a beastly
headache, and I’m
starving to death.”

Grandmother Mayhew muttered, “Insipid creatures,
these modem
females.”

By tacit consent, both Christina and Martin ignored
her. Christina knew
she was only being contrary out
of habit and form. Martin said, “After we
check in
at
the Melrose, why don’t the two of you wash up.
I’ll get us all reservations
somewhere for dinner.”

“
Thank you so much, Martin.” Christina
reached
for the hand he had resting on the seat beside her,
and he squeezed
hers. In spite of herself, tears filled
her eyes and dripped down her cheeks.
She felt stupid
and hoped to heaven her
grandmother wouldn’t
notice this weakness. Christina
didn’t like being considered
insipid, even if Gran didn’t really mean
it.

When Christina entered her room at the Melrose
and she beheld the
clean clothes Martin had thought
to bring from Indio, she burst into fresh
tears. “Oh,
Martin
!
” She turned into his arms, and he
held her,
patting her on the back and murmuring sweet nothings
into her
ear.

Mrs. Mayhew, who still held her stiff posture, eyed
her granddaughter
askance. Even she, however,
couldn’t maintain her vicious tongue in the face
of
Martin’s
consideration. “Thank you, young man.
You’re not half as bad as most of the men
I know.”

Martin laughed, and Christina decided he was the
most marvelous man
in the entire world. And that
even included the men in her family.

It hurt Martin’s heart to see Christina in so
obviously
unwell a condition. The circles under her eyes
pained him, as did
the pallor of her skin, the droop
to
her shoulders, and
the rumpled condition of her
clothes. Then there was her hair.

The gorgeous auburn mass, generally so glossy and
beautiful even when
she only wore it knotted and
pinned up for casual daily wear, was bedraggled
and
dull.
Martin wanted to unpin it, brush it out, and let
the silky strands
drift through his fingers. He hoped
like thunder she’d sleep with him tonight.
Surely her
grandmother, whom he knew had authored this latest
debacle, would allow
her out of her room this one
night. After all, Mrs. Mayhew claimed to be
a
modern
woman with
modern
ideas. A love affair might
not be as noble a cause as women’s
suffrage, but it
was a whole lot more comfortable.

“
I suggest the pork tenderloin with apple
fritters,
ladies,” he said, maintaining his smile in spite of
the
ache in
his heart. “I’ve had it here before, and it
was delicious.”

“
That sounds lovely.” Christina put her menu
down
as
if it were too heavy to hold. Her
voice was as
pallid as her complexion.

The poor thing
.
Martin wanted to scoop her
into
his arms
and pet and pamper her until she regained
her old sparkle and spunk. He hated
seeing her like
this. What’s more, he blamed her old bat of a
grandmother.
He knew, because Christina had told him,
that it had been
Grandmother Mayhew who had proposed
the ill-fated jaunt into Los Angeles.
He
wouldn’t
have been surprised to learn that Mrs. Mayhew
had been the first to propose
forming a barricade
in front of the courthouse door, either.

“
Why don’t you have a green salad with
that,
Christina,” he suggested gently. “You look like you
could use a few
fresh vegetables.” He smiled at her
.
“I don’t suppose the
cuisine in the L.A. jail is particularly
savory
.”

He was sorry when she shuddered, and he reached
for her hand, which
she gratefully let him clasp. “It
was awful,” she said
simply
.
“The whole experience
was awful.” Shooting a glance at
her grandmother,
she said, “I’m sure even
Gran
didn’t have a whole
lot of f
un
there.”

“
The experience was valuable,” Gran said,
lifting
her chin. “And it was for a good cause.”

Christina sighed heavily
.
“Yes, yes, it was
for a
very
good cause. And it was still horrid.”

Mrs. Mayhew inclined her head slightly, as if
acknowledging
the justice of
Christina’s
declaration.
“But, you know,
Christina, that when one fights for
right and justice, one’s path is not
always smooth.”

“
Right,” said Christina, her voice sounding as
crisp
and flaky as fine pastry
.
“I know.”

Still holding Christina’s hand, Martin asked
curiously,
“
Have you done this before, Mrs.
Mayhew?”

“
I certainly have
.”
The
old woman sounded as if
she were proud of herself
.
Which
she undoubtedly
was. “I’ve been fighting the good fight since my
youth.”

“
Um
, I
suppose you’ve had
experience
with the
police before,
too?”

“
Indeed.” Gran smiled. This time she looked
almost
smug. Martin wondered if
being jailed for a
worthy cause was something all
honorable Mayhews
aspired to.

“
This was my first
arrest,
”
said Christina, causing
him to switch his
attention to her. “And I hope to
goodness it will be my
last.
”

He guessed that answered part of his question. Not
all Mayhews
considered being arrested and imprisoned,
even for a worthy cause, a good
thing. Thank
God.

Not, of course, that it mattered to him; at least
not in the overall
scheme of things. He was pre
tty
sure that if
Christina’s ambitions for her life remained
unchanged, their affair would end
with the
conclusion of
Egyptian Idyll
. The mere thought of
her going away from him caused
terrible squeezings
and palpitations in his chest region.
He wished his
chest wouldn’t do
that.

Since it was Sunday, Martin hadn’t been able to
order wine with his
dinner. He regretted that now,
because he thought a swig or two of strong
spirits
might
soothe his own ragged ones a little bit.
Christina, too, looked as though she
might benefit
from a dose of some kind of liquor.

So be it. The law was the law, however inconvenient
it could be
sometimes, and Martin, unlike Mrs.
Mayhew, didn’t intend to break it. Because
he was
curious, he asked, “Ah, did you ever meet Susan B.
Anthony, Mrs.
Mayhew?”

A sharp clamp on his fingers made him glance
quickly at
Christina, who had all
but squished his
hand
.
She murmured, “Don’t
get her started.”