The Spiral Path (32 page)

While the crew did the next setup, she
returned to Kenzie, who had retreated to the shadow of the steam locomotive,
arms folded across his chest and expression remote. The extras had moved away,
leaving the star his privacy.

Since he didn't seem to see her
approach, she touched his arm lightly. "Kenzie, that was terrific."

He jerked his arm away violently, as if
she'd attacked. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on her.

"Without a single word, you showed
everything a viewer needs to know about Randall's state of mind," she said
hesitantly. "A man returning from hell, and bringing it with him."

He adjusted the sleeve of his military
tunic. "It's what you wanted, wasn't it?" He pivoted and stalked
away.

She watched him go in dismay. She'd
wanted him to stretch his acting to the limits. Be careful what you wish for...

After
the shoot finally wrapped for the day, Rainey found Kenzie dozing in the car
waiting to transport her to the Dorchester. She almost fell over him when she
climbed into the vehicle. "Sorry." As he moved across the seat to
make room for her, she added, "I thought you'd have left by now."

"I needed time to unwind." As
the car pulled into the street, Kenzie wearily rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry
I snapped at you, Rainey. I'm afraid it's only going to get worse between now
and the end of the shooting."

"I think I'm the one who owes you
an apology. I'm beginning to realize just what I talked you into."

"Does this mean you wish you'd
found yourself a different John Randall?"

She bit her lip. "No. You're doing
an amazing job with him. What I wish is that playing the role wasn't so
upsetting for you."

"That's my girl." There was
humor in his voice. "It takes your kind of single-minded determination to
make good movies. Moviemaking is like war, and there are bound to be a few
casualties."

"Now I really feel guilty."

"I expect I'll be among the
wounded, not the dead."

"How very comforting," she
said dryly. "By the way, Greg called me several initials I didn't quite
catch, and I forgot to ask him about it. T-something. Is that some kind of
director nickname that I haven't heard before?"

He laughed. "Back in New Mexico,
the crew started to call you 'TLC.'"

"Tender Loving Care?"

"No. Tough Little Chick."

She flushed. "Any reason in
particular, or general principles?"

"You got the nickname after you
fired the cable puller."

"He deserved firing," she said
defensively. "The last thing a struggling actor needs is someone being
snide."

"Undoubtedly true, which is why TLC
is a compliment. The crew likes a director who's in control."

Tough Little Chick. She supposed it
could be worse. They might have called her BB for Bitch Boss.

Kenzie's amusement vanished. "Did
you see that photograph in the
Inquirer?"

Her stomach immediately knotted up.
"Yes."

"Jenny is strictly a friend. I
dropped by to talk to her about Nigel Stone, and we went out to dinner."

Rainey exhaled roughly. "Thanks for
telling me. I know it's not my business, but it would be ... uncomfortable if you
were carrying on an affair with someone else right under my nose."

"I know." He reached through
the darkness and touched her hand. "I promise--no affairs while we're
shooting."

Like Sarah, she had an almost
overpowering desire to grab onto his hand to prevent him from slipping away.

Being older, modern, and almost divorced,
she didn't.

CHAPTER 18

W
hile
waiting for shooting to begin, Kenzie paced back and forth along the
west side of Morchard House. At times like this he almost wished he smoked.
Maybe fiddling with a pipe would help him relax. The closer he came to Randall's
disintegration, the tenser he became. He could feel the character sliding under
his skin, suffocating him from the inside out.

At least the production had left London,
which meant no paparazzi. Unfortunately, London newspapers were delivered
locally so he wasn't free of Nigel Stone's crusade. Each day the reporter
trumpeted some new piece of information about the lurid past of Kenzie Scott.
So far, it hadn't been too bad. No one who knew Kenzie well had spoken up, and
Stone hadn't found a shred of information from before the RADA years. Though
the reporter presented every incident in the worst possible light, he hadn't
printed any outright lies. Probably the man had a lawsuit-wary editor vetting
his forgettable prose.

Kenzie looked down to where Rainey was
conferring with Greg Marmo about a complicated long shot that would require two
cameras. Dressed in a flowing, virginal white gown, she looked like the
ingenue, not the boss. Yet she'd taken to directing like a swan to water. Her
grasp of her story and how she wanted to tell it was admirable, as was her
respect for the expertise of her cast and crew. She never forgot that
moviemaking was a collaborative process. Under different circumstances, he'd
have really enjoyed being directed by her.

His restless gaze moved to the
voluptuous green hills of Devon. If the dailies were to be believed, this movie
was going to be achingly beautiful, a nostalgic portrait of a vanished England
that had sent her sons to build an empire, and accepted their pain and
sacrifice as her due.
The Masterpiece Theatre
audience would love it. He
wasn't up to watching the dailies, though. He couldn't bear seeing himself as
Randall.

Leaving the director of photography,
Rainey drifted toward him, looking as young and innocent as this next scene
required. "You're good, Kenzie--you even pace in the character of an
uptight Victorian officer," she said cheerfully. "Do try to vary your
path, though. If you wear holes in this lovely green turf, I'll have to pay the
owner for restoration, and I suspect that pieces of lawn that have been
pampered for five hundred years don't come cheap."

Her teasing relaxed him into a smile.
"I'll bear that in mind."

"Let's walk around the house. By
the time we get back, Greg should have the second camera set up to shoot the
gazebo end of the scene." She took his arm. Feeling his tight muscles, she
said quietly, "We're going to have to get used to touching each other on
camera."

Thinking that bluntness was in order, he
asked, "Does the prospect of being cinematic lovers again bother you as
much as it bothers me?"

"I'd rather shoot a stark naked sex
scene with anyone else." She grimaced. "Even if we both play this as
pure acting, without a particle of personal emotion, viewers will look at these
scenes and think they see you and me. I hate the thought of that."