The Spiral Path (41 page)

"His mid-seventies. He and his
friends all smoked like fiends. He's outlived most of them, and his own health
has been poor for years, so this isn't a surprise, but ... I'll miss him."

"It's lucky you're in England. At
least you'll have a chance to see him before it's too late."

"If I'm in time." His mouth
tightened. "I should have at least looked at the damned messages Josh left
for me yesterday."

"Don't blame yourself too much.
It's easy to forget the outside world when filming." She lightened her
voice. "I'm sure you'll have your chance to say good-bye. An old trouper
like Charles Winfield isn't going to miss a chance for a grand farewell."

Kenzie glanced at her, his expression
easing. "You're probably right about that. He's always loved an
audience."

She smiled and rested her hand on his
thigh for a moment. Conversation lapsed again, but she no longer wondered if it
had been a mistake to come.

CHAPTER 23

T
hey
reached London in record time, and without a speeding ticket. Rainey figured
that had to be divine intervention. If she didn't have absolute faith in
Kenzie's driving skill, she'd have been cowering with her head under the dash.

When they entered Ramillies Manor, they were
greeted by a dignified older woman who sat behind a wide desk. "I'm so
glad you could come, Mr. Scott. Mr. Winfield looks for you whenever the door
opens."

Kenzie relaxed at the news that his
friend was still among the living. "I'm sorry I didn't get here more
quickly. Mrs. Lincoln, this is Raine Marlowe." After an almost
imperceptible pause, he added, "My wife. Rainey, Mrs. Lincoln is the
matron here."

Mrs. Lincoln studied Rainey with
interest. "He's awake now, so you can go directly to his room."

Kenzie started to go, then paused.
"What's his condition?"

"Peaceful and pain-free." She
sighed. "We've done all we could."

In other words, there would be no
miracles for Charles Winfield. A light hand on Rainey's back, Kenzie guided her
down a hallway that ran to the left. Quietly she asked, "Is this a
hospice?"

"No, though they provide hospice
care when necessary. This has been Charles's home for several years, and he
wants to die here, not in a hospital. The staff will see that he does it in
comfort."

Kenzie halted by a door at the end of
the corridor. She asked, "Would you prefer to be alone with him?"

"I think Charles would like to meet
you. What better way for an actor to go than talking shop with his own
kind?"

When the time came, she'd probably be
glad to go the same way. She followed Kenzie into a handsome corner room, where
the last rays of the sun slanted through the windows. The handsome traditional
furniture, polished oak floor, and Persian carpets glowed in the golden light.
One whole wall was covered with framed photographs and posters and playbills
that commemorated Winfield's career, while another was covered with well-filled
bookcases.

The actor lay on his bed, pale and bone
thin, but he managed a smile when Kenzie entered. "I knew you'd
come." He had the husky rasp of a long-term smoker.

As a nursing aide who'd been sitting by
the window quietly left, Kenzie went to Winfield and took his hand. "I
should have been here sooner, but I was engaged in battle royal with the
character I'm playing, and didn't bother to check my messages yesterday."

Winfield made a rusty, wheezing sound
that must have been laughter. "I've done the same thing myself. When the
Muse sulks, the world vanishes." His head moved back and forth as if he
was trying to get a better view of Rainey. "Are you going to introduce me
to your lovely companion?"

Kenzie drew her to the bedside. "My
wife, Raine Marlowe." This time he called her his wife more easily.

"I'm sorry I can't bow
properly." Winfield's tired smile still had the charm he'd displayed in
all his roles. "You should have won that Oscar for
Home Free."

She grinned. "I'd like to think so,
but what actor doesn't believe that every performance is a winner?"

He gave his wheezing laugh again.
"So true, so true." His gaze went to the awards on the mantelpiece.
"I've had my share of winners, and a great deal of amusement along the
way. Don't mourn when I'm gone, Kenzie. Just drink a toast to my memory."
He began to cough convulsively.

"I'll get the matron," Kenzie
said tersely. "Stay with Charles."

Rainey obeyed, her throat tight. It was
easy to understand Kenzie's deep bond with Winfield. If only her grandfather
had a fraction of the actor's warmth.

Hoping a drink would help, she lifted a
water bottle with a straw from the bedside table and held it to Winfield's
lips. He took a tiny sip, coughed, then drank again. The attack ended.

As she set the bottle down, he caught
her hand in a bony grip. "Take good care of the boy. He's had much to
endure. Too much."

Rainey bit her lip, not sure how to
reply. Didn't Winfield know about the divorce? Seeing her expression, he said
impatiently, "Don't let him drive you off, child. He'll try, you know, but
you mustn't let him get away with it."

Was that what Kenzie was doing? Rainey
wanted to ask Winfield more, but Kenzie entered the room with Mrs. Lincoln, who
came to the bed and did a quick examination of her patient. Voice thready, the
actor said testily, "I'm still dying, if that's what you want to
know."

"We're all dying, Mr.
Winfield." Unperturbed, the matron checked his pulse. "The question
is when."

"I'll fade on the crowing of the
cock," he murmured.

"Is that more of your
Shakespeare?" She smiled affectionately. "It's been quite the
education having you here."

Rainey recognized the twist on a line
from
Hamlet.
She guessed that Winfield was forecasting accurately--he
wouldn't last the night. He'd wanted to see Kenzie one last time so he'd held
on. Now he no longer had to.

Mrs. Lincoln gave her patient a pill and
left. Rainey began to browse the bookshelves so Kenzie could sit by the bed and
talk privately with his friend. Winfield had eclectic tastes that went from
drama to biography to fiction, with lots of mysteries. Audio books had kept him
company after his vision began to fail.

She moved to the photos that surrounded
the fireplace. Winfield had been on friendly terms with most of the British
theatrical world for decades. He'd specialized in witty, debonair leading men,
later turning to character roles.

There were three pictures of him with
Kenzie, who looked younger, but not really young. Was he born with those
ancient green eyes?

One photo included a third man about
Winfield's age. He was balding, with a homely, intelligent face. Not an actor,
she guessed--he didn't carry himself like one--but he was in several other
pictures with Winfield. A close friend, apparently.

The sun had set, so she turned two lamps
on low for a gentle light. Then she chose a lavishly illustrated history of the
British theater and sat in the armchair by the fireplace to leaf through it.
Though she tried not to listen to the murmuring conversation between the two
men, her attention was caught when Winfield said in an effort-filled voice,
"I've often wished I had a son. One like you."

"You were my
father-in-theater," Kenzie replied. "That's almost as good."

"Better, maybe. Not many sons would
support their fathers in such luxury."

Rainey kept her gaze on her book, not
surprised to hear that Kenzie was paying for Ramillies Manor. She'd been
married to him for two years before she'd learned by accident how much money he
gave to charity. His preference was to help people, especially children, who
were trapped by poverty and needed help to change their lives.

Winfield sighed heavily. "I always
wanted to do a play with you. We won't have the chance now."

"We could do a reading,"
Kenzie suggested. "Is there something you'd like to perform one last
time?"

"Splendid idea," Winfield
said, his voice stronger. "Shakespeare, of course.
King Lear
would
be the logical choice, but I'm not in the mood for a tragedy about a mad,
foolish king." Another wheezing laugh. "I was always best in comedy.
Twelfth
Night?
No,
Much Ado About Nothing.
I'll be Leonato, Constable
Dogberry, and the friar, since I've played all of them. You did Benedick at
RADA, so you know that, and you can do the other male parts. Raine can do the
females. I think I know all my lines still. I've a couple of copies of
Much
Ado
in the bookcase if you need help."