The Spiral Path (42 page)

Kenzie raised his voice. "Rainey,
are you up for this?"

Abandoning all pretense of reading, she
set the theatrical history aside and rose to scan the bookcase. "I'd love
to, and
Much Ado About Nothing
is a favorite of mine. I played Beatrice
under a tent one summer." She struck a pose and declaimed, "'But then
there was a star danced, and under that was I born.'"

She found two copies of the play, one in
Shakespeare's collected works, the other an illustrated volume of that play
alone. Thinking of Kenzie's dyslexia, she gave him the single volume since it
would be easier to read, then sat on the opposite side of the bed and flipped
to the play in the
Complete Works.

There was a spark of anticipation in
Winfield's eyes, though he looked so fragile that it seemed a breath would blow
him away. Rainey wondered if he'd last the length of the play, even though
Much
Ado
was one of the Bard's shorter works.

She gave him her warmest smile.
"I'll do the musical accompaniment." Trying to sound like trumpets,
she sang a clarion fanfare. "Your cue, good Mr. Winfield."

In a frail but beautifully modulated
voice, he spoke Leonato's first line. "I learn in this letter that Don
Pedro of Arragon comes this night to Messina."

Since they'd all performed in
Much
Ado,
the printed plays were needed only for checking the dialogue of
secondary characters. Rainey loved the snappy verbal fencing between Beatrice
and Benedick. Playing opposite Kenzie made it easy to create the undercurrents
of longing and wariness between Shakespeare's frustrated lovers.

Despite the sometimes slapstick humor of
the play, the circumstances lent power and poignancy to the reading. Winfield's
love of his craft was obvious, the flowing beauty of the words weaving a
garland of language.

But his voice became more and more
labored. In the fourth act, he quoted the friar: "Then shall he mourn ... if
ever love ... had interest in his heart..." He drew a long, rattling breath
before whispering hoarsely, "Dying ... is ... easy. Comedy ... is hard."

When he fell silent, Rainey looked up in
alarm, but his chest still rose and fell. Kenzie waited until it was clear his
friend would not complete the speech, then took over Winfield's parts. He read
as if his future career depended on it, his marvelous, flexible voice perfectly
capturing the rhythm of the blank verse.

Somewhere in the last act, the spirit of
Charles Winfield departed, though Rainey couldn't have pinpointed the moment.
When she realized he was no longer breathing, she had to exercise all her
actor's discipline to keep going to the end.

After Beatrice and Benedick agreed to
marry, still bantering but no longer able to conceal their love, Kenzie as
Benedick spoke the last line of the play. "Strike up, pipers!"

Remembering that she was the
accompaniment, Rainey sang, but gay, matrimonial music was impossible. What
came from her heart and lips was the traditional song "Amazing
Grace." Though often played by pipers, it was a haunting tune, an elegiac
thanks for divine forgiveness. Clementine had often sung it to her daughter.

The silence after she finished was
broken by a sob. She turned, and was startled to see a small group gathered by
the door. The matron, staff members with name tags hanging around their necks,
and several residents stood solemnly listening, and an elderly woman in a
wheelchair dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

Expression rigidly controlled, Kenzie
stood and rested his hand on his friend's forehead before drawing the blankets
over the still face. "Charles asked us to toast his death, not mourn. Mrs.
Lincoln, can that be arranged?"

The matron nodded and whispered an
instruction to one of her assistants. After the girl left, the silver-haired
woman in the wheelchair said unsteadily, "Whenever Charles Winfield was in
a play, I was there on opening night. He was always worth seeing, even if the
play wasn't. It was such a thrill when he came to live here." She gave a
watery smile. "He made me feel like a duchess."

A male staffer said, "He was always
a real gent, no matter how bad he felt."

One by one, people contributed their
memories. Rainey spoke last, saying, "I never met Charles Winfield before
tonight, yet he made me feel like a friend. I wish I'd known him better."

As she spoke, the assistant entered the
room with a tray of champagne-filled wineglasses. Rainey accepted one, unable
to imagine such a scene in the United States.

Kenzie waited until everyone had been
served, then said in a voice that filled the room, "You asked to be
toasted, not mourned, Charles, but I must do both. 'Now cracks a noble heart.
Good-night, sweet prince, And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!'"

He swallowed his champagne in one gulp.
Then he hurled the wineglass into the fireplace. As it shattered into bright
splinters against the brick, he said softly, "When one
drinks a toast from the heart, one must break the glass."

"To Charles Winfield." Tears
in her eyes, Rainey followed suit, as did the others. The wheelchair-bound
woman rolled close enough to smash her glass into the pile.

As people wordlessly began to depart,
Mrs. Lincoln approached Kenzie and Rainey. "It's very late. There are some
visitor rooms upstairs, so you can stay here if you like."

Rainey glanced at Kenzie. Her throat was
raw and she was weary to the bone. The thought of staying at Ramillies Manor
was much more appealing than looking for a hotel at this hour.

Seeing her expression, he said,
"We'd both like that, Mrs. Lincoln." After a last look at the mortal
remains of Charles Winfield, Kenzie followed the woman out.

An elevator took them to the top of the
building, where several doors opened off a narrow corridor. "These were
servants' rooms once. They're small but pleasant, and convenient when someone
needs to stay over." Mrs. Lincoln indicated one door for Rainey and the
next one for Kenzie. "Sleep well. If you like, you can join us for
breakfast in the ground-floor dining room."

"Thank you, Mrs. Lincoln. You've
been very kind." Fingers clumsy, Rainey turned the old-fashioned key in
the lock, then pulled it out and took it inside.

Closing the door, she leaned against it
with her eyes closed. She was glad she'd come, but every shred of strength and
emotion had been used up.

She opened her eyes to a pretty, gabled
room such as might be found in a nice country bed-and-breakfast. There was also
a connecting door to Kenzie's room. She smiled tiredly. How very clever of the
matron to make this arrangement for two people of uncertain marital condition.
She crossed the room and opened the door to Kenzie's room.

He stood at his window, looking blindly
at the lights of London, but he turned when she came in. The composure that had
carried him through the long night was gone, leaving him dark and hollow.

She opened her arms, and he walked into
them. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, aching for him.

"It was time." He buried his
face in her hair. "Charles had lived a full, long life."

"That doesn't mean losing him
shouldn't hurt." Too tired to talk, she guided them the couple of steps to
the bed, kicked off her shoes, and drew him down beside her. In a few minutes,
she'd get up and take her clothes off, but for now, she needed so much to rest...

CHAPTER 24

K
enzie
woke when the morning sun struck his eyes. It took a groggy moment to recall
the last sixteen hours. The drive up to London, the time with Charles, ending
up in bed with his head pillowed on Rainey's shoulder. They were both fully
dressed, though during the night someone had pulled the bedspread over them.
Probably Rainey--he'd been nearly comatose.

Stiffly he got up and tiptoed to the
bathroom. It was small, but had a shower, a terry cloth robe on the hook behind
the door, and fresh toiletries, including a disposable razor. The servants
who'd once lived here had never been so lucky.

A quick shower and shave helped clear
his mind, though his emotions felt ... flattened. The last good link to his early
years was now gone.

He put on the robe and emerged from the
bathroom to find Rainey blinking sleepily at him from under the bedspread. Her
hair tangled across the pillow like spun amber, and she looked good enough to
eat. It was a measure of his heavy spirit that he didn't feel even a trace of
sexual response. All he wanted was to put his arms around her and go back to
sleep again.