The Spiral Path (49 page)

Traveling halfway around the world
appealed to the adventurer in Sarah, and her intuition told her that their
marriage would prosper there. Nonetheless, the thought of leaving home and
family was wrenching. When he realized that, Randall would say there was no
reason to emigrate. They could manage very well in England.

Sarah, at her most noble and
self-sacrificing, would quote Ruth's Biblical speech to Naomi in perfect King
James prose.

∗ ∗ ∗

"Whither thou goest, I will go; and
where thou lodgest, I will lodge.

Thy people shall be my people, and thy
God, my God.

Where thou diest, will I die, and will I
be buried.

The Lord do so to me, and more also, if
ought but death part thee and me."

∗ ∗ ∗

From the creative point of view, Rainey
knew that speech was exactly right. A product of her time and place, a young
woman coming into her strength, Sarah would freely and gladly follow her
husband anywhere.

But as a modern woman, Rainey hated the
way Sarah gave up everything for a man. When and if she produced and directed
another movie--a horrific prospect at the moment--she'd use a modern setting, and
a relationship where a man and a woman had to struggle to achieve a balance
between them. Equality was more interesting, and more difficult, than a
relationship with one party dominant. In fact, she'd read a novel a couple of
years earlier that might serve as the foundation for a really good screenplay...

Between horror and amusement, she
realized that she was actually considering future projects. Moviemaking really
was an incurable disease.

Her path eastward took her past
Buckingham Palace and St. James Park, then down to the Houses of Parliament, a
dramatic sight at night. Turning north, she started along the Victoria
Embankment, a handsome walkway that edged the Thames.

As she walked, she wondered why Sarah's
self-sacrificing nature irritated her so much. Rainey believed in a woman's
right to choose her path in life, and a man's right to do the same. So why did
Sarah's submissiveness make her crazy?

With a jolt, she recognized that her
reaction was really about Clementine. Even as a little girl called Rainbow,
she'd known her mother was too anxious to please the men in her life.
Clementine would become so involved with her current lover that she often
neglected her career and her daughter. A classic "woman who loved too
much."

Some of those lovers treated her in ways
that would drive any self-respecting woman out the door, and Rainbow had been
furious on her mother's behalf. No wonder Rainey had grown up swearing she'd
never, ever let a man take advantage of her. She'd kept that promise, too, which
was why she disliked playing the obliging Sarah.

Beginning to tire, Rainey sat on a bench
and gazed across the water. Next up the river was Waterloo Bridge. Whenever she
saw it, she thought of the old movie with Vivien Leigh and Robert Taylor. She
and her friends had watched it on television one night in high school. They'd
all been outraged by the story of a gentle English ballerina who fell in love
with a handsome, aristocratic soldier during wartime.

The pair became engaged, but the dancer
lost her job by cutting work to bid her beloved adieu at the train station.
After hearing a false report of his death, she'd become a prostitute to support
herself. Then her fiance returned from the dead and took her off to meet his
family, not knowing what she'd done. Riddled by guilt, the dancer later killed
herself by jumping in front of a bus on Waterloo Bridge. In 1940, it wasn't
enough for a woman to repent of her sins--she'd had to die messily.

The twit. If she feared the truth coming
out, she should have confessed her fall from grace to her fiance, who might
have loved her enough to marry her anyhow. And if not--well, the girl was young,
she could have built a new life. The movie was supposed to be a great romantic
classic, but there was nothing romantic about stupidity and guilt. Rainey much
preferred stories of redemption and reconciliation.

Of course, Sarah was not the dancer of
Waterloo
Bridge.
Her head was screwed on much better. Better than Rainey's,
probably.

But she didn't envy Sarah's admirably
level-headed personality. What she admired, and resented, was Sarah's ability
to make an absolute commitment to a man.

Raine Marlowe, twenty-first-century
woman, had never made such a commitment in her life. She'd been so determined
not to be the victim of a man that she'd approached love with her list of
conditions raised like a shield. No man would hit her, or cheat on her, or take
advantage of her, or take her for granted, or marry her for her money. If a man
broke one of her rules, she'd take off.

Given her doubts and suspicions, it was
amazing she'd actually married Kenzie. Of course, she'd gone into the marriage
knowing it was doomed to fail--and that had become a self-fulfilling prophecy,
hadn't it?

How much was a woman supposed to give?
Clementine gave too much, Rainey surely not enough.

She began to weep, feeling more alone
than at any time since her mother's death. Despite all her defenses, she'd
fallen heart over heels for Kenzie, but she hadn't made a true commitment. All
the time they'd been together, she'd been waiting for him to betray her, so she
was always ready to leave. She hadn't even sold her house.

∗ ∗ ∗

Thought this battered heart of mine
would never mend.

Yet here I am, heart over heels again.

Heart over heels, moth to the flame.

Maybe this time, Lord, maybe this time
...

∗ ∗ ∗

Her mother had picked the wrong men, and
that had contributed to her death. But she'd had the courage to love with her
whole heart, a courage Rainey lacked.

Not long before her mother's death,
Rainbow had asked why a moth flying into a flame was in a love song. Clementine
drew her daughter onto her lap, saying, "The moth is consumed in the fire,
but don't you have to envy it for wanting something so much?"

Young and already pragmatic to the bone,
Rainey hadn't understood, but tonight, finally, she did. She had never dared
let herself want anything--or anyone--that much.

Her reasons for seeking a divorce were
clear cut and entirely justifiable. No one blamed her for leaving a man who'd
been unfaithful. She was in firm possession of the moral high ground.

Yet now she blamed herself for not
trying to understand why it had happened. The more time that passed, the more
she doubted that Kenzie had betrayed her from simple lust. Moviemaking was
grueling, and playing intimate scenes with an attractive member of the opposite
sex could create the illusion of a love, or at least lust. Kenzie probably
succumbed to Angie Greene's silicone-enhanced charms from sheer, exhausted
loneliness after months of work or a demanding movie with only brief visits to
or from his wife.

Though Rainey had never been unfaithful
to Kenzie, she understood how such a lapse could happen. She'd experienced that
kind of desperate loneliness when working on location. Before her marriage,
she'd also succumbed to that craving for warmth and physical comfort when the
stress of work grew overpowering. Separation and strain were a major reason why
so many Hollywood marriages didn't last long.

She couldn't blame herself for turning
around and flying back to California immediately--the shock and pain had been
devastating. But looking back, she questioned her decision to immediately file
for divorce. She hadn't made the least attempt to salvage her marriage. She'd
never suggested counseling, or even asked her husband if he was sorry and
wanted to try again. She'd just walked away, following her personal rules of
disengagement.

Kenzie hadn't contested the divorce, and
had said repeatedly that she was better off without him. But like John Randall,
he'd never said that he didn't want his wife. Making
The Centurion
had
drawn them into intimacy over and over again. When he was at the breaking
point, he'd come to her, and she'd offered comfort without question. He'd done
the same for her.

Wasn't providing shelter from the storm
an important part of marriage? Despite the legal wheels grinding away in
California, they were still deeply connected to each other. Maybe not enough
for a real marriage, but enough to make her question her original belief that
divorce was the only possible choice.

Shaking, she buried her face in her
hands. She thought of loyalty as one of her virtues. She'd been loyal to her
friends, her principles, to people that had helped her when she needed it. But
she hadn't shown much loyalty to Kenzie. She'd been determined to preserve her
pride, and her fragile heart.

Her jumbled thoughts calmed as a
decision emerged. Maybe Kenzie was incapable of real intimacy. Maybe she was,
too. But she would not be the one to break their marriage.

As of this night, this moment, she was
finally making a commitment.

Footsteps passing by paused, and a deep
voice asked, "Are you all right, miss?"

She looked up into the concerned face of
a policeman. Wiping her eyes, she said, "I've been better, but I'm okay.
Really."

He nodded and continued on his way.
Rainey glanced at her watch. Nine hours time difference between London and Los
Angeles, so it was still business hours there. She found her cell phone and
pushed the autodial code for her lawyer. She was put through immediately. The lawyer
greeted her warmly. "Good timing, Rainey. The paperwork is finally done,
so the divorce can be finalized when you return to California."

"That's why I'm calling, Ann. Pull
the plug on it. I've changed my mind."

The lawyer caught her breath. "You
and Kenzie have reconciled? That's great! At least, I hope it is."

"No, we haven't reconciled."
Rainey sighed. "I don't think we will, either. But for various complicated
reasons, I've decided to knock the ball into Kenzie's court. If he wants a
divorce, he'll have to be the one to get it." She would be passively
cooperative, exactly as he had been. Would he immediately file for divorce?
Would he take her gesture as an olive branch, and try to resolve their
differences? Or would he let matters drift, with them separate but still
married?

It would be interesting to find out, in
a macabre sort of way.

CHAPTER 29