“Here comes your young man, Christina. He looks ridiculous with his hair dyed black like that. Look at him. They even darkened his eyebrows.” She snorted.
“Oh, will you stop it!”
Several people turned to stare at her, and Christina felt her cheeks flush. Nevertheless, she said, in a softer, though no less lethal, tone, “Will you please quit saying nasty things about everyone, Gran? Haven’t you caused enough trouble for one year? Haven’t you ever heard that if you can’t say anything nice, you should keep your blasted mouth shut?”
Mrs. Mayhew didn’t bother to answer the question about having caused trouble. “Of course I’ve heard it. Never could abide that old saw. It’s trash, is what it is, and I’m surprised you’d sink to the level of spouting idiotic platitudes, Christina. I say what I think, and I don’t mince my words.”
“What you mean is that you go out of your way to be unpleasant and nasty.”
Her grandmother grinned like the very devil, and Christina itched to shake her. She, however, unlike Gran, had one or two shreds of common decency in her, and she knew she couldn’t rough up an old lady. She could continue with her tongue-lashing, however, and she did.
“If you don’t stop being outrageous this minute, Gran, I’m going to—to—I don’t know, but I’ll think of something. I always wondered why Grandfather Mayhew died so young. I’ll bet dying was the only way he could get away from you and your vicious tongue!”
Her grandmother looked at Christina as if she’d pulled a gun and shot her through the heart. Christina could have bitten her own vicious tongue as soon as the words hit the air. Pressing a hand over her eyes, she murmured, “I’m sorry, Gran. Please forgive me. That was unkind.”
Not that she hadn’t meant it, or that the old bag didn’t deserve it.
“Your grandfather,” Mrs. Mayhew said with cold deliberation, “was a wonderful man. He was a true saint. He didn’t shrink from plain speaking, and neither do I. If you can’t stand the heat, Christina Mayhew, you can stay out of the. kitchen. I never thought of you as a lily-livered miss, young lady, but I guess I was mistaken in you.”
Christina watched, dismayed, as her grandmother stalked away from her just as Martin approached. He greeted Mrs. Mayhew, who muttered something back at him, and he was still staring after Gran when he reached Christina’s side.
“What’s the matter with your grandmother, Christina? She didn’t even snap at me. And she looks like she wants to kill something.”
“Me,” Christina said unhappily.
“You?” Martin blinked at her.
“Yes. I just said something awful to her.”
“About time somebody did.”
He smiled at her, but she shook her head, too disheartened to be comforted. “No. What I said was beastly. And even though Gran can be a dreadful harpy at times, I shouldn’t have sunk to that level myself.”
Taking her elbow in a gentle clasp, Martin led her to a cluster of chairs. “Come over here, sweetheart. You can tell me all about it.”
His kindness now, after their big fight earlier in the day, made Christina’s urge to cry intensify. She went with him, though, glad that he hadn’t completely abandoned her and their relationship—if they had one.
He settled her in a deep armchair before asking solicitously, “May I get you a drink? You look as though you could use one. Although,” he added, eyeing her with a connoisseur’s appreciation, “I must say you look gloriously beautiful at the same time. Green is definitely your color, what with your gorgeous dark hair and green eyes.”
“Thank you, Martin.” He was such a genuinely kind man. Martin’s kindness didn’t mask a sappy nature, either. He had a strong character, was competent, intelligent, and wise to the ways of the world, as well. He was, in short, perfect, and Christina wanted him so much she hurt all over.
He lifted an eyebrow. “About that drink?”
Ah, yes. She’d forgotten he’d asked. She didn’t like the taste of alcohol, but she thought he might be right about her needing a drink, so she said, “Yes, thank you. A Manhattan cocktail would be nice, I guess.”
“Be right back.”
He patted her shoulder and strode off. Christina realized that, while he’d praised her appearance, he hadn’t offered her so much as a kiss on the cheek, much less a more intimate embrace. Not that an embrace would have been appropriate in a public forum, but she felt slighted anyway.
Chalk it up to female instability, she told herself glumly. Weren’t women always suspecting their men of caring only for appearances and of ignoring their feelings and treating them badly? That was the popular fiction, anyway. She hated herself for succumbing to it,
Then again, perhaps this was an indication that she wasn’t so far removed from the rest of her sex as her family’s radical beliefs and behavior had led her to believe. She wasn’t sure if that was a comfort or not.
“Ah, there you are.”
She looked up, startled, to find Pablo Orozco gazing down at her like a hungry hound eyeing a meaty bone. He was dressed in evening black, and his white sling contrasted dramatically with his clothing and his olive complexion. His eyes were warm, and he looked sort of like he did on the screen when he was in seduction mode. Christina sighed. If there was anyone she wanted to put up with less than she did her grandmother, it was Pablo Orozco while he was trying to exude sex appeal.
“Here I am.” She aimed for a monotone and did a pretty good job of achieving it.
Without her invitation, Orozco sat in the chair next to her and took up the hand she’d laid on the arm of her own chair. She frowned at him, but he didn’t release her. Instead, he lifted her hand to his lips. She snatched it back again. “Stop that!”
“Ah, Christina, you can’t fool me.” His voice was a purr.
“Bet I could,” she retorted, unwilling even to acknowledge his ridiculous enticement tactics. She didn’t know who was worse: Gran or Pablo Orozco. She’d as soon they both fall off the edge of the world and leave her alone, her grandmother at least for a little while; Orozco forever.
“My dear Christina, you needn’t be coy with me. I know you want me.” He gestured at her gown as his gaze raked her from bosom to ankles. “Why else would you dress so provocatively?”
“ ‘Provocatively?’ ” She stared at him, unable to believe her ears. She was as neat as a pin and clad in the first stare of fashion. But—provocative? Good Lord.
“You want a man, Christina. A real man. You want me, not Martin Tafft. I can give you what you desire. What you need.”
She stood up so fast, she almost upended her chair.
“What? Did you really just say what I just heard?”
When she saw people turning to look at the two of them, she sucked in a breath and clamped her jaws together. Pablo gazed up at her with those liquid brown eyes of his just screaming masculine power. They were actually lovely eyes, but since they were in the face of a disgusting pig, Christina wasn’t even minutely attracted to them.
He laughed. He laughed! Christina caught herself bunching her hands into fists, and forced them to relax. She wouldn’t hit him. She wouldn’t behave like her grandmother. She refused. She might be a Mayhew, but she wasn’t going to behave badly.
“What’s going on here?”
The mild question came from Martin. When Christina whirled around, she saw him standing behind her holding two Manhattan cocktails. He wasn’t looking at her, though. His gaze was trained upon Pablo, and it wasn’t welcoming. When she swiveled her head to see how Pablo was reacting, she saw that he had a supercilious smile on his face and a smirk marring his mouth. Her rage bloomed anew.
Her voice shook when she told Martin, “Pablo has been making ridiculous suggestions, Martin.”
“Are they ridiculous?” Pablo’s voice was as thick, rich, and smooth as chocolate pudding.
“Yes.” Christina was emphatic.
“I don’t think Christina wants to talk to you right now, Pablo.” Martin, on the other hand,
sounded bland and innocuous, although his expression still radiated fury. “And we have a few things to discuss, so if you’ll excuse us . . .?”
Orozco slithered from his chair as if his backside had been greased. Christina watched his fluid movements with disgust. He was such a bucket of horse manure.
“Very well,” the actor said. He saluted Christina with two fingers, as if acknowledging a secret between them. “We’ll talk later, Christina.”
“Not if I can help it.” She tried to use the words as she would a knife, but they seemed to bounce off Orozco’s thick hide like rubber balls as he strolled off, seemingly impervious to anything but his own ego. She realized her hands had bunched up again and that her nails were digging into her palms.
When Martin touched her gently on the shoulder, she jumped. “I’m sorry about Pablo, Christina. Don’t let him get to you. He only does it because he’s annoyed with us both. He wants you to get angry back at him so he’ll have proved some kind of point—although, frankly, I’m not sure what the point might be.”
She breathed deeply three times before she tried to answer for fear she’d shriek if she opened her mouth too soon. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“Here,” Martin went on. “Sit down again. You’ve had a rough few days. Drink your cocktail and try to relax. She more or less folded up onto the chair. Her hand was shaking when she reached for her drink, so she lowered it to her lap. She bowed her head, too, because suddenly her emotions threatened to overwhelm her.
Darn it, why was all this happening to her?
Martin’s warm hand on her shoulder made her lift her head again. “What’s the matter, darling?”
He’d called her “darling.” Christina felt tears fill her eyes, and she blinked them back, determined not to be a weeping lily. “I’m not sure, Martin. I guess things are . . . piling up on me or something.”
He nodded, his expression conveying abundant sympathy. “I understand. It’s been a busy few days and not exactly full of fun and joy. If you’re worried about your arrest, though, please don’t. Everything regarding that incident will be taken care of. You won’t need to go near the courthouse again.” His smile tilted. “I know you don’t approve, but at least you’ll be spared a good deal of bother.”
She shook her head. “I don’t disapprove, Martin. It was foolish of me not to appreciate a helping hand when it was offered.”
“Don’t be silly, Christina I know you to be a woman of firm moral principles. I honor you for your values, although I fear I sometimes have to bow to expediency when dealing with my job.” He sighed. “At all odds, you won’t be troubled by the law any time soon.”
She expected him to add a caveat. Unless you join another suffrage march. Or perhaps, Unless you do something else stupid and ill-advised. But Martin was too much of a practiced gentleman to toss something so volatile deliberately into a conversation. He didn’t add a thing, and Christina discovered herself poking the wound herself. “It’s liable to happen again, you know. I can’t abandon the cause until it’s been won.”
He took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before letting it out slowly. “You’re determined to pursue women’s suffrage, aren’t you?”
After thinking about everything she had to lose—and everything she had to gain—Christina nodded slowly. “I am, Martin. It’s important to me that half of the citizens of the United States have a voice in their own government. Women have been treated like men’s possessions for far too long.”
Martin sat back in the chair Orozco had left moments earlier. He didn’t continue to gaze at Christina, but stared vaguely into the crowd of Peerless folks milling about in the drawing room. Christina pressed her lips together and knotted her hands in her lap, and watched him, waiting for the ax to fall. She was sure he wouldn’t countenance a lover who advocated equality between the sexes. What man would? Equality to most men meant the same thing as subservience. It wasn’t, but most men operated on emotion, just as they accused women of doing. They couldn’t be made to understand that equality didn’t mean women would rule the universe, only that they would at last have a say in laws governing their own welfare.
She realized she was holding her breath and let it out. “You hate that, don’t you, Martin?” She spoke softly, then wondered why she’d asked the question. If he said yes, she’d have to break off their affair. If he answered no, she wouldn’t believe him. In other words, she was putting Martin in exactly the same paradoxical position in which men dumped women all the blasted time. What a fool she was, to be sure.
Her question seemed to draw Martin back from his deep contemplation, and he turned to gaze at her again. She was surprised when he smiled. “I’m not sure.”
She could only look at him for a moment, then she reached out, lifted her glass, and took a large gulp of her drink. She needed something to calm her jagged nerves. When she put the glass back on the table, it clunked loudly.
He lifted his hand in a gesture conveying uncertainty. “I mean, my first reaction is that you’re wrong. But when I take time to think about it, I’m not so sure.” He shrugged. “After all, what’s the big deal? Taken unemotionally—which is difficult to do, as I’m sure you realize, I suppose everyone should have a say in making decisions that affect their lives. And I don’t, in case you wondered, think women are less capable of making sound and thoughtful decisions than men.”
“You don’t?” Good heavens.
His smile broadened. “Of course, I don’t. .I thought you knew me better than that by this time, Christina.”
She lowered her head, ashamed of herself. “I should. You’ve always been so good to me, Martin. And to everyone else with whom you work.”
“I try to be fair,” he said simply.
They sat not speaking for several minutes. The party churned and chatted around them. Christina didn’t catch any words distinctly, although she got the impression most of the folks present were talking about Egyptian Idyll and how well it was going, now that some of the kinks had been worked out.
“I’ve been thinking about my parents,” he went on after a while.
“Oh?” This was unexpected. Christina watched him inquisitively.
With a nod he said, “Yes. They worked together as a team always. My dad never appeared to dominate my mother, and she never kowtowed to him The work they did was hard, and they respected each other. Still do, for that matter.”
“Yes, I guess Egyptologists need to work closely together. It must have been kind of difficult to raise a child in Egypt if you aren’t Egyptian. Still, you must have had a fascinating boyhood.”
“I did. And my parents’ relationship was fascinating, too. They’re absolutely devoted to each other.” His smile tipped a bit. “I guess I figured all couples were like that. It was a shock when I learned the truth.”
Christina sighed deeply. “My parents are like that, too.” Wondering if she should say so, she murmured, “My father’s a physician. He’s the one who encouraged me to go to medical school.”
“Yes, I remember you telling me. It’s interesting that you’ve chosen to enter his profession.”
Although it embarrassed her to say so, she admitted, “My father says I have a healing touch. Whatever that is.”
“Ah.”
The syllable sounded more important than it should have. Christina cocked her head at him. Martin elaborated. “When we touch, I—well, I think we’ve spoken of it before, and it’s true—I feel something.”
Christina’s heart fluttered. “Yes. So do I.” She wanted to ask him if he believed the phenomenon meant something—for instance, that they were meant for each other. But the question sounded stupid to her own critical ears, so she didn’t ask it
“Maybe that’s what he means by a healing touch.”
“Maybe so.” She wanted it to mean more than that but didn’t press the issue.
Martin went on, “My dad wanted me to be a doctor, too.” He laughed. “But he supported my interest in motion
pictures. He’s a very curious fellow, my father, and motion pictures fascinate him almost as much as Egyptian tombs.”
She managed to laugh a little, too. “He must be a curious sort, if he’s been digging around in two-thousand-year-old tombs for so many years.”
“Indeed.” Martin gave a reminiscent shake of his head. “Boy, you ought to smell some of those places that have been shut up for thousands of years. They really stink. It takes a brave woman to go down a rope into pitch darkness with nothing but stale air and bad smells to accompany her.”
“A brave man, too,” Christina said, although she did it by rote. She didn’t really have an ax to grind at the moment.
He laughed again. “Yes. A brave man, too.” He thought for a minute. “But it didn’t take any courage on my part when I went down into the tombs with them. I suspect any little boy—and probably any little girl—is too full of curiosity to be scared of new things like that.”
“Oh, my.” Christina was struck by his words. “You’re right, Martin. I can imagine how thrilling it must have been to have the opportunity to explore ancient worlds. Why, to know you’re the first person in over a thousand years to view some of those places must have been marvelous.”
“It was.”
Again they stopped speaking. Christina didn’t know what this conversation meant, but she sensed it was important. She didn’t want to say something that might break the connection they’d formed in the past few minutes. Surreptitiously, she scanned the room, looking for her grandmother and Pablo Orozco and anyone else who might interrupt them and shatter the peace between herself and Martin. She was almost surprised when she saw the coast was cleat. Gran was haranguing Mr. Lovejoy, and Pablo was plying his charms on some poor wardrobe minion. She hadn’t anticipated the two of them being so cooperative. Perhaps her luck was changing.
“Anyhow,” Martin said, drawing her attention back to him, “thinking about my parents made your interest in women’s rights a little less difficult to understand.”
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