Her Leading Man

by Duncan, Alice

  “Did it?”

  “Yes. I know my mother and father are a team even though they live now in the United States. But I also know that my father supports women’s suffrage almost as strongly as my mother does.”

  Christina sat up straighter. “He does?”

  Martin’s smile twisted slightly. “Did you really think I advocate keeping women subservient and oppressed, Christina?”

  “I—I—” She didn’t know what to say. Actually, yes, she had thought that. She’d assumed it. Because most men did. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it,” she admitted.

  He nodded. “I thought not. I expect you automatically anticipate opposition. Anyone who isn’t actively working for your cause is opposed to it in your mind. Right?”

  She wanted to cry out a denial. She wanted to tell him that she was too enlightened and intelligent to make blanket assumptions about people. Unfortunately, she couldn’t unless she wanted to lie to him. It hurt, but she told the truth. “I guess so. I’m sorry.”

  He patted her knee. “No need to apologize, darling. I understand.”

  She heaved another sigh. “It’s very difficult to stand in direct opposition to the majority opinion. People actually jeer and throw things at us, you know. Some people have been spat at, even.”

  He grimaced. “That’s not right.”

  “It’s not right, but it’s true. People are afraid of change.”

  “I suppose. And then there are others, like me, who might not mind change, but whose interests lead them to do other things rather than work for it.”

  His clear brown eyes appeared thoughtful. As well they might. Christina had a hard time holding his gaze “I suppose so. I must tell you, though, that going to medical school is something I will fight for to my last breath, Martin. I’ve wanted to be a doctor my whole life.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “I understand a passion that won’t allow you to fail in a pursuit, believe me. I’ve been working like a slave in the motion picture industry for ten years now, trying to bring my vision to fruition.”

  This was fascinating. To Christina, motion pictures were a mildly amusing form of entertainment and one that, while interesting, was becoming much more important than it ought to be. Yet to Martin, the pictures were a passion, and one he had no trouble equating with her own passion for medicine.

  They didn’t seem of equal importance in her eyes. Pictures were fluff. The practice of medicine saved people’s lives.

  Martin grinned, and she had a feeling he was reading her mind. She was sure of it when he said, “You can’t equate the two pursuits, can you?”

  Feeling petty and mean-spirited, Christina murmured, “Well . . . No, I guess I can’t.. Not really.”

  “Do you mean to tell me I haven’t given you my speech about the pictures yet, Christina?”

  She blinked a couple of times in confusion. “I . . . I don’t think so.”

  “Ah.”

  She expected him to give her the speech, whatever it was, but he didn’t. He only looked into the crowd of picture people. His expression was sad. Christina didn’t understand, but she wanted to. Reaching out, she put her hand on his knee. “What is it, Martin? Please tell me.”

  “I’m not sure, to tell you the truth.” He didn’t look at her.

  “No?” Blast. She really wanted to know what troubled him. If he allowed her to know his innermost feelings, that would bring them closer together, wouldn’t it? She’d told him about her ambition to be a doctor. Surely he could let her in on his own secrets.

  At last he turned and smiled at her. “Very well. I’ll tell you.”

  Sixteen

  Martin couldn’t complain about Christina’s attentiveness as he spoke. Her huge, warm, hazel green eyes watched him with fascination as he told her his vision for the motion picture industry, and she sat still with her hands folded in her lap.

  Christina had a capacity for stillness he hadn’t seen in very many people. It was very restful. The quality in her made him happy. He appreciated her for not interrupting, too, since his vision seemed to be standing on shaky feet these days.

  Eventually, his voice trailed out. Most of the Peerless people had gone into the dining room, and Martin knew he and Christina would have to join them soon, or somebody would come looking for them. He didn’t want to have to explain their tardiness.

  “I had no idea,” Christina said at length.

  He grinned sheepishly. “So . . . do you think I’m a fool for believing the pictures can be used for universal good? I know that sounds pompous, especially considering the state of the world these days.”

  Christina’s bosom lifted in a soft sigh. “You don’t sound foolish, Martin. Idealistic, perhaps, to believe people will use such a powerful medium for good.” She grinned, too. “But I suppose I’m an idealist, as well, for believing I can be a doctor and that there will ever be equality between the sexes. Or between any other two groups of people, for that matter. Every time I see photographs in the papers of the Kaiser exhorting his people to conquer the world, I feel queasy.”

  “You’re not alone.” He reached out and covered her folded hands with one of his. “I love you, Christina. I want you to know that. I know we don’t see eye to eye on every issue, and I also know we’re both opinionated and determined people. But that isn’t all bad.”

  Her expression softened. “No. It isn’t all bad. I love you, too, Martin.”

  Martin didn’t know how long they sat there, moony-eyed, staring at each other, but it wasn’t long enough. The door to the dining room opened, and as he’d feared, a voice sounded. “Martin? Are you and Christina coming in to dinner?”

  He gave himself a shake. “I guess we’ve been found out, darling.”

  “Yes. I think we have.”

  They both rose, and Martin took Christina’s elbow and walked her to the dining room, as a proper gentleman should accompany a proper lady. If anyone in the room knew they were lovers, so be it. Martin hadn’t had time to ask her to marry him again, but he aimed to do that as soon as they had a moment to themselves.

  He couldn’t account for the sinking feeling in his heart when he contemplated his proposal, however. He knew she loved him. He knew he loved her. He knew they were both willing to talk their differences out; tonight had proved that. But he still couldn’t quite make himself believe she’d accept his proposal, and he didn’t know why. Perhaps it was the hint of sadness in her eyes, even after they’d confirmed their mutual affection. Perhaps it was the blasted gut feeling he still had that all was not well between them.

  As soon as they entered the dining room, a chorus of cheerful greetings assaulted his ears, and he knew he was on stage again. He’d just have to think about Christina and himself later.

  More and more frequently lately, Martin wished he could abandon the stage his life had become. At least for a while. He was tired. Very tired.

  Christina wanted to scream. And after she’d screamed, she wanted to dash out of the room and run away. Forever and ever. She wanted to move to somewhere that contained no Mayhews or good causes or impossible dreams. She wanted to give half her intelligence to someone else who wanted to put up with the grief of impossible dreams, to don a simple frock and a white apron, marry some simple soul somewhere in Nowhere, U.S.A., rear a dozen children, and bake bread. Or whatever normal, everyday women did with themselves.

  She didn’t want to have to worry about voting rights for women or slum children starving in gutters or motion pictures being used for simple entertainment instead of world peace and understanding.

  She didn’t want to have to worry about fighting for her right to attend medical school. She didn’t want to have to conquer her bitterness that she had to work in pictures because a bunch of black-robed, raven-like academicians had denied her a well-deserved scholarship.

  It was her bad luck to have been born a Mayhew, with a brain and a calling, however, and there wasn’t any way she could t
hink of to get out of it. A hard blow to the head or a prolonged high fever might help, perhaps. but even that wasn’t a sure thing.

  So here she sat, with her head bowed, her hands in her lap, her head hurting, and her heart grieving, on the edge of Martin’s bed in his hotel room, and trying her best to explain to him why they couldn’t marry. Her throat ached so much, she could scarcely push words out of her mouth. Her eyes burned with unshed tears.

  “I love you very much, Martin. But I have goals to achieve before I can marry anyone.”

  He had pulled up the fancy brocade-covered chair and sat on the edge of its cushion, holding both of her hands in both of his. He was obviously troubled. He also obviously didn’t understand.

  Well, why should he? Christina didn’t understand it herself. She felt as if she were spouting words she had learned by rote and that no longer meant anything. But they did mean something, and she knew very well that if she violated her principles and gave up her ambitions, she’d eventually come to blame Martin for it. And that would be unfair to both of them.

  After a few moments, Martin said quietly, “I don’t understand, Christina.”

  She heaved a huge sigh and lifted her gaze. She feared she’d start to cry, but she wanted to look him in the eye, because this was the most important part of her speech. “Martin, the university didn’t want to admit me to its medical school in the first place. They pretty much had to because my credentials are better than any of their other applicants and my father is an important alumnus, even though they denied me a scholarship because I’m not a man.”

  His eyes opened wider. “My goodness. I had no idea that was the reason.”

  She expected her grin looked lopsided. “Oh, yes, I’m very smart, Martin. And I aim high. My grades are superior, and I passed all of the tests they gave me—and I suspect they gave me more and harder tests than they gave their male applicants because they didn’t want me there—at the top of the list. They couldn’t very well not admit me, as long as I could pay my tuition.”

  “And that’s why you’re acting in the pictures? To make money for medical school.”

  She nodded. “They don’t allow married students to enroll. So, you see, I’d have to give up my education to marry you, Martin, and as much as I love you, I’m not willing to do that.”

  He frowned. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Lots of things don’t seem fair to me.” She was disappointed by the bitterness she detected in her voice. She wanted to get through this conversation without any show of rancor, in case Martin took it wrong. None of this was his fault. If all the men in the world were like Martin, fairness and tranquility would prevail everywhere.

  Of course, that would still leave women like her grandmother to spread havoc and chaos wherever they went. Christina wondered if she was being unfair to Gran. Perhaps, if life were fair, Gran would be a gentle and loving woman.

  Didn’t seem likely.

  How had she gone off on that tangent? She took a deep breath. “So, you see, as much as I love you, I can’t marry you. At least not now.”

  “I see.” He still appeared troubled.

  Christina was troubled, too, blast it. What she was about to propose next was shocking, and Martin was such a proper gentleman she almost feared saying it, but she didn’t want to lose him. She cared about Martin almost as much as she cared about medical school, which was frightening to contemplate, since if she thought about it for too long, she might decide she cared about him more than medical school and give up her ambitions. Then, sure as anything, she’d start to resent Martin. Worse, she’d be in danger of ending up a sour, caustic female like Gran. She didn’t think she could stand that.

  “So,” she said, “you see why I can’t marry you. But I would love to continue our relationship as it is.”

  What she really wanted was to beg him to remain her lover. True, that was shocking, and it probably went against everything Martin valued in life, but Christina thought she might well dry up and die if she lost him She could envision herself as an old woman, alone with her medical degree and her patients. And lonely. Oh, so lonely.

  He didn’t stop frowning. Christina felt a chill invade her heart. If he liked her idea, he wouldn’t frown, would he? She wanted to shout at him that none of this was her fault any more than it was his; that she wasn’t responsible for the stupid school’s polices; that if men only valued women as they ought, none of these problems would exist. But pointing out the obvious wouldn’t solve anything, so she held her tongue.

  After several tense moments, he shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, Christina. That sort of thing goes against the grain with me.” He smiled a very small, very sad smile. “I feel guilty enough about what we’re doing without perpetuating our relationship outside the sanctity of marriage. Call me old-fashioned. I can’t help it.”

  “I don’t think you’re old-fashioned, Martin. I think you’re an honorable man.”

  She felt disheartened and defeated—two emotions she’d had little to do with thus far in her life, primarily because she’d always been able to foresee an end to her struggles. And—this was the important part—she’d always struggled either alone or with her family to support her.

  This present problem wasn’t hers alone to solve. This problem involved another human being who came to her complete with his own set of principles, beliefs, and values. That it was society and not either of them keeping them apart wasn’t her fault or Martin’s. And they couldn’t solve it without one of them sacrificing something important.

  He squeezed her hands. “I don’t want to lose you, Christina. I suppose I’d rather keep having an affair than lose you. I don’t like those two options, though.”

  “I don’t either.” But her heart lifted slightly.

  Raising her hands to his lips, he smiled and said, “I think we’ve pounded our heads against this brick wall long enough this evening. I don’t know about you, but I need some rest.”

  “So do I.”

  Oh, my, how she loved him. He knew exactly when to stop talking and make love. His timing was much better than hers. She’d probably have yanked and pummeled and fussed at the inequity of the world for hours longer if left to her own devices.

  It occurred to her that she needed Martin Tafft almost as much as she loved him. He was sensible. secure, and down-to-earth. She liked to think of herself as sensible, but she knew her emotions were likely to become exalted and overblown when it came to things like women’s suffrage or her own education. It was difficult for her to be calm in the face opposition.

  Martin very seldom got angry with others, and he looked for solutions to problems. He didn’t waste time and energy battling against insuperable odds. Rather, he found ways around the obstacles, or he leveled the odds.

  Yes, indeed. She needed him. A lot.

  With her heart full and her head swimming, she reached for him He obliged her, and they tumbled back onto the bed, where they undressed each other and proceeded to make beautiful love. The more often they made love, the better it got. Christina tried not to think about her life without Martin and this joy in it now that she’d discovered both.

  He entered her gently, then drove her to such an exquisite peak of pleasure that she cried out when her body convulsed beneath him. He kissed her hard as he, too, achieved completion.

  Christina went to sleep in his arms, her heart still troubled, but having solved at least one question that had plagued her during the day: she knew without the shadow of a doubt that Martin loved her as much as she loved him.

  Pablo Orozco’s expression was so noble that Martin felt slightly queasy as Ben, the cameraman, experimented with positioning the actor for his close-up shots.

  “You’re supposed to be a slave, Pablo,” Martin reminded the hammy actor. “You’re certainly allowed to be brave and high-minded, but don’t forget you’re also scared that the Pharaoh’s men are going to get you.”

  Orozco said in the voice of a preacher extorting his
flock to enter heaven in his wake, “I am the hero of the picture. I know no fear.”

  Martin sighed and reached for his worry lock. He stopped himself before his hand reached its goal, and he didn’t tug on his hair. Instead, he produced a sympathetic smile, which was very difficult to do, and said patiently, “Yes, yes, we all know you’re the hero and that your character is an excellent person, but he’s still plenty worried. Don’t forget that if Pharaoh’s brother enlists the king in his pursuit of you, not only will you lose your beloved heroine, whom you went to great lengths to rescue, but you’re also going to experience a very unpleasant death.”

  Orozco lifted an eyebrow, interested in Martin’s direction at last. “Oh? What sort of unpleasant death?”

  Drat it, Martin should have known Orozco would ask. The only thing that ever interested the egotistical ham bone was his own welfare. Martin had learned long ago that Orozco’s interest in a picture extended only to whatever character he was playing. Unhappily, Martin also knew nothing about the ways in which Egyptian rulers of old eliminated folks who annoyed them. Christina sat on a camp chair next to him, and he glanced at her, hoping for inspiration.

  She inspired him, all right, but not in answering Orozco’s question. She inspired him to hold her in his arms and kiss her senseless. That sort of inspiration didn’t help in the present circumstance.

  She reached out, patted his hand, and grinned. Martin took heart.

  Christina was the one who spoke in answer to Orozco’s question. “It’s well documented in the history books, Pablo. Not only will Pharaoh’s brothel have his slaves whip you to within an inch of your life, but he’ll then have your tongue cut out, wrap you up mummy-style, and bury you alive.”

  Orozco grimaced, and Christina added, “I think they also used to put big bugs in the caskets with folks they were burying alive. The bugs would start gnawing on your flesh before you died.”

  “Good God,” Martin muttered. He stifled a laugh.