She sat up straighter, drew her knees in the cotton slacks she was wearing towards her chest. ‘It is what it is,’ she said, staring at him, her hands clasped around her knees. ‘It doesn’t pretend to be anything other than a brash carousel that never stops revolving.’
‘You like that in life, do you? Transparency?’
‘Yes. I can’t abide affectation, people pretending to be something they’re not.’
‘But isn’t the movie industry based on that? Nothing but lies and illusion?’
‘My ward Isabella is a young actress, and she tells me that to be a great actor, to get the most out of the part you’re playing, you have to be yourself and forget about acting.’
‘She’s a smart girl. It’s the same with writing. You and I both know that it’s got to be authentic, and from the heart, otherwise it’s a load of horse—’ he hastily checked himself, ‘a load of baloney.’
‘Horse shit will do just fine,’ she said, ‘no need to stand on ceremony with me.’
‘Strangely that’s exactly what I thought I had to do.’
She looked at him more intently in the flickering firelight, her eyes shining, her pale skin radiant with a roseate tint, a few strands of grey in her dark hair resembling threads of silver. ‘Is your leg troubling you?’ she asked.
Too late he realised that unconsciously he had been rubbing at the painful area where his stump and new artificial limb met. ‘It’s taking some getting used to,’ he said with a shrug. ‘It generally does.’
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have imposed on you tonight.’
‘I could have said no.’
The corners of her mouth lifted. ‘I would hazard a guess that’s something you rarely do.’
He smiled. ‘Like I said at lunch, if in doubt, do it.’ He rummaged in the duffle bag next to him. ‘I brought you a sweater in case you got cold.’ He held it out for her and she took it.
‘Thank you,’ she said, draping it around her shoulders, ‘that was kind of you.’
He rummaged some more in the bag and pulled out a plastic tub and a bunch of wooden skewers. ‘Now here’s the most important question of the night – how do you like toasted marshmallows?’
She smiled. ‘I like them a lot.’
He went to move nearer the fire, but she held out a hand. ‘Why don’t you let me do it?’
He was smart enough to know that allowing Romily to be more than a bystander would go a long way to improving relations between them.
‘Tell me about yourself, Red,’ she said, when she had the marshmallows placed on the end of the sharp pointed wooden sticks and held them a short distance from the glowing embers of the fire.
‘What do you want to know?’
‘When did you develop an affinity with the desert here?’
He retrieved a bottle of bourbon from the duffle bag, along with twobilly-cans.
‘During the war. The El Mirador Hotel was turned into a hospital – the Torrey Army Hospital – and that was where I was sent to recuperate after I’d had my leg amputated. Drink?’
She nodded. ‘That must have been a difficult time for you.’
He shook his head. ‘There were men worse off than me. I was one of the lucky ones, I was soon able to hobble around on crutches and used to get one of the orderlies to take me out in his time off. He was a local guy, a Native American who knew everything there was to know about the wildlife and local traditions that were so important to his people. He’d drive me here, and I’d go as far as I could on my crutches. Each day I came he’d teach me something new and I’d push myself that little bit further.’
‘You’re a determined fellow, then?’ She took one of the mugs from him and in exchange passed him one of the marshmallow sticks.
‘I’m as stubborn as hell,’ he said, ‘and some. As you’ve already found.’
‘You should know that I’m also as stubborn as hell.’
‘I already figured that.’
