Maggie stopped on the bottom step and turned to glare at the man. «Grateful? You've all totally screwed up what was a damn good story, and I'm supposed to be grateful? How do you figure that, Sam?»
And then something unexpected happened. Sam of the plain, round face and the affable if cloying demeanor turned into a not very nice man. Standing two steps above her, so he was a good foot taller all of a sudden. His face going red, his hands balling into fists, he said, tight-lipped, «You're such an ungrateful New York bitch. I kiss your ass, and what do I get? Do you know how hard it was to take your mess and whip it into something worth anything? So don't you condescend to me. You're just a hack who got lucky, that's all you are. Read my stuff, don't read it. I don't give a damn, because my script is going to be produced if I have to do it myself. I'm better than you'll ever be on your best day!»
Maggie stepped back, nearly fell down the last two steps. What had just happened? It was like Barney the Dinosaur had suddenly morphed into a T. rex, and Maggie's body couldn't make up its mind whether it wanted to go into fight or flight mode. «I… uh… that is…»
«Yeah, right. That's what I thought. East Coast women. All balls, no brains. Give me a break. You want to know competition, you come to Hollywood. It's dog-eat-dog out there, and I'm on the brink, even if I have to do shlock like your pathetic little mystery movie. Well, you know what? This is the last time. I don't need you. Nobody wants you here anyway. I mean, come on, sister, buy a clue.»
He was being loud. He was hovering over her from his place on the stairs, menacing as a vulture.
All Maggie's usual defense mechanisms shifted into overdrive. Experience had long ago taught her that you can't win with someone who thinks arguments are won with the loudest voice, that the field goes to the physically intimidating.
She went into full retreat, heading across the landing and for the stairs to the ground floor. Where she'd go after that she didn't know. Out into the rain? Maybe that was a good idea. Anyplace. Anyplace but here.
Keeping her gaze on Sam Undercuffler, who really looked as if he might follow her, Maggie reached for and grabbed the wide stone railing and raced down the steps… cannoning into Alex, who caught her easily.
«Well, hello there,» he said, neatly holding her at the shoulders. «Is there some sort of emergency?»
If she told him about Sam, he'd go into Hero Mode.
That, she definitely didn't need. «Is there… I just… no.» She took a deep breath, let it out in a rush. «No, no emergency. I just… I was just going to go outside and see how flooded the drive is—it looks flooded from my room.»
He didn't believe her. She'd created him, she knew his skeptical look, and he didn't believe her.
«I've just come back from indulging in much the same exercise,» he said, turning her about and offering his arm so that they climbed the stairs together. «A rather abbreviated exercise, as one look was more than sufficient to tell me that we are rather cut off from civilization at the moment. As a matter of fact, when you, um, stumbled into me, I was amusing myself by inspecting the artistry on this wall.»
«Big, isn't it?» Maggie said, stopping to look up at the romping figures, as stalling appealed to her more than going upstairs to see Sam waiting for her. «Who's the guy in the center?»
«Ah, that I do know, although I have yet to discover the name of the artist. The gentleman riding so triumphantly through the posies in his chariot is none other than Sir Willard Gainsley, the fellow who originally ordered construction of this pile. His great-grandson commissioned the painting shortly after the wing additions were completed.»
«And everybody else?» Maggie asked, sneaking a look up the stairs, relieved that Sam Undercuffler wasn't still there, maybe dressed in the suit of armor that stood on the landing, ready to split her head with the battle-ax held in one metal gauntlet.
«Sir Willard's family. Four generations strong at that point.»
«Sir Willard,» Maggie said, remembering Sterling's pursuit of the estate's ghost. «Uncle Willis?»
«No, not at all. Uncle Willis was the oldest son of a second son, somewhere along the line, and quite put out to find that a poor relation is just that, never to inherit more than his own father's debt. He came to a rather bad end, I understand, and then decided to haunt the place. Supposedly, there's a complete history in Sir Rudy's study, if you're interested. Marvelous research for you, since you seem to be in need of an alternate plot for our next adventure.»
«There's an actual history of this place? You know, I think Sam already told me that. I'll think about it—and ignore the sarcasm about needing a new plot because I know that's just you being you. Besides, ghosts are so overdone in mysteries. I'd rather look at the whole history, not just at Uncle Willis. Except I'm really not in the mood.»
«As you wish,» Saint Just said once they were in the upstairs foyer. «And, now that we've had our idle chatter, exactly what sent you racing down the stairs that way?»
«I told you. I wanted to look at the driveway.»
«So being called a no-talent hack by that insufferable brown pup had nothing to do with your haste?»
«You heard? Oh, that's lousy, Alex. And why didn't you come rescue me? I thought Sam was going to take a swing at me. I really did.»
«Cowards never hit first, my dear,» Alex said, stepping ahead of her to open the double doors to the main saloon. «But I assure you, I'll deal with the man directly.»
«No!» Maggie stopped, figuratively dug in her heels. Covered her sudden fear with bravado. «That's the last damn thing I want—you protecting me. We've been there, done that, remember? And it didn't work out all that well. I'll fight my own battles, and I would fight this one except Sam Undercuffler's not really that important, okay? I got spooked for a minute, I'll admit that, but I'm also over it. I'll handle him. Besides, the rain stops and we're out of here, end of story. In the meantime, I'm going to go scope out this study everybody's talking about and find a good book. Even a bad book. And then I'm locking myself in my room.»
«Very well,» Saint Just said, shooting the cuffs on his Regency costume; today he was wearing a bottle-green morning jacket and tan pantaloons. «I suppose Tabby and Bernie can amuse themselves without their friend, whom they've come to England to support in this possibly trying time spent watching her magnificent book reduced to ninety minutes of film minus commercial breaks.»
«Bite me.»
«Ah, there she is, the Maggie I adore. Now, come along. Evan has a question for you. He asked me, actually, but I knew you'd rather answer him.»
Maggie looked around the main saloon, wondering when she'd before seen such a motley-looking crew of unhappy people. «Oh, this is going to be another fun day. Where's Tabby?»
«With the also-absent Clarence, one could suppose. More than that, I don't believe either of us wants to know.»
«I'll drink to that,» Maggie said, pouring herself a glass of orange juice from the pitcher on the coffee table, then snatching up a piece of rather cold, hard toast. «Some breakfast.»
«There were eggs and ham earlier, but I'm afraid you missed them, as did Bernie, who is still in her room, in case you were about to inquire as to her whereabouts. Ah, but here's our Lord Hervey now. One meets the most insufferable people in Society.»
«You want to punch him, don't you?» Maggie asked, feeling a little better, especially since Sam Undercuffler was nowhere to be seen. «A wisty castor, then watching when his nose begins leaking claret.»
«Not really, sorry to disappoint. He, like Undercuffler, really isn't worth the effort of more than a brilliant, cut-ting, verbal set-down, which both will receive soon enough if I'm pushed beyond my endurance. A gentleman must have his standards. Now, sending a few of my servants round to administer a well-deserved beating? That does hold some appeal.»