"I don't give a damn if it's in the pictures or not, Miss Keller," Lee replied softly. "I'm sure you value your camera and equipment--just as we value our instruments. And it's going to rain.''
"Oh, come now! Don't be impatient, Mr. Condor. I'm trying to assure you a choice of really good proofs. It doesn't look at all like rain!"
"Well, I'll tell you one thing," Andrew groaned. "I've got to take a cigarette break."
"Bryn!"Barbara said, nudging her shoulder. "You know this little meter you told me to watch? Well, it just took a big dip."
The meter had dipped. The light had changed drastically. Damn it, Bryn thought, but it was going to rain!
And just as she made the sad realization, the first drops started to fall.
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"Let's move 'em!" Lee called out, and each member of the group went into efficient motion, carrying the musical instruments quickly beneath the candy-striped awning of the terrace. Barbara helped Bryn grab her tripod and bag and raced after them.
It took two trips to save the drum set, and if Bryn had now accepted that the sky forecast a storm, Lee's features did so doubly. Inadvertently she felt herself backing against the wall. "Well, Miss Keller, do you think we're quite done?" "Except for the inside shots," she said quickly, hoping to brazen this out.
He threw up his hands in disgust. '' And those will take another four hours, I assume?''
"You are a known perfectionist, Mr. Condor." He didn't reply, just turned around to the others. "Think we should take a meal break? This could go till next Sunday." "Yeah, I'm starving. Let's troop on in,"
Mick suggested. Bryn felt her elbow being firmly gripped, and she glanced nervously up at Lee's eyes.
They seemed as dark as night, except for thatwicked gold glitter. "Come on, Miss Keller. Let's go." But it was almost impossible to move inside the country club.
"Oh, dear, dear!" the effusive maitre d' sighed. "We've been crowded with members all day, Mr.
Condor.Hoping to get a sight of you and your group. And now we have a political rally going on, too, and oh, what a mess! Besides yourselves and the politician, we also have a PGA tournament going on!
One of the big money classics. I warned them that we had overbooked but no one listened. I can do nothing about the dining room. If I'd only known that you required a meal..." "Think you could set us up on the terrace?" Lee asked him. "Yes, yes, of course. And we'll bring out a special vintage wine for you while you wait--on the house, of course, sir!"
"Come on, Bryn, back to the terrace. I've got a few words to say to you before the others join us."
"I...uh...later, Lee.I have to find the ladies' room.""Bryn!" "I'm sorry!"
She fled before he could stop her and decided that she had better really head for the ladies'
room--whether she needed to or not. But she had barely woven her way through the crowd when she found herself walking right into the politician who had just turned away from the reporters.
Startled, Bryn just stood there staring at the man. It was Dirk Hammarfield, the man she had watched on the news last week. And as his features crinkled into a friendly smile, she decided that he definitely did have a lot of charisma. His eyes were cornflower blue; he was a nice trim six feet, and his hair was light and tousled. What an all-American candidate, she thought. "I'm so sorry!" he apologized. "My fault, I'm afraid, Mr. Hammarfield." "Ah, so you know me!" He beamed. Bryn suddenly looked beyond his shoulder. Even through the crowd her eyes were riveted on another man.
Lee. He had followed her. And he now was watching her.Quietly, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, his hands in his pockets, his eyes narrowed and hard.
Bryn gave the young politician a magnificent smile. "Of course I know you, Mr. Hammarfield. I've been following your campaign closely! I'm sure you'll beNevada's next senator!" She noticed dimly that Lee had disappeared. Suddenly none of it seemed to matter. Dirk Hammarfield kept beaming, and he started to chatter about something, but all she wanted to do was get away.
"Who is the young lady with the camera, Dirk?" Bryn jumped as a new voice cut in on the conversation.
She glanced quickly at the man who had joined Dirk Hammarfield. "Miss...?" Dirk queried hurriedly.
"Keller. Bryn Keller."
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"Miss Bryn Keller, meet my aide-de-camp, Pete Lars.""How do you do?" Bryn stretched out her hand, feeling uneasy.Aide-de-camp? The man was short, and not fat, but squat, and as solid as a rock. He was in a dark, nondescript suit. And his features, she thought quizzically, were just the same: totally nondescript. He looked more like a hit man from an old gangster movie than an aide-de-camp.
' 'Whatwere you taking pictures of, Miss Keller?'' Pete Lars asked politely.
"Lee Condor and his group," she returned. She was equally cordial, but she wished she could just get by them both.
"How nice.He's quite famous, isn't he?"