A Wild Affair

by Charlotte Lamb

  'You spoilt him,' Quincy accused, half laughing.

  'Of course I didn't,' denied Lilli. 'Boys will be boys, that's all.'

  'And Joe Aldonez was probably spoilt by his mother,' Quincy went on, ignoring that. 'He was certainly spoilt by someone. He goes around the world expecting women to fall at his feet.'

  'How fascinating,' said Lilli, amused. 'And did you?'

  'No, I didn't!' Quincy snapped, bright pink.

  'Why are you crimson, then?' Lilli asked.

  'Because I'm annoyed,' Quincy threw back.

  'If you say so.' Lilli began to whistle softly, her lips pursed, and Quincy glared at her. 'What shall we do about supper?' Lilli went on to ask. 'I'm not a great cook. There's some salad in the fridge, or we could go out to the local Chinese restaurant.'

  They went out, in the end, and had spare ribs and chicken in lemon sauce, with fortune cookies served with their tea afterwards. Lilli refused them, but Quincy ate one and spread out the little fortune on the table to read it. Irritably she crumpled it up and threw it in the ash tray.

  'What did it say?' Lilli asked.

  'Nothing,' said Quincy.

  Lilli quickly fished it out and read it, giving Quincy a wicked grin. 'When the hunter spreads his nets, the wise bird stays in the air,' she read aloud. 'Sound advice, Quincy,' she teased. 'I hope you remember it.'

  Quincy looked around for the waiter. 'Shall we go?' she asked. 'I'll pay the bill—this is my treat. Thanks for having me to stay, I'll try not to get in your way too much in the flat.'

  She shared her sister's bedroom, sleeping on a small and very uncomfortable fold-away bed which, when not in use, doubled as a table. Quincy found it hard to get to sleep because she kept expecting the contraption to fold up with her inside it.

  Carmen Lister and a photographer arrived as arranged next day and Quincy gloomily allowed herself to be posed around the flat, and then, for the rest of the day, to be shepherded around London and photographed looking at the Tower of London or the Old Bailey, feeling very silly and conscious of a build-up of impatience and resentment inside herself. She felt like a wooden doll whose arms and legs were manipulated by someone else. Her smile creaked and her head ached. It was all so crazy, so pointless. Why was she doing it? There must be an easier way of getting Bobby a transistor, she told herself, and shied away from admitting inwardly that her desire to acquire a good new radio for her brother was not the only motive for her being here. She had agreed to co-operate largely because she had been hypnotised by Joe Aldonez into doing so.

  She went to bed early that evening. Next morning Carmen arrived alone and took her off to a beauty parlour in Mayfair. Quincy felt very conspicuous as she walked through the scented, busy atmosphere. Women in expensive clothes stared after her, raising eyebrows. She was not the sort of client a place like that usually had—her clothes immediately stamped her as someone without money, and her pink cheeks made her embarrassment and uneasiness obvious.

  Carmen sat her in a chair and then she and a young man in an immaculate blue nylon tunic which gave him the air of being a society doctor paying a house call walked around Quincy and studied her clinically from all angles. Quincy's nervous eyes followed them. What were they planning to do to her? she wondered, wishing she was back at home.

  'Beautiful hair,' the young man said. 'But it looks as if it's never seen a professional hairdresser—no style at all.' He took a comb out of his tunic pocket and flipped it through the thick chestnut curls, letting them fall back a second later. 'Most of it must go,' he said, and Quincy gave a stifled squawk of protest.

  'Darling, it's far too thick, you must spend half your life combing out tangles,' he told her kindly. 'Your face has a lovely bone structure—let's see it. I'll give you a cut which will alter the whole shape of your face and let the real you shine through.'

  Who is the real me? Quincy wondered, staring at her own reflection in the mirror opposite. And how would he know, anyway?

  She spent most of the day in the beauty parlour, becoming increasingly cross. Carmen returned her to the flat around four o'clock and when Lilli opened the door to her she stared in total disbelief at the new Quincy.

  'You look marvellous,' she said as Quincy stamped past.

  'I feel like taking up residence in a cupboard,' Quincy muttered. She sank into an armchair and Lilli inspected her light, cropped curls, her expertly made-up face, her carefully manicured nails.

  'What's wrong?' Lilli asked, looking puzzled. 'Darling, you do really look terrific.'

  'I don't know,' muttered Quincy, not meeting her eyes.

  'You're tired,' Lilli said.

  'I suppose so—I think I'll go to bed early again, London is exhausting.'

  Lilli stared shrewdly at her. 'What you need is some time to yourself,' she said, and Quincy groaned.

  'Do I not! I'm so sick of being dragooned around London by Carmen Lister. I don't even like her, she's a very bossy lady, she never asks me what I think, she tells me.'

  Lilli laughed. 'I should think that's why she's at the top of her profession. Vibes has a very big circulation. When is she coming to take you to buy those clothes?'

  'Tomorrow afternoon. She said she would arrive around two-thirty and I was to be waiting.' Quincy's green eyes flashed. 'She orders me around as if I was a six-year-old!'

  The doorbell went and Lilli made a face. 'Now who can that be?' Quincy relaxed in the chair as her sister left the room. If only she could be alone for a few days, walking through the spring fields at home, listening to the larks singing high above the dewy pastures, breathing the fresh crisp morning air and feeling free, without all the pressures which this trip to London had brought to bear. London itself seemed part of the pressure—the great, sprawling city held so many people, millions of strangers busily occupied with their own lives, indifferent to everyone else and always rushing past without being aware of anything but their own affairs. Back home she knew everyone who lived in the little village, walking down the one street she got smiles from all who passed, she knew their homes, their children, even their pets. She was a deeply embedded part of that world—here she found it hard to believe she existed at all, except as a doll which Carmen Lister was manipulating for her own purposes.

  Lilli came back into the room with a large, powerfully built man in an expensive dark overcoat who glanced at Quincy briefly before looking at her sister again in query.

  Lilli introduced them, smiling. 'Quincy, this is Mark Latimer, who produces our show—Mark, my sister Quincy. I told you about her and Joe Aldonez, didn't I?'

  Mark Latimer offered his hand, nodding. 'I'd read about it,' he said. 'How does it feel to be suddenly famous?' He had a wry, deep voice with a resonant timbre which matched his build. Quincy got the feeling he was not a man to argue with—although his smile was pleasant it was clear from the strength of his features that he liked his own way, was accustomed to being obeyed. That air of authority sat comfortably on him, he had presence; even Lilli visibly kept her distance, treating him with respect.

  'She isn't sure she likes it,' said Lilli, answering for her.

  Quincy felt Mark Latimer's grey eyes assessing her. 'You must bring her over to the studio while she's in town,' was all he said. 'Perhaps she would like to watch rehearsals for an hour.' Quincy was left with the strong impression that he was conferring a great honour on her by the suggestion, but, having unbent so far, he turned to Lilli and went on without a pause: 'I'm calling a rehearsal tomorrow at nine-thirty—that new routine just isn't smooth enough. It needs a lot of work. Sue must take you through it until you've got it together.'

  'Okay,' Lilli said meekly.

  'And I've asked Wardrobe to come up with something better than those feathered costumes—you look like a flock of pink ducks in them.' His tone was scathing, his brows heavy with impatience. From the streaks of silver running through his dark hair, Quincy imagined he was a man in his forties and the air of command made it clear that he was a very important man, exp
ecting exactly the sort of instant obedience he was getting from Lilli. He was far from good-looking— his face too heavy for that, the leonine head breathing force rather than charm, power rather than kindness. He talked and Lilli nodded.

  He turned to Quincy a few moments later, gave her another distant smile. 'Perhaps we'll meet again while you're in town,' he said, and walked to the door with Lilli at his heels, escorting him, her slender figure entirely dwarfed by him.

  When she came back, she looked eagerly at Quincy: 'What do you think of Mark?'

  'A bit alarming, isn't he?' Quincy commented, and her sister looked faintly indignant.

  'He's a real powerhouse, just being with him makes me feel twice as alive, he gets the last ounce out of everyone who works with him.'

  'Yes, I can imagine that,' said Quincy, not sure she would enjoy close contact with a man like that. Mark Latimer had an electric charge which Quincy suspected would keep you on your toes all day but which would drain you of energy very rapidly.

  'He's marvellous,' Lilli said dreamily, and her sister gave her a surprised, probing stare. It was not like Lilli to be so reverential, so deeply impressed by anyone, but then Lilli had always admired people stronger than herself. She spent all her time in the pursuit of excellence, determined to be better than anyone else, and she understood a man like Mark Latimer, who obviously shared her attitudes.

  Quincy spent the following morning alone, to her relief. Lilli was rehearsing and Quincy had the little flat to herself. When she was bored with the silence of the flat she went out for a walk along the river, staring at the buildings on the opposite bank, watching the sun glance off the grey water, watching the red London buses grinding their way through thick traffic. She found herself at the Tate Gallery and on impulse went in and wandered around idly with no real idea what she wanted to see. The cloistered atmosphere of the gallery suited her mood. She felt like a rabbit in a burrow, hiding from the threat of the surface world. When she emerged she took with her no lasting memory of the modern art she had walked past, but she felt more relaxed, much calmer and able to face Carmen Lister later that day.

  Carmen whisked her off to buy clothes at the boutique of a London fashion house—they were ready-made clothes, but Quincy was a standard size and easy to fit. Carmen chose what she was to wear and, since she was paying, Quincy let her do so. She no longer felt it mattered. Carmen and her friends were turning Quincy into someone else. The minute she got home, Quincy had decided, she would throw off these unreal, unrecognisable pretences and return to normal, retrieve herself and forget this trip to London and all the maddening circumstances of it.

  'Did you see Joe on TV last night?' Carmen asked her as she drove her back to Lilli's flat.

  'No,' said Quincy, starting. 'Why was he on TV?'

  'There was an item on a news programme about him—the Liverpool concert was a sell-out and a huge success, he got mobbed by the fans.' Carmen smiled. 'But then he always does—if he didn't have some pretty heavy security they'd eat him alive!'

  Quincy winced. She said nothing, but when she was alone she wondered how Joe could stand that sort of constant pressure. She was to see his fans in action that evening. Watching TV, her whole system jerked alive when she suddenly found herself staring at Joe. The piece was largely concerned with his second concert, showing him singing a Spanish love song. Joe was all in black—tight-fitting satinised pants, a figure-moulding silk shirt, black leather boots—and during the song he held a red rose between his brown fingers. As he took the applause he flung it into the audience and a scramble started. Girls screamed, fought, wept. The rose was torn to shreds, a drift of scarlet petals showering the front rows. Quincy was staring at Joe. He went on smiling, but his smile was stiff, his dark eyes concerned. Hurriedly he gestured to his group, who began to play again, and he broke into another song. It had the effect he wished—the screaming fans sank back into their seats, hypnotised by the sensual throbbing voice, as if the animal hysteria which had been released in them was being lulled back to sleep by Joe's music.

  Quincy got up and switched off the set as the programme passed on to other topics. She sat staring at nothing for a long time—that glimpse of Joe's world oppressed her for hours.

  Having worked whatever magic she felt she could, Carmen left Quincy more or less alone over the next couple of days. They expected Joe back in London on the following Thursday—his big concert was on the Friday evening and his dinner date with Quincy would be on the Saturday.

  'That's your big day,' Carmen told her. 'We have it all worked out. All you have to do is look as good as you can and leave the rest to us.' She gave Quincy a patronising nod. 'And don't worry, nobody expects you to be anything but yourself.'

  'How reassuring,' said Quincy with slight tartness.

  Lilli was feeling rather guilty because she was too busy to spend much time with her sister. Mark Latimer kept her busy all day rehearsing for their new series— shooting was to start the following week and he was not satisfied with their routines, Lilli confided.

  'Nothing but the best for Mark,' she said with apparent satisfaction. 'He won't take second-best.' A grin flashed over her face as she added: 'If you were dying and Mark didn't think you'd done the death scene well enough he'd call you back from the tomb for a repeat performance.'

  'What a lovely man,' Quincy said sarcastically, and Lilli laughed.

  'He's better than any producer I ever worked with— he makes you feel so good when you've hit what he wants that all the work he's forced you to put into it seems more than worthwhile.'

  The evening before Joe was due back, Quincy and Lilli were supposed to be going out to dinner, but at seven Lilli had still not arrived home from the studios.

  She rang, breathless, heaving and apologetic, to say she might not get there until nine.

  'Why don't you make your way to the restaurant and I'll join you as soon as I can?' she asked.

  'I'd rather skip it altogether, if you don't mind,' Quincy told her. 'I'm not really in a mood to sit through a prolonged meal.'

  'Oh, Quincy! I've spoiled your evening, I'm sorry!'

  'Don't be silly, I wasn't very excited about it anyway, I'm rather tired. London makes me feel half dead,' Quincy sighed.

  'Look, are you sure…' started Lilli, and Quincy assured her firmly that she was certain.

  'I'd just love to go to bed with a book and relax,' she confessed. 'Sorry to be a bore, but I'm not used to all this high living. After spending all day exploring London on buses all I want to do is flop like a rag doll.'

  Lilli laughed. 'I remember the feeling—I felt like that when I first got here, London is pretty exhausting when you're not used to it. Look, Quincy, I must rush, Mark's shouting for me.'

  'Don't keep the big man waiting,' Quincy said drily. 'Bye!'

  She put the phone down. Everyone here seemed to be in such a rush, so busy getting somewhere that they never had time to notice anything along the way. Quincy trailed into the bathroom and ran a warm bath, soaked herself for half an hour in perfumed foamy water, letting her body and her tired mind collapse into complete inactivity. She was homesick, she wanted to be back with her parents and Bobby, where she belonged. London was a madhouse.

  She climbed out, dripping, towelled herself and slipped into a short white robe, tying it firmly around her waist. Her hair curled damply in soft clusters around her pink face as, barefoot, she walked through to the bedroom. Pulling back the covers, she was about to climb into the bed when the doorbell rang. A frown creased her brows. Had Lilli got back from the studio earlier than she had expected?

  She went to the door and opened it, a smile ready, only to find herself facing Joe. He was leaning on the doorframe in a weary attitude, his long lean body languidly disposed as though he could hardly stay on his feet. His face was almost haggard, his tan only just disguising the exhaustion, his cheekbones locked in a mask of taut compression.

  The dark eyes stared at her almost blankly. 'Can I come in?' he asked h
uskily. Quincy put a trembling hand to her robe lapels, pulling them closer.

  'I was just going to bed,' she said. 'I'm sorry, but…'

  'I need to talk to you,' Joe said abruptly with harsh force.

  Quincy's breath caught, her eyes fixed on him. Without a word she fell back and Joe walked past her into the flat.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  He walked into the sitting-room and Quincy followed, switching on the lamp. The room glowed warmly and Joe stood, hunched in his heavy sheepskin jacket, his black hair windswept, looking around him half dazedly, as though uncertain where he was.

  'I thought you were flying back to London tomorrow,' said Quincy, and he gave a curt nod.

  'We were supposed to—there was a big reception for us tonight in Bristol, but I couldn't face it. I had to get away, I was dead.'

  He looked dead, every line of his face and body stamped with a weariness she had never expected to see in him.

  'Would you like a drink?' she asked. 'Have you eaten?'

  He looked vaguely at her. 'Eaten?' From his voice the idea of food had never entered his mind. 'No, I don't think so,' he added.

  'I'll get you something, what would you like?'

  He shrugged indifferently. 'Whatever you have on hand, I'm easy.'

  Quincy went over to the electric fire and switched it on to give the room more warmth—there was central heating in the flat, but it gave a background warmth which was not quite sufficient on a chill spring night.

  Joe was still standing in the middle of the room, his hands hanging at his sides. She turned and looked at him uncertainly. 'Sit down, the room should warm up soon.'