The house faced this way, I realized, and I walked across the grass and turned to stare at back at the facade from a decent distance. From this direction, it looked like a totally different building. It was three storeys tall, built of moss-mottled stone, with rows of mullioned windows and a steep roof pierced by sharp gables shaped like inverted Vs. Above it, soaring, twisted chimneys stretched towards the sky. A paler stone structure, decorated with a coat of arms, formed a portico around the front door. It was almost covered by a wisteria tree that climbed up past every window, enveloping the house in its thick green fronds and making it look mysterious.
OK, so it wasn’t Mustique. But it wasn’t bad. It looked like the kind of place Queen Elizabeth I might have visited on her travels. If she ever came as far as Northumberland. Which I doubt she ever did.
The front door was partly open. Now that I saw how big the place was, I gave up on the walk idea and led Twiggy back inside. Her claws tapped on the marble floor as she trotted smartly across the hallway. You could almost fit our whole house into this single space, I thought.
The first room on the left was long and low, with deep-set windows, a moulded ceiling and a massive stone fireplace, big enough to stand inside. The main piece of furniture was a battered leather sofa draped in an ancient, king-size Union Jack. Twiggy could see that I wasn’t going back outside for a while, so she gave me a reproachful look and curled herself up on it.
I walked slowly around the room, taking in the view from the windows overlooking the lake, the ornaments on every surface, the hangings on the walls. Like my bedroom and bathroom upstairs, the furniture was a mishmash of styles, from grand antique display cabinets to junk-shop bamboo tables. One of the armchairs had been hand-painted in colourful splodges over the fabric. Half the ceiling mouldings were broken or missing. The carpet had seen better days.
On the other side of the hall, another room, almost as big, contained a billiard table set with balls and cues under low brass overhead lights. I was just checking out the room next to it, which was packed with amps and instruments, when Windy appeared behind me in the doorway.
‘Good morning, Nina! I trust you slept well?’
‘Yes, thanks. Better than I thought I would.’
‘Ah, excellent. I’m not surprised. It’s the air, you see. The air up here is magnificent. And what do you think of Heatherwick?’
I frowned at him. ‘Heatherwick?’ Was this someone I hadn’t met yet?
He gestured grandly around us. ‘Heatherwick Hall. It dates back to the Domesday Book. It used to be an Elizabethan manor house, but I’m sure you’d guessed that already. Bits got knocked down in the Civil War. The Georgians added a wing or two at the back. The history’s quite fascinating. Percy Otterbury spent a very long time on the phone from Italy, telling me all about it. He hates living here, but he’s fond of the old place.’
‘It’s … great. In a cold way.’
‘It’s summer!’
‘It’s still freezing inside,’ I pointed out. It was mid-July, and I was glad of my jacket.
‘There are fireplaces everywhere! You’ll have a ball. The boys will like it, won’t they?’ A worried look flitted across his face, but he smiled determinedly. ‘I mean, of course they will. It took me ages to find. It’s perfect.’
‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ Orli called out, striding down the kitchen corridor towards us. ‘Sam’s just called to say they’re five minutes away.’
‘Really? Quick!’ Windy grabbed my elbow and pushed me unceremoniously across the hall to yet another doorway. ‘Hide here. Listen out. I want you to be a surprise. See that door at the far end of the wall? It connects to the sitting room. That’s where we’ll be. Go through it when I call you.’ He gave me a stuck-on smile. ‘Trust me. It’s all going to be good.’
It was not going to be good. For a start, I needed to do my make-up, brush my hair and change. I wasn’t ready to see them again – not at all. I felt myself having a mini-Sigrid-Santorini moment and groaned.
Grow up, Nina. Deal with it. You’re not here to be their girlfriend anyway.
I focused instead on the room Windy had shoved me into. This one was large, panelled with dark wood, and hung with the gloomy mounted heads of several dead stags whose staring glassy eyes seemed to blame me for what had become of them. A vast mahogany table sat in the middle, surrounded by a motley selection of chairs, only some of which looked safe enough to sit on.
Beyond them, a window decorated with stained glass looked out towards where the drive curved round and disappeared behind the row of cedars we’d driven past last night. I waited for a convoy of vehicles to repeat our arrival, but nothing came. Instead, there was a ‘whoop, whoop, whoop’ in the air, getting louder and louder, and I just caught sight of a helicopter’s tail rotor as it came in to land on the lawn.
Of course. Rock band. Helicopter. Obviously.
I went back to the door to the hall, and opened it a crack so I could see what was happening. Windy was standing on the steps of the portico, holding his arms out wide.
‘Welcome, everybody!’ he called out with exaggerated jollity, as the noise of the blades died down. ‘Welcome to Heatherwick Hall!’
‘Hey, Windy! Good to see you, man!’
Jamie was the first to embrace him. He sounded more cheerful than I’d heard him in a long time.
He walked inside and stood in a shaft of sunlight. He seemed happy. Rested. The silk-shirt style he’d worn on tour had been replaced by a simple skinny T-shirt and jeans. His hair was longer now, curling around his collar. He’d been somewhere hot, with Sigrid, presumably. His skin had lost its pallor and was clear and golden. The three black moles stood out darkly against his cheek.
My eyes strayed to his hands, hanging loosely at his sides. No sign of a wedding ring. I knew there wouldn’t be.
‘Mr Windermere. Interesting place you’ve got here.’
Connor. More guarded. Understated. Too cool for school. I bet he’d keep his sunglasses on when he got inside. He did.
‘What is this place? Some kind of messed-up Night School?’
Angus. Cynical. Downbeat. Rude. Dressed in black as always. I slipped further behind my half-closed door in the shadows as he stared around, taking in the grand portraits and the gaping hole in the stairs. He frowned and turned to where Windy was standing.
‘And what’s the story with Declan, man?’ Why was he hitching a ride? Said you told him to—’
‘Ah, Declan!’ Windy exclaimed, ignoring the last question. ‘Welcome, welcome!’
A tall boy with curly strawberry-blond hair walked in, ducking his head under the ancient wooden doorframe.
‘Good to be here, man.’
Oh. Wow. He was gorgeous – if you like your boys athletic-looking and enthusiastic. Tight-fitting T-shirt, low-slung jeans, big smile. Tammy would have jumped on him without a moment’s hesitation. I thought I was immune to gorgeousness by now, but as it turned out, no – whatever Windy might think. I could feel myself blushing just admiring him from a distance. His teeth were extra-white and perfect. His accent was American, from somewhere in the south. He looked like the kind of person who wins everything in the Olympics. The other boys all stared at him suspiciously.
‘Well, shall we get started?’ Windy asked, rubbing his hands together.
‘When’s George getting here?’ Angus asked, letting the words hang in the musty air.
‘Ah,’ Windy said. ‘We have a lot to talk about. First, let me show you the music room. I—’
‘Don’t care,’ Angus said, walking through the nearest doorway, which happened to lead into the grand drawing room with the fireplace. ‘Why didn’t we just go straight to the hotel? And, like I said, where’s George?’
Connor muttered that he needed to make a call and wandered back outside. Keeping the boys in one place was like herding cats. I hoped it wouldn’t be part of my job later.
‘All right, then,’ Windy said, following Angus with a sigh. ‘Let’s
talk.’
Jamie and Declan joined them in the drawing room. I could hear Windy’s voice rumbling disjointedly, but to start with I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Then I remembered the interconnecting door on the far side of the room. I went across, opened it very, very slowly and peeked through.
Windy was standing in the middle of the room, still talking, while Angus lurked by the fireplace and Jamie prowled around, distractedly picking up ornaments and putting them down again. Already, things weren’t going well.
‘Rehab?’ Angus spluttered. ‘For sixteen weeks? Why didn’t you tell us?’
‘I’m telling you now.’
Jamie sighed. ‘If he’s in rehab, we wait. Without George, we can’t play.’
What? No George? He wasn’t coming?
‘It’s not just rehab,’ Windy insisted. ‘I really think another tour could kill him. He doesn’t want to come back. You haven’t spoken to him recently, I take it?’
‘No,’ Jamie admitted, sulkily.
‘I didn’t think so. We’ll all miss him, but musically, this could be a good thing. You’ve played with Declan before. You know how good he is on drums. Or frankly, anything. And if you remember, George wasn’t always brilliant in the studio. He used to drive you mad with those intros, Angus. You threatened to walk out on “Not Another Love Song” …’
‘Sure, but he’s one of us,’ Angus said flatly. ‘No George, no deal.’
I didn’t blame him. Annoying though he was when he was drunk, in some ways, George had always been my favourite, from his frizzy hair and Simpsons pyjamas to his little-boy-lost look the first day I met him. But Windy had a point – he was heading down a dark, dark road, and no one in the band seemed to be able to pull him back.
I admired the other boys’ loyalty to their friend, but this must be hard on the new boy. I squeezed the door open a bit further and glanced across at Declan, who was watching them without a word from one of the window seats. He sat, backlit and silent, his face topped by those strawberry-blond curls, like a thoughtful, sad Greek statue.
‘And why are we here anyway?’ Jamie asked, checking out a collection of old photo frames. ‘I mean, this is only a meeting place, right? Can’t George join us wherever, when he’s ready?’
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Windy said. ‘Not till you’re done. This is it.’
Silence.
‘It’s the perfect place for you to write,’ he continued, gesturing around enthusiastically. ‘It’s secluded. It’s secure. When you’ve got some songs down, you can record the demos here, and we can tidy them up in a studio later. I know it’s a bit shabby in places, but it’s got character. Think of those dives you stayed in when you started.’
Connor came crashing back into the room.
‘Where’s my phone?’ he demanded. ‘Beardy Man took them off us outside. I thought he was going to charge them, but now he’s disappeared.’
‘That was Sam. He’s taken them,’ Windy said calmly. ‘At least, I assume he has.’
‘He stole my phone?’
‘Not stole. Confiscated. Temporarily. It wouldn’t be any use to you anyway. The signal round here is terrible. That’s another—’
‘Wait. He stole. My phone?’ Connor’s angelic face was pale with fury. ‘Verushka’ll be expecting a call from me any minute.’ He looked around the room with the hint of a smug smile. ‘You’ve all seen Verushka, right?’
Angus and Jamie nodded, unimpressed. I’d seen her too, in one of those ‘Model flaunts her curves in white bikini’ stories. She was an Angel for Victoria’s Secret. They’d met in Hawaii, and they’d been going out for about two weeks.
‘She’ll survive,’ Windy said. ‘If it’s true love, she’ll wait for you.’
The others sniggered at this, and in my hiding place, I found it hard not to smile. Even two weeks was good going for Connor.
‘So I’ll email her,’ he said, clicking his fingers as if he expected a phone or computer to be delivered on a plate.
‘Not exactly. No Wi-Fi.’
‘No—?’ Connor struggled to get his head around the concept.
‘No broadband,’ Windy continued. ‘If you went on the internet, you’d be tracked down in moments. I chose this place because it has no communications except for a landline, which is for absolute emergencies only, and believe me, I’m not going to tell you where the phone is. I did say before you got here that it was going to be a top-secret location.’
So this was the plan he’d referred to so cagily last night. No wonder he was looking nervous this morning. Surrounded by glass-eyed animals, I felt suddenly scared, and very alone. Not talking to Mum and Dad was bad enough, but not being online at all? Being cut off from everything, turfed practically back to the last century? With only these four for company? Was he mad?
‘Yes, but …’ Jamie was struggling with the concept.
‘You can’t …’ Angus could hardly get any words out.
‘That’s just … How are we supposed to talk to anyone? How are we supposed to do anything?’ Connor said.
‘Talk to each other. Write songs.’
‘But … the fans …’
‘They’ll cope without you for a few weeks. It’ll be a struggle. They’ll survive.’
‘Our families …’
‘I’ll tell them how you’re doing. They can always go through me if they need to tell you anything. And you can write, via my office. Do you realize, in the olden days, we used to live like this? We wrote letters. We didn’t live in each other’s online pockets all the time. It used to be normal. Hard to imagine, I know.’
‘It’s not human,’ Connor muttered, staring hollowly around him like some kind of apocalypse survivor.
‘Come on, Windy,’ Jamie entreated. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
Angus threw his hands up. ‘You’re not leaving us alone in this godforsaken hellhole! Look, Windy, you’re a great guy, but this is the worst idea you’ve ever had. No George? No offence to Declan, but … some hired session musician? And you want to coop me up in here for God knows how long with lovesick Romeo over there? I mean, if you’re setting up some kind of horror story, if you want to come back and retrieve the bodies later, this is genius. But otherwise …’
Windy glanced around the room, from the ancient fireplace to the plastered ceiling.
‘I’d hardly call the place godforsaken. There’s a room back there crammed with your favourite instruments. Go and check it out. A mobile studio’s on the way. I’ve even lent you my own record collection, see?’ He went over to a sideboard near the Union Jack sofa and took a couple of LPs out of a box. There were three more boxes like it, all crammed with records. ‘Remember when all you wanted to do was listen to Muddy Waters and play like Jimmy Page?’
Jamie turned on him. ‘That was a lifetime ago! Now look at us!’ His fists were clenched and a muscle pumped in his neck. He tried to keep his cool. ‘Look, Windy – I could do this. If I had to. While George gets better. But Connor will literally implode unless he’d fed fresh females every fifteen minutes. And there’s no way Darth Vader over there could cope. Did you bring his black satin sheets?’
He scowled at Angus, who sneered back.
‘This, from the man who travels with a peace tent.’
‘Not my idea, mate.’
‘No – your girlfriend’s. Like the second jet. “Ooooh, I just want everything to be simple. Feed me caviar …”’ Angus cavorted round the room, doing a bad impression of Sigrid’s voice. She’d have mimicked him much better.
‘Hey, guys …’ Declan said, standing up, trying to be the peacemaker.
‘Shut up, Declan,’ the others chorused, without even looking at him.
With no warning, Windy suddenly roared at them with the force of one of Josh’s tornado machines.
‘Is that all you can do? Fight over women who aren’t even here? Stop being so bloody irresponsible!’
He glared around in the sudden silence and the room seemed to hover, sus
pended in time. Even the motes of dust in the air seemed to stop falling. After an endless pause, he gathered himself and spoke in a low, angry growl.
‘Global Records have paid millions for this album. If you leave now, you’ll have to find a way of paying the money back, because I’m not getting you out of this hole again. This is it. My last hurrah.’
The three original band members stared at him, wide-eyed. Windy never spoke to them like this. For a moment, their idol-faces slipped and they looked faintly terrified. Even Declan looked surprised.
‘And you won’t be alone,’ he went on, more calmly. ‘I’ve got Orli Greenberg in to cook for you. You’ll remember her epic meals from last year.’
They grudgingly agreed that Orli was ‘a bit of a genius, food-wise’.
‘Ed Masterson’s coming with the studio,’ Windy added. ‘He worked with us on the Oyster album. The best sound tech in the business. I mean it. The best.’
‘OK, I remember Ed,’ Angus acknowledged. ‘He was minorly awesome.’
‘And “Beardy Man”, as Connor so accurately described him, ‘is Sam Kitavi. He helped out on the Asia tour. Top-class security. Discreet. Implacable.’
‘And that’s it?’ Connor demanded, with a flash of his old defiance. ‘Like, three people? Are you insane?’
‘Probably,’ Windy said. ‘For putting up with you lot for so long. But not three people, Connor, four. The last one has come all this way at very short notice to help you out. She’s the pièce de résistance. My genius touch. Promise that you’ll take care of her.’
There was another long silence. He coughed. I realized suddenly that this was my cue.
I was supposed to be it. The missing piece that would pull this whole terrible plan together. My heart started pounding so hard in my chest, I could swear I could see it through the flannel shirt.
Love Song Page 15
