'Don't worry,' Joe murmured in lazy amusement, 'your first reaction was just what Billy wanted.'
Quincy caught her breath, aghast at the memory of how she must have looked, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as she first saw him standing outside the front door.
'Absolutely on target,' Billy Griffith agreed complacently. 'That kiss was beautiful stuff, Joe.'
Oh, no, Quincy wailed inwardly—she had been too distraught at the time to think of all those photographs; the kiss itself had been too spellbinding and unbelievable, making her forget everything but the way Joe Aldonez was holding her, but now it dawned on her that it had all been a carefully staged scene in which she was unwittingly playing a leading role, and tomorrow pictures of her in his arms were going to be splashed all over the newspapers.
'You look like a firework getting ready to explode,' Joe said with mockery, and Quincy's furious eyes sparked green flames at him.
'I think the whole business is despicable! I won't do it, and you can't make me.'
'It was Bobby who caused all this trouble, Quincy,' Mrs Jones intervened. 'If he hadn't put your name on that form this wouldn't have happened.'
Quincy looked mutinous. 'They should have checked before they announced my name!'
'Even admitting that,' said Joe, 'This is no time to cry over spilt milk. We have to play the game the way the cards have fallen.'
'You may have to,' Quincy told him. 'I don't.'
'If we had to admit what a muddle we'd made of it, we'd be a laughing-stock,' Carmen Lister said tightly.
'What's done is done. The only thing we can do is carry on as though nothing was wrong. As your mother said, your brother got us into this mess. You owe us a favour. What's the problem, anyway? You'll get a trip to London out of it, you'll have an expensive visit to a beauty salon and a new dress, and on top of that you'll have a night out with Joe at one of the best restaurants in London, followed by a visit to a nightclub. Most girls would give their eye teeth for a chance like this.'
'I'm not most girls,' retorted Quincy, and got a long stare of icy dislike from Carmen's blue eyes, the other girl's expression holding such antagonism that despite her dislike of Billy Griffith, Quincy decided that the female was certainly deadlier than the male, at least as far as present company were concerned.
Billy Griffith got up suddenly. 'We must be going,' he said, and smiled at Mr and Mrs Jones. 'It's been very pleasant meeting with you, I hope we'll see each other again.'
They looked surprised as they hurriedly got to their feet, and Carmen Lister stared in disbelief at the manager. He conferred one of his smooth plastic smiles on her. 'Coming, Carmen?'
She clearly had not intended to, Carmen Lister had not yet got her own way with Quincy and she was not the sort of girl who accepted defeat, but Billy Griffith bent and lifted her to her feet, a hand under her elbow. 'You've got a fine show of spring flowers, Mr Jones,' he said, as he steered Carmen towards the door. 'I'd surely like to take a closer look at them—are you a serious gardener?'
'When I've got the time,' said Robert Jones, following. 'Would you like to walk round the garden? You won't see much at this time of the evening.'
'The scent of the daffodils is beautiful at night, though,' Mrs Jones told him as they went out of the door.
Carmen looked back, her brows together, and Billy Griffiths murmured something to her, something Quincy did not catch. The next moment the door had closed and Quincy looked at Joe Aldonez in sudden suspicion—they had left him behind, and she guessed now that that was deliberate, it was why Billy Griffith had so abruptly departed.
Joe turned to face her, one arm along the back of the couch, his eyes meeting hers. 'Okay, Quincy, let me lay it on the line—we need your co-operation. Billy already gave you a big build-up to the press as being a big fan of mine and we'd look pretty silly if you backed out now. I realise it's an embarrassing prospect—publicity stunts are always damned silly. But we're stuck with this one now. Will you go along with it as a favour?'
Quincy stared at him, hesitating. 'I don't know if I could face it, it sounds ghastly, I'd feel a fool.'
'You'll get over that,' he said coolly. 'It will be a nine days' wonder, believe me, the press have very short memories and so have the public. They'll forget it long before you do, but we would be very grateful if you would go through with it.' He paused, frowning. 'Suppose Bobby gets his radio, would that persuade you? That's what he entered for, after all. I guarantee he'll get the biggest and best transistor on the market. How's that?'
'Bribery and corruption!' Quincy accused.
'Bribery,' he admitted wryly, smiling. 'I didn't say anything about corruption—none was offered, none was intended.'
'Well, that's a relief,' she said, and he held out his hand.
'Is it a deal?'
She considered both his suggestion and his hand for a few seconds, then accepted both with a faint sigh. 'It's a deal.'
He released her hand and stood up, his lean body uncoiling gracefully until he towered above her, that black head almost seeming to touch the ceiling as she looked up at him.
'I'll go and put Billy out of his misery,' he said, moving towards the door.
'He left you here deliberately,' Quincy accused, and over his shoulder Joe grinned at her with shameless amusement.
'Obvious, wasn't he? He has great faith in my ability to persuade the opposite sex to do what he wants it to do.'
'How touching,' Quincy said coldly, and he laughed as he went out of the door. Quincy stayed where she was, thinking that, despite Billy Griffith's steely charm and unreal smiles, it was Joe Aldonez who was the dangerous one of the two—and Billy Griffith clearly knew it. Now Quincy knew it, too, and she would not forget it. Forewarned is forearmed, she told herself, as she heard her parents outside saying goodbye and then the sound of a car moving purringly away in the spring night.
CHAPTER TWO
Her parents were very late leaving for their dinner date, and left in an excited flurry, reminding Quincy to ring the restaurant and warn them that Mr and Mrs Jones would be an hour later than they had planned. Quincy made the call, then went into the kitchen to start getting supper for herself and Bobby. The idea of macaroni cheese no longer held such great appeal, she decided, holding the fridge door open and staring indifferently at the assembled contents. The easiest thing to make would be a cheese omelette, so she collected a carton of eggs and some cheese.
While she was whisking the eggs, Brendan appeared in the doorway, hovering uncertainly and watching her as though he had never seen her before.
'Hi,' she said, then remembered asking him to supper. 'Oh, have you come for your macaroni cheese, because if you have it's cheese omelette, do you still want some?'
He frowned but nodded. 'Thanks, that sounds fine.'
Quincy dropped some butter in the pan and watched it melt. Brendan leaned against the wall, his eyes on her, but Quincy's thoughts were elsewhere, she was barely conscious that he was in the room.
'I don't think it's a good idea,' Brendan said suddenly in a flat voice, and she glanced round, starting.
'Don't you? I'm sorry, I just went off the idea of macaroni cheese—how would you like some soup instead?'
'Not the supper,' he said in an impatient voice, his brows knitted. 'This idea of going up to London!'
She felt her cheeks glowing, and turned her head away quickly. 'Oh, that!'
'You'll be out of your element,' Brendan said roughly. 'You're not that sort of girl.'
Indignant, Quincy asked crossly: 'What sort of girl is that? Good heavens, all that will happen is that I'll be taken out to dinner by Joe Aldonez—they aren't planning anything more lethal than caviar and champagne for two.' Having said that she felt herself drifting back into the half-dream which had been engrossing her, her mind's eye picturing how it would be, and Brendan gave an irritated little snort.
'It's started already, hasn't it?'
'What has?' the butter had begun to smoke and change colo
ur and Quincy hurriedly poured the whisked egg into the pan.
'That kiss,' said Brendan in tones of disgust.
Quincy bent her head, her face very flushed, and attended to the half-cooked omelette, folding it neatly so that the softly melting grated cheese could continue to cook inside the perfect semi-circle of golden egg.
'You don't want to get involved with people like that,' Brendan informed her. 'Don't you realise what sort of life he must lead?'
Quincy had realised exactly what sort of life a top singing star must lead. She had read gossip items and stories in magazines about girls throwing themselves at their idols and she had no intention of getting involved with Joe Aldonez, but for some peculiar reason she found it very annoying to have Brendan giving her a gypsy's warning. Ignoring what he was saying, she tipped the cooked omelette out of the pan on to a warmed dish, and slid it into the warming compartment of the oven while she turned to cook another one.
'Listen to me, Quincy,' said Brendan, shifting on his feet in a baulked, frustrated way. 'You're a very innocent girl, you know.'
'How dare you?' Quincy flared, turning on him, her eyes as green as an angry cat's. 'Who are you insulting? Don't you talk about me as if I was ten years old!'
'I'm not insulting you,' Brendan protested in aghast tones, staring at her furious face. 'What's wrong with you? I only want to protect you—you don't realise what could happen to you, what you could get yourself into!'
Quincy's teeth met and she went on cooking omelettes, her head averted.
'He's a sophisticated man,' Brendan told her. 'You're just another girl to him. He must have had girls all over the world by now. You only have to look at him to see what sort of morals he's got.' His voice held distaste and contempt. 'For him, you'll just be another one-night stand, Quincy, but you could get hurt, and I don't want that.'
She switched off the heat as she finished her cooking and turned to give Brendan a quick, contrite smile. He meant well and she was fond of him, it was stupid of her to get annoyed because he was trying to save her from getting hurt. How was he to guess that he had been damaging her ego when he pointed out how innocent she was—Brendan couldn't guess he was touching on a sore point. Quincy had not realised how cosy and protected, how innocent and peaceful, her world was until tonight, when Joe Aldonez and his entourage erupted into it to break up their halcyon serenity. Everything that had happened, everything that had been said about her by Billy Griffith and Carmen Lister, had given her a new image of herself. They saw her as a wide-eyed, unsophisticated country mouse who idolised Joe Aldonez from a distance and no doubt Joe Aldonez himself saw her the same way. Quincy felt that realisation inside herself like a poisoned thorn under her skin. She did not want Joe Aldonez looking at her with amused, mocking eyes. She did not want him to tease and torment her because he thought her lack of worldly sophistication something to smile about.
'I can take care of myself,' she told Brendan, assuming a calm confidence she did not feel. 'Don't you worry about me! I'm only going because they promised to give Bobby a transistor for his birthday—I'm in no danger from Joe Aldonez, you can be sure of that.'
Brendan did not look very convinced. He stared at her flushed face, then clumsily grabbed her shoulders and kissed her hard. Quincy jerked in surprise, eyes wide open. Brendan let go and stood back, brick red.
'Just don't let them change you,' he muttered. 'I like you just the way you are!' He walked away, saying, 'I'll call Bobby, shall I?'
Quincy couldn't think of anything to say—it wasn't the first time Brendan had kissed her. They had been dancing together, had a few dates, but somehow although they were always at ease together there had never been that special, tingling excitement between them which she instinctively knew came with a genuine attraction. She liked Brendan, but she was far from falling in love with him. She knew him too well, he was always there, always the same; a part of her life like the wallpaper or the sound of the dogs barking in the garden. When love came, she had long ago decided, it ought to come like the sudden shock of a collision with the unknown, sending electricity sparking through the veins. Only today she had been telling herself that that was all romantic folly—love mostly came more quietly. After all, you were choosing a man for life, and one instant of dazzling sexual attraction was no basis for such a lifetime's decision. She might give herself wise advice on the subject, but how did you get yourself to listen?
Brendan was very quiet over supper. Bobby more than made up for that—he chattered non-stop as he ate, excited by what had happened.
'Wait till I get to school tomorrow—boy, are my pals going to be green with envy!'
'I want my album back,' Quincy told him sternly. 'You aren't swapping it for anything, Bobby Jones, don't think you are! That album is mine, remember, and don't you ever go hunting around my room again, keep out of it, you hear?'
He made an unabashed face at her. 'Who was in my room today, then? If you can, I can.'
She gave an indignant snort. 'I was trying to tidy your room for Mum—I don't know how you can bear to live in it, it looks like the local garbage tip.'
'At least I don't hide anything,' Bobby jeered. 'I heard you lying to Joe—telling him you didn't like his singing when you've been sitting around for weeks all starry-eyed listening to that album.'
Quincy was about to fly at him, descending to his level, when she remembered Brendan and felt him staring at her. She gave Bobby a sweet, forgiving sisterly smile of ineffable condescension.
'Time little boys were in bed, isn't it?' she asked.
Bobby glared. 'Very funny,' he snapped, but got up, all the same. 'I was going, anyway,' he told her.
It was not until she was in bed herself several hours later that it dawned on her that Bobby had successfully evaded her attempt to get her record back. She would have to catch him in the morning, she told herself, turning over on to her side.
What had Joe Aldonez written on it? Lying in the dark she remembered the way those thick black lashes had nickered against his cheek as he wrote across the record sleeve. A wicked little smile had curled his hard lips upwards. What had been in his mind?
She had to face the fact that she was unlikely ever to find out anything of the man but his sexy, smouldering public image—that was what he was always careful to project, she supposed. He had to be seen the way his fans wanted to see him. What was he like behind that, though?
She found it hard to get to sleep that night, and when she woke up it was broad daylight, the spring sunshine dancing on the ceiling of her bedroom and the garden alive with the call of birds, the shadow of their wings flitting past the window now and then as she lay watching, struggling to surface from the depths of sleep.
Her head felt heavy, she had a vague memory of strange dreams, but the strangest of them was lingering with her as she glanced at the clock. Had it been a dream? Or had Joe Aldonez really burst into her life last night?
'Aren't you awake yet?' Her mother came into the room with a cup of tea, shaking her head. 'You have to be ready at nine, remember.'
'Ready?' repeated Quincy dazedly, sitting up.
'They're coming to pick you up,' Mrs Jones reminded her, drawing the curtains. 'Shall I pack for you while you get ready?'
'Oh,' Quincy murmured, speechless, the cup trembling in her hands and almost spilling hot tea over the bed. It was no dream—it had all happened. 'I can't go,' she burst out. 'Mum, I can't!'
Mrs Jones laughed. 'Of course you can, you'll have fun in London. Mr Griffith promised your father you would be perfectly safe with them, the last thing they would want was any trouble, this is a very important publicity stunt.'
'What about Dad?' Quincy asked. 'Who'll do my job while I'm away? You know how the paperwork piles up, and somebody has to answer the phone when Dad and Brendan are out on their rounds.'
'I'll do that,' her mother assured her. 'Who do you think did it before you took over? I can do it with one hand tied behind my back.'
Quincy looke
d at her mother helplessly, seeing the excitement brightening her eyes. Mrs Jones was loving the situation—nothing like this had ever happened in their lives before.
'Your father just went down to get all the newspapers,' Mrs Jones told her. 'I wonder if Lilli is back in London yet? I'll give her a ring later.'
'Mum,' Quincy started to say, feeling shivery and faintly sick, and then the phone began to ring downstairs and her mother gave a little groan.
'I'd better answer that as your father's out.' She bustled out of the room and went downstairs. Quincy slowly drank her tea. She wasn't hungry this morning; her mind was in too confused a state.
She put down the cup and reluctantly got out of bed just as her mother reappeared. 'That was Lilli,' Mrs Jones told her eagerly, all smiles. 'She just read the morning paper and couldn't believe her eyes. She says you must stay with her while you're in London, it would be silly for you to stay with that editor when your own sister can look after you.'
Quincy felt a surge of relief. 'Oh, that would be a good idea!' If she was staying with Lilli she would have a safe refuge where the insanity of Joe Aldonez' world couldn't touch her. 'I'd much prefer that,' she said.
'I thought you would,' her mother nodded. 'Go and have your bath, while I pack a case for you. They'll be here in half an hour.'
Quincy hesitated over what to wear. Her wardrobe was hardly in the high fashion class, she relied heavily on jeans and sweaters. In bra and panties she stood in front of the mirror, gloomily considering her clothes, and finally took down a camelhair skirt which Lilli had given her last Christmas. It had been expensive, Quincy suspected, Lilli's clothes usually were, but her career demanded she constantly bought new ones and she sometimes passed on to Quincy some garment she was tired of or had decided was not suitable for the job.
Slipping into a jade-green sweater, also a gift from Lilli, Quincy studied herself ruefully. She looked just what she was—a country mouse about to venture up to town.
A Wild Affair Page 3