A Wild Affair

by Charlotte Lamb

  This time Joe made no attempt to detain her. He fell into step as she turned to walk away, his black shadow thrown along the sunlit stone wall as they made their way out of the building, into the blinding glare of the Spanish afternoon. Looking sideways at him as a woman near the gate stared, Quincy murmured in warning: 'You'd better put your sunglasses on before you're recognised.'

  He fumbled in his shirt pocket, drew them out and slid them on, becoming at once just another black-haired Spaniard.

  'I'm surprised you don't have bodyguards,' Quincy commented and he grimaced.

  'In the States I do when I'm travelling from gig to gig, but I thought I'd be okay over here. I hate going around with a couple of gorillas.'

  'I'd hate it too,' said Quincy, and he shot her a hard look.

  'Yes,' he said, as though she had not needed to tell him so. 'My mother finds it upsetting. At one time she used to come to my concerts, but it gave her nightmares, she said, so she stopped coming.'

  'I don't blame her.'

  They had walked down the narrow road leading back towards the sea. In the distance she could see the unreal blue of the water, the cloudless brilliance of the sky above it stretching to where they met on the horizon, a picture postcard beauty which had destroyed the little fishing port which had once stood here, and replaced it with palaces of concrete and glass, and artificial green lawns set with islands of gaudy flowers. The tides of holidaymakers flooded in with the spring and out again, no doubt, with the onset of autumn, leaving the town dead and empty and meaningless.

  'You'd like her,' Joe said suddenly.

  Quincy turned her head to look at him, but the dark glasses defeated her, as always, and she could not decipher his expression. 'Who?' she asked blankly.

  'My mother—we're staying at a hotel a few miles up the coast, will you come over and have lunch tomorrow?'

  They had reached his car and before Quincy could answer they were pounced upon by a tall, olive-skinned policeman who had been prowling morosely around it and who, seeing them halt, swung round to say: 'Ah, senor!' in a menacing tone before commencing a long sentence in Spanish of which Quincy understood not a word but which she gathered was not complimentary.

  Joe halted him, a hand on his arm and said something briefly, then looked round at Quincy. 'Where are you staying?'

  'The Hotel Madrid,' she said.

  'You'll come to lunch tomorrow?' Seeing her hesitate, he added quickly: 'You will, won't you, Quincy? I'll pick you up at noon at the hotel.'

  The policeman was listening with a frown, impatience in his face. Quincy sighed and nodded before she walked away, leaving Joe to deal with the offended law.

  She was far too late for lunch, the dining-room was empty, and as she let herself into her room Penny sprang out of her own to hiss furiously: 'Quincy, where on earth have you been?'

  She turned round, her face contrite. 'I'm sorry, have you been worried?'

  'Have I been worried?' Penny repeated, fizzing with irritation. 'I was on the point of declaring you officially missing—what happened to you? Why did you vanish like that? I thought you'd come back to the hotel for lunch and I ran all the way back here only to find you weren't here, either. I didn't know what to think— where have you been?'

  'I met someone,' Quincy said, very flushed.

  'You haven't let a Spaniard pick you up?' Penny demanded. 'Quincy, honestly…'

  'No,' said Quincy. 'It was someone I knew.' She couldn't bring herself to confess that she had bumped into Joe Aldonez, although she realised that sooner or later Penny was going to find out if Joe meant to come to the hotel tomorrow.

  Penny looked surprised, which was only to be expected, since they had known each other all their lives and lived in a very small community where everyone knew everyone else. 'Who?' Penny asked, obviously searching her memory for the name of someone likely to have chosen Spain for their holiday. As far as Penny was aware, Quincy didn't know anyone Penny didn't know too.

  'You don't know him,' Quincy told her, and Penny looked disbelieving.

  'I don't? Then who is it?' Suspicion showed in her face. 'You've been holding out on me, Quincy—is he special?'

  Quincy hesitated, but the only answer to that had to be in the affirmative, so she agreed. 'Yes.'

  'Too special to talk about?' Penny was looking excited now, curiosity vying with sympathy in her eyes.

  'Yes,' said Quincy, relieved to be able to tell some of the truth, at least. 'I'm sorry you were worried, I shouldn't have dashed off like that without telling you, but...'

  'But you just forgot I existed!' Penny said drily, and Quincy laughed and nodded.

  'Afraid so—sorry.'

  'It must be love,' Penny said, and Quincy almost flinched, hiding it with a pretence of a smile, before she went into her room.

  'Did you get lunch?' Penny asked, and she nodded. Although she had missed lunch she wasn't hungry, her mind was too busy with other thoughts, she had no attention to spare for food.

  'I think I'll take a shower,' she said. 'I've got a bit of a headache.'

  'I've got some more shopping to do,' said Penny. 'I want to get Jim a present. While you're showering, I'll take a walk, okay?'

  'Fine,' Quincy said gratefully, and was glad when the door had closed and she was alone. She slid out of her robe, unhooked the top of her swimsuit and peeled it off, then walked into the shower, standing under the lukewarm water with closed eyes, letting the salt wash out of her hair, the trickle of the spray cool her heated skin. Her heart was beating far too fast and her nerves prickled as though she had developed some strange illness, but it was a sickness she had been carrying for a long time, although she had only just admitted it to herself. Penny's casual, laughing words had merely said aloud what she had known when she came back from London—she was in love with Joe, she had fallen in love almost before she saw him, listening to the velvety seduction of his voice day after day. Until she actually met him it had been a dream, a fantasy, a game of love from which she might one day have awoken to fall in love with some other man, someone from her own world, but Joe had walked out of his dream setting and become real to her, turning her fantasy into reality.

  She wrapped herself in a large white towel and sat on the stool in front of the dressing-table, rubbing her damp hair and looking at her reflection with dismay. Why had Penny had to say that? She could have gone on for ever pretending that she did not know how deep her own feelings were—but now she had to face them and it hurt, because her love was so stupid, so pointless. Joe could never return it, he would never feel that way about her. He had made love to her in London only because she was there, it had been the automatic reaction of a male instinct and had had no root in emotion, Quincy had known that at the time. Even so hot colour swept up her face at the memory of the night he had come to Lilli's flat, exhausted, and held her in his arms on the couch, naked desire in his dark eyes as he touched her. Perhaps that had been the moment when her feelings had deepened into real passion—the dreamy romanticism had become a burning need as she hovered nervously on the verge of surrender, all the more powerful because it was the first time she had ever felt like that. All that she knew of passion she had learnt that night; Joe's hands had taught her body needs it had never felt before, and ever since she had been aching for that final lesson, longing to experience the intimacy only lovers know.

  She dressed clumsily and lay on the bed with the shutters closed, the room in comforting shadow. Her head throbbed with frustration and misery. How was she going to face him tomorrow? How could she talk to him, look at him, now that she knew how she really felt?

  Penny came back an hour later and tapped on her door. Quincy forced a smile somehow and agreed to go down to the beach again—anything was better than lying alone in her room with nothing but her own gloomy thoughts for company, and there was no reason why she should let her sudden depression ruin Penny's holiday. Pretending to be cheerful might actually make her feel as if she was—it seemed to fool Penny, why
shouldn't it fool Joe?

  She slept badly that night and in the morning could scarcely force down her breakfast. 'Aren't you hungry?' Penny asked in surprise, taking another roll and pouring herself some more coffee. 'I'm starving—it must be the sea air.'

  'I've got a headache,' said Quincy.

  'The sun,' Penny stated. 'I told you it was dangerous.'

  'So you did,' Quincy agreed. Why hadn't someone told her Joe was dangerous in time to save her from the way she felt now? But if they had, what difference would it have made? She had known, she hadn't needed to be told, her own common sense had kept on warning her and she had still gone right ahead and fallen helplessly, stupidly in love with him. Perhaps there is a time and a place when one falls in love, however foolish? Perhaps she had been ripe for love, waiting blindly for it, ready to go crazy over the first attractive man she saw? How else did she explain the instant insanity of falling for a man like Joe Aldonez?

  She wondered how to break it to Penny, or whether to trust to luck that Penny didn't actually see him when he came.

  'I've got a date this afternoon,' she said casually, avoiding Penny's eye. 'For lunch, actually.'

  'Oh, have you, actually?' said Penny, grinning. 'I wondered when it would come out.'

  'What?' asked Quincy, confused.

  'I guessed you'd be doing another vanishing act some time or other,' Penny explained. 'I suppose you and he planned it? I think you might have told me you'd arranged to meet him here.'

  'I hadn't,' Quincy said indignantly. 'It was sheer accident.'

  'Pull the other one,' Penny told her cheerfully. 'I wasn't born yesterday. I'm not a great believer in coincidences.' She regarded Quincy thoughtfully. 'He isn't married, is he?'

  Startled, Quincy said: 'Not as far as I know,' then thought, and said firmly: 'No, I'm sure he isn't.'

  'Why all the secrecy, then?'

  Quincy hesitated: 'I just don't want to talk about it yet, there's nothing to talk about at the moment, maybe there never will be.'

  'Oh,' said Penny, much enlightened. 'Like that, is it? I get you, you don't know where you stand yet?'

  'No!' Quincy said. 'I don't know where I stand at all.' And that was the understatement of the year, if only Penny knew. It seemed to satisfy her, though, she asked no more questions, and Quincy left her basking peacefully on the beach when she left to make her way back to the hotel in time to change before meeting Joe.

  She blowdried her damp hair while she scrutinised the limited contents of her holiday wardrobe—what should she wear? What would be suitable for a meeting with his parents? There wasn't really much choice, she had not come provided with much beyond beach wear and a few summer frocks. In the end, she put on a silky white dress printed with the occasional trail of green ivy—it looked fresh and springlike, even if it was hardly haute couture. Someone like Carmen Lister might be able to look at it and see at once that it was bought from a chain store, but what did that matter? She slid her feet into high-heeled white sandals, clipped a string of pretty local green beads around her neck and checked her reflection without satisfaction. She was never going to set the world on fire, whatever she wore, but at least she looked cool and assured, on the surface, and Joe would not be able to see beneath that.

  He arrived punctually at twelve and rang her room from the desk downstairs. Quincy was pleased with her own calm voice as she spoke to him. 'Hallo, yes, I'll be down right away,' she said, and put down the phone, lifting her chin in defiance at herself in the mirror. Surely she could put on an act for a few hours?

  Joe was waiting in the reception lobby, she saw him before he saw her, his arrogant profile masked by those sunglasses, his tall, lithe body lounging casually as he studied a poster on the wall near the desk. Quincy's heart traitorously turned over at that first glimpse of him. You fool, she told herself in disgust, pull yourself together, then he turned and saw her and she saw his mouth curve into an involuntary smile and smiled back, her heart lightening and her nervous tension dropping away.

  'You look lovely,' he said, taking the space between them in three strides. 'White suits you, that's a very pretty dress.'

  'Thank you,' she said, hoping she did not sound as breathless as she felt. Behind those glasses she couldn't see his eyes, and that was just as well—she knew how deadly a smile from them could be, she hoped he would keep his sunglasses on all day.

  'My car's parked outside,' he said as they left the hotel. As they drove away Quincy caught sight of Penny wandering along with her crammed beach bag over her arm, her face pink from the sun and her bare legs sandy. Penny briefly saw her, and turned her head to stare. Quincy hoped she would see nothing of Joe but black hair blowing in the wind and a pair of sunglasses.

  'Did you find your friend?' Joe asked, turning to look at Quincy.

  She nodded. 'I hope your parents don't mind having a stranger dumped on them for lunch.'

  'You won't be a stranger,' Joe said enigmatically, and before she could ask him what that was supposed to mean he asked: 'How long are you here? When do you go home?'

  'We only got here two days ago,' Quincy told him. 'But we're just having a week's holiday, we go home in four days' time.'

  'Only a week?' Joe said, his tone flat.

  'It was all we could afford,' Quincy muttered. 'We don't have a pop star's income.' No sooner had she said it than she wished she hadn't; it sounded like an accusation, and Joe's brows met.

  'I realise that,' he said unsmilingly. 'I was hoping you would be here for longer than that, that's all.'

  Quincy felt herself going pink and looked away. For a long time neither of them said anything and the miles zipped by as the sports car weaved and raced along the coast road, leaving every other vehicle behind.

  The hotel was large and modern, but was set in beautifully landscaped gardens, lawns sweeping away on every side of the building with trees placed here and there to give a grateful shade, and beds of flowers making splashes of colour in the prevailing green. A swimming pool gleamed very blue beside a raised pink terrace built of some local stone. The terrace was clearly in use as a dining-room; carefully distanced tables under fluttering beach umbrellas, white damask cloths, wine glasses sparkling in the sunlight. People were already eating lunch, waiters moving around between the tables, and from the bar which opened out on to the terrace drifted the sound of a piano.

  Quincy followed Joe towards one of the tables, her high heels clicking on the stone floor, looking rather nervously at the two people seated under a blue-striped umbrella.

  'Mom, Dad, this is Quincy,' said Joe as they stopped at the table, and his voice had a faint roughness, almost a trace of uncertainty, she felt, although why he should be worried about introducing her to his parents she couldn't imagine, he must often bring strangers to meet them. Perhaps they did not like meeting strangers? That thought did not make her feel any easier, but she managed to smile as Mr Aldonez rose to offer her his hand. He was more or less the same height as his son, his hair thickly grey, his face thin and weathered, the colour of old leather. His eyes were brown and very shrewd, but they smiled at her as she said shyly: 'Hallo, Mr Aldonez,' and as she smiled back she knew what Joe would look like in thirty years' time.

  She was even more nervous about meeting Joe's mother. Everything he had said about her had made it clear how much he loved her, and it mattered so much to Quincy that Mrs Aldonez should like her that as she held out her hand towards the other woman, her palm was damp with perspiration.

  'Hallo, Quincy,' Mrs Aldonez said in a slightly accented American voice, the slow lazy warmth of the sun in it, a warmth echoed in her face. Her skin was a warm, sallowed gold; her hair black and sleek, wound in a heavy plait across the top of her head and delicately silvered here and there, her eyes exactly the same colour as Joe's, although the little rays of gold around the pupil were brighter in her case, and her lids were heavier, giving her face a charming placidity which made Quincy feel suddenly less nervous. 'Sit down, what would you like to drink
before we order?' Mrs Aldonez asked, and Joe pulled out a chair and stood behind Quincy as she sat down. Briefly she felt his fingertips on her shoulders, the touch something between reassurance and a fleeting caress.

  The waiter arrived and cocked an attentive head as Joe repeated: 'Would you like an aperitif?'

  Quincy's mind was a blank, she couldn't think, and Joe smiled, glancing at the waiter and ordering for both of them.

  'Have you been to Spain before, Quincy?' Mrs Aldonez asked. Her accent, Quincy realised now, was a mixture of American and Spanish.

  'No, this is my first visit.'

  'Are you enjoying it?'

  'Very much, I only wish we weren't going home so soon. I'd like to see more of Spain, it's a fascinating country.'

  'You should go into the mountains,' Mrs Aldonez told her. 'You won't get a true impression of Spain from a holiday resort.'

  'Perhaps we can take a coach trip one day while we're here,' Quincy agreed.

  'Or maybe you can come again soon,' Mrs Aldonez said lazily. 'Spain is a lovely place for a honeymoon.' She slid a smiling look at her husband and then at Joe. 'Isn't it?' she murmured with a distinctly teasing intonation, and both men laughed, although, to Quincy's surprise, Joe flushed slightly. He glanced at her at that second and Quincy felt her heart constrict inside her ribs, making her breathless. She looked away, swallowing. Why had he looked at her like that?

  Their drinks arrived and while they sipped them they studied the menu and talked quietly. Quincy said as little as possible, listening intently, however, and absorbing the obvious closeness of the family relationship. Joe's father talked about the weather back home, about his worries for the harvest, his fears mocked cheerfully by Joe, who brushed them aside.

  'Every year you say the same,' said Joe, grinning. 'It's always going to be the worst harvest ever. Don't be such a pessimist!'