Time to test Nick’s trustworthiness. ‘It’s Bonnie.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
A faint barking came from the tinny box.
I cleared my throat. ‘It’s Bonnie and I’m here to see Clyde.’
Silence. Any second now, I was going be told the police had been called.Any second now...
‘Come in, Bonnie.’
The door clicked open. I couldn’t believe it, and half expected it to slam shut again. I pushed against it tentatively and it swung open. The barking was growing louder. Great. They’d released the hounds and I was about to get mangled by a pack of angry dogs.
I moved stiffly along the gravelled path, trying to remember what all those dog-whispering shows said about asserting dominance over dogs and avoiding getting mauled to death. Then a female voice issued a sharp ‘Down!’ and the noise stopped.
The path led to a stuccoed building with Georgian arched windows and a glossy black door. On either side of me was striped grass and out of the corner of my eye I caught an ancient stone sundial.
I climbed two steps and raised my hand to knock on the door, but before I could, it creaked open and a Staffordshire bull terrier stuck its face around it. Its mouth was the width of its head and its teeth shone with saliva. It growled at me and I froze.
‘Come back herenow, Saffron.’
The dog backed away, and in its place, a looming figure in a long-sleeved black dress and bare feet appeared.
‘Don’t mind Saffie, she’s harmless.’
Marcie was taller than I remembered. Thinner, too. When she turned to let me though the door, her collarbones jutted out under her fair skin.
We were in a cavernous hall with a herringbone wood floor that shone like a conker and was probably over a hundred years old. Every single one of my musical idols had probably crossed this floor. One was here in the flesh now, offering me a drink.
‘I’ve just opened a bottle of wine.’
Wait a sec.
She was just out of rehab; she shouldn’t have been drinking. Saying yes was enabling her, wasn’t it? Perhaps it was non-alcoholic...
‘What sort of wine?’ I blurted.
She frowned in concentration. ‘Red, I think.’
She’s joking, right?
She motioned for me to follow her and I found myself in a corridor lined with gold discs. We were heading to the back of the house, towards an even bigger garden than the one out front. I peered discreetly through every doorway we passed.
Was that her sea-foam green Telecaster propped up against a bookcase? The one she had slung low on her hips on the cover ofDay By Day– the first album I ever bought? Bloody hell.
I hurried to catch up with Marcie and found her in the kitchen. Saffie the Staffie was now curled up in a dog basket next to a double-sized Aga. Marcie was sitting at a black granite breakfast bar and she nodded for me to sit opposite her, where a glass of red wine was waiting for me.
The bottle was almost empty. She clearly hadn’t just opened it.
I slid onto a bar stool and knocked my knees against the table. The impact made my nerves tingle, and produced a loud whack, but Marcie didn’t react. My bag hung limply from my shoulder. I moved it to my lap, unzipped it and took out my recorder. ‘Is this okay?’
Marcie smiled and I was struck by how beautiful she was. High cheekbones, perfect skin, unfussy, dark, glossy hair. ‘You won’t need it.’
I didn’t like the sound of this. I’d done interviews before without my dictaphone, but it wasn’t ideal. It didn’t look like I had much choice, though. ‘No problem, I’ll just make notes.’
‘No notes, either.’
My hand was in my bag, searching for a pen and notepad. I stopped.
