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Just as she was getting in, Steve Marlow came out of the clinic with a carry-cage, and walked over to a black convertible parked near the door.
He looked across the gravel parking yard at them, and lifted up the cage to show Kate the sluggish white behemoth squatting within. ‘Hey, Drake!’ he called, in his famously husky voice. ‘Are you
still on for our usual Friday-night pool session?’
The mocking lilt made Drake stiffen. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
The bright green gaze went pointedly to Kate’s sun-burnished head. ‘Oh, I don’t know…Ken and I just thought you might have found more exciting things to do…’
Drake made a growling sound deep in his chest. ‘You and Ken are gossiping old women! I’ll be there, with bells on. The both of you can prepare to go down in a screaming heap—as usual.’
‘What about Kiss Me Kate with the sexy silver eyes—will she be coming, too?’
‘She doesn’t play pool.’ Drake slammed her door with unnecessary force and got behind the wheel.
‘She could hold our beers!’ The gravelly yell that had sold a million albums degenerated into a burst of coughing as the Land Rover did a sharp turn past him, kicking up a cloud of dust into his face.
Drake pulled his arm back inside the open window and turned onto the black tarmac.
‘Did you just make an obscene gesture at him?’ said Kate disapprovingly.
‘He did it first.’
Sure enough, as she looked out the back window she could see Steve Marlow’s black-clad figure extending a crudely upthrust finger at the departing vehicle.
‘He looks just like the cover of his breakthrough album,’ she laughed.
‘Poseur!’ snorted Drake.
Kate hid a smile. ‘I didn’t know you two were friends.’
She held her breath but to her delight he didn’t shy away from her obvious curiosity. ‘We knew each other for a while as kids. We’ve kicked around a bit since we met up again several years ago. Why would I boast about it?’
Why indeed? He never gossiped about others, or name-dropped to impress. He didn’t have to—he was quite impressive enough on his own account.
‘Goodness, Oyster Beach is turning out to be quite the Celebrity Central,’ said Kate, settling back in her seat.
‘You won’t run into Steve at the beach,’ said Drake, sounding smug about it. ‘He burns like a vampire in the sun. The Marlow family have a holiday place way back in the valley,’ he said with deliberate vagueness. ‘Steve’s only there now and then, in between shuttling back and forth to the UK and the States.’
‘I suppose having to protect his skin from the sun is what keeps him looking so boyishly young,’ Kate mused, unable to resist feeding his evident irritation.
‘More likely a decaying old painting riddled with corruption stashed away in his attic!’ he grunted.
‘I thought he seemed very nice,’ she said demurely.
‘Nice? He’s a fire-born hell-raiser from way back! He’s dangerous. Stay away from him.’
As if she had a choice! She knew very well that Steve Marlow had just been idling away a few minutes of his time. It was the arrival of his friend that had truly piqued his interest. And Drake had played right into his hands.
‘He’s obviously not the same person he was when he was with the band—’
‘But he’s done it all…booze, fags, tattoos—sex, drugs and rock’n’roll. Who knows what perversions he’s into now to give his jaded senses a kick? You can do practically anything you like in Tinseltown. He’s not someone you want to know.’
He sounded as pious as a priest. ‘I thought you liked him, I thought he was your friend?’ she said, bewildered.
He hunched over the wheel. ‘I do. He is. That doesn’t mean I’d let him date my sister,’ he muttered.
Her mind stuttered to a stop as she swivelled in her seat to stare at him. ‘You have a sister?’
