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'But I mean to try to see some of it while I'm over here in Europe,' he told her. 'I've promised my mother I'll visit her family if I get time. She was over there last year, but I was too busy to go with her.'
'Does she live in California?' Quincy asked.
He nodded. 'My family have some orange groves there—the land has been in the family for over fifty years. My grandfather bought it during the Depression.' His eyes danced. 'He won some money in a poker game and he'd have lost it the same way, if my grandmother hadn't taken it out of his pocket when he was asleep and hidden it. She talked him into buying the land before she told him where the money was—a very determined woman, my grandmother.'
Quincy was fascinated and could have gone on asking questions, hoping by his answers to make herself believe he was real and not some dark fantasy conjured up from her own imagination, but he looked at his watch and said: 'Time to get moving, I'm afraid.' Holding out his hand, he smiled at Mrs Jones. 'Nice to know you, Mrs Jones—I'll look forward to seeing you again real soon.'
Fluttered and flushed, Mrs Jones followed them to the door and stood there, waving, as he put Quincy into the passenger seat of the sleek sports car. Quincy looked back at her mother with a drowning sense of alarmed dismay. Mrs Jones waved vigorously as the engine fired and the car drew smoothly away from the house, putting on speed at once, the elegant lines of the vehicle built for the race track as much as for the busy roads, taking them shooting past every other car without effort.
Joe glanced sideways at her, his brows meeting. 'Do up your seat-belt.'
Something in the cool arrogance of the tone made her sit up, bristling. She obeyed, but gave him a look which brought another of those glinting little smiles her way.
'Feeling belligerent this morning, are we?' he asked in a soft, taunting voice. 'I had the feeling you were when you came downstairs. Had some second thoughts about coming to London?'
'I don't know why I ever agreed,' she admitted, hurling the words at him like little sharpened flints.
'Too late to change your mind now,' he said, putting on even more speed as he hit the motorway going to London, the beautiful streamlined car flashing along the fast lane while every other driver gazed in envious reverence at it as it passed them.
'You know I'm going to stay with my sister, not with Miss Lister?' asked Quincy, her chestnut curls fluttering around her face in the slipstream of cold air blowing around her.
'Your mother mentioned it,' he agreed. 'She said your sister was a dancer—what sort of dancer is she?'
'She's part of a dance group who appear on television and who do cabaret now and then—they're called The Panthers.' The family were very proud of Lilli, she was the nearest approach to a star they had known before Joe Aldonez erupted into their lives.
'How many dancers in the group?' Joe asked.
'Fifteen,' said Quincy, realising he had never heard of her sister's act. Lilli wasn't in the superstar bracket, of course, but maybe one day she would be—she was very beautiful and talented. Quincy wondered suddenly, with a funny little twist of dismay inside her, what Joe Aldonez would think of Lilli. Every other man Quincy had ever met—apart from Brendan—had fallen for Lilli on sight, bewitched by her fiery hair and lovely face. Quincy secretly viewed the man beside her through her lowered lashes. Would he fall for Lilli, too? What if he does? she asked herself impatiently— what difference would it make to you, you idiot? He's flashed into your life like a comet and he'll flash out again in a few days.
They slowed as they met an incoming stream of traffic and someone in another car stared, open-mouthed, at Joe Aldonez. Quincy saw his involuntary grimace as he realised he had been recognised. The white Ferrari roared away, leaving the much slower car behind, and Joe leaned forward to open the glove compartment in front of him. Quincy watched him take out some dark glasses and slip them on, their mirror lenses completely hiding those eyes of his. His lean, tanned face took on a new air, making it far less likely anyone would recognise him now.
'Where did you stay last night?' she asked him, and he turned, the lenses flashing blankly in her direction.
'We all went off to a hotel in Bath,' he said. 'Carmen and Billy drove back to London a couple of hours ago.'
'Why did you come to pick me up?' she asked, and saw his brows lift at the question
, adding hurriedly: 'I thought you'd send someone.'
'I was driving back, anyway,' he drawled. With those dark glasses on she had no idea whether he was smiling or not, his mouth had a curve even in repose which was misleading.
'Aren't you worried that someone will recognise you?' she asked and he grinned.
'In this case they would need to have wings to catch up with me!'
Quincy looked around at the soft white velvety leather upholstery, the gleaming chrome of the dashboard. 'It's a beautiful car.'
'I like cars,' he said. 'The faster the better,' and put on yet more speed, sending her heart into her mouth.
'I don't like driving fast!' she gasped, clutching the edge of her seat as she swayed with the car. 'Slow down! The speed limit is only seventy miles an hour over here.'
He slowed, giving her a teasing look. 'I'd forgotten— I don't want to get picked up for speeding, do I? Now that wouldn't be good publicity?'
'Is that all you ever think about?' she accused.
'I've had to learn that I'm a public figure,' Joe told her with a wry intonation, shrugging. This morning he was still wearing that black leather jacket, but the shirt under it was black silk today. It hugged his muscled body just as smoothly, the collar open, giving her a glimpse of his strong brown throat. She wondered idly if that tan was habitual, did he do a lot of sunbathing in California? His face, hands, neck were a uniform golden-brown—did the rest of his body match? A sudden wave of heated colour spread up her face as she realised what she was doing—imagining him without the expensive silk shirt and the tight-fitting jeans. Her mind really had gone haywire, she scolded herself, averting her eyes. What was the matter with her?
'Want some music?' he asked, leaning forward again to switch on the car radio. They didn't talk for a while, driving so fast that they ate up the miles to London without Quincy being aware how far they had gone. On the motorway the countryside looked so similar wherever you were—just green fields and cows and dreaming elm trees on either side with the white concrete ribbon of road unwinding in front of you.
