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When one of his own records came on, Joe gave a little groan and put out a hand to flick the radio off. 'No, thanks,' he said under his breath.
'Don't you like to hear yourself sing?' That idea had never occurred to her.
'By the time an album is released, I'm sick to death of hearing myself,' he confessed drily. 'First you have hours of rehearsing, then hours of recording and re-recording—I find I've lost the ability to hear a song by the time I've sung it a hundred times. I never listen to my own recordings, only ever those of somebody else.'
'How did you get into the music business?'
'By accident,' he said. 'I was singing at a party, someone heard me—and next thing I knew I was signing a contract. Once upon a time singing was fun— now it's my job.' He turned his head, black hair blowing wildly around his tanned face. 'If you have illusions about the business, forget them. I work very hard, for very long hours. I used to escape from work on my father's orange trees to sing—now I try to escape from singing to give Dad a hand.'
Quincy listened, frowning. He was altering her whole idea of the sort of life he led. Was he being honest?
'How often do you go home to see your family?' she asked, and he shrugged.
'Not as often as I'd like—it's the only place in the world where I can be myself without being watched.
The older I get, the more I value my home. I'm very lucky. My parents haven't changed an inch. My mother will still give me a tongue-lashing if she thinks I need it.' His sideways smile was mocking. 'You should meet her, I've a feeling you two would get on like a house on fire.' He looked back at the busy road. 'She's a very real woman, too.'
Quincy was taken aback by that remark, flattered by it despite her inner resolve to remain untouched by anything he said.
They made London inside three hours and would have got there earlier if the traffic had not thickened as they approached the capital, and slowed the white Ferrari down.
'Lilli lives in Chelsea,' Quincy said as they fought their way into the inner city.
'Would you mind if we call in at my hotel first?' he asked, glancing at her. 'Carmen will be waiting there for us and I'd better let her know you won't be sharing her flat. A change of arrangements could annoy her, I warn you.'
'I'm sorry, but I'd rather stay with my sister,' Quincy said, and he shrugged, his face not easy to read.
She was not looking forward to confronting Carmen Lister—the other girl had made a very unfavourable impression when they met. Quincy felt herself tightening up inside as she followed Joe into the hushed environment of one of London's most exclusive hotels. He looked at her, taking off his dark glasses, and began to smile as he absorbed the defiant flush on her face.
'Getting ready to do battle?' he mocked. 'Think you can take Carmen on, do you? She's a tough lady.'
He collected his key at the desk and walked along the carpeted gallery to the lift. Quincy stood beside him as it rose smoothly, her eyes avoiding the betraying reflection of herself in the mirror-lined walls. She did not need to see herself to know that her green eyes were hectic, her face taut. What could Carmen Lister do to her, anyway? she asked herself. Quincy did not enjoy arguments, but she had no intention of backing down on this one. She would feel much happier if she was staying with Lilli, and Carmen Lister was not talking her out of it.
Joe had a large suite overlooking one of London's royal parks, and, as they let themselves into it he called out: 'Billy? We're here!'
There was no answer, the rooms lay silent and, apparently, empty, in the spring sunshine. Joe walked ahead into a spacious, beautifully furnished sitting-room and stood there, twirling the doorkey on one finger as he looked around.
Arrangements of spring flowers stood around the room; blue iris in velvety sprays, daffodils and delicate white narcissus, their scent filling the air. A white envelope was propped against one vase. Joe walked over and picked it up, pulled out a sheet of paper and read it with a slight frown. Quincy stood nervously near the door, feeling shy and out of place in the luxurious surroundings.
Looking up, Joe said wryly: 'They're both otherwise occupied, it seems. Do you want to ring your sister and see if she's home?'
Quincy nodded, relieved not to have to face Carmen Lister after all. She picked up the phone and dialled Lilli's number. There was no reply and slowly she put the phone down. Joe was watching her.
'No answer?'
She shook her head, wondering what to do now. It had not occurred to her that Lilli might not be home.
'Why don't we have lunch up here?' Joe asked. 'I don't know about you, but I'm ready to eat a rare steak.' He picked up the phone and rang room service without waiting for her to answer. 'Steak okay for you, too?' he enquired only after he had dialled the number.
'Yes, thank you,' she said, very politely. There was something about the sunny silence of the large suite which made her uncomfortably aware of being alone with him.
'Medium?' he asked, and she nodded.
'French fried or just salad?' he asked, and she told him salad would be fine.
He ordered for them both, adding a request for a bottle of wine. As he put down the phone he made a little face at her.
'Judging by my previous experience of this hotel that will take them a good half an hour,' he said drily. 'Take off your coat, it's warm in here.'
