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'He's marvellous,' Lilli said dreamily, and her sister gave her a surprised, probing stare. It was not like Lilli to be so reverential, so deeply impressed by anyone, but then Lilli had always admired people stronger than herself. She spent all her time in the pursuit of excellence, determined to be better than anyone else, and she understood a man like Mark Latimer, who obviously shared her attitudes.
Quincy spent the following morning alone, to her relief. Lilli was rehearsing and Quincy had the little flat to herself. When she was bored with the silence of the flat she went out for a walk along the river, staring at the buildings on the opposite bank, watching the sun glance off the grey water, watching the red London buses grinding their way through thick traffic. She found herself at the Tate Gallery and on impulse went in and wandered around idly with no real idea what she wanted to see. The cloistered atmosphere of the gallery suited her mood. She felt like a rabbit in a burrow, hiding from the threat of the surface world. When she emerged she took with her no lasting memory of the modern art she had walked past, but she felt more relaxed, much calmer and able to face Carmen Lister later that day.
Carmen whisked her off to buy clothes at the boutique of a London fashion house—they were ready-made clothes, but Quincy was a standard size and easy to fit. Carmen chose what she was to wear and, since she was paying, Quincy let her do so. She no longer felt it mattered. Carmen and her friends were turning Quincy into someone else. The minute she got home, Quincy had decided, she would throw off these unreal, unrecognisable pretences and return to normal, retrieve herself and forget this trip to London and all the maddening circumstances of it.
'Did you see Joe on TV last night?' Carmen asked her as she drove her back to Lilli's flat.
'No,' said Quincy, starting. 'Why was he on TV?'
'There was an item on a news programme about him—the Liverpool concert was a sell-out and a huge success, he got mobbed by the fans.' Carmen smiled. 'But then he always does—if he didn't have some pretty heavy security they'd eat him alive!'
Quincy winced. She said nothing, but when she was alone she wondered how Joe could stand that sort of constant pressure. She was to see his fans in action that evening. Watching TV, her whole system jerked alive when she suddenly found herself staring at Joe. The piece was largely concerned with his second concert, showing him singing a Spanish love song. Joe was all in black—tight-fitting satinised pants, a figure-moulding silk shirt, black leather boots—and during the song he held a red rose between his brown fingers. As he took the applause he flung it into the audience and a scramble started. Girls screamed, fought, wept. The rose was torn to shreds, a drift of scarlet petals showering the front rows. Quincy was staring at Joe. He went on smiling, but his smile was stiff, his dark eyes concerned. Hurriedly he gestured to his group, who began to play again, and he broke into another song. It had the effect he wished—the screaming fans sank back into their seats, hypnotised by the sensual throbbing voice, as if the animal hysteria which had been released in them was being lulled back to sleep by Joe's music.
Quincy got up and switched off the set as the programme passed on to other topics. She sat staring at nothing for a long time—that glimpse of Joe's world oppressed her for hours.
Having worked whatever magic she felt she could, Carmen left Quincy more or less alone over the next couple of days. They expected Joe back in London on the following Thursday—his big concert was on the Friday evening and his dinner date with Quincy would be on the Saturday.
'That's your big day,' Carmen told her. 'We have it all worked out. All you have to do is look as good as you can and leave the rest to us.' She gave Quincy a patronising nod. 'And don't worry, nobody expects you to be anything but yourself.'
'How reassuring,' said Quincy with slight tartness.
Lilli was feeling rather guilty because she was too busy to spend much time with her sister. Mark Latimer kept her busy all day rehearsing for their new series— shooting was to start the following week and he was not satisfied with their routines, Lilli confided.
'Nothing but the best for Mark,' she said with apparent satisfaction. 'He won't take second-best.' A grin flashed over her face as she added: 'If you were dying and Mark didn't think you'd done the death scene well enough he'd call you back from the tomb for a repeat performance.'
'What a lovely man,' Quincy said sarcastically, and Lilli laughed.
'He's better than any producer I ever worked with— he makes you feel so good when you've hit what he wants that all the work he's forced you to put into it seems more than worthwhile.'
The evening before Joe was due back, Quincy and Lilli were supposed to be going out to dinner, but at seven Lilli had still not arrived home from the studios.
She rang, breathless, heaving and apologetic, to say she might not get there until nine.
'Why don't you make your way to the restaurant and I'll join you as soon as I can?' she asked.
'I'd rather skip it altogether, if you don't mind,' Quincy told her. 'I'm not really in a mood to sit through a prolonged meal.'
'Oh, Quincy! I've spoiled your evening, I'm sorry!'
'Don't be silly, I wasn't very excited about it anyway, I'm rather tired. London makes me feel half dead,' Quincy sighed.
'Look, are you sure…' started Lilli, and Quincy assured her firmly that she was certain.
'I'd just love to go to bed with a book and relax,' she confessed. 'Sorry to be a bore, but I'm not used to all this high living. After spending all day exploring London on buses all I want to do is flop like a rag doll.'
Lilli laughed. 'I remember the feeling—I felt like that when I first got here, London is pretty exhausting when you're not used to it. Look, Quincy, I must rush, Mark's shouting for me.'
'Don't keep the big man waiting,' Quincy said drily. 'Bye!'
She put the phone down. Everyone here seemed to be in such a rush, so busy getting somewhere that they never had time to notice anything along the way. Quincy trailed into the bathroom and ran a warm bath, soaked herself for half an hour in perfumed foamy water, letting her body and her tired mind collapse into complete inactivity. She was homesick, she wanted to be back with her parents and Bobby, where she belonged. London was a madhouse.
She climbed out, dripping, towelled herself and slipped into a short white robe, tying it firmly around her waist. Her hair curled damply in soft clusters around her pink face as, barefoot, she walked through to the bedroom. Pulling back the covers, she was about to climb into the bed when the doorbell rang. A frown creased her brows. Had Lilli got back from the studio earlier than she had expected?
She went to the door and opened it, a smile ready, only to find herself facing Joe. He was leaning on the doorframe in a weary attitude, his long lean body languidly disposed as though he could hardly stay on his feet. His face was almost haggard, his tan only just disguising the exhaustion, his cheekbones locked in a mask of taut compression.
The dark eyes stared at her almost blankly. 'Can I come in?' he asked h
uskily. Quincy put a trembling hand to her robe lapels, pulling them closer.
