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'I was just going to bed,' she said. 'I'm sorry, but…'
'I need to talk to you,' Joe said abruptly with harsh force.
Quincy's breath caught, her eyes fixed on him. Without a word she fell back and Joe walked past her into the flat.
CHAPTER FOUR
He walked into the sitting-room and Quincy followed, switching on the lamp. The room glowed warmly and Joe stood, hunched in his heavy sheepskin jacket, his black hair windswept, looking around him half dazedly, as though uncertain where he was.
'I thought you were flying back to London tomorrow,' said Quincy, and he gave a curt nod.
'We were supposed to—there was a big reception for us tonight in Bristol, but I couldn't face it. I had to get away, I was dead.'
He looked dead, every line of his face and body stamped with a weariness she had never expected to see in him.
'Would you like a drink?' she asked. 'Have you eaten?'
He looked vaguely at her. 'Eaten?' From his voice the idea of food had never entered his mind. 'No, I don't think so,' he added.
'I'll get you something, what would you like?'
He shrugged indifferently. 'Whatever you have on hand, I'm easy.'
Quincy went over to the electric fire and switched it on to give the room more warmth—there was central heating in the flat, but it gave a background warmth which was not quite sufficient on a chill spring night.
Joe was still standing in the middle of the room, his hands hanging at his sides. She turned and looked at him uncertainly. 'Sit down, the room should warm up soon.'
He sat obediently, like a child, and then collapsed, his head back against the couch, his eyes closing. Quincy stared at him, frowning. His lids were dark and shadowed, bruised with tiredness, beneath his eyes the blue stain of sleepless nights emphasising the taut stretch of his skin.
'I had to come,' he said in a hazy voice which drifted from his barely parted lips like mist.
She almost wondered if she had imagined it, so faint was the remark, and waited a moment for him to add something, but he seemed asleep, his long body heavily relaxed. Slowly she went out to the tiny kitchen adjoining the room and looked at the assembled food. There was rice and some cold chicken, a tiny tin of prawns, some eggs. Quincy hesitated, then got out a saucepan and began to cook a reduced version of paella. While it was cooking she slipped back to look at Joe. He hadn't moved, his breathing deep and slow. Was he asleep? she wondered, and tiptoed out again, but, as she did, he stirred and his eyes opened.
Quincy halted, looking into them, and Joe smiled at her, a curiously tender, almost relieved smile.
'I was taking a nap,' he said. 'Having a dream. I dreamt I was here with you. God, Quincy, I'm so tired.'
'Yes,' she said gently. 'Are you hungry? I'm cooking some paella for you. Do you like paella?'
Humour sparked in his eyes. 'You ask me that? If my mother could hear you!' His voice was still flat and tired, but warmth and rest were just beginning to ease the constriction of his face.
'I'm afraid it won't be anything like any paella you ever ate,' Quincy said, smiling. 'I'm having to improvise.'
'I shan't be over-critical,' he promised, and she went out to see how the food was coming along. By the time she was ready to serve it Joe had been there for nearly half an hour. She went back and found he had shed his sheepskin and was stretched out, the electric fire close to his feet, staring intently at the glowing bars. He looked up as she entered the room and smiled.
'Feeling better?' she asked, seeing that he looked far more relaxed, and he nodded. 'Your paella is ready,' Quincy told him.
'Are you having some?' he asked. 'I don't want to eat alone.'
So they ate the food together with a bottle of Lilli's cheap red wine to accompany it. Joe talked in fits and starts, saying whatever came into his mind. Quincy said very little, but she listened.
'It gets to the stage when I haven't any more to give,' said Joe. 'You keep giving out night after night until your head feels as if it's blowing off and you have to get away.'
Quincy refilled his glass and he drank some more wine, eyes half closed. 'You only have so much energy,' he said.
He told her obliquely about the tour, leaving her with the impression that he barely knew what he was saying. His mind was wandering, awash with confused memories he had not yet sorted out into any sort of sense. 'They grab at you from all sides, hands dragging at you. I sometimes wonder what it is they want, what they're hoping you'll give them. If it went on too long you'd get frightened—so much need, so much emotion, and there isn't enough in any one person to satisfy them.'
He had stopped eating and she began to collect up the plates. 'Leave them,' said Joe, frowning like a fretful child. Quincy sat down again and asked: 'Coffee?'
