'I'm the eldest—next comes my sister Juana who's married and has a baby girl, then there's Maria who's a commercial artist working in San Francisco, and the baby of the family, Tony, who helps Dad with the oranges. I've put a lot of my, money into the estate, we have quite a big spread now. When I'm through singing, I plan to retire and grow oranges myself.'
She was so interested in his family, so intrigued by imagining him at home with them all, that she forgot everything else, and the sudden peal of the doorbell made her jump. Joe's face changed, too, the warmer, smiling expression going and a frown replacing it.
'Who can that be?' he asked with a steely intonation which surprised her until he added: 'If your boy-friend has come back he can just vamoose again—I'm serious about that, Quincy. We can't have him hanging around.' He turned on his heel and strode out of the room with Quincy scurrying after him, her face uncertain.
'Don't you hit Brendan again!' she threw after him, but when he opened the door it was to find Carmen Lister on the doorstep. She gave him a surprised stare. Quincy distinctly saw a cynical gleam in her eyes and stiffened angrily.
'Well, well, fancy seeing you here,' Carmen said sweetly, walking past him and giving Quincy a considering glance which ran down over her as though Carmen was wondering what any man would see in her. Quincy flushed under that look, grinding her teeth impotently. She knew she was far from being beautiful and she didn't pretend to be sophisticated, but she did not enjoy having Carmen Lister's knowing gaze informing her of the fact. 'So,' Carmen went on, 'Joe found you at last. We'd begun to wonder if you'd bolted for home.' She wandered into the sitting-room and gave it a brief, dismissive stare before looking back at Quincy. 'Don't do a disappearing act again, sweetie. You gave us a headache and caused a lot of bother.'
Quincy resented the patronising tone, and would have said so very succinctly, had Joe not spoken first.
'Have you rearranged your plans again, Carmen?'
She looked at him and nodded. 'The photographer will be along later.'
'What for?' asked Quincy, and Carmen looked back at her.
'I want some shots of you and Joe together, before Joe has to rush off to rehearse. Try to get it into your head, darling—Joe's a very busy guy with a hectic schedule and if you throw a spanner into the works you can ruin everything. Just stay put from now on, and be available if we need you.'
'She understands,' Joe said before Quincy could flare up again at the curt, peremptory tone. 'Quincy,' he went on, 'I'm dying for a cup of coffee, could you make one?'
'Of course,' she said in surprise, and turned to leave the room. As she put the percolator on the stove she heard Joe close the door and frowned. What was he saying to Carmen that he did not want her to hear? She was tempted to go over and listen at the keyhole, but her sense of her own dignity wouldn't allow her to stoop that low. She glared at the closed door, though, feeling like kicking it down, and Carmen's voice rose, wicked with cynical amusement.
'Have you been making little Miss Jones feel more at home, darling? Aren't you clever? Keep her eating out of your hand until we're through with her, will you?'
Quincy turned and walked stiffly into the bedroom and stood there, biting her lower lip to stop herself from bursting into tears, her hands clenched at her sides. That was what he had been doing, was it? She wasn't surprised, she had suspected as much, of course, but he kept surprising her, puzzling her. She could not make him out. At times those dark eyes glowed with a real emotion, it seemed, and his deep husky voice held genuine feeling. When he talked about his home, his family, how he felt about his singing—she could not help believing him. There was such conviction in his face—but then hadn't she been totally convinced by his apparent exhaustion last night, only to find herself be
ing skilfully and expertly seduced? How did she make him add up? He was so unlike any man she had ever met. She could not stop thinking about him, drifting off into daydreams about him whenever she was alone, yet she knew no more about him today than she had the day she first set eyes on his face in that magazine. He had told her so much, apparently laid his life open to her, yet everything he said seemed followed by a question mark. Did he mean what he said? Was he straightforward? Or was he acting all the time, telling her what he thought would convince her and seduce her into trusting and liking him?
She heard the coffee bubbling in the percolator and hurried out of the bedroom to switch it off and find cups. When she carried the tray through she found Carmen sitting down with a sheaf of paper on her knee and Joe leaning against the window, watching the traffic passing the building. He turned and came to take the tray from her. Quincy looked into his face, searching it for some clue to his real nature, but the strong structure defied the probe of her stare. Joe's features kept their secret, the contradictions of his facial strength and that potent male beauty unyielding.
She poured his coffee and he stood talking to Carmen while he sipped it, then he put down the cup, sighed and squared his broad shoulders in a tired way. 'I'll have to be on my way, I guess.'
'Wait just five minutes for the photographer, Joe,' Carmen pleaded, and he glanced at his watch.
'If he doesn't get here within three minutes, I'm going,' he told her.
'He'll be here,' Carmen assured him, and only a moment later the doorbell went and she jumped up. 'I'll get it—it will be Phil.'
She came back with the photographer and Joe told the man: 'I've only got five minutes to spare, so make it snappy.'
The man looked around the room and grimaced. 'This the only background you've got?'
'Yes,' Joe said shortly. 'Get on with it.'
The man gestured to the couch. 'Could we have you both on that?'
They obeyed, Quincy feeling so nervous she had to force a smile, Joe far more casual but obviously with half his mind elsewhere. The photographer posed them, moved around them snapping away, then got them to stand near the window, then near the fireplace, calling out pleas for them to smile or hold hands or look at each other.
'That's it,' Joe said abruptly. 'I must go.' He turned and strode to the door with Carmen hurrying after him. Quincy lapsed into dull silence and the photographer strolled around her, desultorily taking pictures as though he automatically used his camera when he had nothing else to do.
Carmen came back alone and nodded to the photographer. 'Okay, Phil, that's fine.' She picked up her shoulder bag and pushed the sheaf of papers into it before looking at Quincy. 'Just remember, we want to be able to get in touch with you at a moment's notice while you're here, so no more unscheduled jaunts around town, okay?'
When she had gone Quincy sat down heavily and sighed. Her mind was in a confused jumble, but one thing she was certain about—when she got back home she was going to take her brother by the ear and tell him clearly what she thought of him and his great ideas. If he had never filled in that form and put her name on it she wouldn't be in this mess now. Bobby was a pest and she meant to tell him so.
Brendan rang an hour later and as soon as she heard his voice she began to stammer apologetically. 'Brendan, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, I shouldn't have said that, it wasn't true…'
'It was,' he said wryly. 'I was as mad as fire at the time, but when I'd had time to cool down I realised you were only telling the truth. Aldonez is bigger than me, I can't pretend he isn't. How could I fight a man built like a concrete mixer?'