A Wild Affair

Quincy looke

d at her mother helplessly, seeing the excitement brightening her eyes. Mrs Jones was loving the situation—nothing like this had ever happened in their lives before.

'Your father just went down to get all the newspapers,' Mrs Jones told her. 'I wonder if Lilli is back in London yet? I'll give her a ring later.'

'Mum,' Quincy started to say, feeling shivery and faintly sick, and then the phone began to ring downstairs and her mother gave a little groan.

'I'd better answer that as your father's out.' She bustled out of the room and went downstairs. Quincy slowly drank her tea. She wasn't hungry this morning; her mind was in too confused a state.

She put down the cup and reluctantly got out of bed just as her mother reappeared. 'That was Lilli,' Mrs Jones told her eagerly, all smiles. 'She just read the morning paper and couldn't believe her eyes. She says you must stay with her while you're in London, it would be silly for you to stay with that editor when your own sister can look after you.'

Quincy felt a surge of relief. 'Oh, that would be a good idea!' If she was staying with Lilli she would have a safe refuge where the insanity of Joe Aldonez' world couldn't touch her. 'I'd much prefer that,' she said.

'I thought you would,' her mother nodded. 'Go and have your bath, while I pack a case for you. They'll be here in half an hour.'

Quincy hesitated over what to wear. Her wardrobe was hardly in the high fashion class, she relied heavily on jeans and sweaters. In bra and panties she stood in front of the mirror, gloomily considering her clothes, and finally took down a camelhair skirt which Lilli had given her last Christmas. It had been expensive, Quincy suspected, Lilli's clothes usually were, but her career demanded she constantly bought new ones and she sometimes passed on to Quincy some garment she was tired of or had decided was not suitable for the job.

Slipping into a jade-green sweater, also a gift from Lilli, Quincy studied herself ruefully. She looked just what she was—a country mouse about to venture up to town.

She brushed her hair until it gleamed, golden lights among the rich chestnut strands, and took care over her make-up, outlining her lips with a warm pink and brushing pale green eye-shadow across her lids.

The finished result was hardly going to set the world on fire—and would certainly not set Joe Aldonez on fire, Quincy thought, then bit her lip, angry with herself. Who wants to set him on fire? she asked her reflection crossly. Are you crazy? Will you stop thinking like that?

Her green eyes flashed back at her like exploding fireworks as she turned hurriedly away. Her mind was in a state of total insanity, she admitted. It wasn't so surprising, the last twenty-four hours had been enough to turn any sane girl into a gibbering idiot, but Quincy was not prepared to forgive herself for letting her head whirl over a man who was only using her to get himself some big publicity.

From downstairs her mother's voice called frantically: 'He's here! Quincy, he's here!'

He? Quincy thought, jumping about six feet into the air, her nerves jangling. Who does she mean? Not him, not Joe Aldonez, surely? He wouldn't have come himself. She had imagined he would send a chauffeur or possibly that dreadful Billy Griffith.

She ran to the window but was too late to see who had arrived. A gleaming white Ferrari sports car was parked outside the house, but whoever had been driving it had been admitted downstairs, she heard her mother talking in excited tones.

'Quincy!' her mother called up the stairs. 'Aren't you ready yet, darling?'

'Coming!' Quincy called back, her voice low and husky. She took a final, nervous look at herself in the mirror. Who was that strange girl staring back at her with huge, glazed, bright green eyes, her skin a hectic colour and her mouth not quite steady?

She walked down the stairs, carrying the picture with her, unreality settling around her like a brittle shell, sealing her off from the true impact of what was happening to her.

Joe Aldonez stood in the hall with her mother. His eyes lifted to drift over Quincy as she came down towards them, and if it had not been for the protective shell she had managed to seal around herself she might have turned tail and bolted from him in trepidation, but, wearing a stiff set smile, she went on down the stairs, her head lifted, moving as gracefully as she could on legs that trembled.

'Here she is,' Mrs Jones said triumphantly, as though Quincy was making some grand entrance.

'So I see,' Joe Aldonez drawled as Quincy looked at him, her eyes dazzled by the sun shining into them, seeing him through a vivid halo of dancing light. 'I've put your case in the car,' he added. 'Are you ready?'

'Mr Aldonez is going to drive you there himself,' her mother pointed out.

'Joe,' he urged, turning his quick, warm smile towards Mrs Jones. 'Everyone just calls me Joe, except my mother.'

'What does she call you?' Quincy asked with a dry-ness she hadn't intended, surprised for some peculiar reason at the idea that he had parents like everyone else. There was something so different about him, a special magic centred on his name, which seemed to set him apart from the rest of the human race. Every time she saw him she felt a jab of disbelief.

He had turned his glance back to her, those eyes of his glittering jet beneath his winged brows. 'Jose,' he said. 'That's what I was baptised.'

'That's Spanish,' Mrs Jones said curiously.

He nodded. 'My mother is Spanish and my father is of Spanish descent although he was born in California.'

He grinned, a rakish amusement in his face. 'So was his father,' he added. 'My family came to the States a hundred years ago. I'm a fourth generation American.'

'Have you ever been to Spain?' asked Mrs Jones, and he shook his head.