Strings Attached (24 page)

‘I’m starving. The meal on the plane wasn’t up to much,’ George told him, wanting to change the subject.

‘Well, I only hope the little place I’ve booked can live up to your exacting standards,’ Quinn said, pulling the car back onto the road.

Within thirty minutes they were driving along the coast and George was enjoying every second of the ride in the Jeep. Her hair was being buffeted by the breeze, the sun was warm on her face and she was enjoying the sights and smells of Spain. The earth was clay brown and rugged, the scenery mountainous with far
-
reaching views from every angle and her arms were starting to prickle under the intense heat.

Quinn turned off down a narrow road that opened up to reveal a small wooden restaurant. It was set beside the taupe coloured beach and the gentle tumbling waves of the sea.

He parked the car and took his sunglasses off to look at her.

‘I’ve never taken anyone here before. I found this place when I was driving aimlessly around one day, trying to escape from Taylor and a hissy fit about the latest designer dress someone else wore before her. They do the most incredible paella and even better, they have no idea who I am,’ Quinn told her with a smile.

‘It looks like it’s just been washed up by the sea,’ George said, looking at the ramshackle building and appreciating all its authenticity.

‘Come on, let’s go in,’ Quinn said, opening the door and getting out.

George opened her door and joined him on the sand. He took hold of her hand and they walked towards the entrance, as if they were a normal couple stopping by for lunch.

‘
Buena tarde. Tenemos una tabla reservada para dos, en nombre de
Blake,’ Quinn spoke to the grey haired Spanish woman who greeted them at the door.

‘
Sí, por supuesto
,’ the lady replied.

She smiled at George and led them over to a table by the window with the most amazing view of the ocean.

You couldn’t fail to be impressed by the scenery; it was as perfect a beach scene depicted in any holiday brochure. And it was deserted. There wasn’t a soul on the sand, just the waves lapping at the shore and the cloudless blue sky above.

Quinn ordered two lagers and reached across the table to hold George’s hands.

‘I can’t believe we’re sat here – together. Without having to worry,’ he spoke, exhaling as if he had been holding his breath in forever.

‘I can’t believe how well you speak Spanish. How long have you been able to do that?’ George asked, enjoying the feel of his hands in hers.

‘I have no idea,’ Quinn answered with a laugh.

‘But when did you start learning?’

‘I really don’t know,’ Quinn insisted. ‘I speak French too, like a native.’

‘That’s really impressive. I mean I can’t speak any languages. I never really studied hard enough and - well I just concentrated on catering really,’ George said.

‘You could always learn if you wanted. I could teach you,’ Quinn offered.

‘I wouldn’t know where to start,’ George insisted, taking a swig of her drink.

‘Try
“
Soy
George
”
,’ Quinn said.

‘
Soy
George,’ she repeated, flushing with embarrassment.

‘There you go,
estupendo
,’
Quinn said.

‘I’m not very educated,’ George admitted.

‘Education’s overrated. It’s all about life experience,’ Quinn told her.

‘I’ve had plenty of that,’ George said.

‘How’s your mom?’ Quinn wanted to know.

‘She’s doing OK.’

‘She going to be OK?’

‘No one knows yet. We’re waiting to see how the three ‘T’s go. Treatment, tests and time,’ George told him.

‘That must be hard.’

‘Yeah, but you know, she’s in the best place. So, tell me about this villa complex. It sounds huge,’ George spoke, changing the subject.

‘Yeah, it is. It’s basically like a town in itself. Your villa has a view of the sea. I made sure of it personally,’ Quinn informed.

‘Marisa’s jaw’s going to be dropping so far from her face she’s going to need help picking it up.’

‘So, shall we try the paella?’ Quinn suggested.

Neither of them had even glanced at the menu. It was enough just to be able to share some time together, to feel unrushed and not under pressure to squeeze a whole relationship into a half hour time slot.

‘Yes, good idea,’ George agreed.

‘
Paella para dos por favor
,’ Quinn called to the grey haired lady.

She nodded her approval and disappeared into the kitchen.

‘God, does she work here on her own?’ George asked.

‘No, I think her husband and son are in the kitchen for her to boss about,’ Quinn replied with a smile.

‘And that’s exactly as it should be,’ George told him.

Quinn smiled at her.

‘So what have you been doing?’ George enquired.

She had been throwing herself into tea dances and committee meeting refreshments, trying to avoid visiting her mother, desperate to stop thinking about an unavailable pop star. She wanted to know what it had been like for him and whether he had thought of her.

‘Since I left?’

George nodded.

‘Well I’ve been working on my new album, attending film premieres and club openings. To be honest I was glad to get over here. I really like it here, I feel at home, you know?’ Quinn remarked.

‘Why don’t you move out here?’ George asked.

‘I can’t. I need to be in the States. That’s where music central is,’ Quinn told her.

‘But these days people can work anywhere in the world. Music can be sent down the internet can’t it?’ George reminded him.

‘It isn’t as simple as that,’ Quinn told her.

‘It seems nothing’s simple in your crazy world.’

‘You’re catching on.’

‘But you must love what you do to keep on doing it.’

‘Music’s all I know. I’m good at it. I love walking out onto a stage and making people feel something. Sometimes I see people laughing and singing along. Other times they’re crying and holding hands with the person next to them. No two nights are the same and I feel honoured to be in that position. I’m
so lucky in so many ways but...
’ Quinn spoke, sitting forward in his seat and looking at George.

‘But what?’

‘I don’t know - sometimes I just feel so trapped,’ Quinn admitted with a heavy sigh.

The conversation was broken by the restaurant owner bringing a huge black iron pan to the table. The smell escaping from the steaming dish of paella was exquisite and George’s stomach rumbled in anticipation of tasting it.

‘
¡muchas gracias!’
Quinn said as the lady put down plates and cutlery.

‘This looks amazing, but it’s so big!’ George exclaimed as she looked at the size of the pan.

‘Don’t worry about that. You’ve only seen me eat canapés and fries. I could probably eat this entire pan on my own,’ Quinn informed her.

‘Well I’m not having that. Ladies first,’ George said, picking up a fork.

The paella was the best George had tasted. Everything had obviously originated locally because you could taste the absolute freshness of it all. The prawns were huge, the rice was cooked to perfection and now she felt completely stuffed. Quinn, however, was still eating and the pan was almost empty.

‘Where do you put it all? If I eat anything else, I think I’m going to explode,’ George said, watching him finish the meal.

‘Running,’ Quinn informed.

‘You run?’

‘Yeah, only about five miles a day. Outdoors if I can, on the treadmill if I have to. Running’s great here, there’s so much to see, so many hidden tracks,’ Quinn said.

George let out a contented sigh and took a swig of her beer. She hadn’t felt so relaxed in a long time. It was like he had appeared in her life again and taken away all her anxiety. That was pretty unbelievable, given the complexity of their situation.

‘I want to show you some of it, while you’re here. We can go up into the mountains and
...
’ Quinn began.

Before he could finish the sentence, his mobile phone began to ring and he got it out of the pocket of his trousers and answered.

‘Yeah? Yeah, I’m kind of busy right now - yeah I’m in town. Look, I’ll see you a bit later - yes, I know what time the tailor’s coming, I’ll be there.’

George tried to concentrate on the scene outside and not on the phone call that was obviously from Taylor. She gazed out at the ocean, remembering one time the Frasers had gone to the beach as a family. Adam had been a toddler then and had got sand in every orifice and tried to eat the seaweed. Her mother had almost had a heart attack about that. She took him to the doctors when they’d got home, in case he had come in contact with any excrement.

‘Sorry about that,’ Quinn said.

‘Taylor?’ George guessed.

‘Yeah, about the tailor,’ Quinn replied.

‘That’s almost funny,’ George answered.

‘Yeah, almost,’ Quinn said, finishing his beer and looking sadly out of the window.

George took hold of his hands.

‘Thank you for lunch,’ she said sincerely.

‘
De nada.
You’re welcome,’ he replied, squeezing her hands tightly in his.

‘I guess we’d better get back,’ she said, looking at her watch.

‘Is that what you want to do?’

‘It’s what we should do,’ George spoke with a sigh.

‘That wasn’t what I asked.’

‘The sensible half of me says we ought to show our faces before anyone puts two and two together
..
.’

‘And the other half?’

‘Says, make the most of every moment before it’s too late,’ George responded her eyes meeting his.

‘
Ese es el medio que usted debería escuchar, eres tan hermosa que me hace débil
,’ Quinn spoke softly, taking her hand.

‘What does that mean?’ George questioned.

‘He say, that is the half you should listen to. He say, you are so beautiful, you make him feel weak,’ the grey haired Spanish lady spoke as she arrived with the bill.

George looked at Quinn, her cheeks flushing at the old lady’s words.

‘How do you say “
I wish I could stay here forev
er”
?’ George asked her.

‘
Me gustaría poder quedarme aquí para siempre
,’ the lady spoke as slowly as she was able.

‘What she said,’ George said not attempting the Spanish.

‘
Yo también
,’ Quinn replied.

‘He say
“
me too
”
,’ the lady told her with a smile.

Twenty Three

‘So, here we are,’ Quinn spoke as he pulled over a few hundred yards from the entrance to La Manga Resort.

The complex had giant golf balls sat on a tee at either side of the huge gates. There were beautiful looking villas, stretching as far as the eye could see, but the exterior was surrounded by a ten foot high fence. It looked more like a huge gated community, rather than a relaxing holiday complex. There were also four minibuses and at least twenty photographers stationed at the entrance.

‘It’s big,’ George remarked.

‘Hideous is the word you’re looking for,’ Quinn told her.

‘Don’t you like it? But I thought
..
.’

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, the villas are incredible but it’s like a town in itself. I’m talking every shop you can imagine, from souvenirs to sound systems. There are bars and restaurants and of course the golf. You could actually come here and not set foot out of the complex,’ Quinn explained.

‘Not authentic Spain then,’ George replied.

‘No. Authentic Spain is what we just left behind at the restaurant,’ Quinn told her.

‘So why buy a villa here?’ George wanted to know.

‘Not my idea,’ Quinn said.

‘Roger?’ George guessed.

‘You’re getting it,’ Quinn replied. ‘OK, this is where I get out. See those paps over there? They see me and they’ll be over here before you can say
“
buenos dias
”
.’

‘What? Well what do I do? Where do I go? This place is massive, I
...
’ George exclaimed.