Cha
p
ter 39
The applause was deafening as Nico moved into the last
number
of the evening, the finale to a
two-hour concert which had
electrified a wildly enthusiastic audience.
Blue-white spotlights
arced gracefully across
the stage, panning out every thirty
seconds
or so over the crowds, now all standing, who had danced
their way
through the evening.
Roz, in the second row, smoothed her
tan suede skirt over her hips and touched the breast pocket of her cream jacket
to check that the mini tape recorder was still there. In the other
pocket were her notepad and fountain
pen. She didn’t really
need anything; her excellent memory could cope with any facts
or figures she might learn, but she was able to
acknowledge to
herself now that they weren’t
the real reason for her presence here tonight. Officially, she would be
interviewing Nico after
the concert and assessing the feasibility of a
ninety-minute TV
documentary to be made,
charting a week in the life of a rock
star.
Unofficially, she was simply
determined to get him back.
Into her
bed and into her life.
Hopefully, she thought with a secret
smile, both projects
would be
successful.
Never having watched Nico singing
live in concert before,
she paid close attention now, admiring the skilful way he was
able to keep the audience enthralled.
Every single person
there this evening had
been totally won over by the brilliant
production, the magical lighting system, the professionalism
of the backing musicians and, most of all, by the
way Nico
talked to his audience,
joked with his musicians and pro
jected
his charismatic personality throughout the auditorium.
Blond hair gleaming, green eyes flashing, he moved
around
the vast stage with an athlete’s grace, his tanned skin
glistening
with perspiration and his
beautiful voice caressing every
woman personally. In his plain white
shirt and white Levis, he
held the audience
in his gentle grasp, teasing them, swaying
in time with the beat and casting sensual glances in the
direction
of the front row. In that sea of faces, each one was
convinced that he was directing those sultry looks at them
alone.
The
audience screamed with delight.
The concert
was a dazzling success.
Roz eased her way through the side
door as milling crowds
yelled for an encore. Since they were pretty certain of getting
one it was relatively easy for her to
explain to the security
guards who
she was, to show them her passcard and be escorted to Nico’s dressing-room
without getting crushed in the process.
After the intense heat of the concert
hall, and the clamour
of a
thousand different perfumes jostling for attention, the air-
conditioned coolness of Nico’s room was blissful.
Pushing up the sleeves of her jacket and rapidly checking her appearance
in
the mirror above the make-up table — now littered with
half-empty lager cans, a Walkman, two toothbrushes and a
copy of last week’s
Sporting Life —
Roz
perched on the edge
and took a sip
from one of the cans of lager. Her pulse was
racing, her knees were like jelly, and she realized that she
hadn’t
experienced such a buzz of anticipation for years. It was almost like being
sixteen again.
Ducking her head once more in order to
glance at her
reflection
in the mirror she reassured herself that she was
looking good. Modesty aside, very good . . . This time
Nico wouldn’t be able to resist her.
On the last occasion, when she had gone to his house with
Nicolette in her arms, she had been in a position
of weakness.
That had been so alien to
her character that she hadn’t been
able to pull it off.
But a fortnight ago Sebastian had phoned her, his call as
always
coming out of the blue, and had
informed her that he was
coming over for a long weekend. No business
meetings, no conferences to attend; he was simply going to spend three whole
days relaxing with Roz at the cottage.
And it had been a blissful three
days. Her toes still curled at
the memory of their lovemaking. When Sebastian decided to
relax he did so with as much dedication as he afforded his
high-powered business in Zurich. They had eaten wonderful meals, drunk glorious
wines, lazed in each other’s arms, talked almost
non-stop and indulged in the most delicious sex, blocking out
the outside world completely and revelling
selfishly only in
each other.
Sebastian was the biggest ego-boost of all time and his
visits to Roz seemed to be all the more precious because they were so limited.
And now, she thought with renewed
confidence, examining
her
manicured fingernails and drumming them experimentally against the
formica-topped dressing-table, now she was strong
again. Which was how Nico liked her. So there would be no
more
begging or pleading, she reminded herself as she lifted her spiky, dark head
and smiled at her reflection. This time she was going to get what she wanted.
And preferably, this time, for good.
As the dressing-room door was kicked
unceremoniously
open, Roz slid down
from the ledge upon which she had been
perched.
Monty Barton, sweating and joyful, burst into the
room with one of the backing singers plastered
against his
plump side.
He was beaming like a Cheshire cat,
delighted that the
concert had gone so
well. Roz had caused her share of problems
in
the past – he had been fending off the Press for weeks over
that controversial pregnancy of hers – but that
was in the past
now. He felt sorry for her, losing the baby so
tragically, and she was, after all, a damn good TV presenter.
‘
Roz, it’s great to see
you!’ he bellowed, as the rest of the
band poured into the room behind
him. Suddenly the place was heaving with stage crew, lighting and sound
technicians, singers and musicians. Everyone was there except Nico.
And then suddenly he was there too,
and Roz caught her
breath.
On stage he had been brilliant. Close up he was even
more spectacular. She watched,
unnoticed, as the two girl singers
hugged and
kissed him with the abandonment of post-concert euphoria. Champagne corks
popped, flying through the air, and the noise level soared.
Without moving a muscle, she waited for him to notice her.
Not even Nico at this moment had as much adrenalin pumping through his body as
she did.
When their eyes at last met it seemed
to Roz that the room
had suddenly gone quiet. Her gaze fixed, she watched him
move slowly towards her past Paddy the guitarist and the
blond backing singer, his expression as inscrutable as ever. At the last
moment, she
allowed her mouth to relax into a faint smile. ‘Hi, Nico. You’re looking good.’
And almost as if she had willed it,
the old glitter of interest
was there
in his narrowed green eyes once more.
‘
I didn’t think you’d be
here so soon.’ He had known, of
course, about the interview. It was when
he had agreed to it that Roz had had her first inkling that their stormy
relationship could be on the turn.
‘Oh, I was watching you. Second row, right at the side,’ she
said, gazing now at his mouth. ‘I didn’t want to miss a thing.’
He nodded at the crowded room.
"They’ll be going strong
for hours. Do you want to stay or shall we go somewhere quiet
to talk? The limo’s outside.’
Roz, joyfully back in command again,
realizing that she knew all she needed to know, automatically dropped into a
lower gear. The sweet rush of adrenalin slowed to a steady
stream. Nico wanted her and she was back in control.
‘
Oh, this is fun. Let’s
stay,’ she said in a low voice, and
registered
the flicker of uncertainty in Nico’s eyes. It wasn’t
what he had expected her to say, which was what
made the
situation so absolutely perfect.
‘Right,’ he said, his manner deliberately off-hand. ‘Can I
get you a drink?’
Roz smiled again. ‘That would be nice.
And then I’d like to
talk to the band. I need some quotes to take back with me.
Maybe you’d introduce me to that tall, rather gorgeous
drummer of yours . .
The drummer’s name was Shaun and he
was about as quotable
as Guy the
Gorilla, but Roz strung out their conversation for as long as possible,
savouring the buzz of anticipation. Briefly she spoke to the other members of
the band, explaining to them the
projected
format for the documentary. All the time she was aware
of Nico watching her across the smoke-filled room.
The
sensation it induced was like an addictive drug and Roz, frantic
with lust inside, totally ignored him for over forty minutes.
When she eventually returned to his
side he was emptying
the remains of a bottle of indifferent champagne into a pint
glass. A cigarette drooped from the
corner of his exquisite
mouth and
his expression was less than sunny.
‘
Let’s go,’ she
murmured, removing the glass from his hand.
‘I don’t want to be here any
more.’
They slipped out without being noticed. About a hundred
teenage girls were still hanging around by the stage door, but
Nico’s driver, Ken, was an old hand. Spotting Nico,
he revved
the engine. The security
guards swiftly formed two lines and
Nico
and Roz ran between them, jumping into the back of the
car and slamming the door shut behind them.
Expertly nosing
his way through the
screaming crowds, Ken turned and winked
at Roz.
‘
Easy when you know
how. Where to, Nico?’ Normally he
said
‘Straight home?’ but then normally, he thought with a
chuckle, the boss didn’t have a bird with him. He
doubted
whether Mrs Coletto would
appreciate it if Nico turned up at the house with a girl as gorgeous as this
one on his arm. And
he’d only had a
quick glimpse of her, but wasn’t it Roz Vallender,
the one who had caused so much trouble with the
boss last
year?
‘
My hotel?’ said Roz
in an undertone designed to send shivers
down Nico’s spine. ‘I gave up the flat last year. Whenever I’m
in London now I stay at the King’s, off Shaftesbury
Avenue.
We’d be undisturbed there.’
Nico
thought of Caroline, waiting at the house for him. He
wasn’t late
home yet. He knew exactly what would happen if he went with Roz to her hotel.
It wasn’t too late to change his mind and instruct Ken to drop Roz off there
before taking him back home to his wife ..
‘
Fine. King’s Hotel,
off Shaftesbury Avenue,’ he told Ken,
then sat back and felt the great
weight of fidelity fall away from his chest like an avalanche.
Roz slid out of her jacket, tossed it over a grey velvet
armchair
and turned towards Nico, her dark
eyes glittering in the dim
apricot light.
He could smell the sweet, heavy scent
of her perfume – not
his
favourite, but always reminding him of Roz – and sense her need as strongly as
his own.
Why am I doing this, he wondered. And
with Roz of all
people?
Oh, but it was hard staying faithful to a wife one didn’t
love,
and somehow being unfaithful to her
with Roz, with whom he
had once
imagined he
was
in love, made it less terrible. It
would be worse
if it were someone new, surely?