Page 5 of Never Too Late
He nodded. ‘Yes, indeed, and she’s a lovely person. I’m sure you’ll like her.’
That sounded promising, but Steph wondered how they would get on with Keith Bailey himself. Certainly his reputation painted him as a mercurial character capable of acts of great kindness, but also of volcanic explosions of ill-temper. Hopefully the passage of the years and life in these gorgeous surroundings would have calmed him down, otherwise the next few weeks promised to be hard going.
She knew she needed to change out of her travelling clothes into something much lighter and, by the look of him, Ethan would probably benefit from a long cold shower to clear his head, so she glanced at her watch.
‘It’s three thirty now. Would it be all right if we come up to the villa at four?’
‘Perfect. I’ll tell Signora Faye.’
After he had left, Steph led Ethan into the first of the bedrooms and almost pushed him into the marble-clad bathroom. ‘You need to take a shower and change before we go up to the villa. Get on with it.’ She even turned on the water in the shower for him, resisting the temptation to turn the thermostat all the way to the blue extra cold setting, and left him to it.
Delaying a final decision on whether she felt like cohabiting with him, she used the next-door bathroom for her own shower. When she emerged and returned to the first room she was reassured to see Ethan buttoning himself into a clean shirt and jeans. His hair was still damp and he looked refreshed and she felt a little wave of relief. Slipping on a lightweight cotton dress she checked herself out in the mirror. She would do.
‘Have we got time to take a look at the studio, Steph?’ His voice also sounded more normal now.
She looked at her watch again before answering. ‘It’s five to four. If you’re ready, I’m ready, so, yes, we’ve got time for a quick look before going up to the villa.’
The studio was accessed through the door they had seen in the entrance lobby on the ground floor and a cursory glance confirmed what Ethan had been told on the phone. It was immaculate; an eclectic mix of vintage and ultra-modern equipment, but all of it unmistakably top of the range. She felt rising excitement and looked across at Ethan’s face, which reflected her own. He looked like the proverbial kid in a candy store as he ran his hands reverently over the console, microphones, speakers and other gear. When he returned his attention to her, she was delighted to see him looking and sounding more like a serious music producer once more.
‘This is the stuff of dreams. If we can’t produce a great album here, we don’t deserve to be in the business.’
‘Well, of course, the band members probably will have to have some hand in it…’
‘Band members? They don’t produce the goods, we do. I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again: I can turn a voice like a chainsaw into a thing of beauty if I need to. And with gear like this I’ve got all I need.’
Steph had always admired his self-confidence, which had proved time and time again to be well justified, but she thought she had better add a word of caution. ‘Well, just remember who you’re dealing with here. Royalty aren’t just any old band, so you treat them with respect. Right? You’re good at your job but so are they… or at least, they were.’
They climbed the stone steps to the car parking area and from there up yet more steps, this time flanked by a subtropical display of huge prickly cactus, date palms, banana plants and a host of succulents dispersed amid the rocky outcrops that thrust through the bone-dry soil. Lizards scrambled for cover as they passed by and a pair of brilliant blue dragonflies flitted along ahead of them. The steps led to a long sun terrace from where they had a panoramic view of the gulf. The villa itself was stunning and Steph paused to admire it, still barely able to believe that she had been transported into such luxury. It was so different from the flat where they lived in London that she felt like an alien, and she knew there was no way she could ever fit into a lifestyle like this. This only added to the feeling of apprehension that had been building inside her all day.
The villa was a long white building with a flat roof, and the front wall was a near unbroken expanse of glass. An arched veranda ran the length of the house providing shade and at the far end there was a swimming pool. Beside this, under a pergola covered in vines, was a group of people. Among them, instantly recognisable, was Keith Bailey. As he saw them, he leapt to his feet and came over to shake hands, first with Ethan and then with her. To Steph’s relief, there was a smile on his face and he looked welcoming.
‘Ethan, my man, it’s good to see you again. The last time I saw you, you were still working for that crook, Delbert. I’m glad you’ve gone out on your own since then.’
Steph remembered that Keith was quite a bit older than the other band members and he had always been the leader of the group on and off stage. Despite now being close to sixty, he appeared to have aged gracefully. His hair was still the same jet-black colour – suspiciously black – although now cut a lot shorter than before, just grazing his collar at the back. The diamonds in his earrings sparkled in the sunlight and he was smartly dressed in a polo shirt, white shorts and the regulation rock star dark glasses, although in fairness they might have been for the sun. He could have just stepped off the golf course; apart, maybe, from the earrings.
Steph was pleased to see Ethan looking and sounding polite and professional as he replied. ‘Hi, Keith. Leaving Delbert was the best thing I’ve ever done, and it’s great to see you, too.’ He then surprised Steph by introducing her without being prompted. ‘And this is my right-hand woman, Steph Zanin, who’s a wizard on the console. Steph, this guy doesn’t need any introduction, right?’
‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr Bailey.’ Steph shook hands with the great man and was rewarded with a welcoming smile.
‘Hi, Steph, and do call me Keith. Only police officers and judges call me Mr Bailey – or at least they used to. Come and let me introduce you to the rest of the gang. Faye, come say hi to our new arrivals.’
Steph gave a surreptitious sigh of relief. So far so good. No sign of the irascible Keith Bailey; at least not yet.
Faye, Keith’s wife, was a very attractive and stylish woman with remarkably blonde, almost silver hair. She was wearing a beautiful purple wrap over her swimming costume and as she stood up to shake hands and chat, Steph was impressed at how youthful she looked. From what she remembered reading, Faye had to be well into her fifties, but she had the skin of a twenty-year-old. Her age was confirmed in conversation a moment later when she told them that she and Keith would be celebrating their thirtieth wedding anniversary at the end of the week. She and her husband appeared relaxed and comfortable together as a couple, which was good to see. Steph congratulated them and was genuinely happy for her, secretly marvelling that a rock ’n’ roll marriage had lasted so successfully when so many tended to end up in tatters, not least when one of the partners in this marriage had a reputation as a tearaway.
Keith patted Steph’s arm and pointed to another man. ‘And I daresay you recognise this guy.’
The tall man wearing a white cheesecloth shirt, blue shorts and matching blue tinted sunglasses was the group’s drummer, Johnny Carter. She knew him to be in his fifties as well, but he was also still recognisably the same guy, with a mane of hair tied in a ponytail, although there were now a few hints of grey at his temples and his face was a bit more lined and creased. Alongside him was a mumsy-looking lady who was introduced as his wife, Tara. Steph took an immediate liking to her and they chatted for several minutes while Ethan and the two band members talked shop. Steph would dearly have liked to join in the technical discussion, but she bided her time for now.
Then Tara gave Steph a real shock. ‘Have you met Ben?’
Steph followed the direction of her eyes and spotted two figures lying on sunbeds further along under the shade of the vines. One was a red-haired woman and beside her was a man. Steph had to make a conscious effort not to look aghast as she realised that this was her teenage crush, Ben Smiley, the bass player and the baby of the group. Like the others, he had disappeared from circulation for almost a decade, but unlike the others, he hadn’t been looking after himself. She was confronted by the vision of a dishevelled man with an unruly mass of grey hair, wearing sweatpants and a faded Bruce Springsteen T-shirt. She knew him still to be barely fifty, but he looked sixty or even older. She had a hard job keeping the shock off her face as she went over to shake hands with him.
‘I’m delighted to meet you. I’m Steph. I’m the recording engineer.’
He didn’t stand up and just gave her a lazy wave of the hand. He looked zonked, although there might have been a hint of a smile beneath the dark glasses on his weary face.
‘Hi, Steph. Good to see you. You met my wife?’
