Page 15 of Never Too Late
Later that afternoon, Johnny and Keith came down to the studio and they recorded a preliminary version of another new number. To Steph’s delight, the two men asked her to provide accompaniment on the keyboard and she set about trying out different dynamics as they created and refined the backing track. Although Keith occasionally interrupted and made suggestions, there was little sign of his reputed bossiness, which came as a relief. To her surprise, none of the music was written down and she was stunned to discover that Keith, who wrote most of the songs, had only the most rudimentary grasp of sheet music. Of course, she reminded herself, the Beatles, Elvis, Eric Clapton and numerous others had famously never been able to read a note.
As a result, it was very much a case of ‘you hum it and I’ll play it’ at first, but she soon got the hang of it and spent a happy hour jamming with them until they were satisfied they had come up with the right instrumental backing to the vocals. Ethan looked on, giving occasional commands as he recorded everything, all the while subjecting Steph to looks that somehow combined appreciation along with what could have been resentment. He wasn’t used to being upstaged by his recording engineer.
Still, even he had to agree that the end product after they had reworked, remixed and compressed the different layers was a song that was unmistakably vintage Royalty. All it needed now were some backing singers and a solid guitar performance from Ben, maybe with one of his famous solo riffs, to replace the generic bass track Ethan had been using for now. When they came to the end of the session and Keith and Johnny had gone off looking happy, Ethan pulled off his headphones and dropped them on the console in front of him. He ran his fingers through his hair and sat back, looking across at Steph, a peeved expression on his face.
‘Keep on like this and you’ll find yourself a member of Royalty.’ The resentment in his voice was more noticeable now. ‘You won’t need me any longer. I’ll have served my purpose.’
‘Served your purpose?’ She gave him a quizzical look.
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re trying to say that I’ve been using you merely as a stepping stone to help me achieve fame and fortune.’
‘Your words, not mine.’
She stood there and just stared at him in disbelief. He sounded as much a spoilt child as Denver complaining about his father’s Ferrari or his sister’s birthday present. ‘And presumably I only hooked up with you so as to take advantage of you?’ She could feel her indignation growing and was sure he must be able to hear it in her voice, so she made a conscious effort to control her already shredded emotions. ‘Well, thanks, Ethan. Thanks for making me feel so much better about us breaking up. Why on earth I got together with you in the first place is a mystery to me.’ With that, she turned and stormed out, resisting the temptation to slam the door behind her.
She wandered blindly down to the beach and kicked off her shoes. Although the sun was close to the horizon, the sand was still pleasantly warm, and she wandered aimlessly up and down the waterline, enjoying the feel of the sand between her toes, but barely aware of the beauty of the scene as the last remnants of a glowing red sun slowly sank below the horizon. Her head continued to spin. How Ethan could have the nerve to accuse her, after everything he had meant to her, of having used him for her own nefarious purposes like some femme fatale, was preposterous and bitterly wounding. How could he be so crass? She came close to crying for the first time that day, but she fought the temptation to sink into a pit of self-pity. Ethan, she told herself, was a jealous prat and that was that.
After a while she collected herself and went over to rest against what she was already thinking of as her boulder, her eyes staring out to sea. The sun was now little more than a minute curved strip barely visible above the horizon, sending an ever-narrowing beam of red light straight at her. She watched as her hands and legs turned crimson, then maroon until the light was extinguished and she was left in near darkness. Once again her thoughts turned to her father. She felt sure he would have been proud to know that she had been playing with such a legendary band, even if he had always claimed to have no time for modern music. He had died far too young and there was so much she wished she had said to him and never had. Her spirits sank even further and she struggled desperately to hold back the tears.
She sat there for another few minutes, the only sound the gentle sighing of the tiny waves against the sand and gradually began to consider the upside of what Ethan had said to her. Could it be that Keith and Johnny really might want her to join the group? They needed a replacement keyboard player – there was no doubt about that – but she was under no illusion that there were many thousands of keyboard players out there more talented than she would ever be. Still, she thought to herself with a burst of optimism, stranger things had happened.
She gradually became aware of the sound of a violin playing in the distance. The music coming from the cliff top to the left of her was muffled at first but then grew stronger, presumably as the violinist came outside into the evening air. She had no doubt who the musician was and she leant back and listened, enchanted, as he played a piece she instantly recognised as Massenet’s beautifulMéditation. As the slow, haunting notes lingered over the water of the little bay she closed her eyes and let her mind empty itself of everything but the beauty of the music and the unmistakable artistry of the performer. He had the gentlest of touches, and she felt the notes resonate inside her, and as they did so, they brought back even more poignant memories of her father. When the piece came to its plaintive conclusion, and she roused herself from her dreamlike state, it was to find her cheeks running with tears. She hadn’t been able to prevent herself from crying, but the experience had been cathartic and she felt somehow purged as a result.
She stayed there listening to a series of other pieces from him, culminating with Bach’s unmistakable Partita in E major, whose stirring rhythm finally shook her out of her trancelike state and made her aware that it was gone eight o’clock and she was expected for dinner with the family. With real regret she wiped her eyes, slipped her sandals back on and made her way up to the villa, stopping only for a moment at her room to splash some water on her face and check that she didn’t look too shell-shocked. The last thing she wanted was for Ethan to think that she had been crying over him.
Tonight’s dinner was a barbecue and she helped herself to one of Donatella’s homemade burgers and an ice-cold beer. The big table had been split into four smaller tables and she chose her seat strategically so as to be as far away from Ethan as possible, but seconds later realised her mistake as a familiar hand landed on her shoulder and gave it an unwelcome squeeze.
‘Mind if I sit next to you?’
It was Denver and her heart sank. After all her troubles with Ethan today, the last thing she wanted was to be propositioned by this man. Still, ever conscious that she was a guest in the Bailey’s house, she managed to produce a smile. ‘Help yourself.’
He pulled out a chair and sat down beside her and as he did so, Willow immediately positioned herself on the other side of the table directly opposite both of them, no doubt so as to keep a close eye on any interaction between her man and Steph. As their eyes momentarily made contact, Steph could almost feel the daggers shooting towards her from the other woman.
‘So what’ve you been doing today, Steph?’ Denver picked up his burger and buried his teeth in it. Opposite him, Willow didn’t appear to want to eat anything. From the look on her face, she was probably fuelled by hate.
It was an innocent enough question, so Steph told him. ‘I’ve been down to Lerici with Cesare. It’s a lovely little place, full of tourists and very busy, but still with a very Italian feel.’
‘I presume you know Italy well. You certainly speak the language fluently. I’ve heard you talking to Cesare and Donatella. Sounded good to me.’
‘I’ve had a lot of practice over the years. Do you speak it?’ As long as he was sticking to this sort of thing, she was happy to continue the conversation with him.
He shook his head and reached for his beer. After taking a sip he answered with another shake of the head. ‘I’m no good with languages. Willow is, though.’ He glanced across the table. ‘You speak Spanish like a native, don’t you?’
‘My mom’s originally from Mexico. I grew up speaking it.’ This was one of the first full sentences Steph had heard her utter and, deciding this was progress, she addressed Willow directly.
‘Sort of like me then. My dad was Italian. That’s why I speak it.’
If she had been hoping that this might mark some kind of thawing of their relationship, what Denver did next soon put paid to that. Setting down his burger, he reached across and before Steph could move out of the way, he had started stroking her arm. ‘Beautiful and talented. What more could a man ask for?’
Steph was quick to retrieve her arm and wipe away the smudges of ketchup his fingers had left on her skin. Resisting the temptation to get up and move, she smiled sweetly and took refuge in subterfuge. ‘Thank you. That’s what my future fiancé says.’
‘Your future fiancé?’ This at least provoked a verbal reaction from Willow. ‘You and Ethan…?’
‘That’s right. We had a little heart-to-heart earlier this evening.’
Willow and Denver didn’t need to know the content of that conversation, and, as long as this fictitious engagement helped to keep Denver at arm’s length and prevent his girlfriend from launching an all-out assault, Steph felt it was a worthwhile subterfuge. Thankfully, it appeared to work. That was the last time that Denver made any amorous advances, and as the evening progressed, they managed to carry on at least an attempt at conversation without Steph slapping him or Willow trying to stick a fork in her. The conversation led, almost inevitably, to music.
