Morning Song Page 10

In his face was nothing but confusion. ‘What do you mean? I told you—’

  Lauren shook her head, withdrawing her hand and cupping both her elbows to stop a shiver which was the result of draining passion and sudden nervousness. Her voice was more curt than she had intended as she interrupted, ‘I know what you said. Pretty words. I want to know the real reason. What kind of game are you playing?’

  In his eyes she was surprised to find disappointment, and something that suspiciously resembled hurt. He let his hand drop back to his side, ‘No game,’ he answered simply, honestly. ‘I just thought ... hell, I don’t know what I thought.’ His voice sounded tired. ‘That we could be friends, maybe. That we could know each other better, at least.’

  Oh, there were dozens of witty retorts she could have made, such as the physical limitations of simple ‘friendship’ and how far he was willing to go to ‘know her better’, but she sensed strongly that this was not the time for them, and she felt no urge to be flippant. She simply looked at him, searching his face anxiously, and she insisted, ‘But why? Why the sudden change? It doesn’t make sense, you know it doesn’t. Can you blame me for wondering?’

  His features relaxed into a vague, rather sad half-smile. ‘No,’ he admitted, ‘I don’t suppose I can blame you, but does everything have to make sense?’ And then he hesitated, for her eyes told him that answer was not good enough. In his eyes in the next few moments she saw thoughtfulness, frustration, helplessness, and, finally, a rueful smile as he said, ‘Maybe that’s one reason. Because you’re always asking me questions I can’t answer.’

  He took a few steps away from her, and Lauren thought the subject was closed, that now they would walk silently back to the house with everything unsettled between them and she would be left in a state of turmoil. Shane reached up and absently broke a twig off a branch of the tree; he held it in his hand a moment before tossing it away. And then he said, without looking at her, ‘I know when we first met I acted like—well, like everything you called me. And it’s true I didn’t like you; you made me furious and there were all kinds of good reasons why I acted the way I did—and none of them really matter now. You see ...’ He turned, and the expression on his face was cautious, as though he were entrusting her with a confidence yet was afraid of revealing too much. ‘For the past few years I’ve led a very—protected life. I know it sounds stupid, but that’s the way I chose to arrange things. I have a few good friends who stay my friends by playing by my rules and running interference for me when strangers start getting too personal—of too curious. So when you came bursting on the scene with your impertinent questions and outrageous demands, you caught me completely off guard. I overreacted.’ He dropped his eyes briefly. ‘I—do that sometimes, no excuses.’ He released a short breath. ‘I don’t know.’

  She thought he would leave it with that very ineloquent finish, and without ever having really answered her question. But then he looked at her again and went on, ‘What happened?’ A small, dry smile tightened one corner of his lips. ‘You got to me, I guess, eventually. Believe it or not, I don’t really enjoy acting like an ass, and some of the things you said ... well, they hurt,’ he admitted bluntly. ‘And then I took another look at you and, Lauren, I saw so much of myself there ... it made a difference. Can you understand any of what I’m saying?’

  She nodded, slowly, but in truth, though some of her questions had been answered, just as many new ones had opened up. What did he mean about seeing himself in her? What could they possibly have in common besides the fact that she loved his music and he resented any mention of it? And why did he feel it necessary to protect himself from strangers and ex-fans ... was there really any reason good enough to justify the way he had acted the day he had discovered her playing his record? But she could see what this simple confession and apology had cost him, and she was not about to press for details. She would accept it because that was all he was offering, and be glad that he had given her that much.

  ‘Look,’ he said with another brief, frustrated sigh, ‘I’m not promising I’ll behave any better in the future, or—well, I’m not promising anything. But I don’t want you to think I’ve been using you, or that I’ve been anything less than honest about my reasons for wanting to make peace. Fair enough?’

  Lauren managed a smile that was almost natural as she came towards him, hands in pockets, and agreed, ‘Fair enough.’

  His eyes crinkled in a smile of welcome and relief as he slipped his arm about her waist and they started down the hill. After all, what more could she ask? It was a dream come true, just the chance to know him ... and she did want to know him, all of him. There were yet so many questions unanswered, so many things about him she needed to understand, and the need to know was stronger than ever.

  And then, midway down the hill, Shane commented casually, ‘Notice anything different?’

  She looked at him in confusion. ‘About what?’

  He replied negligently, without looking at her, ‘You’re forgetting to limp.’

  She stopped, looked at him, and then, incredulously, at her own legs. Then she burst into astonished laughter, for, of course, he was perfectly right.

  His eyes twinkled as he looked down at her. ‘What do you think about my programme of self-improvement now?’

  She laughed again, now in pure delight, and impulsively threw her arms about his neck. He responded with a happy laugh of his own and an embrace which was sure and strong—but much too brief. Then they made their way back to the house at a bright, easy pace.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Breakfast was the beginning of a chaotic day—and, in fact, it was only a preview of a hectic week. Confusion was inevitable with seven people under one roof, but when five of those people were musicians and three of them performing artists utter pandemonium was the result. For the first time, Marie actually needed her help with the housework and the meals, and Lauren enjoyed feeling useful. She also enjoyed the high-spirited atmosphere that pervaded the house, the juvenile antics of their house guests which were common among people who worked hard and relaxed frantically—the incredible stories, the unexpected lapses into song and improvisation, the music that pounded through the house far into the night.

  She and Shane were rarely alone again during that week, and even when they were there was no hint of a repetition of their last encounter together. When Lauren was not busy with Marie preparing three meals a day for seven or shopping or dusting or vacuuming, Shane was busy in the music room or involved in a conversation with one or more of their guests. Their morning walks remained a routine, but very often they were accompanied by Angel or the two men, and even when they were alone Shane seemed preoccupied and ill at ease. Lauren suspected that for some reason the visit of these old friends of his had made him nervous.

  It was true that the band members did not always join them on their morning walks, but Shane was always polite enough to extend the invitation. There had been a particularly late jam session the night before which Lauren had heard through her closed bedroom door, and Angel was still asleep. Chris and Chuck had apparently over-indulged on something more potent than hard rock, for they lingered over the breakfast table drinking coffee through exaggerated groans and grimaces and looking generally miserable. Shane seemed to enjoy taunting them with his energy and early-morning cheer.

  ‘I’ll tell you, man,’ Chris muttered at last, squinting at him through bloodshot eyes, ‘this back-to-nature trip may be just the thing for you, but it’s about to kill me. What kind of weirdo could actually enjoy walking at this hour of the morning?’

  ‘What’s killing you has nothing to do with nature,’ Shane retorted good-naturedly.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ responded Chuck thickly behind a yawn. ‘We need to mend our wicked ways.’ And then he focused on Shane. ‘Tell me something, man, when’re you going to slide on down into all this sin and depravity with us where you belong? Whatever happened to you, anyway?’

  Lauren sensed a very slight change come over Shane
; he almost seemed uncomfortable. She had noticed that attitude often when he was in the company of the two men, he sometimes seemed nervous and ill at ease, and he always very carefully kept the topics of conversation on neutral ground. He did not mind discussing with them the technicalities of music and production, but whenever the conversation turned to the creative end of the business he always dropped out. Lauren knew he had been trying to avoid just such a personal question.

  He dropped his eyes to his own coffee cup as he replied with a forced lightness, ‘I like it just fine where I am.’

  Chris made a derogatory sound. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me! You like being a nobody? You like spending half your time in this godforsaken backwater watching the grass grow? I mean, it’s nice for a vacation but, man, on the road is where it’s at! What’re you trying to pull?’

  Shane lifted his eyes, but it was to Lauren and not the two men that he looked. In his eyes she saw the same sense of bleakness and isolation she herself had experienced so many times since her injury. Lauren herself had wanted to ask the same questions that Chris and Chuck were putting to him now, but not, perhaps, for the same reasons. She could relate to the frustration and loneliness Shane was now feeling even if she did not understand the reasons for it, because she had been there herself. Chuck and Chris, music people themselves, should have been expected to at least know some sympathy for Shane’s position, to know what he had lost and to realise how sensitive a subject it had become. But no one at the table at that moment seemed to know what Shane was feeling except Lauren.

  He looked at Chris, and then at Chuck, and he said softly, ‘You guys just don’t understand, do you? You’re so wrapped up in the good times, in being on top and playing it for all it’s worth, that you just ... don’t understand.’

  There was just a moment of silence, and Chris and Chuck were the ones who now looked confused and out of place. Then Shane reached for Lauren’s hand, and smiled. ‘Come on, Lauren, let’s leave these two to their hangovers and get some fresh air.’

  And for that brief moment as he wrapped his hand about hers Lauren felt a sort of silent communication with him, a sharing they had never experienced before. She knew how he felt.

  But the episode started curiosity working within her anew. How difficult it must be for him to work so closely with music all day and not succumb to the urge to make his own. What adjustments had he had to make in order to take a back seat in a world that had once belonged to him? Weren’t there volumes of music of his own stacked away somewhere, unsung, unrecorded, waiting for him to wake up and start living again?

  One night as she helped Marie with the dinner dishes, she asked her about it.

  ‘I don’t believe Shane has written anything since his last album,’ Marie answered rather vaguely, rinsing glasses before she placed them in the dishwasher.

  ‘Is it,’ asked Lauren hesitantly, ‘because of his wife’s death?’ It was still hard for her to think of Shane as having ever been married; it was harder still to admit to herself the possibility that all his inspiration had come from the woman he loved—and that, once that inspiration was gone, so was his music. Whenever she thought of his past she experienced a vague sort of hurt, because there were so many things tying him to a part of his life she could never share, and perhaps the strongest of these was a woman she had never known, and with whom she could not compete.

  Marie responded cautiously, not looking at her, ‘I imagine that’s part of it.’

  ‘What was she like?’ asked Lauren cautiously. Perhaps if she could understand the woman who had once played such an important part in his life, she would somehow be able to better understand the man.

  But Marie only answered, ‘We never knew her. Why don’t you ask Shane?’

  Lauren gave an exaggerated pretence of horror. ‘And get my head snapped off? No, thanks!’

  Marie laughed, sponging off the counter tops. ‘You wouldn’t be the first. The damage is rarely permanent. Besides,’ she added obscurely, ‘I think he’s past the snapping stage with you, now.’

  Lauren glanced at her quickly, but Marie’s face remained impassive. She wondered what changes, exactly, Marie had observed in their relationship, but she only commented, ‘I don’t know, it’s hard to tell with him. You never know when he’s going to turn on you.’

  ‘Well, I can tell you this,’ Marie answered. ‘If you want anything from Shane, you have to push him for it. He’s too insecure to volunteer information otherwise.’

  Now Lauren stared at her. ‘Insecure?’

  But Marie chose not to elaborate. Instead, as she loosened the ties which held back the cafe curtains over the sink, she enquired, ‘How are you two getting along, anyway?’

  Lauren shrugged, thinking about that one moment of blinding sensuality in one another’s arms upon a foggy hillside, and then trying not to think about it. It had meant nothing. A fantasy come to life for Lauren, an impulse satisfied for him. For in the past week, nothing—not a word, not a glance, not a touch—had in any way indicated to her that he even recalled the episode, much less that he had spent as many sleepless nights as she had, dreaming about it. ‘We get along okay, I guess,’ she answered. ‘We seem to manage that just fine when we don’t talk.’

  Marie turned to look at her, untying the apron she had used for kitchen work, and suggested, ‘I thought there might be something a little more serious going on.’

  Lauren gave a startled laugh. ‘What could be going on between Shane Holt and—and me?” The emphasis she put on the last word expressed more than she really meant to reveal about her feelings regarding the situation. Shane Holt was a superstar, and she was a nothing, and she was still, regrettably, suffering from a mild case of hero-worship.

  ‘Lauren, that’s ridiculous!’ exclaimed Marie with a touch of asperity. ‘Haven’t you realised yet that Shane is every bit as human as you are—and in some ways, even more vulnerable? I thought surely as soon as you met him

  ‘That’s easy for you to say,’ replied Lauren uncomfortably, turning to centre the vase of poppies on the breakfast nook, ‘you’ve known him for ever. And anyway,’ she changed the subject quickly, ‘the only thing I’ve ever wanted to know about him was his music, and he guards any mention of that like a state secret.’ She knew that she was not being entirely truthful, but it was as much as she was willing to confide in Marie about her feelings for Shane right now. She looked at her, feeling more at ease now that the topic had moved on to more neutral ground. ‘I can’t help being curious, just like anyone else—and feeling that it’s such a waste, the way he just left his music. But he won’t talk to me about it.’

  Marie’s smile was sympathetic and understanding. ‘Don’t take it personally. You’re not the only one who’s concerned about Shane’s career, and you’re not the only one who’s, as you put it, had their head snapped off when trying to help.’ She slipped her arm about Lauren’s waist as they started slowly through the dimly lit dining room and back towards the main part of the house. Her voice was lowered in confidence and concern as she went on, ‘I’ll tell you a secret. Shane is not a very good producer—no, I didn’t mean to say that. In a business as competitive as this, I suppose he is good—but he’ll never be great, you know what I mean? At best, all he can ever be is a shadow of Van, and I say that without any conceit, because he knows it as well as we do. Van has guided him along in the business, but Shane’s heart isn’t really in it. He’s technically qualified, of course, but it takes so much more than knowing how to be really great at anything.’ Her voice was sad as she added, ‘Shane has that something else for composing... or at least he had. And I think the worst part is, he knows he’ll never be anything but a second-rate producer, but he’s content to settle for that.’ She dropped her arm from about Lauren’s waist and turned to extinguish the dining room light, then, as they stepped into the hallway, she looked at Lauren with a strange, gently encouraging smile. ‘All of us who love Shane are trying to help him,’ she told her quietly, ‘but
I think you have the best chance—if you would only go for it.’

  And then, before Lauren could question or protest, she turned towards the sound of a sudden burst of laughter and the interminable video bleeps from down the hall and said brightly, ‘Sounds like everyone’s in the games room. Are you coming?’

  But Lauren hung back, needing the time alone to sort out the new impressions and bits of half-information she had gained about Shane in the past half hour. ‘In a minute,’ she told Marie with a smile, and as Marie turned towards the games room, Lauren went in the opposite direction, towards the music room.

  For once, it was deserted. She did not really know why she had come here, except that she always felt closer to Shane in this room. She wanted, more than anything at that moment, to close the door, put on one of his albums, and let him tell her with his music what he could not—or would not—with words. She even put her hand on one of the records, but then determinedly pushed the temptation away. She would not risk another scene like the last one ... not yet.

  There was an arrangement on the piano, and Lauren picked it up idly. She could read music well enough to tell it was something for Angel’s band. The beat was fast rock, but the harmony was interesting, and she would have liked to have picked out the melody line, but the musical notation completely baffled her. She started to replace the music where she had found it, and Shane said behind her, ‘Why don’t you try it out?’

  She turned, laughing a little to hide her surprise—and her nervousness, because she suddenly felt she didn’t belong here. ‘Are you kidding?’ she responded and gestured around her towards the labyrinth of instruments and equipment. ‘The only thing I recognise in here is the piano!’

  He agreed, coming into the room. ‘These days you don’t need a degree in music to be a musician, but a degree in electronics.’ He stood beside her near the piano, and smiled as he reached up and touched her hair. ‘Do you realise this is the first time we’ve been alone all week?’