usefully spent. It's one thing less to think
about."
"But doesn't that leave you
open to misinterpretation?"
"Well, it might. But then
wouldn't you say that fiction sometimes has the edge on fact. More fun
like."
She was puzzled. Gadden was as
different from his enigmatic image as she could have imagined. "If you
really don't like doing interviews why did you ask me here tonight? I
understood I was being invited for a preliminary discussion."
He considered his answer.
"Because I like you," he smiled at last, and watched her carefully to
see how she would react.
"You don't know me."
He smiled. "Of course I know
you, Kate Merrimac. Everyone knows you. You're on TV."
She did hear him sing, albeit on
a recording. At six o'clock a couple of cleaners arrived and began moving through
the studio, picking up discarded scores and polystyrene cups; and though they
whispered quietly among themselves when one of them recognised her, and were
thrilled to be in his presence, they had to get on with their jobs.
Apologising for keeping them from
their work, he led her back into the control room. Only the young studio
assistant was still there, tidying away the night's work. "You couldn't
play us a couple of tracks before you go, could you, Peter?" he asked.
Mindful of the time, Kate began
to remonstrate, insisting that it was too late, until glancing at the assistant
it struck her that he actually wanted to play something.
"Sure, Jesse. What would you like?"
"What about..." Gadden
hesitated, considering, " Knights of
the Night .”
The studio assistant nodded and
disappeared into the adjacent machine room to line up the track.
He’s keen for me to hear this, Kate
thought. He'll want me to tell him I like it. But what if she didn't like it? Would
he know if she lied?
He read her thoughts. "Don't
worry, we won't mind if you think it's the most awful piece of caterwauling
you've ever heard and rush out of the door with your hands over your ears.
Isn't that right, Peter?"
The studio assistant re-entered the
control room. "But you won't. You'll love it." And, as Gadden passed
Kate a sheet of paper showing lyrics scribbled in capital letters, the young
man pressed the button for playback.
At first she thought the song was
just another monotonous dirge, with Jesse Gadden's reedy voice accompanied by an
acoustic guitar. But this time the words seemed more straightforward, what
sounded like a first person plea to a girl to go home with him. Finally it
began to build into a mantra: "Knights of the night, looking for the
light, Knights of the night, looking for the light", as electric
guitars began to rage against an orchestra.
Glancing into the studio at one
point, Kate was aware of Kerinova standing by a door watching. Then she was
gone.
As the record finished Kate turned
back to Gadden.
He stopped her before she could
speak. "Don't tell me. I don't want a review. I just wanted you to hear
it." Then, just as quickly, he relaxed again. “Besides that was just a
vocal guide.”
Now she astonished herself.
"Would it be all right if I heard another one?" she heard herself
say.
"You really want to hear
more?"
"If it isn't too late?"
He looked at the assistant.
"It's never too late, is it, Peter? What shall we play for her?"
But already the boy was setting
up another track.
It was the perfect English
September morning with London
rosy through a thin autumn veil of mist as the city came alive, and early-bird
drivers and the occasional cyclist headed to work.
Beside her in the limousine
Gadden was watching everything. They said little on the journey. As they’d left
the studio he’d suggested she go home with him to his house in Chelsea for some
breakfast. She’d declined the invitation. She had to go to work.
Now, after pulling off the
Fulham Road
and
manoeuvring around a one-way system, Stefano, the silent driver, drew the
Mercedes up outside her house.
“Well…it’s been a …fascinating
night…” she
about."
"But doesn't that leave you
open to misinterpretation?"
"Well, it might. But then
wouldn't you say that fiction sometimes has the edge on fact. More fun
like."
She was puzzled. Gadden was as
different from his enigmatic image as she could have imagined. "If you
really don't like doing interviews why did you ask me here tonight? I
understood I was being invited for a preliminary discussion."
He considered his answer.
"Because I like you," he smiled at last, and watched her carefully to
see how she would react.
"You don't know me."
He smiled. "Of course I know
you, Kate Merrimac. Everyone knows you. You're on TV."
She did hear him sing, albeit on
a recording. At six o'clock a couple of cleaners arrived and began moving through
the studio, picking up discarded scores and polystyrene cups; and though they
whispered quietly among themselves when one of them recognised her, and were
thrilled to be in his presence, they had to get on with their jobs.
Apologising for keeping them from
their work, he led her back into the control room. Only the young studio
assistant was still there, tidying away the night's work. "You couldn't
play us a couple of tracks before you go, could you, Peter?" he asked.
Mindful of the time, Kate began
to remonstrate, insisting that it was too late, until glancing at the assistant
it struck her that he actually wanted to play something.
"Sure, Jesse. What would you like?"
"What about..." Gadden
hesitated, considering, " Knights of
the Night .”
The studio assistant nodded and
disappeared into the adjacent machine room to line up the track.
He’s keen for me to hear this, Kate
thought. He'll want me to tell him I like it. But what if she didn't like it? Would
he know if she lied?
He read her thoughts. "Don't
worry, we won't mind if you think it's the most awful piece of caterwauling
you've ever heard and rush out of the door with your hands over your ears.
Isn't that right, Peter?"
The studio assistant re-entered the
control room. "But you won't. You'll love it." And, as Gadden passed
Kate a sheet of paper showing lyrics scribbled in capital letters, the young
man pressed the button for playback.
At first she thought the song was
just another monotonous dirge, with Jesse Gadden's reedy voice accompanied by an
acoustic guitar. But this time the words seemed more straightforward, what
sounded like a first person plea to a girl to go home with him. Finally it
began to build into a mantra: "Knights of the night, looking for the
light, Knights of the night, looking for the light", as electric
guitars began to rage against an orchestra.
Glancing into the studio at one
point, Kate was aware of Kerinova standing by a door watching. Then she was
gone.
As the record finished Kate turned
back to Gadden.
He stopped her before she could
speak. "Don't tell me. I don't want a review. I just wanted you to hear
it." Then, just as quickly, he relaxed again. “Besides that was just a
vocal guide.”
Now she astonished herself.
"Would it be all right if I heard another one?" she heard herself
say.
"You really want to hear
more?"
"If it isn't too late?"
He looked at the assistant.
"It's never too late, is it, Peter? What shall we play for her?"
But already the boy was setting
up another track.
It was the perfect English
September morning with London
rosy through a thin autumn veil of mist as the city came alive, and early-bird
drivers and the occasional cyclist headed to work.
Beside her in the limousine
Gadden was watching everything. They said little on the journey. As they’d left
the studio he’d suggested she go home with him to his house in Chelsea for some
breakfast. She’d declined the invitation. She had to go to work.
Now, after pulling off the
Fulham Road
and
manoeuvring around a one-way system, Stefano, the silent driver, drew the
Mercedes up outside her house.
“Well…it’s been a …fascinating
night…” she
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