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the garden. ‘I can’t do the old stuff any more, David. I’ve moved on. I’m just not interested. I couldn’t …’ He lost momentum and trailed off. ‘What does Mel want – an album?’
    David moved across to a deep leather chair and sat down. ‘I think so.’
    ‘What – Amazon Ten Years On?’
    ‘An album was one idea.’
    Nick threw him a sharp glance. ‘What was the other?’
    David looked pained that he should even have to speak the word. ‘A tour.’
    ‘You’re kidding? You are, aren’t you?’ Reading David’s expression, he gasped: ‘You’re not. God. I never thought I’d hear that coming from Mel. Of all people.’ He gave an incredulous laugh. ‘I thought that was the one thing we were all agreed on. No more tours. What’s made him change his mind, for heaven’s sake?’
    ‘I honestly don’t know. You’ll have to ask him yourself.’
    Nick frowned for a moment then left the window and flopped into the chair opposite, stretching his long legs across the carpet.
    ‘Kids don’t want to see middle-aged trendies,’ he argued. ‘What’s Mel – forty-eight? I’m almost forty-seven. That’s as good as a hundred to them. They don’t want to watch wrinkles and bulging tums and grey hairs peeking through gold medallions. Hell, they’ve got fathers of our age on their second coronary bypass.’
    David knew the argument wasn’t really about age or restarting Amazon or a shortage of the right material. It was all about touring being agony for Nick, who was too private a person to find the hysteria and clamour of the circuit anything but ridiculous.
    ‘The Stones’ US tour was a sell-out,’ David ventured.
    ‘They’re different.’
    ‘The Who, the – ’
    ‘Okay, okay. But turning back the clock? Trying to act twenty. Worse – trying to look it. They’d have a hell of a job tarting up my mug anyway.’ Laughing, he rubbed a hand mercilessly over his face.
    ‘You look fine,’ David said, and meant it. Nick had never been good-looking – that accolade, such as it was, had always gone to Mel – but he was a striking man, with his broad strong features, sandy hair and pale eyes, made remarkable by having one of the most lived-in faces David had ever seen.
    ‘It makes my blood run cold,’ Nick added reflectively, ‘to think of being sprayed into leather jeans and having my hair tangled each morning …’
    David said: ‘That’s the biz though, isn’t it?’
    ‘I suppose so,’ he agreed heavily.
    ‘You’ll have to talk to Mel.’
    Nick gave a sigh of resignation or perhaps weariness. David didn’t envy him the chat with Mel. Although Amazon had disbanded amicably, both Mel and Joe had regretted opting out. While Nick’s solo career had rocketed, their attempts to go it alone had been less than successful. Which didn’t come as any surprise to David, who’d never had any doubts as to who was the lynchpin of the group. Without Amazon, Mel and Joe were nothing, because they were nothing without Nick. Everyone knew it. ‘It’s not as if we needed the money,’ Nick said almost to himself. He turned suddenly. ‘We don’t, do we?’
    David shrugged. In his book one always needed more money because money was the only reliable measure of success. ‘No one needs the bread,’ he conceded. ‘Except perhaps Joe, but then I warned him about getting married in California.’
    ‘Is it the live gigs then? I mean, is that what Mel’s hankering after?’
    David was careful to make a non-committal face, but Nick wasn’t fooled.
    ‘You know, don’t you?’ he accused gently. Suspicion darted into his face. ‘What is it – a woman?’
    David went through a last gesture of reticence, then gave a slow nod. ‘She’s eighteen.’
    Nick rolled his eyes. ‘Dear Lord. What is he thinking of? No’ – he held up a hand – ‘don’t answer that!’ He pushed his head hard against the back of the chair, his eyes screwed up against some non-existent glare. ‘It’s no