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did you buy the instrument, Michael?” he asked.

      I nodded. “The lads at Rugeley did a fine job restoring it. It’s a good investment.”

      “But a mellotron? Those buggers are more trouble than they’re worth!”

      I shrugged. “They’re hot right now. Studios will pay a good buck to rent them, and besides, the things have always fascinated me.”

      “What are you talking about?” Regina asked.

      “Some silly instrument Quicksilver here came over to the UK to purchase.”

      “That’s the second time you’ve called Michael ‘Quicksilver’.”

      Angus raised an eyebrow at me. “Didn’t you tell her?”

      “Tell me what?”

      “Our Michael used to be a bloody great rock star. Called himself Michael Quicksilver.”

      “That was a long time ago,” I protested.

      “Why does that name ring a bell?” Regina said, half to herself.

      “Ever hear of a band called Neurotica?” Angus eyed me mischievously, knowing full well how uncomfortable I was becoming.

      “Yes!” Regina said. “I remember my older cousins playing their CDs all the time when I was about ten.” She turned to me excitedly. “You were in that band?”

      “Ah, yes, I was,” I answered neutrally.

      “He was the bloody band!” Angus roared. “Wrote all of their early hits!”

      “Angus, that’s not really true,” I protested. “Rolly co-wrote them with me.”

      “Bollocks! Those were your songs, and no one knows that better than me. I was there! You know ‘Don’t Push Me’? Our Michael wrote that. Neurotica’s biggest hit, too. Keeps him in mell-o-trons, it does!”

      “That is so cool!” Regina said excitedly, humming a few bars of the song. “I remember seeing a clip of your band playing ‘Don’t Push Me’ on Saturday Night Live.” She peered closely at me. “Yeah, you’re him. How come you didn’t say anything, Michael?”

      “He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Angus answered for me.

      “I left the band pretty early on,” I clarified.

      Regina seemed surprised. “But why?”

      Angus poured himself a larger drink than his previous ones. It was going to be one of those nights. “He doesn’t like talking about that, either.”

      “Can’t we just drop it?” I asked.

      “I don’t want to talk about it if it makes Michael uncomfortable,” Regina added.

      Angus eyed me. “Speaking of which, Rolly called yesterday.”

      My stomach tightened. “What did he want?”

      “To know if you’d changed your mind. Somehow he got wind you were in the UK .”

      “And I suppose he wanted you to talk me into it.”

      I could tell from Angus’s expression that was exactly what the lead singer and “guiding light” of my former band had asked him to do, same as always. Idiot! Just because I’d remained friends with our old road manager didn’t mean I harboured any good feelings for Rolly or wanted a thing to do with him.

      “There would be very good money in a reunion of Neurotica,” Angus stated.

      He’d reminded me of that before, too. Two days earlier, as a matter of fact, when I’d been through to see him—and to borrow his car for the trip down to Birmingham. It was supposed to have been an enjoyable little ride down and back. A chance to spend some time with me mum. Decompress a bit...

      “You can tell Rolly the answer is still, and will always be: when hell freezes over. That’s when it will bloody well happen! I’ve moved on.”

      Angus looked at me from under his bushy eyebrows for a long moment before asking softly, “Have you then, lad? You could at least talk to him.”

      “No. If he’s so hot to re-form the band, he can use what’s-his-name to play keyboards.”

      “Rolly and the others want you and only you. None of the replacements could ever hold a candle to what you brought to the band, and even they acknowledge that. Come on, don’t have such a stiff neck!”

      “No.”

      Regina, silently watching the rising heat between Angus and me, decided a change of subject was in order. “Tell me about your house, Angus,” she slid in effortlessly. “It looks as if it’s very old.”

      He took the bait (and another drink). “Nay, lass. It’s barely four hundred.”

      My old friend soon was off with his standard exposition on the history of the house, its outbuildings, the property, the immediate area, Argyll (“Don’t ever trust a Campbell, lassie!”) and would eventually get to an overview of all Scotland from the beginning of time if she showed the slightest enthusiasm.

      I stared out at the snow blowing onto the hillside below and a distant gleam of light from another lonely house on the opposite shore of Loch Striven.

      When would Rolly ever get the message?

      ***

      Some time after eight, Angus showed us to our rooms, since we were completely knackered. With amusement, I noticed he gave Regina (whom he’d taken to calling The Princess) the room I usually got—it being closest to the loo, a very cold excursion on a winter night in the unheated upstairs.

      Angus surprised me by producing a flannel nightgown for The Princess, probably a leftover from one of his failed attempts to form more than a passing acquaintance with a member of the fair sex.

      He seemed quite taken with her in his own way. Seen without a bulky coat buttoned up to her chin, Regina certainly merited a second glance. She seemed taller, probably because of her slenderness and long neck. And even though she had on the regulation clothing of the young set these days, designer jeans and sweatshirt, Regina did exude a certain, I don’t know, regalness, something which probably owed its origin to the way she was brought up. So, The Princess it was.

      She again thanked both of us for our kindness, and as Angus stomped off to his room, she told me in a low voice how fortunate it was that I’d happened along. “You’re kind of a knight in shining armour, you know, although reading between the lines from what was said tonight, you’ll probably find that embarrassing.” Leaning forward, she kissed my cheek. “Thank you, Michael.”

      Even though I’d missed a night, as usual sleep remained far away, and a half hour later, I was trying to decide if I wanted to read a bit, when someone knocked softly on my door.

      “Are you awake?” Regina whispered.

      “Yes,” I called out, clicking on the bedside light. “Come in.” When she’d slid in the door, I added, “You’ll excuse me for not getting out of bed but I’m, ah, not dressed at the moment.”

      An indefinable expression flitted across her face. “Sorry to have bothered you. After all you’ve done for me, it’s not fair to keep you awake, but...”

      “What is it?”

      She sat down on the chair by the door. “I guess it’s a delayed reaction to what happened. I mean, you can imagine what a rollercoaster this past week has been. Back in my bedroom, alone with my thoughts, it finally hit me what kind of danger I was in—am in. I know my father truly loves me. There’s no doubt of that. It’s just...it’s just...”

      I sat up a bit straighter. “It’s just that you haven’t yet accepted what you’ve found out about him.”

      She nodded her head, her big eyes staring at

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