FOLLOW YOUR HEART

Chapter 1 - Barmy as Hell

Camila closed her laptop, sniffing into her tissue. The tributes to Sir Gareth were beautiful, he had been loved by everyone it seemed. It was a shame that all those people saying all those nice things hadn't done so to his face when he was alive. He had been sad, and lonely, when she had first met him. She had been signed to his label in the UK in a reciprocal deal with her US record company and he liked to meet all the young artists. The few she knew who had met him had said he was weird and probably nuts so she was a little nervous about it. He had sent a car to her London hotel and it had driven her four hours into the countryside to his manor, known as Unger Hall. An older man wearing tails and a tartan waistcoat met her and took her inside, introducing himself as Talbot, Sir Gareth's man. What did that mean, to be someone's man? She found out in this case it meant he did everything for the old fellow, who was bound to a wheelchair and needed constant assistance. Talbot had a team of helpers including nurses, a physiotherapist, a cook and cleaners. It was like a modern Downton Abbey.

She was ushered into a large space lined with books on one side, and windows on the other, with a collection of sofas and chairs in the middle, scattered over old and probably priceless rugs. She took a seat, unsure which one to sit in, there were so many, and waited. After a while she got up to look around, spying a full sized grand piano at the end of the room. She touched it lovingly, it was old, probably 1930s, and she bet it was perfectly in tune. Everything was ship shape and spotless.

"Miss Cabello," came a booming voice, pronounced correctly too. She turned to see Talbot pushing the old man in. She had imagined from reports (he didn't like his photo taken) he would be a frail old thing, old fashioned and a snob. She was wrong. He was wearing harlequin print loose pants and red velvet slippers, and a green vintage t-shirt with a large yellow smiley face smoking a joint on the front. His hair was almost white, and thinning on top, but long and worn in a pony tail, and his glasses were John Lennon style, round and tinted slightly pink. She walked toward him and they stopped in front of a blue armchair which he gestured to, and she took a seat. "Thanks Tally, piss off, I'll call you if I need you."

He removed the glasses and peered at her with shrewd pale blue eyes. She imagined when he was young he would have been beautiful, there was something still there in the shape of his face and his smooth skin.

"Look at you, you look as sassy as you sound. Which is fucking amazing by the way," he said. "I heard you and I told them to get you, I wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Well, thanks," she said with a smile.

"I'm not what you expected," he stated. "No doubt they all told you I was barmy as hell and needed to be locked up."

"Something like that," she admitted. He roared with laughter at her frankness.

"Oh don't get me wrong, I'm quite nutty, but in a good way darling, in a good way. Come on, lets hear you sing."

"You want me to sing?" she squeaked. He was wheeling himself at a clipping pace toward the piano and in a smooth movement slid from the chair to the piano stool, lifting the lid and running his fingers over the keys. He reached into the side of his chair and pulled out some sheet music, setting it in front of himself, and she saw immediately it was "Havana". He began playing the intro and she stood beside him, half leaning on the piano and she sang it. He nodded at her, urging her on, and beaming at her one moment, frowning another. She finished and he clapped his hands together.

"As I said, fucking brilliant, fucking brilliant." He said. "I'd sing a few things differently, but you are you, aren't you, unique, do things your own way. I respect that. And you do it without being a bitch, I can tell you're a sweetheart, but not one to be walked all over, no fucking way. Come on, time for tea."