by Anna Cleary
In the new, though still careful spirit of sharing, she confessed a little about the Miguel fiasco, and the swathe he’d cut through her friends in the ballet company. She only related the barest minimum, of course, sensing it wouldn’t be wise for Guy to focus on her former relationship, however scant it had been.
She sighed. ‘I think the worst thing … this probably sounds vain and pathetic … but I honestly think the worst thing was how much of a fool I felt. How absolutely diminished in the eyes of my friends. Can you understand that?’
He pulled her closer to him. ‘Oh, I can.’ There was heartfelt conviction in his tone. Then he said fiercely, ‘What was wrong with the guy? What the hell else would he want in a woman?’
At that she broke into laughter. ‘Variety?’
And he was so understanding, so warmly comforting, at the same time as making her laugh at some of the things that had so mortified her, she felt her intimate confession draw her closer to him. As if by sharing that tiny snippet of her historical truth they’d passed through a door.
His arms were still around her, hers around him, their hearts beating as one, when she said, ‘What happened with Jo that made you end it?’
She felt him go quite still. Then he said matter-of-factly, ‘Oh, she ended it.’
She stayed still herself, listening to her heart thundering in the gathering silence. Then she said, ‘What did she say?’
‘Nothing. She stood me up.’
‘On a date?’
He made a sardonic face. ‘Yes. A date.’
‘So you just …?’ She stared at him in surprise. ‘What? No second chances?’
It took him a while to reply, and when he did it was brief. ‘Nope.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IVY didn’t take kindly to jumping through hoops.
She refused to say cheery things to customers, either to compliment them on their choices or wish them a beautiful day. And when the interior designer dropped in to discuss with Amber and the staff the kind of renovations they dreamed, of Ivy wanted no part of the wasteful business. Instead she hovered, glowering, among the ferns.
Even so, their discussions were fruitful. Serena, with her artistic flair, came up with some fantastic ideas that were in tune with Amber’s. The designer took on board everything they said and made several of her own suggestions about fittings, wallpapers and shelving, showing Amber online site after online site where she could view the amazing array of choices.
Inspired by Guy’s theme for the advertising campaign, after much mulling and discussion, Amber had come to a decision. She understood some of her management difficulties stemmed from her need to break with the past and stamp her own personality on the business.
Since Fleur Elise had been her mother’s name for the shop, Amber decided to rename it with something more significant to herself. When she told the designer her idea of calling the shop La Primavera, after the old painting Guy had used for her ad, the designer’s eyes lit up. She went away to work on a ‘spring’ design, then e-mailed Amber some sketches.
Amber was thrilled with them. Suddenly everything seemed possible.
In the shop, that was. On the ninth floor, nothing could be taken for granted. For one thing, Jean and Stuart would be back home in a few days, and Guy would be moving back into his house in Woollahra. It wasn’t so far from Kirribilli, as the crow flew, but since it was on the other side of the harbour Amber knew it would feel like a million miles.
How long would he keep seeing her? It would hardly be every night. Their accidental meetings would have to end. If they were to continue with any sort of meaning, some more binding form of acknowledgement of their relationship would be required. She didn’t even have the status of girlfriend. So what was she? A fling?
And since the night of the bath, though Guy had treated her with more tenderness than ever, something was on his mind. He was forever frowning to himself, failing to hear things she said to him. Sometimes he studied her when he thought she wasn’t looking, searching her face as if answers to the mysteries of the pyramids might be encoded there.
It made her anxious and unsettled and prone to gloomy imaginings—most of them starting with J.
‘Is something on your mind?’ She made this tentative enquiry when Guy was driving her to The Owl for a pub night.
Imagine her, Amber O’Neill, en route to a pub night. Strangely, though, she was keen to go and had dressed accordingly, applying loads of smudgy eyeliner and shadow that gave her a sultry siren ambience. She had the feeling Guy wasn’t exactly comfortable with it. There was an aura of tension percolating around him.
‘Are you worrying about how your band will do?’
She could understand if he was. The Owl was a popular venue for bands starting up, he’d explained. He’d been so enthusiastic at first when his friends, the Blue Suede, had been offered a performance slot. Since then, though, he seemed to have cooled off.
Having heard the Suede in rehearsal, Amber could appreciate his doubts.
Feeling the weight of her clear blue gaze, Guy hastened to allay her suspicions.
‘More the song,’ he lied, giving himself a mental slap for betraying his—whatever. Edginess? Cool was what was needed tonight. If he was to be on display to a bunch of old acquaintances whose most recent memory of him was …
He started to sweat. No. He wouldn’t think of it. He’d stare them all down and act as if it had never happened.
If he could just get through this one night, the next time and the times after should be a cinch. With grim amusement he reflected that if he survived long enough he might eventually live the whole sorry saga down.
So long as he could trust old friends to act like friends. Trouble was, it was such an entertaining story. There was bound to be some mischievous soul who felt compelled to fill Amber in.
Amber noticed his knuckles whiten on the wheel. Her trouble sensors pricked up their ears. Something was up.
She said carefully, ‘You know, I’ve had the feeling you aren’t all that keen for me to come.’
She heard him draw breath, the tiny beat as he sought the right words, and with a pang her misgivings deepened. Was she the problem?
‘Not at all,’ he said smoothly. ‘I’m just wondering how much you’ll enjoy it.’ He cast her a teasing look. ‘You know there’ll be an awful noise?’
‘Huh! The cheek of that.’
He flashed her a smile. ‘You think you’re up to it?’
She narrowed her eyes at him in disbelief. She’d only made Serena transfer a whole flock of butterflies up her arm, starting from the inside of her wrist. ‘Let me get this straight. Are you saying I’m a nerd?’
He laughed. ‘Hell, no.’
‘I have been to a pub, you know. I have drunk beer.’
‘You don’t say?’
But though he grinned her doubts deepened. She felt mystified. He couldn’t really be worried about how she’d react to a few bands? If it was about her, it wasn’t that. Anyway, now the challenge had been issued. Even if a night of boy bands was worse than a week in prison, she’d enjoy it if it killed her.
Stepping up onto the wooden verandah of the old public house, she felt the very floorboards vibrate. Inside, some group was doing its best to break the sound barrier. And when she strolled through the entrance, with the handsomest guy in Sydney holding her hand, she could see why the building was being rocked off its foundations. There was a frenetic crowd of dancers.
So far, so—great.
In her skintight jeans, heels and clingy top she felt she fitted just fine. Her hair was flowing free. No camellias tucked behind her ear. Nary even a daisy. If she did forget and hum something classical no one would hear. Her nerdiness could go undetected.
She noticed Guy glancing about, scanning the room. As she waited with him in the bar queue, to place their order for pizza, every so often she felt him absently bunch some of her hair in his hand, then release it. Normally she’d have given herself over to basking i
n the sensual chills and doing her best to surreptitiously bump him with her behind. Just to give him a thrill. This wasn’t that sort of occasion, though. A different kind of tension was communicating itself to her.
When it was their turn to order, the lad behind the bar was momentarily interrupted by an older barman who poked his head around and called to Guy.
‘Hey, mate. Long time, no see.’
Though Guy grinned and lifted his hand in a friendly gesture, Amber noticed he didn’t linger to chat. As soon as their order was complete he drew her away from the bar area to find a table in one of the adjoining rooms.
As they scanned for a spot someone else called to him from across the room, then a couple seated there rose and made a beeline for Guy.
Guy coolly shook hands with them and introduced Amber.
Apparently well acquainted with Guy, Jane and Tony were keen to know everything about how long he and Amber had been together and how they’d met. Though Guy was calm, deflecting their questions with smooth courtesy, the lines of his lean, chiselled face revealed nothing of what he was thinking. An expression Amber recognised with some misgiving.
From the tone of Jane’s and Tony’s conversation Amber gathered Guy hadn’t been at The Owl for some time. She could feel the couple’s interested gazes switch back and forth between her and Guy, as if eager to divine every nuance between them.
‘And are wedding bells on the agenda here, Guy?’ Jane was at last driven to ask, coyly arching her brows.
Amber felt a bolt of shock at the woman’s naked curiosity. Guy’s face remained impervious. His only betraying response was the tiny flicker that registered in his grey eyes.
He pulled Amber closer to him, smiled down at her. ‘Are you wanting to know every last detail of our relationship, Jane?’ he said.
Apparently sensing at last that his partner’s curiosity had taken her too far, the husband nudged his wife in the ribs. ‘Shh. Don’t put them on the spot,’ he said, with an uneasy laugh.
After that the couple talked very fast about the beauties of marriage with children, then implored Amber and Guy to join them at their table. Thankfully Guy declined.
As the couple walked away, Amber was still reeling. ‘What ghastly people,’ she said fervently. ‘I’ll tell you something, lover, if you ever marry a woman like her I’ll never talk to you again.’
Guy glanced sharply at her, then his face relaxed in an amused smile. ‘No need to worry about that. I never, ever will.’
After that it seemed every time she and Guy looked around someone would be there, overflowing with friendliness or curiosity or both, and there’d be more handshaking, back slapping. Introductions. Catch-up conversation.
‘What are you doing now?’
‘Whatever happened to old …?’
‘Did you hear I had a new …?’
‘Mate, did you catch the Grand Final?’
At one point a bunch of young blokes, some with girlfriends in tow, cornered Guy like a long-lost friend.
‘Hey, man, what’s goin’ down?’
‘Man, you wanna hang tomorrow?’
Amber was given the pleasure of meeting the Blue Suede boys. They welcomed her with wide grins and appreciative glances.
‘You do know Amber’s my next-door neighbour,’ Guy said, his arm around her waist
‘Oh, that Amber,’ one of them said. They grinned at each other, looking a little sheepish.
Laughing, Amber pointed to the beamed roof. ‘I hope they’ve got that screwed down well.’
The Suede pressed her and Guy to join their party, but Guy waved vaguely towards another section of the capacious pub. ‘Thanks, but I think we’re over there.’
Amber turned to gaze enquiringly at him, but he squeezed her waist.
‘Come on,’ he murmured in to her ear. ‘I’m hungry enough to eat your ear.’
She joined Guy in wishing luck to the boys, then allowed him to hustle her to a table closer to the performance dais. She looked curiously at him. On this side of the room the noise from the band made conversation a struggle. She had to practically shout to be heard. ‘Don’t you want to sit with your friends?’
‘I am. I’m sitting with my girlfriend.’
‘Oh, really? Where’s she?’ She glanced around, as if that mythical creature might be somewhere in the crowd. Secretly, though, she was so madly chuffed she felt herself going pink. She turned back to beam at him, then leaned over and kissed his lips. ‘There. That’s what girlfriends do. A little something in advance.’ She widened her eyes meaningfully and he smiled.
Somehow the food waiter found them. With their feast before them, Guy exhaled a relieved breath.
He began to feel he could maybe relax. Even at the hairy meeting with Jo’s cousin, Jane, no one had actually used Jo’s name, though he could read the knowledge of his past in some people’s eyes. There’d been plenty of assessing glances at Amber, but he’d even noticed people he didn’t know checking her out. Who could blame them? What red-blooded guy wouldn’t?
All he had to do was make it through the Suede’s gig, then he could honourably escort his woman home.
The current band finally finished their last number and vacated the space.
Amber’s ears had barely grown accustomed to the blessed respite before a smattering of applause and a few catcalls alerted her to more punishment about to strike.
She glanced up to see the Suede swagger on and start setting up.
One of them stepped forward and introduced the first song, nervously mumbling a few words into the mike she didn’t quite catch. Then some heavy opening chords from an electric guitar zithered up her spine with a blood-curdling familiarity she couldn’t mistake.
She whipped excitedly around to Guy. ‘That’s it. Your song.’
‘Yep.’ His eyes gleamed. He listened intently, a small smile curling up his lips, nodding very slightly in time to the beat.
As the song got underway a couple of dancers started gyrating and throwing themselves about. Then several more joined them. Then a whole crowd swarmed onto the floor.
Relieved at last to see the light of pleasure in Guy’s eyes, Amber reached to squeeze his hand. ‘Look. They love it.’
He returned the squeeze, then urged her to her feet. ‘Come on, then. Dance with me.’
To the seriously dedicated dancer a few billion decibels of amplification could actually sound fantastic in the cavernous old Owl, with its high beams and dark-varnished wainscoting. Especially when it came to Guy’s song.
Amber could hardly believe she’d scoffed at it. Now, while its emotional, passionate lyrics tore at her very heartstrings, that sexy beat infected her feet with fever. She joined the mass of bodies on the floor and threw herself into the dance with abandon.
When the song finished the crowd roared their appreciation so compellingly the boys in the band played it over.
A little self-conscious to be dancing with a professional, Guy made the minimum moves required by a male—shaking, shuddering, and shifting about from one foot to another. After all his tension, he felt uplifted as much by the thrill of the communal response to his song as by the sheer, joyful, physical exuberance of Amber. Soon they could leave. A few congratulatory drinks with the boys, then he could hardly wait to get her home.
Swinging about to wave to his friends in the band, he received a massive shock.
His heart and lungs froze within him.
At the bar entrance the sight of a familiar red head struck him like a blow. Jo. She must have spotted him at the same time, because he saw her stand still, shock registering on her own face.
Fear.
She turned sharply on her heel to backtrack. Ferocious blood roared to Guy’s head. A wild, visceral fury blazed to life inside him, obliterating all other considerations. Oblivious to other people, he fought a path through the crowd. Vengeful words pounded his brain.
He’d make her explain.
He had to make her explain.
Still
dancing, Amber was singing, swaying, floating on endorphins when she noticed she and Guy had become separated. Searching for his familiar form among the nearby dancers, she realised he wasn’t actually there. Gazing about, her astonished eyes finally located him. He was making for the bar entrance with a grim purposeful stride, seemingly in hard pursuit of someone.
Taken aback, Amber hesitated for a moment or two, wondering whether or not to follow him. Whoever he wanted to talk to, if he’d wanted her along he’d have signalled her, wouldn’t he? But, beginning to be jostled by the people whirling and stamping around her, she threaded her way through the crowd and followed in the direction Guy had taken. Through the front of the pub and out onto the verandah.
And stopped.
Her jaw dropped. Guy was in the car park with a woman. In the bright glare of the security lights Amber could see the woman quite well. With a thumping heart, Amber saw she wasn’t all that short. She was at least her own height, in fact—maybe even taller—and very sexily dressed in a silky dress, with smooth reddish hair cut in a fabulous sleek bob.
It had to be Jo. Who else?
After her initial shock, Amber could see some bitter words were being exchanged. There was an almost electric fury in Guy’s body language. He was doing most of the talking, gesticulating in a style most women would have found intimidating.
Then, to Amber’s agonised disbelief, the woman suddenly waved her hands in front of his face, seized Guy’s shoulders and kissed him on the mouth.
Hot knives of pain and jealousy sliced Amber’s heart to shreds. Clinging to the balustrade for fear of collapsing or imploding, she had no option but to witness the clinch. It wasn’t so much that the woman was kissing Guy. It was that Guy wasn’t pushing her away. Not at once.
The kiss ended, but Amber saw him hold her fast in his arms as if she was someone rare and precious.
Then he pushed her away. Only then.
Seething with hurt and shock, Amber called out hoarsely to him. But he didn’t hear. He was far too fascinated by his old love. The woman was talking now, and Guy was questioning her, apparently riveted by her every word.