Page 30 of Quinn, By Design

“You said not all cabinetmakers do apprenticeships?” The lack of a clear answer from her research was starting to make more sense.

“Some people are self-taught. Some start in another field, like engineering or design, and gravitate to working with wood.”

“Did you do an apprenticeship?” A basic fact she couldn’t decipher in the general blurb on his website.

“Yeah, in Newcastle, where my parents lived. Mum still lives there. After four years with the one boss, I had a fair idea of their design style and timbers. I wanted something different.”

“How different?” Her grandpa would have known every step of this journey. Another secret Grandpa had kept to encourage Lucy’s ignorance of the real Niall Quinn.

“I went on the road, visited different cabinetmakers around Australia, did stints as an unpaid intern with cabinetmakers I admired, a few stints in the warehouses of auction houses, spent some time salvaging wood.”

“Spent some time studying art history.” Lucy recalled their conversation about the clever frame on Raphael’s painting of Duke Lorenzo.

“Sydney University. Same as you. I’m betting you got your degree before training in valuation, sales and management.” He flashed her a smile, reached out a long arm and topped up his cup. “Help yourself.”

“Why did you go to Ireland? More wandering?” she asked. A wanderer didn’t sound like a reliable person to base a foundation around. Maybe his debts were the result of years of wanderlust and low-paying, casual jobs. It wasn’t her role to question his lifestyle. It was a reminder they had different dreams.

“I won an internship with a master craftsman,” he said. “You said Cam left instructions.”

“Grandpa provided the statement of purpose, duration of the scholarship, said recruitment was open—age and gender not relevant—and left some eligibility criteria.” All neatly penned in his own hand. The will was an official document, whereas Grandpa’s instructions for the foundation were personal and all the more precious.

“I’m guessing he requested, rather than specified, qualifications?” He raised a questioning eyebrow. “A portfolio of their work, how they got here, what their goals are—maybe what their dreams are?”

“He stipulated the contract was for two years on full pay.”

“That’s part of the legal contract I assume you and Henry are getting ready for the foundation. You should build in a cooling-off period.”

“What about your cooling-off period?” Waiting until his existing agreement expired to hear his answer created a different kind of chaos for Lucy. “Have you made a decision?”

“The not-for-profit can be set up with no mention of me.” He pushed himself upright, the relaxed pussy cat of the past fifteen minutes reverting to an alert king of the jungle.

“The arrangement for the workshop needs a contract. Five years at least.” She studied him. He’d just detailed a history as a wanderer, and he’d spent several years in Ireland. Five years was a long time to stay in one place.

“I got the memo, Lucy.” His voice was low and lethal. “But we’re still in the negotiating phase.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” Lucy drained her tea, unsettled by the shift from two people who loved and missed Cam chatting about cabinetmaking to two people stepping edgily around default provisions.

“Then your negotiating skills need work,” he said mildly. “You can sort out the not-for-profit and start advertising for the scholarship.”

“Will you make yourself available to select the scholarship holder?” She cursed herself the second she asked the pompous question.

“I said I would.”

“And what!” She sent him an exasperated look. “Your word is your bond.”

“As a matter of fact, it is.” He was a maverick. Her grandpa would have admired his independent streak, maybe lamented a bit that his own wandering had stopped in Sydney with the birth of Lucy’s mother. “Your sideboard’s sitting over there because of it.”

She made a strategic retreat because he was right. “The selection process will take time. What sort of short-list are we looking for?”

“No more than six, maybe less, depending on who applies. We’ll want to see actual examples of their work. Ask for a demonstration of their skills.” He was committing to hours more work connected to McTavish business.

“One year served at McTavish’s and undertaking courses in art history and conservation, and the second with you.” She was beginning to see the enormity of what Grandpa and she were asking of him. It wasn’t the easy ride she’d assumed. “We need to name the mentor.”

“I haven’t agreed yet.” His face was a mask. Did he really doubt his ability as a teacher? He had the patience for it.

“I need certainty.” Another untamed legacy from her childhood.

Niall closed his eyes. Was she pushing too hard? Whatever emotion he’d wanted to hide had faded when he opened them. No smile, but his answer was clear enough. “Soon.”

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