Page 75 of Quinn, By Design

“A useful introduction,” he contradicted her. “He came earlier tonight, brought some buyers with him.” Niall mentally measured the ground he needed to make up since their last conversation.

He’d waved his self-doubt like a magic wand over Lucy’s head and turned her from a generous, warm-hearted companion into a polite stranger. Politeness was her default shield.

“I had an army of helpers.” He continued. “Mum handled personal invitations. Anna handled social media, plus design and, by some magic known only to her, guaranteed the appearance of one of the top arts reporters in Sydney. Liam stitched up insurance and security. Kate phoned my old clients and asked to borrow back items for the show. But you know that.” I’m babbling he thought, unable to help himself.

“I was with a client when she called, so didn’t have time to ask her much. It’s a great venue.”

In the background, William Barton’s didgeridoo drifted on an orchestral wave, a lyrical repertoire of barks, yelps, squawks and bird and bush sounds.

“Anna suggested I approach Hunter.” He’d missed talking over the venue, the arrangement of the pieces, even the music selection with Lucy. Although Barton was in tonight’s playlist because Lucy loved the power and passion of the sounds coming from a length of termite-hollowed wood.

“Because he has empty warehouses?” she asked.

“He has properties, friends with properties and access to more through business connections. He conjured this space at less than gallery rates.” Niall allowed some of his bewilderment to surface. The guy had been helpful, and refrained from scoring points or calling him an idiot or even mentioning Lucy’s name, when Anna must have outlined his stupidity. Niall had wanted to howl at the moon.

“Are you afraid you’ll owe him?” Her head tilted to one side, her gaze considering.

“I paid the amount requested. I said thank you. He was plausible about a gap in occupancy. We’re doing each other a favour.” Niall wasn’t 100 percent convinced, and he was also accruing personal debts with a nonchalance that a few weeks earlier would have shocked his cautious soul. “How have you been?” She looked alive, vibrant, as if his absence had allowed her to bloom.

“Busy,” she said, and he’d lost the right to push for details. “You look tired.”

I’m tired of being tired. I want more in my life than my craft. I want you in my life, on any terms you care to grant.

“But you must think it’s worth it”—she made a show of sniffing the air—“I smell success. Congratulations.” Then she waved her wine in the direction of the room. “How many times have you sold the table?”

“Three, the two new orders will have different timber. I doubt I can get another piece of Huon pine of the same quality,” he said. She’d demanded he take a hard look at himself. The reflection in his mirror hadn’t been pretty. “Your bowl’s another reason for my success. Half a dozen orders for something similar—a riff on a theme. I appreciate you letting me borrow it after I was such a fool.”

She sipped her wine, studying him over the rim of her glass. “I don’t believe I called you a fool.”

“Not to my face.” He winced. “Can you stay? I mean, can I buy you a drink after the show’s over?”

“I’d like that. We need to tie up a few loose ends.” She looked over his shoulder. “Kate’s signalling to you.”

“I should be circulating.” He was afraid if he turned his back she’d vanish. “A few loose ends” sounded like a short conversation, scuttling the hope he’d let run wild with her arrival.

“Circulate, Niall. I said I’d stay for a drink.”

* * *

Lucy tracked him withher gaze, while storing up his special brand of sandalwood and citrus scent. Torture to be so close and still have a yawning chasm between them.

She’d expected the show to be a success. How could anyone not recognise his skill? But believing it and seeing it were different beasts, and gave her more insight into his misgivings. He’d laboured for years, won prizes, taken on debts not of his own making, and—he was an artist. Doubt would be a constant, a splinter lodged in an impossible-to-reach spot.

The chatter grew quieter, the waiters packed up and disappeared while Lucy moved from piece to piece, surrendering to the compulsion to touch his creations. She wasn’t quite sure of the house rules, so was careful not to let her hand linger. Niall’s work drew her like a child in a sweet shop offering free access to her favourite jelly snake. Her finger, trailing across each surface, was a poor substitute for touching him.

Hunter tapped her on the shoulder. “We’re off.”

“Thanks for the moral support.”

“Anna confessed she told Niall weeks ago he was wrong not to tell you about the exhibition.”

“I guess without his stubborn streak he might not have achieved so much.” Although having the support of the straight-shooting Anna gave Lucy a girl-power boost of confidence. “To be honest, he looks slightly bemused, a man who’s overwhelmed by the reception of his brilliance.”

“Don’t go all soft and gooey on him. If you’re interested in him, make him work to win you.” Hunter finished before joining Anna at the door. He was replaced by a heavily pregnant Kate.

“I’m glad you were able to make it.” Kate rested one hand on her baby bump.

“Thanks for asking me,” Lucy replied.

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