Page 72 of Quinn, By Design

“I feel surrounded,” he murmured.

“If you still plan on saying a few words, you should say them soon, whether Lucy’s here or not.” Kate was staring at the entrance. “Your mum’s keeping watch and will let us know as soon as Lucy arrives.”

“How did you convince Mum to leave Newcastle?’

“You’re kidding. She wouldn’t miss her brilliant son’s exhibition for quids, plus she was due a visit to talk babies with me.” Kate patted her large baby bump.

Crazy to feel excitement and a gnawing emptiness at the same time, but Niall’s last two weeks had been spent on a seesaw tipping from exhilaration at finally achieving a goal he’d worked for to despair at Lucy’s absence. In a strange way having the fake codicil hanging over his head formed some connection, as did finishing her washstand. He’d buried himself in work, creating smaller pieces and designing more.

Sleep eluded him. When he closed his eyes, he saw Lucy standing on the other side of the room. Each time he took a step toward her, she stepped back, and the distance between them became endless. He woke in a sweat.

The idea to display drawings of new designs came to him in a rare, hopeful dream. Lucy had been standing at his shoulder in the workshop, looking at drawings for Leopold’s picture frames, and he’d heard her voice in his ear: “Whatever you do, it’s the same basic principle. People buy based on the design. If they see a finished product, they buy more.”

Hard as it was to accept, Leopold’s had provided him with options. They’d told him to come back if he was interested in a new contract, offered a deal based on three or six monthly deliveries, rather than every few weeks. He could enjoy designing frames if the job was a one-off, not a necessity to pay down debt.

“The natives are getting restless, despite our fine selection of beer and peanuts.” Anna interrupted his thoughts. “Showtime.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Hunter said. “I added fine wine and canapes to the spread. The punters are stuffing themselves and can wait until you’re ready. If there’s no speech, so be it. To be honest, the works speak for themselves, carpenter. I’m very impressed.”

More praise, and still this hollow in his stomach.

Would Lucy let him in if he turned up on her doorstep? Begging held growing appeal.

* * *

The warehouse hostingNiall’s exhibition sat on the other side of the quiet suburban street. Still, Lucy hesitated, her stomach switching to some vicious internal spin cycle, making it hard to stay upright. She reached instinctively for her pearls. Her thumb and forefinger moved from gem to gem as she recited the lessons her gran had taught her. Honesty was essential for love to survive. Forgiveness came a close second. She hadn’t been honest any more than Niall had, and she wasn’t sure he’d forgive her.

But he'd listen.

Because he was an honourable man—stubbornly honourable some days. She exhaled to the count of six and settled.

She pushed through the entrance doors to a large vestibule, and gasped. Her washstand was spot-lit on a raised dais, meticulously restored using the Breccia Oniciata pink marble Grandpa had stored for decades and her gran’s beloved jug and basin set. Her gaze flew to the flyer advertising the exhibition taped above it. The print copy was about three metres by four, showcasing the Huon pine table, with Lucy’s bowl filled with lemon and ruby grapefruit toward one end. The captionQuinn, by designwas artfully scribbled across the other end of the table in the poster.

“The contrast does rather take one’s breath,” said a white-haired woman sitting at a simple, elegant Queensland walnut table near the entrance. Lucy would swear the table was a Quinn original and the woman his mother—she had the same grey eyes.

“I thought the exhibition was of Niall’s furniture.” Lucy absorbed the multiple images. On the left-hand side wall were a half-dozen frames of different sizes, each holding a copy or a fragment of the poster. On the opposite wall were six framed mirrors, reflecting the posters, and the washstand. The message seemed to beI’m all of this.

If there was a clue to whether he’d accept Cam’s bequest or call her bluff in this display, she couldn’t interpret it.

“Niall’swork,” the woman explained.

“I’m guessing this is a family affair?” A redundant question when Lucy knew the Quinn and Turner twins fiercely defended their own. Kate had called at McTavish’s to collect the fruit bowl, absolving or depriving Lucy of a chance to drop it off. She could have insisted on delivering it and on seeing Niall. But the two weeks Liam had requested to consider her cash offer flashed as loudly as anyNo Trespasserssign. “The poster looks like an Anna design.”

“You know my daughter-in-law’s sister?” Niall’s mother’s expression held the same mix of shrewd speculation and kindness as her son’s. Lucy had known Anna was family, but the warmth in Mrs. Quinn’s voice confirmed it.

“I’ve met her.” The loss of Lucy’s family was a permanent ache. “Was it her idea to change his business name? I like Quinn, by design.”

“Niall’s idea.” The woman glanced at something on her phone. “I’m his mother, Mary. Just for our records, are you already on our invitation list, or were you lured by Anna’s clever advertising?”

“An invitation.” Relief had blinded her to the content of the flyer, although it had contained a fragment of the poster. More importantly, the personal invitation gave Lucy a legitimate reason to see him, to see his exhibition, and to apologise for her messy temper tantrum. If the opportunity to ask what he planned to do about Cam’s bequest came up, she’d take that too, because the two-week deadline expired tomorrow. Niall’s mother was waiting for her to introduce herself. “I’m Lucy McTavish.”

“Cam’s granddaughter,” Mary said matter-of-factly.

“You knew Grandpa?”

“I met him once, but he believed in my boy, so I was inclined to like him. I can take you through if you like.” She checked the front door. “I doubt many more will come. The show’s closing soon.”

“Please don’t. I’m sure you’re busy. I’m happy just to wander around,” Lucy gushed. The older woman held up a hand, and Lucy shut her mouth, before she developed verbal diarrhoea. The Quinn and Turner families had believed in Niall for years, whereas she’d almost cost him this chance. “I’m sorry I’m late.” Lucy didn’t want company for her first conversation with Niall since their fight.

---