Her Best Friend Page 7

  She sounded excited. She gave Amy’s arm a little squeeze and Amy sank onto her towel.

  “What’s up?”

  “Well. You know how I was helping Quinn with his French homework last night?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lisa ran her hand down her smooth calf. She’d started shaving this summer, as well as painting her toenails with her mom’s polish.

  “We were practicing verbs, same old, same old. Then all of a sudden he just grabbed me and kissed me.” Lisa’s blue eyes widened as she looked at Amy, inviting her to share her shock at what had happened.

  Amy stilled. “Quinn kissed you?”

  Lisa nodded, biting her lip.

  “What was it like?” Amy had to force the words past the lump in her throat.

  “Amazing. His lips are really strong. But soft. And when he put his tongue in my mouth, I nearly died.”

  Amy pulled her knees close to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Do you think—do you think you’ll do it again?”

  “If he wants to.”

  “Do you think he wants to?”

  Lisa’s gaze shifted to where Quinn was approaching the shore, his strong brown arms flashing in and out of the water. She frowned.

  “I don’t know. I hope so. I really like him. And not just like-like, you know? More than that.”

  Amy nodded. She knew exactly what Lisa meant. She was fourteen years old. She had more than like-liked Quinn for a whole year now. She’d lain awake at night imagining him kissing her, imagining what it would be like to feel his breath on her face, his lips on hers, his tongue in her mouth, his arms around her. He was her best friend, and she knew it was wrong to feel those kinds of things for him, but she couldn’t help it.

  And he’d kissed Lisa.

  For a moment Amy couldn’t breathe. There was a pain in her chest, as though someone was holding her too tightly.

  Quinn had kissed Lisa. And now she knew what that look had meant, that hungry look: Quinn liked Lisa. More than like-liked. He wanted to kiss her again.

  “It’s really hot. I might go for a swim,” Amy said, pushing herself to her feet.

  “I’m going to start on that new book for English,” Lisa said. She rolled onto her belly and reached for her school bag.

  Amy stood staring down at her friend’s slim body for a moment. If she had a red bikini, maybe Quinn would look at her like that…

  But in her heart of hearts she knew it would take more than a red bikini to get Quinn to look at her the way he’d looked at Lisa.

  She trudged to the edge of the lake and kept walking until the water was up to her armpits. As usual the water was icy cold but she hardly noticed as she closed her eyes and bent her knees and sank until she was entirely submerged.

  Then she opened her mouth and screamed the rudest, nastiest word she knew, bubbles frothing against her face as she released all the air in her lungs. She waited until her lungs ached before resurfacing. She stared out across the lake, her chest rising and falling rapidly, wet hair clinging to her face. The sun glinted off the water, nearly blinding her.

  She didn’t care. She was too jealous and sad to care.

  “Race you to the dock,” Quinn said from behind her.

  She whirled around and he splashed her full in the face. She spluttered and wiped her eyes. Quinn hooted with laughter.

  Warmth filled her as she looked into his laughing face. Quinn might have kissed Lisa, but he was her best friend. That was something, right?

  She retaliated with a mighty splash aimed straight up his nose and while he was spluttering for air took him up on his challenge by lunging forward and breaking into her fastest freestyle, her goal the distant dock. He was faster than her, but with a head start she could still make him sweat.

  Her heart pumped and her breath came in gasps as she swam for her life.

  It might not be so bad, she told herself. Whatever is going on, it probably won’t last long between them. None of the kids at school go out with each other for very long. It’s not like they’re going to get married or anything. I just have to wait it out.

  She caught a glimpse of the dark, wet wood of the dock ahead and glanced to her side to check on Quinn. He was nowhere to be seen and she risked a look over her shoulder, even though it would cost her speed. Surely she hadn’t had that much of a head start on him?

  But he wasn’t there, either.

  She stopped, her feet sinking into the soft mud of the lake bed. Some instinct made her push the wet hair from her eyes and squint over her shoulder to where their towels were spread on the grass.

  Quinn stood in the shallows, accepting something from Lisa. A tube of suntan lotion. Lisa turned her back and gestured across her shoulders. Amy could imagine what she was saying. “I can’t reach, would you mind?”

  Quinn waded the rest of the way out of the lake. He must have felt Amy staring, because he glanced across to where she stood watching them.

  He raised an arm, waved. “Be with you in a second, Ames.”

  Then he turned back to Lisa.

  AMY TUGGED THE KEY from the ignition. Her fourteen-year-old self had been right about some things, wrong about others. Quinn and Lisa hadn’t lasted that first time, but they’d gotten together twice more in their teen years and the last time had been for keeps. They’d applied to Sydney University together and left town together in Quinn’s old brown Ford. Then they’d graduated, and the year Quinn landed a job in one of Sydney’s top law firms, he’d asked Lisa to marry him. And she had accepted.

  For all those years, Amy had sat on the sidelines, watching, waiting, aching. She’d made an art form out of hiding her yearning and jealousy. She’d gone out with other boys. She’d given her virginity to one of them, just to be done with the damned thing. No one had ever had a clue that she was in love with her best friend.

  It had been better after Quinn and Lisa left for Sydney, easier—although harder, too, in some ways, losing two friends at once. But the relief had far outweighed the grief in the long term.

  She’d hoped Quinn’s departure would mean she’d stop loving him, but it hadn’t. He was still very present in her life. He e-mailed regularly and called at least once a month, and if it wasn’t him it was Lisa, filling her in on all the details of their life together. Study, exams, parties. Then work, the house they’d bought, the dinner parties they’d held. Amy had visited them once a year in Sydney and they’d all made a big deal out of how it was “just like old times.”

  But a person couldn’t live forever on the edge of hope and longing, her face pressed to the glass, peering in and envying someone else’s life, always wanting, never having. Amy had tried and failed, miserably.

  Which was why she’d decided to cut herself free from the past. Cut herself free from Quinn and Lisa. She’d lain awake in their guest bedroom when she’d visited two years ago and listened to the faint but unmistakable sound of Quinn and Lisa making love in their bedroom down the hall. She’d been sick with jealousy—literally. She’d stumbled to the bathroom and thrown up the rich three-course meal Lisa had cooked her. She made a decision in her heart that night. This was not the way she wanted to live her life.

  She’d waited a few months before putting her decision into practice. First she eased off on phone calls. Then e-mails. Then she stopped communication altogether. Slowly, after she failed to reply to any and all correspondence, the attempts at contact had tapered off. At the time she’d been a little surprised at how easy it had been to slip away from their friendship. Now, of course, she knew they’d been dealing with their own crisis.

  And now Quinn was home, and he was getting a divorce, and he wanted to pick their old friendship up where they’d left off.

  Which left her…where, exactly?

  A tap sounded on her car window and she started in her seat.

  “Dad!” she said, pressing a hand to her pounding heart.

  Her father peered in at her. “What are you doing, sitting out here in the cold on your
own?”

  A good question. A bloody good question.

  “Nothing, Dad. Absolutely nothing,” she said. Then she got out of her car and followed him inside.

  QUINN WAS RESTLESS when he returned to the serviced apartment he’d rented for the weekend. He had a shower, turned on the television, stared at a pointless reality show, turned it off again. His body was tired, but his mind kept circling, thinking about the conversation he’d had with Amy, the theatre, his work, the myriad things that needed to be done now that he was going to stay in town for a while.

  His decision to help Amy out at the council meeting had been so last-minute he hadn’t had time to talk to his parents about using the family home. They were somewhere in central Australia at the moment and not always in phone contact. It had been a while since he’d kept a spare key on his key ring, and even though he figured the Parkers probably had a copy, there had seemed little point in opening the house up for only two nights. Booking an apartment for the weekend had seemed the easiest option.

  Plus there was something vaguely pathetic about a grown man on the brink of divorce returning home to sleep in his childhood bedroom.

  But now that he was staying longer, it made sense to use the house. He dialed his mother’s cell and was put straight through to voice mail. He left a message telling her his plans, then he dragged out his laptop and plugged into the apartment complex’s broadband.

  As soon as he logged in he saw there was an e-mail from Duffy Calhoun, one of the firm’s family law specialists. Quinn had approached him to handle the divorce a few months ago, and as far as he knew things were well in hand. Legally, couples needed to have been separated for a year before a divorce could be issued in Australia. There were ways around this—cheating the separation date, for example—but neither he nor Lisa had been in a rush. In another four weeks, the full twelve months would be up and they could file the papers. It was almost over.

  He saw from the time stamp that Duffy’s e-mail had arrived after he’d flown down to Melbourne. He clicked on the icon and frowned as he read his colleague’s message. Apparently Duffy had called Lisa’s lawyer twice during the week and had yet to hear back. Duffy wasn’t sending up a flare yet, but he wanted to warn Quinn that in the world of divorce negotiations it usually wasn’t a good sign when the opposing counsel stopped returning phone calls.

  Quinn leaned back in bed. As far as he was concerned, the divorce couldn’t be more clear-cut—a fifty-fifty split, straight down the middle. They’d both contributed equally to the mortgage, and there were no children or pets. What more could Lisa possibly want? Surely she wasn’t going to come after his retirement fund?

  He rejected the thought as soon as it occurred. While he and Lisa weren’t inviting each other over for dinner, things weren’t acrimonious, either. Even though he knew she valued anything that conferred status—fancy houses, fancier cars—he didn’t think she had it in her to be so viciously acquisitive.

  He sent a quick reply to Duffy asking him to keep trying Lisa’s lawyer. They couldn’t file for a decree of dissolution of marriage until she’d signed her share of the papers, but Quinn was convinced the lawyer not calling back was only an oversight.

  He switched the light off around midnight. By two he was still staring at the ceiling. Sleep had become a rare commodity in his life in the past year. He was getting used to being awake when most of the world wasn’t, but he didn’t like it. Nothing like an early hours vigil to make the empty side of the bed seem colder and emptier.

  He rolled onto his side. Back in the old days if he’d had trouble sleeping, he would have opened his bedroom window and thrown pebbles—he’d kept a supply in his room for that purpose—at Amy’s window across the way until she was awake, too. She’d have come to her window, bleary-eyed and cranky, then they would have used the walkie-talkies they’d bought with their allowances to plan tomorrow’s mad scheme until one or the other of them drifted off to sleep.

  He smiled. Man, he and Amy had done some crazy shit over the years. There was the time they’d made a go-cart out of scrap wood and the wheels from Amy’s in-line skates. They’d taken it to the steepest street in town, strapped themselves in and pushed off. He’d wound up with a black eye and a chipped tooth and Amy had grazed her knees and broken a finger.

  Despite the pain at the end of that hair-raising rocket down the hillside, the thing that stood out the most in his mind was the way Amy had clutched his arms and whooped with joy as the wind whipped at their faces. She’d been absolutely fearless.

  In hindsight, it was a wonder they’d both survived childhood, the way they’d egged each other on.

  The smile faded from his mouth as he thought about the conversation they’d had tonight. He hoped they’d cleared the air. She was important to him. Very. And he was determined to fix whatever had gone wrong between them.

  THE REAR DOOR to the Grand was open when Amy pulled into the parking lot the next morning. It was only seven-thirty, but she figured Quinn must have beaten her there.

  She thought about the day ahead, working alongside him. Laughing with him. Sharing with him. She knew it probably made her a particularly sick and twisted kind of masochist, but a part of her was enormously pleased that he was here to share these first formative days. Even though she knew having him so close and working with him so intimately was probably going to drive her a little bit nuts. The Grand was her dream, and Quinn was the man she loved. There was something very bittersweet about the two great passions of her life sitting alongside each other, even if it was only for five measly weeks.

  And when Quinn went back to Sydney…well, she’d pick herself up and dust herself off the way she always did. And who knew, maybe a miracle would occur while they worked together to restore the Grand to its former glory. Maybe after all these years her heart would be able to let Quinn go and he could become simply her dear, beloved friend. Nothing more.

  She smiled a little grimly. Good luck with that one.

  She got out of her car, took a deep breath and strode into the Grand, game face firmly on.

  “Trying to make me look bad, Whitfield?” she said as she entered the theatre from the corridor.

  She stopped in her tracks when she saw the man standing in the middle of the space, his head tilted back as he studied the ceiling. He was wearing a dark double-breasted suit, even though it was a Sunday, and his shiny red tie matched his florid cheeks.

  “Mr. Ulrich,” she said.

  What the hell was he doing here?

  “Hope you don’t mind. I saw the back door was open and I thought I’d step inside to wait for you since it looked like it might rain.”

  Amy narrowed her eyes. It was clear and sunny outside and Barry needed a slit cut into the back of his suit jacket to accommodate his dorsal fin.

  “Actually, I do mind. And the back door wasn’t open.”

  Ulrich’s face creased into a complacent, confident half smile. “Unsecured, then. Not the smartest move, putting all these priceless heritage-listed architectural features at risk.”

  Amy wished she was wearing something a little more intimidating than her purple-and-green-striped long-sleeved T-shirt, jeans and sparkly hot pink sneakers. She really wished she hadn’t put her hair in pigtails this morning.

  “I really don’t think it’s appropriate that you’re here. I’d like you to leave.”

  Ulrich’s lips twitched as though he found her endlessly amusing.

  “I want to talk to you,” he said.

  “Then we can make an appointment to talk another time. I’m busy now.”

  “You don’t look very busy to me.”

  “Well, I am. So if you don’t mind…”

  She gestured toward the door. Ulrich didn’t budge. She didn’t like the way he looked at her, as though she was a fly he wanted to swat. Fear goosed its way down her spine. She knew he’d never dare touch her, but she couldn’t help feeling vulnerable, standing here alone in the semidark with a man who clearly wished he
r to hell.

  “So predictable, Ames. Bet you were here at sparrow’s fart, right?”

  She spun toward the door as Quinn entered, two coffee cups and a white bakery bag in hand. Never had she been so glad to see him.

  There was a slight hitch in his step when he saw Ulrich, then he continued to her side.

  “I was just explaining to Mr. Ulrich that the Grand is mine now and that I don’t want him entering the property when I’m not around.”

  She opened her eyes meaningfully as she looked at Quinn. He frowned and she knew he’d gotten the message that Ulrich had been here before she’d arrived.

  Quinn handed Amy one of the coffees, his warm fingers brushing her cold ones as they swapped grips on the cup. Instantly the shaky feeling inside her faded. It was impossible to feel intimidated when Quinn was by her side.

  Quinn took a sip of his coffee before he spoke.

  “As I’m sure you’re aware, Barry, trespassing is a criminal offence,” he said. His tone was friendly, relaxed, but there was a hard light in his eyes.

  Ulrich laughed. “Relax, mate. I’m not here to do any harm. In fact, I’m here to make Ms. Parker the offer of a lifetime.”

  “I’m not interested in listening to any offers,” Amy said.

  “You haven’t even heard what it is yet,” Ulrich said. “How do you know you’re not interested?”

  “Because I’m not interested,” Amy repeated.

  Ulrich carried on as though she hadn’t spoken, pulling some papers from his suit pocket. “I want to buy the Grand off you. I’ve got a contract here—”

  “No.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I’m willing to give you a hundred thousand more than you paid for it.”

  “Amy’s given you her answer,” Quinn said. “Nobody likes a poor loser, Ulrich.”

  The developer’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “Don’t be a silly girl. Look at the deal. Talk it over with your boyfriend. Think about how many nice pairs of shoes you can buy yourself with a hundred thousand dollars of easy profit.”

  “Enough. It’s time for you to go,” Quinn said.