Keeping Her Up All Night (15 page)

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.

They turned back towards the pub, still talking. Amber waited for a break when she might attract his attention, but their conversation continued in the same intense, urgent vein.

Totally engrossed. As if they were besotted.

She tried calling out again, though her voice was pretty croaky now. Anyway, if Guy heard her he preferred to ignore distractions like mere girlfriends. With confusion and despair mounting in her heart, Amber couldn’t hide from herself the damning evidence of how good they looked together. How right.

The last she saw they were heading into the deserted beer garden at the side of the pub, where tables had been left out under an awning for patrons who preferred a little night-time privacy.

Amber stumbled back inside, her body numb, her heart a crippling ache. Nothing could explain away what she’d witnessed. In pursuit of that woman, Guy had looked as if he was ablaze. If ever passion had existed in him, it was in him then.

She stared unseeing at the scene around her. The noise, the activity left her untouched.

She’d
seen him looking pretty incandescent. What about that night she’d danced? And last night there’d been
passion in him, all right.
And
this morning. And all those other times.

What a monstrous cheek that woman had, anyway, thinking she could just sashay back into his life and snatch him away from his official girlfriend.

The Suede were still belting out songs, but Amber didn’t feel like dancing. Not right then.

Instead, operating on instinct, she sashayed up to the bar and asked for a vee juice. The bartender, not a very bright-looking lad, seemed bemused. ‘Vodka?’

‘Vee,’ she rasped, thumping her fist on the bar. ‘You know?
Vegetable
juice.’

‘Oh. Er … er … Yeah. Hang on …’ The guy dashed away and came back with a can of it and a tall glass. ‘Any ice in that?’

‘No, thanks,’ she said shortly, handing over a note. ‘I need it fast.’

She didn’t bother with the nicety of a straw, just swigged the stuff straight down, lip to rim. Then she checked her reflection in the bar mirror.

Her eyes still had that sultry, sulky look conferred by the shadow. Her neckline still plunged. Good. She whipped out a lipstick and plumped up her pout, good and red to match her toenails, and then, bracing herself, she strode out of the bar entrance and down the steps to the beer garden.

T
HE
beer garden was enchantingly lit with Chinese lanterns.

At first glance Amber didn’t see Guy. Only the woman she felt certain must be Jo. She was seated at a table with her head down. A second glance gave Amber the impression the woman was quietly weeping. Then she saw Guy leaning against the wall by the pub entrance.

Frowning, he had his hands in his pockets and was looking distinctly uncomfortable. Amber wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find. Another clinch? Passion in the beer garden?

What she did feel was that she was intruding on something that didn’t concern her.

‘Oh,’ she said uncertainly, preparing to back away.

Guy and the woman both looked up. ‘Oh, here she is,’ Guy said, suggesting Amber had been the topic of conversation.

Amber nearly goggled. Even with a streaky face the woman was quite stunningly beautiful, with deep, wide-set eyes, fabulous cheekbones and a gorgeous chin. The kind of timeless beauty that cast mere mortal prettiness into the shade. The sort of beauty possessed by the Eustacia Vyes of this world.

Guy detached himself from the wall and strolled over
to slip his arm around Amber. His eagerness to claim her made Amber suspect he viewed her entrance as something of a relief. She had to repress a grin. Weeping women never had been his forte.

‘Amber, sweetheart, meet Jo.’

Amber’s antennae for emotional disturbance were registering extreme turbulence. Jo’s tearwashed gaze did nothing to dispel that impression, although she still managed to give Amber a thorough rival-check.

‘Hi, Jo.’ Amber took Jo’s beautifully manicured hand, noting it felt a little clammy. As well, she had a soggy tissue balled into it, which she tried to palm away, restricting the area available for shaking to a few cold fingers.

‘Hi.’ Jo looked her over, then applied the tissue to her perfect schnoz, mopped up around the mascara area, and glanced at Guy. ‘Trust you, darling,’ she said in a wobbly voice. ‘You’ve always had a good eye.’

‘Not always,’ Guy said at once.

Amber thought she saw Jo flinch.

Guy smiled at Amber then. ‘But it might be improving.’

Jo’s smile twisted, but she half-lowered her extraordinarily long lashes and said charmingly, ‘So. You’re a ballerina, I hear?’

‘Used to be. Now I’m a florist.’

Guy looked keenly at Amber, narrowing his gaze. Then he said, ‘I think it’s time we said goodnight, Jo. Amber and I have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.’ Then he murmured to Amber, ‘We mustn’t forget to congratulate the boys.’

Jo had been looking from one to the other of them, a barely perceptible sardonic tug to one side of her voluptuous mouth, but at that she pulled herself gracefully to her feet.

She scattered a few careless farewell words over them, as if walking away from her old love was as much a cinch
as strolling down any catwalk. Then, lifting her hand in a backward wave, she undulated on her fabulously long legs out into the car park.

After a few steps, though, she halted. Turned. Undulated back.

As she approached Amber noticed Guy’s brows edge closer together. His face hardened and grew stern.

Standing before him once more, Jo made a helpless gesture, all at once sadness and resignation in her lovely eyes. ‘You’re probably right, darling. I never deserved you. At least now we can give our past a decent burial.’

It was a great exit line. Amber might have felt sorry for her if she hadn’t been throwing about the darlings with a frequency that could only be considered indecent. It was such poor taste—especially in front of a man’s girlfriend.

Certainly Jo’s sadness might be sincere. If it wasn’t an act. But there was no doubt in Amber’s mind Jo was deliberately and knowingly signalling that she was the woman with the prior claim.

Was she hoping to ease Amber out with her wiles and dramatic exit lines? She needed bringing down to earth.

Amber moved forward a little. ‘Is there anything we can do for you, Jo?’ she said sympathetically. ‘Buy you a pizza? Give you a lift home?’

Jo’s eyes clashed with Amber’s for a glinting second, then she lifted her brows. ‘That won’t be possible for you, dear. My home is in Tuscany.’

Then, with a semi-wave, the bewitching woman straightened her shoulders and walked quickly across the car park.

Amber turned to look wonderingly at Guy. ‘
Does
she live in Tuscany?’

He grimaced and shook his head. ‘She might. Who knows?’

‘What was that all about?’

‘Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you. Everything.’

Amber looked closely at him. His eyes gleamed into hers.

‘Now, everything, mind,’ she said, when they were finally seated in a private little corner Guy happened to know of.
How
, she dreaded to imagine.

At least they were far from the Suede, who were still belting out encores. Drinks were before them. Scotch for Guy, juice for Amber, since she was the one driving home.

She waited for him to start, then urged him into it with a little prompt. ‘The last I saw you were racing to catch her like a man possessed.’

‘Mmm.’ He nodded. ‘I know. I’m still reeling. I just can’t believe that after all this time I’ve actually seen her again.’

Amber’s heart, still a little rocky after its earlier battering, gave an ominous lurch. ‘She clearly means a lot to you.’

‘
Meant
a lot,’ he said quickly. He lowered his lashes. ‘The last I saw of her … Well, I didn’t. She didn’t show up.’

Amber felt as tense as a wire, questions she didn’t care to face forming in the back of her mind. ‘Yes, I know. You said she stood you up.’

‘That’s right.’ He met her gaze briefly, a twist of a smile on his mouth. ‘In a church. St Andrew’s Cathedral, actually.’

The shock rendered her speechless for seconds. Then, as comprehension finally illuminated her brain, she was overwhelmed by the enormity of it.

‘You mean you were getting married?’

He shrugged. ‘Yep.’

‘You asked her to marry you?’

He gave her a resigned look.

‘And she stood you up in the church?’

‘Yes, she did.’

‘But why? Why’d she do it?’

‘She told me just now she changed her mind.’

‘What?
’ Her voice squeaked in indignation. ‘She changed her mind so she just left you
standing there at the altar
?’

‘Shh … shh. Don’t get excited.’ He glanced about. ‘You’ll have Jane and Tony over to find out what we’re up to. But, yeah, that’s about the size of it.’

‘But—didn’t she let you
know
? Why didn’t she phone?’

‘She couldn’t. She was on a plane heading for the Riviera with her old boyfriend.’

‘Oh.’ The sheer disgrace of the agony and public humiliation that had been inflicted on him brought tears to Amber’s eyes. ‘I can’t believe it. How can anyone be so
selfish
… so
cruel
? No wonder you were … Oh, I see—I see it all …’ And she did. Suddenly so much was falling into place. ‘Oh, Guy … Guy, you poor, poor man. I …’

She was stroking his shoulder, his back, patting him, touching his face, his hand.

He turned his face away and something dawned on her. He was embarrassed by her emotion on his account. She bit her lip and held off with the words. No one wanted to be reminded of the fool they were once made to feel.

At least when she’d found out the awful truth she’d had that heaven-sent opportunity to pour a pot of beer over Miguel’s head.

‘Yeah. I think I get it now.’ She nodded. ‘She probably found out about your weakness for other people’s toothbrushes.’

He turned to look at her, then a smile lit his eyes and he broke into a laugh. ‘Come here.’ Grabbing her, he kissed her lips with a convincing, malt-flavoured fervour that did
him credit, considering he’d just bumped into his beautiful ex-bride. Then he said thickly, ‘Come on, Amber O’Neill. I want to take you home.’

‘M
ARRIED
life’s wonderful,’ Jean said, beaming at Amber over her champagne and raising her voice a little to be heard above the throng of people crammed into Amber’s bunching room. ‘I’d never have imagined it could be so much fun. I’ve known Stuart for years, but the things I’ve learned since I married him—
well
.’

Amber smiled. Jean certainly did look happy. Her face was so radiant she looked twenty years younger.

It was the Saturday of Amber’s grand re-opening as La Primavera. Every inch of the shop not covered in flowers was thronging with people.

‘I think it comes of knowing that you don’t have to face the big horrors of life alone,’ Jean went on. ‘And of course
that’s
all about finding the right partner. Someone who sincerely cares about you and is on your side.’

‘Heavens,’ Amber said. ‘You’re making me all weepy.’

‘Oh.’ Jean’s eyes widened in dismay. ‘I’m sorry, dear girl.
I
don’t mean to imply you must be married to be happy. Far from it.
I
was happy for years as a single woman. I’m just glad I’ve had this chance to be happy in a new and different way.’

Amber leaned over and kissed her. ‘
Be
happy, Jean. I’m thrilled for both of you.’

And she
was
thrilled to have Jean back, but it meant
that Guy had collected his belongings and moved over to his own residence at Woollahra.

It had cost Amber more than a small pang to see him move, but he’d said he was keen to be back under his own roof. Amber hadn’t seen his house since the renovation stage, but Guy had promised to show her the finished product soon.

‘Won’t you miss me over there?’ she’d said when he was packing his stuff, only half joking.

‘I’ll make sure I don’t,’ he said, eyes twinkling. Whatever that meant.

She hated to sound needy. Anyway, she was far too busy to be concerned about it this weekend.

‘No need to ask how you got on with my favourite nephew,’ Jean continued, giving Amber a guilty start.

For a wild second Amber wondered if she’d left behind some trace of her disgraceful tomfoolery on the piano. She doubted she’d ever be able to drink a cup of tea on Jean’s sofa without choking.

But Jean’s gentle face was as serene as ever. She smiled warmly at Amber over her glass. ‘I doubt if he’d have put so much into your advertising campaign if he didn’t think the world of you.’

Amber nodded, smiling. ‘We do get on quite well, actually.’

When they had the chance. When he wasn’t on the other side of Sydney Harbour.

But she shouldn’t complain. The shop’s grand re-opening weekend had got off to a splendid start, coinciding with the advertising campaign. Guy had managed to turn the Chinese Garden of Friendship into an Italian painting, and there Amber was, scattering roses on television screens and billboards all over the city.

Best of all was her song—a lyrical little jingle with a
catchy tune the boys in the band belted out with all their might. Now everyone seemed to be singing it. ‘Springtime at La Primavera’. What was even more fantastic was that Blue Suede’s popularity meant her ad had gone viral.

Amber saw La Primavera below her shamelessly inviting smile everywhere she looked. It had taken some getting used to, not cringing when she saw it. Not to mention being instantly recognisable to large numbers of strangers.

And her Facebook list had exploded.

Friends from the ballet had texted, or written on her wall—including Miguel, of all people. Even others she hadn’t been in touch with for ages. Some merely to remind her they were alive, though one of her old instructors had actually begged her to come back to Melbourne and take up the life she was meant for.

That had cost her a pang. As if she really had a choice.

Anyway, her new shop was a delight to the eye.

With the doors open to the street and an abundance of flowers massed inside and out, including an alluring array under her pretty green- and blue-striped awning, the shop was charming. Inside it was like a spring jungle, filled with fascinating little nooks. The boys in the band had painted all the shelves and freshly papered the walls for her, and Serena had painted a beautiful flowery mural of riotous pastels.

Trade had picked up from the very day Serena had started the mural. Since she was working more often than her regular babysitter could accommodate, Amber had suggested Serena bring her baby in to work. Amber wasn’t sure if it was the rosebud sleeping in her pram that drew the crowds, or the sight of Serena painting with her newborn cuddling up to her like a koala in her sling, but every day it was becoming necessary to order more and more blooms to keep up with the vigorous demand.

It was only temporary, though. Serena’s mother was moving into a flat not far from the arcade tower so she could help Serena more with her babysitting. Soon Serena would be able to work five days.

Ivy hadn’t been very comfortable with the changes. She’d felt the open street doors would allow in germs, and for her the baby had been the final straw. Amber had written her a glowing reference and, to everyone’s surprise, Ivy had landed a position with Di Delornay.

Amber suspected it suited Ivy to work at Madame because it allowed her to keep an eye on La Primavera without having to put up with Amber’s dangerous ideas.

Everyone came to Amber’s opening, drank her champagne and bought the charming little bouquets she’d risen at dawn to bunch. Jean and Serena helped to distribute food and help members of the public with their purchases.

Of course Roger from Centre Management dropped by, exuding warm approval of Amber’s improvements. Salacious rumours, always doing the rounds in the mall, now had it that at the time of the residents’ meeting Roger had been Madame’s plaything. Since then, the eager gossips reported, Madame had given Roger his marching orders.

Amber wasn’t sure who had started these particular rumours, but she had her suspicions.

Anyway, without an apparent axe to grind
vis-à-vis
tenancy relocations, when Roger met Amber these days he smiled like a congenial uncle. All was forgotten.

Though Guy still didn’t like him.

Some of Guy’s crew had dropped into Amber’s celebrations for a toast, including Kate and Maggie. And naturally the Suede were an item. Besides never missing any sort of party, the boys were on the up and up in the
local music scene, and were receiving excellent exposure from Amber’s ad.

They rocked in early, skinny in leather and denim, with their hair flopping over their foreheads, and performed Amber’s song and several others in the mall before an admiring crowd.

Afterwards they hung around the shop, tossing roses to any attractive young women who happened to stroll by, signing autographs, and eating and drinking anything they could get their hands on.

Most of the arcade tenants found time to come, bringing wine and nibbles and warm congratulations. Some of them were a little sheepish about their part in the pressure applied to Amber to achieve her renovations, especially Marc. He apologised profusely, claiming none of it had been his idea. His excuse was that his strings had been ruthlessly pulled by Madame across the way.

Amber and Serena laughed heartily at this explanation, noting how Marc’s dark eyes darted about at all the new fixtures, checking for cracks in the wallpaper. A couple of times Amber caught him staring disconsolately at her gorgeous street entrance.

At the end of the day Ivy accompanied Madame herself for a state visit. Amber was intrigued to notice Ivy had dyed her hair the same coppery colour as Di’s, and was wearing one of Di’s burnt sienna off-the-rack suits with heels. She’d even had her nails done.

‘You look lovely, Ivy,’ Amber told her sincerely.

‘Oh, well. You have to make an effort to fit in,’ Ivy said. ‘It never mattered over here. But over
there
…’

Amber lifted her brows and smiled. Poor Ivy couldn’t hurt her. No one could.

Everything in her life was rosy. Her shop, her friends, her man.

Although of course he wasn’t her man
officially
. And maybe he never would be. A man who’d suffered the trauma Guy had would be unlikely to want to make the sort of commitment most women dreamed about.

It didn’t matter to Amber. She could be happy with the way things were. She felt pretty sure they’d still see each other regularly, although it would be a wrench not to wake up beside him every morning.

With the pressures of work for both of them, it wasn’t realistic to think she’d see him every day. Though she had been hoping he’d spend a little more time at her party. He had come for an hour this morning, but then he’d had other things to do.

She wasn’t worried any more about the Jo situation, of course. Guy had explained a little about Jo’s motivations in backing out of the wedding, and he didn’t seem to bear any rancour.

‘It’s a funny thing,’ he’d said, leaning up on the pillow beside her one afternoon. ‘You know how you read about the scales falling from people’s eyes?’

Amber nodded.

‘Well, that’s how I felt when I talked to her at The Owl. I don’t blame her for changing her mind. Anyone should be allowed to draw back—right up until the moment of saying
I do
. It was her explanation for not letting me know that stunned me. She said she was too busy with the preparations for her flight. It was all so sudden, she just didn’t think until it was too late.’

Amber was still unable to imagine being in such a hurry as not to remember a waiting bridegroom.

But she was pleased she and Guy had finally talked through the painful experience. Guy had really opened up about the whole thing. Sometimes she had the feeling
he’d kept it locked inside for fear she’d in some way hold it against him.

As
if
.

By late on Saturday Amber’s energy for the celebrations had begun to flag a little. There were only so many hours of socialising and retailing a woman could do in one day, and she’d been working since before dawn.

‘Why don’t you go up and have a rest?’ Jean had come down again for another bout. ‘I’ll mind the store for the last hour if you trust me.’

Amber turned to her. ‘Oh, Jean, that’s a lovely offer. But I couldn’t …’

‘Yes, you could. Sure you could. Come on. Accept it.’ That was Guy’s deep voice.

Amber spun around. He’d strolled in, looking dangerously gorgeous and athletic in jeans and leather jacket, his grey eyes gleaming with some barely concealed excitement.

Amber’s sharp eye instantly zeroed in on his jaw.

Aha
. He’d recently shaved.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘So, what brings you back here?’

Heedless of his interested aunt and the party crowd, he bent to kiss her lips. ‘There’s something I want to show you.’

Amber hardly needed persuading. There were infinite ways of relaxing, and she was always open to suggestion.

Once in the car, Guy seized her in a steamy, breath-stealing, wide-ranging clinch that convinced her of his genuine pleasure in seeing her. Then he drove her across the bridge and through the city to nearby Woollahra.

Amber loved the area, with its pretty tree-lined streets and elegant villas. The house Guy had inherited from his grandfather was on the crescent of a hill, with harbour views from its upper storey.

Pulling on the handbrake in the garage, Guy said, ‘Come on upstairs.’

The house was built on several levels. Some walls on the garden side had been replaced with glass, to increase the spacious feel of the old residence. There was a faint scent of freshly hewn timber and sawdust.

Amber slipped off her heels so as not to mark the wooden floors.

She felt his eyes on her naked feet and knew at once that their ever-simmering desire was at risk of escalating at any moment. He took her through the sparsely furnished rooms, showing her all his home’s beauties of harmony and style. Then on the upper floor he opened a door and stood aside for her to enter first.

She stepped inside and her heart seized. This room was long and wide. As long as the entire house. There was no furniture, apart from a piano at one end, but three of the walls were mirrored and one of them had a
barre
rail. The fourth had wide windows with views of the bay.

‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘Oh, Guy.’

She walked into the middle of the room, this room that wrenched her heart, hardly knowing what to say. Questions clamoured in her mind.
How come?
she wanted to ask.
Who’s it all for?

What’s the point?

She turned to look at him, speechless.

He moved towards her, his grey eyes uncertain, even a little anxious. ‘You see, I can’t believe you’re ready to give it up.’

A huge sea of buried emotion somewhere deep inside her welled up and sprang a leak. Tears swam into her eyes. ‘Oh, Guy.’

‘I thought … correct me if I’m wrong … I thought you
might like to … once the shop is on its feet and thriving … let someone else run it and take up your career again.’

Why
then
she would never understand, but hearing her most secret fantasy spoken aloud was too much for the dam inside her, and whatever had been walling it up so tightly for so long burst. She covered her face with her hands and cried.

Guy held her while sobs racked her body and tears rained on his leather jacket, stroking and soothing her, patting her and murmuring things like, ‘My darling …’ ‘My beautiful girl …’ ‘My sweetheart …’

If the poor man was as frightfully embarrassed as she supposed, he didn’t even show it. And when at last she’d slowed enough to make a hoarse cry of, ‘Tissues!’ with urgent pointing motions towards her bag, he rummaged in its depths and brought out a whole bunch, which she gladly accepted.

‘You do know,’ she said, dabbing tissues in all the wet areas, ‘I might not be able to get back into the company? And my life is here in Sydney now. You. The shop. You.’

‘But there are dance companies in Sydney, aren’t there?’

She nodded. ‘But places here are fiercely contested. I’ve been out of it so long I’d have to work like mad even to reach scratch for an audition.’