Sarah Mayberry - Her Best Friend

“But Amy …” Quinn shook his head, lost for speech. “This place is huge.”

“So it’s going to take a little more time than I originally planned. I can live with that.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re taking on?”

“Of course I do.”

“How are you going to tackle the ceiling? That plaster work is part of the heritage listing.”

“Thank you, Quinn. I’m aware of that, as a matter of fact. I’m aware of every inch of this place, having spent the past ten years working toward this moment. Which is why I traveled into Melbourne two nights a week to attend a course on restoring vintage decorative plasterwork last year. And why I did an upholstery course the year before that, and why I have a file a foot thick with information on suppliers who can help me refit this place.”

The frown didn’t leave his face. He slid his glass onto the wide lip at the top of the timber paneling.

“Amy, it’s one thing to be passionate, but this place needs more than passion.”

“I can handle it,” she said through gritted teeth. She put down her own glass. Since when had Quinn been such a killjoy? She couldn’t believe he was attacking her dream like this, trying to pull it apart before she’d even gotten used to the idea that the Grand was hers.

“I think you should get an expert restorer to take a look at—”

“Quinn, shut up.”

“Amy—”

“I mean it. Don’t say another word, okay, or I’m going to get really angry,” she said. “I appreciate your help tonight, but I don’t appreciate being patronized by someone who has no idea what they’re talking about.”

“I’m simply pointing out that sometimes having a dream isn’t enough. Just because you want something badly doesn’t mean you’re going to get it. Believe me, life doesn’t work like that.”

There was a hard, cold edge to his voice. Once, a long time ago, he’d lain in the tall grass at the end of her parents’ yard and dreamed with her. Obviously, those days were gone.

“This is the best night of my life,” she said, her voice low and controlled. “I’ve wanted to buy this place ever since my grandfather brought me here when I was four years old and we sat up there in the balcony and he told me how his father built this place and how sad he’d been when he was forced to sell it. I am not going to stand here and listen to you tell me what I can’t do and what I don’t know.”

She bent and grabbed the champagne bottle from the floor.

“I’ll be at the pub if you want to celebrate.”

“Amy.”

She ignored him and strode toward the rear exit. He had the flashlight, he’d be able to find his own way out.

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