Her face was tear-stained and blotchy, neither of which Amy commented on. She also chose to ignore the fact Billie had called her Amy rather than Amelia – something which only happened when Billie’s guard was down.
Amy would play this the way she always did. Obliquely. Maybe, like Malcolm, she was cowardly in not motoring at the issue head-on, but her approach generally worked, and she wasn’t about to change tack now.
‘No worries. That’s OK. Tad said there’s no rush. Oh, by the way, I found some lovely shops – perhaps we should go and take a look together?’ Amy wiggled the bags still in her hand as she tried to defuse Billie’s tension.
‘Maybe,’ Billie said, sniffing as Amy advanced into her space and closed the door. ‘Who the hell is Tad?’
‘Our chef-slash-teacher for the week. He seems nice.’
‘Nice? How insipid.’
‘There are worse things,’ Amy said, unsure if she’d overstepped as she watched Billie’s expression. Holding her ground as a rainbow of emotion flashed across Billie’s fine features, ready in case her comment blew up in her face. Then Billie sighed.
‘You know Kelly loves to bring the drama,’ she said. ‘Why should now be any different?’
‘Want to talk about it?’ Amy offered.
‘He knows all my buttons; it’s nothing new.’ Billie shook her head. ‘I should know what he’s like by now. That’s what you get for really falling for someone, Amelia. Never forget – when you hand over your heart, you might as well hand over your sanity, too.’
Amy resisted the temptation to try to suggest that maybe Kelly hadn’t ever been the right person for Billie, that she might find someone far better if she could only let this toxic relationship go. But that wasn’t what Billie wanted to hear. Amy knew – she’d tried that approach once before and Billie had locked herself in her hotel room for three days straight, refusing everything except oysters and single malt whisky.
‘Do you want to see what I got?’ Amy said, deflecting again with the boutique’s bag.
‘Do I want to see your brand-new knickers?’ Billie managed a stifled laugh. ‘My world is caving in again, and you want to cheer me up with a peek at your pristine underpants? No. I’m good, thanks.’
Reaching into a pocket, Amy held out Billie’s Coutts credit card. ‘Take this back, though, would you? Before I manage to lose it. Thanks for the loan – I’ll pay you back.’
Billie shook her head as she took the card. ‘No, you won’t. It’s the least I can do. Thank you for being here, Amelia, for checking up on me.’
‘Malcolm was worried, too.’
Billie sighed. ‘I know. Thank him for me, will you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Listen, I’m not sure I’m going to make dinner this evening, let alone the lesson. Will you hold the fort for me with this Tad bloke? Keep him sweet until tomorrow? I’ll feel better by then, and we can get stuck in.’
‘You know I will. Do you want anything? Can I get them to send a plate up later?’
‘What would I do without you? No. I’m going to take some sleepers and shut out the world, for a while at least.’
‘OK. If you’re sure?’
Billie’s expression sharpened. ‘The chef is called Tad, you say?’
‘Tad Campbell.’
‘Campbell… He’s not Italian, then?’
Amy allowed herself a wry smile, had known it was only a matter of time before Billie cottoned on. ‘Scottish.’
‘Bloody hell. You could have told me. We are on the shores of Lake Garda, aren’t we? In Italy… Does he look Italianat all?’
‘He does have dark hair, I suppose.’ Amy swallowed before she could add anything about how his smile lit up his otherwise intense expression. Or how she’d found herself gazing up into his bright hazel eyes, set beneath expressive eyebrows all but hidden below the dark hair she’d mentioned, wild abandon in every curl. Or that she’d noticed the swirl of a tattoo beneath the turn of his cuff and found herself wondering what it depicted.
‘Dark hair. Well, that’s something, I suppose,’ Billie said. ‘We’ll get Malc to put some decent filters on him if necessary.’
‘He doesn’t need any filters.’ The words were out before Amy realised how they sounded.
