Counterfeit Love (9 page)

But Byron knew as soon as he’d seen Lucy in the black-and-orange dress he probably wouldn’t be able to do any of those things. Now that he’d kissed her, he knew there was no chance of it. He felt bad that he’d even gone along with the idea. He imagined her coming into the kitchen to find him elbow deep in her banana peels. There’d be no more kisses after that, and certainly no chance of visiting Thailand. She’d have every right to call the police. No, that just wasn’t going to happen. He’d have to find a better way.

‘So, what kind of food do you feel like?’ Lucy asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Byron shrugged. ‘I’m not too fussy. Whatever you like. Surprise me.’

Lucy led Byron towards a big, expensive hotel. She hadn’t been in Hong Kong long, and probably didn’t know the city as well as he did. There were some great little restaurants around the corner, including a duck restaurant that was one of his favourites. It was a noisy place with formica tables, fluoro lighting and unbelievable food, but maybe it wasn’t Lucy’s style. Byron could already feel the cash draining from his pocket as they headed towards the hotel.

‘The restaurant is just around the corner.’ Lucy continued walking right past the hotel.

Byron was completely taken aback. They walked around the corner, past several brightly lit restaurants, until Lucy stopped outside one with barbequed ducks hanging in the window.

‘Is this okay?’

They were outside the restaurant that Byron had assumed was not Lucy’s style. He liked Lucy more and more.

‘Perfect.’

They were shown to the only vacant table in the restaurant, and Lucy wasted no time in grabbing a waiter and getting an order in. She didn’t bother with a menu – she obviously knew what was on offer – nor did she bother asking if Byron had any favourites. She was confident enough to choose for both of them. Byron sat back and watched her, impressed by her style and her Cantonese. She spoke it with a slight Australian accent, which was totally hot.

‘Hope you like duck,’ she said, as the waiter left.

Byron nodded. ‘Three months here and you’re a Hong Kong girl.’

Lucy laughed. ‘
Hardly
. Everyone laughs at my Cantonese.’

‘Nooo,’ Byron mocked. ‘Why would they do that?’

She playfully slapped his arm. ‘I’m sensitive about my Cantonese. I actually thought I’d fit in like a local here – both of my parents are from Guangdong province originally – but I feel more Australian than ever.’

As they ploughed their way through three separate duck courses, noodles and spring onion cakes, Byron let Lucy do most of the talking while he did more than his fair share of eating. She had lots of stories from her childhood in country Victoria – swimming in the river on holidays, plunging into the water from rope swings, picnics on the banks. So different from his memories of holidays – five-star resorts, staff and boats. He knew now how cushy he’d had it. Not like Lucy – she’d had to work for everything, and was obviously a lot tougher than she looked. It couldn’t have been easy to get from Echuca to TVi Hong Kong by the age of twenty-one. He was in awe. Underneath that tiny frame was rock-solid ambition. Maybe he’d met his match.

‘Oh, look at you,’ Lucy gasped when they finally left the restaurant, well after midnight. She stared at the sleeve on Byron’s shirt and laughed. ‘You look like the Incredible Hulk!’

Byron checked his shoulder. There was a small tear in his shirt. He must have snagged it on a nail or something in the cheap restaurant. He didn’t look at all like the Hulk – he didn’t have the biceps for that – but it was enough to worry him, because the shirt belonged to Cal. It was stupid of him to wear one of Cal’s shirts; he was so fussy about his stuff. Byron had only chosen it because he was in a hurry and the maid had just ironed it. Now it was ripped!

‘My flatmate’s gonna string me up,’ he sighed. ‘I think it was one of Cal’s best shirts.’

Lucy put her hand over her mouth, looking genuinely worried. ‘Oh, that’s really bad.’

Byron stroked his sleeve, hoping that might smooth away the problem. ‘No problem. I’ll pretend the maid wrecked it in the wash,’ he joked.

Lucy gasped. ‘You can’t! That’s terrible. No, come back to my place. I think I’ve got a needle and cotton.’

Byron was momentarily lost for words. He looked into Lucy’s eyes, wondering if she was just being helpful or if there was something more to it. ‘Okay, if you think it’s worth fixing.’

Lucy nodded, smoothing the sleeve of his shirt out. She bit her lip and studied him for a while before she responded. ‘Yes, come back to my place,’ she said quietly.

Those were the last words Lucy said for some time. The sewing arrangement seemed to instantly rob the evening of fun. They stood silently on the kerbside waiting for a taxi while mahjong tiles clattered in a room above the restaurant, and a dude murdered a karaoke number in a nearby bar.

Byron wondered if it had been a mistake to agree to go home with Lucy. It had definitely changed her mood. She’d become so serious, and when he tried to take her hand she indulged him briefly and then pulled away, folding her arms across her chest.

Lucy was virtually silent the whole way back to her apartment, just shrugging or offering monosyllabic answers to his questions. She didn’t ask any of her own. When they pulled up outside her apartment block, Byron was pretty sure she didn’t want him around anymore. He’d be handed a needle and cotton at the door and told to mend his own shirt. It seemed strange; she was the one who’d suggested coming back.

‘This way,’ Lucy said in an expressionless voice, pulling her house keys out of her bag when the taxi pulled up. Byron, wondering where he’d screwed things up, followed her into an oldish block and up three flights of stairs. Maybe she’d just realised he wasn’t up to her standard. Standing on the kerbside in his torn shirt, he must have looked like a complete tool. She’d called him the Incredible Hulk. Of course it was meant as an insult!

‘Lucy, if you … ’ he started to say when they reached her apartment and she put a key in the door. ‘I don’t have to come in.’

Lucy turned to him. As her eyes bore into his face everything in his mind started to spin. Her expression was so serious it looked like she was about to slap him. He took a step back, but she stepped forward, throwing her arms around his neck.

‘Byron,’ she breathed. His legs almost gave way.

They fumbled their way into the apartment in the dark – hands, fingers, lips, bodies all over the place, in a desperate chaotic dance. It was a wild few minutes before he crashed backwards onto a sofa. At least he thought that’s what it was, but it felt unusual – hard and furry.

Lucy slipped on top of him, her face finding his neck, and he forgot the sofa. He shuffled to free himself of his torn shirt as Lucy ran her fingers over his chest. Byron pulled her face towards him and kissed her desperately. Her lips, her neck, down her bare shoulder. And then something cracked – or did it yelp?

‘I think I’m on a dog,’ he mumbled.

Lucy got to her feet and switched on a lamp. ‘
Shit.
It’s designer. Charlotte’ll kill me if we’ve broken it.’

Byron rolled off the sofa. He had trouble stifling a laugh now he could see what they’d been lying on. ‘It looks like a cross between an ironing board and a tiger.’

‘Shhh,’ Lucy whispered with a half smile. ‘Charlotte loves that thing. I don’t think you’re meant to make out on it. In fact she doesn’t even like people sitting on it.’

Byron looked around – they were in a lounge area full of girly furniture, all useless for slothing around on and hopeless for making out on. He wondered if girls actually understood the point of
lounge
rooms.

‘Try the bedroom.’ Lucy nodded to a room off the lounge. ‘I’ll see you in a sec.’

She disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Byron to find his way into her bedroom. Slowly he opened the door, and walked into a virtually immaculate room. The open wardrobe was the only evidence that anyone actually used the room. Either Lucy had a very efficient maid or she was very organised kind of girl.

‘Excuse the mess!’ Lucy shouted from the bathroom.

Byron smiled. The only thing out of place was a packet of malaria tablets that was sitting on the bedside table. He wondered if Lucy was planning a trip somewhere.

And then something else caught his eye. Something grey was poking out of a drawer on her desk. Slowly he crept across the room and pulled a shirt from its hiding place. It definitely wasn’t Lucy’s – it was way too big for her. It had to be the shirt she’d told him about – the golf shirt. It really was as ugly as Lucy said. A nothing shirt. There had to be more to it than this.

Byron studied the fabric, wondering if something had been woven into it. Then he ran his fingers over the letters on the pocket.
H.D.
Someone’s initials, he guessed – but whose? He went through some possibilities but nothing stacked up. That would have to be worked out later. He screwed up the shirt and tucked it under the bed, so he could grab it on his way out. He glanced at the door to check Lucy wasn’t coming and then scanned the room looking for anything unusual. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he thought he’d know it when he found it. He was still rifling through some things on Lucy’s desk when a voice came from the doorway.

‘
What
are you
doing
?’

Byron jumped and turned to see Lucy dressed in a hot pink strapless bra, matching knickers, and heels. She had one hand on her hip, a needle and cotton in the other, and a frightening look on her face.

‘
Oh my God.
You gave me such a fright.’ Byron clutched his chest. His heart was going off the scale.

Lucy walked into the room and stabbed the needle into a stuffed panda that was sitting on the bed. ‘
What
… are you
doing
?’ she asked again, putting on a kimono and tying it around the waist.

‘Just tidying up.’ Byron picked up a book and shoved it in the desk drawer.

‘
What
… are you
doing
… with that
shirt?’

‘Shirt?’

Lucy strode into the room, bent down and reached under the bed. She pulled out the grey shirt. ‘
This
…
shirt
,’ she said, waving it in his face.

‘I thought I could wear it home. Because, really, I think the other one is beyond repair.’ Byron smiled, hoping that might be enough to get him out of trouble, but Lucy scowled.

‘No you didn’t. Try again.’

‘Okay, it’s like this,’ Byron began, his mind scrambling to think of a way out of the mess. ‘The package you were given at the Art Bar was supposed to go to someone I know. Instead you’ve got it. I just wanted to make sure it gets to the right person.’

‘And you didn’t think to mention this when you saw me at Rusty’s?’

‘Umm, well. I didn’t want to … you know, make it awkward for you.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing, nothing, nothing at all,’ Byron stumbled, realising he’d practically implied that Lucy was a thief. Which wasn’t so far from the truth, but probably wouldn’t go down well at this point. ‘So, I’ll just take the shirt then, if that’s okay, make sure it goes to the right person.’

‘
Fine
, take it.’ Lucy said, but made no effort to give the shirt to him. ‘I’m sure Miss Chan will be really pleased with it.’

Byron was momentarily confused. He hadn’t actually known who was meant to pick up the package. But he grabbed at the information. ‘Yes, Miss Chan will be really pleased to have it.’

Lucy frowned. ‘Must be a pretty special shirt. You went to a lot of trouble to get it back, without me knowing.
Don’t I know you from somewhere
,’ she mocked in a terrible American accent.

Byron opened his mouth, but Lucy cut in again. ‘Must have been a shock when you got home and found all you got was an empty envelope.’

Byron shook his head, feeling like a prisoner on death row. It didn’t really matter what he said now. ‘Well, it was a bit of a surprise.’

Lucy stared at Byron, breathing in slowly. ‘That’s why you were so desperate to get back here – isn’t it? You had to get the shirt for Miss Chan. She must be a pretty special lady.’

Byron shook his head. Things were just getting worse. ‘Lucy, it wasn’t like that. You asked
me
back.’ That, at least, was the truth, but it didn’t seem relevant now he’d rifled through her desk.

Lucy looked at him, her face stiffening. He thought she’d burst into tears, but instead she got angry. ‘I actually bought that crap about Thailand. But it was all
bullshit.
The whole night! It was all about getting the stupid shirt back. What’s so special about that stupid shirt anyway?’

‘Well, Miss Chan really likes sport and … ’

That seemed to make Lucy angrier. ‘What the hell is going on? Who are you?’

‘I’m the same guy you were kissing on the couch a minute ago.’ Byron whispered, trying hard to put on a seductive look. Maybe he could rekindle things.

‘
Don’t
look at me with those stupid sad eyes. You’re not a dog.’ Lucy threw the shirt at Byron. ‘And don’t give me any more of your shit!’

Byron rolled the shirt into a ball, wondering if it would be better to run for the door or stroll out casually. It looked like things would only get worse if he stayed.

‘I wasted a whole night on you.
’
She waved her finger him. ‘I could have been having cocktails at Yu’s house. Instead I listened to your shit
all
night!’

‘Who? Yu Weiran? He’s a friend?’ he asked, which was definitely a mistake.

‘
Not now
!’ she shouted.

Byron realised there was nothing to be gained from staying another second. She was losing the plot, which was probably understandable. He rushed out of the bedroom to the sound of a stiletto whizzing past his ear. More insults followed as he grabbed Cal’s shirt from the floor and dashed down the stairs two at a time. He raced onto the street and down the road, sprinting for his life.

Well, that could have gone better
, he thought, when he was finally in the back of a taxi and feeling safe again. He sighed, letting his head flop onto the headrest behind him. In fact, it couldn’t have gone any worse. She didn’t seem like the hot-headed stiletto-throwing type. He must have got her really, really mad for her to snap like that.