Vanessa crunched her Corolla into reverse and slid into a space just vacated by a late model Land Rover. Phew. The dashboard clock showed 12.31 pm and here she was, right outside Charlotte Lancaster’s huge double-storey Victorian terrace in Middle Park that fronted onto Port Phillip Bay. Vanessa didn’t often cross the Yarra River, which divided Melbourne like the proverbial train tracks, and she couldn’t help noticing that the soft autumnal light was casting the south in a golden glow that only added to its glamour. But then she reminded herself that in recent years the inner north had acquired a hipster-ish glamour of its own, even boasting the highest proportion of Greens voters in all of Australia. And quite probably the highest proportion of beanies.
But why was she debating demographics? Because she was too scared to get out of the car, that’s why. She was freaking out. She needed to calm down, to be mindful for a moment, but mindful of what? Of how much she was freaking out? It was a funny thought but it would hardly help, and the clock had just ticked to 12.32. She grabbed her home-baked hot cross buns and climbed out, comforting herself that at least she looked okay—but then a sea of joggers passed and she suddenly felt like a dickhid. She should have bought Lululemon activewear and jogged to Charlotte’s gate with a hint of sweat on her forehead and her hair pulled through a baseball cap in a jaunty ponytail, wearing a pair of purple Converse trainers. She could have greeted Charlotte with a casual, ‘Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming straight from my workout?’ instead of, ‘Hi, I hope you can’t tell this dress is a Calvin Klein rip-off from Zara? And even though I bought it especially, I’ve changed at least seven times, and I’ve spent forty-five minutes straightening my hair and plucking my eyebrows and please don’t look at my upper lip because I did a home wax and the redness hasn’t quite abated. But hey, at least my heinous mo is gone!’
Not that she’d say that, but that wasn’t the point.
As she walked up to Charlotte’s gate, her shyness morphed into panic. Or maybe her panic morphed into shyness—it was academic at this point. She couldn’t go through with this. She’d make an idiot of herself. She wished she could ring her mum for a confidence boost, but Joy was away with her new boyfriend Bob and didn’t even know about last night’s dramatic events. Vanessa didn’t want to disturb her, so she resisted the urge to take out her phone.
This lunch date seemed so surreal—almost as surreal as the similarity between their two novels. Of course, she’d been suspicious at first; you’d have to be a dope not to be. But on reflection she’d realised how easily situations like this can arise. She just wished Kiri could see that too, but Kiri still thought she was being gullible, to put it kindly.
‘Your stories are identical. If you refuse to believe that she plagiarised you, then how do you explain it?’
It was a valid question, there was no doubt about it—but Vanessa had realised overnight that the Emotionally Distant Cardiac Surgeon Transplants Heart of Feisty Cardiac Nurse’s Tragically Killed Fiancé/ Husband idea must somehow be in the fictional zeitgeist. Didn’t they say that there are only seven ideas, and every creative work is a regurgitation of one of them? She’d googled ‘movies with the same story’ and come up with Antz and A Bug’s Life in 1998 and Finding Nemo and Shark Tale in 2004, just for starters. Lately there’d been more films about Winston Churchill and Dunkirk than you could poke a stick at, and look at Snow White and the Huntsman and Mirror Mirror back in 2012. At the time, Vanessa had preferred Snow White and the Huntsman, largely because she was a fan of Charlize Theron’s work with her Africa Outreach Project. Which, when you think about it, didn’t have a lot to do with the movie.
But anyway.
She plucked up courage and pressed the intercom. Within moments she was buzzed into a courtyard scattered with artfully selected succulents, and Charlotte appeared at the front door.
‘Vanessa. Hi.’ She was wearing orange Converse trainers and Lululemon activewear that hugged her long, slender legs, and her hair was gathered up in a ponytail with just the right amount of wispiness. ‘Sorry for the outfit. I’m just back from yoga.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ squeaked Vanessa, who was sure she must look and sound like Minnie Mouse. She shyly presented Charlotte with the hot cross buns. ‘These are for you. I know it’s not quite Easter yet …’
‘That’s so sweet! You baked them yourself? Thank you.’
Charlotte leaned in to kiss her, but Vanessa proffered the wrong cheek and their heads butted. Vanessa was mortified but she couldn’t help seeing the funny side. They shared a stilted little laugh.
‘That was awkward! I’m so glad you could make it. Come in.’
Charlotte led her inside. Even in trainers she was much taller than Vanessa and she somehow seemed to glide. Vanessa reproached herself—why couldn’t she glide? She felt herself morph from Minnie Mouse into Quasimodo, all unsightly hump, dragging her ill-shod clubfoot behind her. Charlotte led her past huge vases of exotic blooms and out to a large, light-filled kitchen that Vanessa remembered seeing in Home Beautiful last year. Charlotte had been pictured zesting a lime at the marble benchtop while her gorgeous husband Marcus Stafford prepared a kale and freekeh salad:
For all their terrace’s space and grandeur, Charlotte and Marcus both gravitate to the kitchen, which they consider the heart of their home.
Vanessa wondered nervously if she’d meet Marcus. She’d seen him on Q&A last month, enthralling the audience with erudite points about intellectual property law, and now here she was in his house. What would she say to a man like him? Come to think of it, what would she say to Charlotte?
‘Um, can I give you a hand with lunch?’ It was the most sparkling repartee she could manage.
Charlotte smiled as she put the hot cross buns down on the bench. ‘Thanks, but can I make a confession? I’m so exhausted from the book tour that Dad’s sent his corporate chef over.’
Holy cow.
Right on cue, a guy with a Clark Gable haircut, a Ned Kelly beard, tattoos and an intense expression emerged from the pantry with a mortar and pestle. Charlotte introduced him as Atticus Jax, former sous chef at Moses. Vanessa was impressed, even though she’d never heard of Moses. Not that she was about to tell Charlotte that—nor Atticus, who was looking at her like he already suspected.
‘You like seafood?’ Atticus asked in a tone that suggested there was only one correct answer.
Vanessa nodded obediently.
‘Cool. I’m starting with Clyde River rock oysters with grilled sea foam.’
‘Yum!’ said Charlotte.
How the hell do you grill foam? She didn’t like to ask.
Leaving Atticus to his artistry, Charlotte led Vanessa out to a striking living room decorated with bold modern pieces that somehow complemented the terrace’s period features. She poured Vanessa a generous glass of prosecco and, fifteen minutes later, Vanessa found herself confiding about Craig’s betrayal.
‘Arsehole.’ Charlotte said, her eyes blazing with indignation. ‘His loss.’ She raised her glass of prosecco. ‘Here’s to all the fabulous men you’ll be fighting off with sticks.’
‘I’ll use the sticks to form an orderly queue,’ Vanessa quipped, miming directions with a stick. ‘You stand there and you lot line up behind him—you’ll all get your turn.’
Charlotte laughed and Vanessa felt a delighted rush. Charlotte couldn’t be more supportive. She swished her prosecco around in her mouth, feeling it softly fizz. She’d have to stop after this glass, but the bubbles had helped to ease her shyness. Who said you shouldn’t use alcohol as a crutch? They obviously weren’t having lunch with their idol! But she was shaken out of her reverie when she saw a shadow pass across Charlotte’s face.
‘My marriage is over too.’
Vanessa was staggered. ‘What? No. Really?’
Charlotte nodded. Her smile looked strained. ‘We haven’t announced it yet. I need to get my head around things first. So many broken dreams …’
Vanessa felt empathy in her every pore. ‘Oh, Charlotte, I’m sorry.’
Charlotte smiled wanly. ‘It’s such a relief to confide in a girlfriend who’s been there.’
A girlfriend? Already? Did Charlotte mean that? But why wouldn’t she? Vanessa flashed forward to a future in which they were inseparable … but how would she juggle Charlotte and Kiri? Kiri would probably never warm to Charlotte, and she’d hate to hurt Kiri’s
feelings—not that Charlotte would ever usurp her, but still.
‘I guess all we can do is put one foot in front of the other, right?’
Vanessa nodded. Charlotte was too much of a class act to elaborate, but it seemed pretty clear that Marcus Stafford had done a Craig.
‘Marcus is a bastard. And what a fool.’
For a man with such a renowned intellect, he’d just acted like someone with shit for brains.
‘Thanks for being in my corner.’
‘Of course.’
Conquering her last shred of shyness, Vanessa gave Charlotte a hug. Charlotte leaned into her, and as Vanessa inhaled her subtly smoky perfume she could scarcely believe that Charlotte Lancaster was clinging to her for comfort. All her fantasies were coming true. Oh, except for the one about getting her novel published. A sensible little voice inside her head said, ‘How come Charlotte hasn’t brought up Lost and Found Heart? Isn’t that rather an odd omission?’ ‘Shut up,’ Vanessa said back to it.
Out in the hall the front door opened, and a deep male voice rang out.
‘Honey?’
‘In here, Dad.’ Charlotte pulled away from Vanessa and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Dad’s joining us for lunch. I hope that’s okay?’
Vanessa nodded, suddenly intimidated all over again. Chip Lancaster—corporate titan and two-time winner of the Sydney to Hobart yacht race in his world-class maxi Charlanne, named for Charlotte and her mother—was here. And Vanessa had just managed to relax. She grabbed the prosecco bottle. Stuff it—she’d get the tram home.
‘You’re not getting the damned tram,’ Chip insisted with a twinkle as he topped up her bubbles. ‘My driver will take you home.’
‘Oh no, it’s fine.’
‘Just go with it,’ Charlotte advised. ‘There’s no point trying to say no to Dad.’
Vanessa giggled. ‘All right, then. Thank you, Mr Lancaster.’
‘Hey, it’s Chip, remember?’
‘Okay, Chip.’
She giggled again, because why not? It was such an American name, Chip, she mused. Was it short for something? Vanessa couldn’t think what it might be short for, but did people actually christen their children Chip? It was like christening your kid Biscuit.
‘Actually,’ Charlotte said to Chip teasingly, ‘has anyone ever said no to you?’
Probably not, Vanessa thought. Chip was short and stout with a sallow complexion, but he had the air of a man who always got his own way. Her father Jack had been the same—although Jack was demonstrably more handsome. She felt a wistful tug as she watched Charlotte squeeze Chip’s pudgy hand. Charlotte was a self-confessed Daddy’s Girl, although Vanessa knew from interviews that she was also close to her mum Annie, a former air hostess who’d met Chip in the first-class section of a Pan Am flight. Chip and Annie had fallen in love, and Chip had made the wrenching decision to leave his first wife, Ros, who’d worked as a cleaner to put him through university. Apparently it was a very painful time for all of them, but Vanessa was willing to bet that Ros had copped the bulk of the pain.
Chip smiled across the table at her with his perfect porcelain veneers. ‘Can I ask you something, Ness?’
‘Of course.’
‘The dentist takes the impression of a patient’s teeth, but you actually make the mouth mould, right?’
‘And what’s the process?’
To Vanessa’s surprise, Chip sounded genuinely interested. Dentistry talk usually made people’s eyes glaze over—especially hers. She explained the mouth mould process step by step, and then Chip asked how she educated patients about gingivitis and what periodontal scaler she generally used for cleaning teeth.
Eventually curiosity got the better of her. ‘How do you know so much about dental assisting?’
‘I make it my business to know about things that matter. It’s an established fact that dental health is closely aligned with cardiac health, so in my eyes that makes you a lifesaver.’
In normal circumstances that would have struck Vanessa as gilding the lily, but after four and a half glasses of prosecco, she was humbled by her own healing powers. The sensible little voice inside her head said, ‘He’s just flattering you,’ but Vanessa shot back, ‘Since when is flattery a crime?’
‘Dad’s right,’ Charlotte chimed in. ‘Being a dental assistant is so much more worthwhile than being a vacuous romance writer like me.’
Was that meant to be an opening? Should she take it? The sensible little voice said, ‘Do it, dumbo.’ So she repressed a burp and bit the bullet. ‘Yeah, dental assisting’s great, but to be honest I found it much more rewarding writing Lost and Found Heart.’
And there it was, the elephant in the room, dunking its long and leathery trunk into Atticus Jax’s smoked eel with white chocolate and caviar.
A nonplussed silence briefly descended, and Vanessa felt irrationally guilty for killing the vibe.
Charlotte and Chip exchanged a look and then Chip turned to her sympathetically. ‘I have to say I feel for you, Ness. Charlotte told me what happened, and it’s a damned shame. But I guess once something’s in the zeitgeist, it’s just a matter of luck who gets their version out there first.’
‘Absolutely,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘And the cards could have fallen the other way if I’d submitted Love Transplant first—although obviously your manuscript never arrived at Wax.’
‘It did arrive, and Amy Dunphy wrote back to me. And I know two people can have a similar idea, but page for page, nearly word for word? Don’t you think that’s weird?’
‘It’s incredibly weird.’
‘It’s much worse than just weird,’ Chip said, refilling Vanessa’s already full glass. ‘It sucks, if you’ll forgive my French. It’s lousy luck for a delightful young lady who clearly doesn’t deserve it.’
Wow, he was being so understanding. ‘Der!’ said the sensible little voice. ‘He’s got an ulterior motive.’ ‘I thought I told you to shut up,’ Vanessa snapped back.
‘You know what, Ness? I’d like to help you. How does twenty grand sound?’
‘Twenty grand? What do you mean?’
Charlotte smiled. ‘It’s the least we can do.’
Chip reached down and pulled a large envelope from his Armani satchel. ‘It’s not fair that you won’t be able to get your own book out into the market, so we think you deserve some compensation.’ He held out the envelope. ‘Go on, take it.’
With trembling fingers, Vanessa took the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper on a prestigious legal firm’s letterhead.
What?
‘It’s a contract?’ she asked.
‘Just a formality,’ Chip assured her.
‘It’s no biggie,’ seconded Charlotte, but Vanessa noticed she was gripping her father’s arm with white knuckles. What exactly was going on here? She looked down at the page and, skipping the preliminaries, focused on the nitty-gritty:
Ms Rooney agrees to relinquish all printed copies of her unpublished novel Lost and Found Heart to Ms Lancaster, including any research materials and notes prepared in connection with the novel, and further agrees to delete any and every electronic copy of same novel off any and every computer/laptop/mobile device in her own or anyone else’s possession, including every copy that is relegated to Trash after said initial deletion. Ms Rooney also agrees to relinquish the computer(s)/laptop(s)/mobile device(s) on which her novel was written to Ms Lancaster. Subject to Ms Lancaster and her representatives being satisfied that no printed or electronic copy of Lost and Found Heart remains in Ms Rooney’s or anyone else’s possession, Ms Lancaster shall pay Ms Rooney twenty thousand dollars ($20,000) plus the reasonable cost of a new laptop computer of Ms Rooney’s choosing within seven (7) working days.
Vanessa felt sick in the stomach as she read on:
Ms Rooney further agrees never to speak or to communicate to any other person or persons publicly or privately of this Agreement. Any breach of this clause will be grounds for legal action.
Vanessa looked back up at the Lancasters wordlessly.
Chip produced a pen from his pocket. ‘Like I said, it’s just a formality.’
‘But if it’s an innocent mistake, why are you trying to pay me off?’
‘It’s not a payment, it’s a gift,’ said Charlotte, but she was tapping her nails on the table.
Vanessa bit her lip. So much for their burgeoning friendship.
‘And why do you want all my copies of Lost and Found Heart?’ she asked, making a mental note not to reveal that she didn’t have any.
‘Oh, that? That’s just to avoid confusion in the marketplace.’
Confusion in the marketplace! Did he think she came down in the last shower? Vanessa felt fury bloom inside her.
‘We need to make sure that your novel isn’t out there so—’
‘So you can hide the fact that your daughter did steal it—and that’s why you’re trying to pay me off.’
‘Go, girlfriend,’ said the sensible little voice.
‘Dad, do something!’ Charlotte squealed.
‘Shut up, Charlotte! No one’s trying to pay you off, Ness.’
But Vanessa wasn’t buying it anymore. Incandescent with rage, she waved the contract. ‘You might think I’m just a dumb little dental assistant, but you’re wrong. I’m keeping this—’
Quick as a flash Chip leaped forward to rip the contract out of her hands, but Vanessa refused to let it go. They tussled and the contract was ripped in two, leaving Vanessa with the top right-hand corner. She jumped up from the table, pushing her chair back so fast that it toppled over.
‘This is evidence. I’ll see you in court!’
Vanessa stormed off, colliding with Atticus Jax in the doorway and knocking his free trade chocolate soufflé to the floor.