DAVE
‘She moaned,’ Dave read aloud with unalloyed amusement, ‘urging his mouth to take its fill as his fingers, so skilled in surgery, danced teasingly over her silken skin …’
This was brilliant! Who’d have thought Vanessa’s novel would turn out to be a biting satire on those God-awful bodice rippers that Mrs Hipsley and her mates liked so much? But, then, she had been in that line outside Readings—she must have gone to that Charlotte Lancaster thing for research. Dave had recognised Vanessa instantly as the cute woman who’d tucked her undies into her skirt. What were the odds? He’d wondered briefly if he should acknowledge the incident, but maybe she’d forgotten all about it and he’d sound like a perv who’d been obsessing? And this wasn’t the kind of case you’d take to a bloke who’d seen your arse protruding from your pants. Thank goodness she hadn’t recognised him.
He continued: ‘Their eyes locked as though fused by electricity. In that moment she knew that desire was her illness, and he was her only cure.’
Dave dissolved into chuckles. ‘This is hilarious!’
Vanessa smiled, but Dave saw something pass over her face and he realised that she was disconcerted. Oh no—her book was supposed to be serious! Why hadn’t he guessed? He felt like an oaf, but he couldn’t say he felt surprised. He’d always excelled at misreading attractive women, and now he was misreading their writing too, it seemed.
‘Oh, it’s serious? I’m sorry.’
‘That’s okay.’
‘I thought—’
‘No, it’s fine. There are some funny bits—it’s just that this wasn’t meant to be one of them.’
She gave him a goofy little smile, and Dave wanted to scoop her up and put her inside his jacket pocket where he could keep her warm and safe—although if she was into this kind of crap, she’d probably prefer that he threw her over a stallion and cantered off into the sunset. He suddenly felt the pall of defeat, even though he wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been hoping to win.
‘Really, it’s fine,’ she said again, and he half wondered if she’d read his mind. ‘Kiri thinks that romance is only fit for dunny paper, so I’m immune.’
They laughed, and Dave found himself wondering if she was single. Jackson’s father Craig—a bit of a nob in Dave’s opinion—seemed to be with that dark-haired woman at the soccer, which suggested that Vanessa was single. But how could someone so cute be unattached? Surely some bloke must have snapped her up. Dave started searching the kitchen for signs.
‘Dave?’ She was looking at him expectantly.
‘Right,’ he said, pulling himself together. ‘Will we both read now?’
They read the rest of the chapter in unison, and Dave was gobsmacked by the astonishing similarities between the two stories—it really did seem that only the odd word and phrase had been altered. But he was soon distracted by a more immediate problem. Vanessa’s voice was soft and appealing, and with laughter no longer an option he was starting to feel something even more mortifying.
‘With one flick, Magnus/Rufus released the ties of her surgical/surgery gown and it fell to the floor/ground,’ they read together. ‘He cupped/held her breasts in his hands, gently/tenderly caressing her erect nipples until she was awash/ached with desire.’
Dave’s eyes zeroed in on Vanessa’s soft breasts. He forced himself to look away.
‘Breathless with her need/hunger for him, Georgie’s/Angelique’s hand/fingers sought and found his throbbing manhood …’
Dave willed his own manhood not to throb.
‘Magnus/Rufus let out a ragged/hoarse gasp, and she could feel his whole body rigid/taut with desire. “I want/must have you now,” he groaned hungrily—’
‘Dad?’
Dave slammed the manuscript upside down with a flustered cough as Nickie and Jackson appeared. He felt like one of those bumbling dads in a second-rate sitcom.
‘Hey, sweetie. What’s up?’ He quickly rephrased that. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Can I play Grand Theft Auto with Jackson?’
‘Grand Theft Auto?’ Dave frowned.
‘Yeah. It’s harmless.’
‘It’s educational,’ Jackson chimed in.
‘So’s Scrabble, mate.’
Privately, Dave suspected that Evanthe might steal his testicles if he allowed their daughter to play Grand Theft Auto.
‘But Scrabble’s boring!’
‘Boring’s nine points. See? It’s fun.’
Nickie rolled her eyes, but Vanessa laughed, and Dave felt an unexpected glow of pleasure.
‘Please, Dad? Jackson’s allowed.’
‘It’s good for their hand–eye coordination,’ Vanessa said.
Dave thought that Vanessa sounded like she was trying to convince herself, but he acquiesced, and the kids headed into the living room to commit car theft and murder.
The interruption had proven a blessing—it gave Dave the chance to let professionalism resume the reins. It was clear that Charlotte Lancaster had got hold of Vanessa’s novel and copied it almost verbatim, and Dave’s finely tuned sense of social justice was outraged. How could a woman as wealthy and privileged as Charlotte Lancaster steal a year from the life of a financially strapped single mum whose bum looked just as good in jeans as it did hanging out of her undies? Dave was incensed by the arrogance of it. He turned back to her with what he hoped was gravitas.
‘I think you have a very strong case for suing Charlotte Lancaster and Wax Publishing for breach of copyright.’
‘Really? I do?’
‘Yes, I believe you do.’
He thought she’d be jubilant but instead she looked petrified. Dave could relate. This case would be way out of his comfort zone and he wondered if he’d be the right bloke for the job. Intellectual property, or IP, wasn’t in his wheelhouse—although of course the pivotal courtroom theatrics would fall to somebody else.
‘As your lawyer I’d do all the legwork and research, but I’d need to brief an intellectual property barrister to start the litigation proceedings. You look a bit worried. Are you okay?’
She was silent for a second, but then she nodded.
‘Yeah, I am. You know what? I was kind of hoping you’d say I had no case so I could chicken out of this, but now I feel so mad that I just want to shout from the rooftops, “You stole from me!”’ Her face was crimson with righteous indignation and Dave felt bizarrely proud, even though he barely knew her from a bar of soap. ‘Well, maybe not shout it from the rooftops—hopefully we can keep things quiet—but you know what I mean.’
‘I do.’
But then her brow crinkled. ‘I don’t know if I can afford a barrister, though. How much can you get for a ten-year-old boy on the black market?’
‘Not enough,’ Dave quipped. ‘But sometimes barristers will take on a case for no win, no fee.’
‘But why would anyone do that for me?’
Good question, thought Dave. But this case was bound to generate publicity, and wasn’t there always some show pony barrister who wanted to get their face on the telly? Not that he’d know how to find one. He was suddenly gripped by nerves, but his crisis of confidence was cut short by a husky female voice from the doorway, and he turned to see an over-tanned sexagenarian in an under-sized nightie. He blinked. He was back in that sitcom.
‘Mum,’ said Vanessa.
Mum? thought Dave.
‘Dave, this is my mum Joy and her boyfriend Bob. Mum, this is Dave, the lawyer who’s Jackson’s coach.’
‘Good to meet you, hon,’ Joy said warmly.
Dave and Bob shook hands. Bob was obviously one of those old alpha blokes who saw a handshake as a competition, because he almost crushed Dave’s digits.
Joy gave Dave a wink. ‘We skipped the soccer so we could have a sleep-in, if you know what I mean.’
Dave winked back. ‘I know what you mean.’
Joy gave a bawdy chuckle. She was clearly a good sort in all senses of the expression. She started waving the Sunday Age. ‘Nessie, you won’t believe what I’ve just read—an interview with Angela Madden.’
‘Angela Madden? Really? What did she say?’
Vanessa was clearly intrigued but Dave had no idea who they were talking about.
Joy slipped on a pair of glasses with sparkly things on the frames. ‘Listen to this: “Maintaining a dignified silence gets wearing,” said the petite brunette, reaching for another wallaby blood pikelet. “The truth is, I’m devastated that Ned left me for Charlotte Lancaster, and I know Marcus Stafford is devastated too. He thought he was married for keeps and he’s very bitter about Charlotte’s betrayal.”’
Dave’s jaw dropped. ‘Hang on a sec—Marcus Stafford? You mean the barrister?’
‘Yes! The dreamboat barrister!’
Dave was intrigued. So Charlotte Lancaster used to be married to Marcus Stafford … What were the odds? Stafford was an IP whiz and brilliant courtroom operator who breathed the kind of rarefied legal air that Dave had only dreamed about. He turned to gauge Vanessa’s reaction, but her face had turned pink with something that seemed to be indignation.
‘Charlotte left Marcus?’
‘Yes. So she lied to you about that too.’
‘What a lousy, rotten—’ But she stopped. ‘Although I suppose technically she never said those exact—’
But she didn’t finish because Joy put a hand out to silence her.
‘My Nessie’s a people pleaser, Dave, in case you haven’t gathered. She needs a lawyer with a killer instinct, and no offence, hon, but you don’t seem like a killer.’
‘I’m a killer!’ Dave insisted politely, and in that moment he almost felt like one. A Machiavellian idea was forming … ‘Hell hath no fury like a barrister scorned. If Stafford’s really that bitter about his ex-wife, maybe he’d act for you no win, no fee?’
Their faces lit up. Vanessa seemed to grab at the idea like a lifeline. ‘Oh my God. Do you think he would?’
‘Why not? I’ll call the Bar Association tomorrow and double-check, but I don’t think there’d be any rule banning a barrister from acting against a former spouse as long as there are no material conflicts.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
Bob hugged Joy. Joy hugged Vanessa. Dave wished that Vanessa would hug him, but she beamed at him—that would have to do.
‘So we’re on?’
‘We’re on.’ Dave confirmed, feeling pumped and daunted in equal measure. ‘I’ll see if I can get an appointment with Marcus Stafford.’