VANESSA

Vanessa was appalled by the parking rates. Forty-eight dollars for three hours! It was daylight robbery, but she couldn’t reverse because there were other cars lined up behind her. And, besides, she would have paid two hundred bucks if she had to, because her boyfriend was waiting for her.

Marcus!

After three intimate dinners at Marcus’s apartment, tonight was their first outing as a COUPLE. Yes, a C-O-U-P-L-E! Vanessa Rooney and Marcus Stafford were now boyfriend and girlfriend, lovers, partners, an item, a ‘thing’. They were meeting at a gallery opening in Flinders Lane, and Vanessa was already twelve minutes late. She felt a peculiar mix of stress and elation as she took her ticket and sped through the gates.

‘Why don’t we grab something to eat first?’ Marcus had suggested last night, when they were lying with their limbs entangled after making love.

‘I wish I could, but I’ve got Lachie’s parent–teacher interviews. Sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry.’ He smiled, running a finger down her back as softly as air. ‘I love how you put your kids first. It’s one of the things I find sexiest about you.’ Then he whispered into her ear, ‘Would you like me to list the other things?’

‘I’d rather you showed me,’ she replied, thrilled by her own boldness.

Even now, Vanessa felt a shiver ripple through her whole body. That first encounter had been no fluke. Her mum had predicted that Marcus was the kind of man who could drive his sports car straight to a woman’s G spot—well, he pulled over and parked there! She wondered idly if Craig even knew that she had a G spot. It seemed too late to ask him now.

She manoeuvred the Corolla into a tight space between two huge urban tanks, opened the door and squeezed out, hurriedly throwing on her coat and tying her scarf around her neck in what she hoped was a flattering knot. It was still mind-boggling that Marcus would break up with a woman like Ivy Jones for her, but that was exactly what he’d done. Apparently, he’d told Ivy that they were ‘on different paths’, because he didn’t want to rub Vanessa in her face. Vanessa would like to rub herself in his face! But she had to stop thinking about sex every second. It had almost got her into trouble at Lachie’s parent–teacher interview.

When she’d arrived at Preston Primary School in the little black number from Zara, Craig had stared at her in surprise.

‘You’re pretty dressed up for a school thing.’

But then his face softened with pity and Vanessa could tell that he was thinking this was a big night out for her these days. If only he knew! But then Lachie’s teacher, Mrs Murcell, called them in and announced that, in her opinion, Lachie had oppositional defiant disorder. Vanessa could remember a time when that was just called being naughty, but if promoting naughtiness to a disorder made parents feel less responsible, she was all for it.

‘The poor kid’s probably just acting out,’ Craig explained, practising the counsellor-speak he’d so helpfully learned from Natalie. ‘He’s been through a lot with the marriage break-up, and he’s trying his hardest to be a big boy and look after his mum at a very vulnerable time in her life.’

And then Mrs Murcell looked at her with pity too, and Vanessa wondered how they’d react if she said, ‘Can we wrap this up, guys? I want to have sex with my hot new boyfriend.’ She swallowed a little guffaw and Mrs Murcell and Craig exchanged concerned looks.

‘Vanessa? Are you okay?’ asked Craig.

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

But as Mrs Murcell rabbited on about NAPLAN, Vanessa found herself fantasising about Marcus and Craig having a duel. It would be somewhere picturesque, like the grounds of the grand Victorian mansion, Ripponlea. She’d beg Marcus not to go through with it, but he’d insist on defending her from Craig’s relentless concern for her feelings. He’d look amazing in breeches and boots with one of those white frilly shirts undone to his chest, and on the twentieth pace he’d leap around and shoot Craig right through the heart—and Natalie would be jogging past with her ponytail swinging and find Craig exsanguinating near the duck pond. Vanessa shook her head, startled by her bloodthirsty fantasy. Exsanguinating? Woah. No wonder Lachie had oppositional defiant disorder.

She turned into funky Flinders Lane and gazed up at the translucent Adelphi Hotel pool that protruded from the building high above the footpath. Did swimming laps give the guests vertigo? But there was no time to ponder that so she hurried on, and as she wove her way through the chic passers-by she realised she was starting to feel a bit glamorous and European—until she collided with someone.

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay,’ the young woman said, but then their eyes met and they both recoiled. Of all the gin joints in all the towns! It was Amy Dunphy, the commissioning editor from Wax who’d denied receiving Lost and Found Heart. What were the odds? But then Vanessa remembered that Wax’s office was in Flinders Lane. She’d been so ecstatic about seeing Marcus that it hadn’t even occurred to her that she was in enemy territory.

‘What are you doing here?’ Amy asked suspiciously. ‘The office is closed.’

‘Relax, I’m just passing,’ Vanessa said coldly, but then she saw Amy wince and noticed that the editor’s face was a deathly white, and her hands were reaching up to cup her conspicuously swollen jaw. Was the poor girl in the grip of a dental disaster? ‘Keep walking,’ Vanessa told herself. ‘What has Amy Dunphy ever done for you?’

‘Are you okay?’ she heard herself asking.

Amy eyed her warily. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Toothache?’

Amy shrugged—she could hardly deny it. In spite of everything, Vanessa couldn’t help sympathising. There was nothing worse than a bad toothache. It was amazing to think that such a tiny part of the anatomy could cause such unbearable pain, but Vanessa had seen burly blokes weeping in agony in the dental chair.

‘Can I have a look?’

Amy hesitated but acquiesced, and Vanessa peered inside her mouth. The gum around her lower-right second molar was super-inflamed—no wonder she was in such pain.

‘Have you been to a dentist?’

Amy shook her head. ‘I’m on a deadline—I had to work late. I’ve got an appointment tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Vanessa grimaced. It looked to her like an abscess that couldn’t wait. ‘Have you taken anything?’

When Amy shook her head, Vanessa reached into her handbag and pulled out some painkillers, popping a couple out of their packaging. ‘Here, have these. It’ll take the edge off—I’m not trying to poison you, I swear.’

As Amy swallowed the tablets, Vanessa rang West Melbourne 24/7 Dental and used her influence to get Amy squeezed in. ‘Thanks a million, Greg.’ She hung up. ‘He’ll see you in forty-five minutes.’

Amy seemed torn between gratitude and resentment. ‘Why are you being so nice to me? It’s not like I’m suddenly going to tell the—I mean, remember receiving a manuscript that I never received.’

Vanessa gave her what she hoped was a slyly confident smile. ‘It’s okay, you don’t have to remember, but you do have to give us your computer records—and I’m sure your computer will remember.’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ Amy mumbled.

What did she mean? Was she bluffing?

‘Well, thank you,’ she said ungraciously before Vanessa could pursue it, and she scuttled off and was quickly submerged in a sea of passers-by.

Vanessa decided not to mention the encounter to Marcus—it might put a crimp on their first official date. But she needn’t have worried; Amy had already flown from her mind by the time she reached the gallery. Shyness pounced as she stopped outside. What if Marcus’s friends didn’t like her? But why wouldn’t they? She pictured herself laughing wittily at the centre of a sophisticated conversation and felt a cold clutch of terror. Who was she kidding? She’d be lucky if she could string a sentence together. What if she embarrassed Marcus by standing there like a tongue-tied twerp?

She peeked into the gallery. The place was packed with people wearing black, so at least she’d got that much right, although most of them looked a lot more eclectic than her. Was that the word, eclectic? She’d google it later when her fingers weren’t shaking too much for the keypad.

She fixed a smile on her face and stepped into the gallery’s warmth. She removed her coat and scarf and tried to check out the paintings, but she couldn’t see them through all the people who seemed to be looking at each other instead of the walls.

A young waiter with a Clark Gable moustache proffered a tray.

‘Thank you.’ Vanessa took a glass of champagne, resisting the urge to scull it in one gulp as she scoured the room for Marcus. She heard the velvet baritone of his laughter first, and then she turned to see him holding court among a group of affluent arty types. Her heart did a reverse somersault in the pike position. To borrow from her mum’s lexicon, Marcus was a big hunk of spunk. He couldn’t possibly be hers—there must be some mistake. She felt an irrational need to flee and started squeezing her way back to the door, but the sensible little voice inside her said, ‘What are you doing? Don’t be an idiot.’ ‘I can be an idiot if I want to,’ Vanessa snapped back, but she knew the sensible little voice was right, so she forced herself to turn around, and she almost collided with Marcus.

‘Vanessa? Where were you going?’

‘Oh, I was just … um …’

‘You weren’t planning to run out on me, were you?’ He looked more amused than annoyed.

‘I was thinking about it,’ she admitted, ‘but I changed my mind.’ Marcus laughed. ‘I’m glad to hear it. Hello, by the way. You look beautiful.’

He reached down and kissed her cheek. Vanessa would have preferred a kiss on the lips, but even that chaste peck made her feel so flustered that she could barely speak.

‘Come and meet Pollyanna, the gallery owner.’

With his hand at the small of her back, Marcus guided her through the crowd to an elegant woman in her late fifties whose clothes were so fashionably shapeless that Vanessa couldn’t quite tell if she was wearing a dress or a jumpsuit. She was chatting to a tattooed brunette with an asymmetrical haircut and a middle-aged man with black-rimmed glasses and a morose expression, wearing what seemed to be a skirt.

Vanessa tried not to feel intimidated. What would her mum say? ‘Just believe that you’re not intimidated and you won’t be.’ Problem was, she didn’t believe it.

‘Vanessa, this is Pollyanna Street, Michaeley Duggan and, of course, Dante Boseley, whose brilliant works are adorning the walls.’ Marcus smiled smoothly. ‘Vanessa Rooney.’

‘Hi,’ Vanessa managed.

So far so good.

Pollyanna, Michaeley and Dante looked her up and down with bemused expressions, and then Pollyanna’s face lit up. ‘Oh, Vanessa Rooney. I recognise you. You’re the woman who’s suing Charlotte! Marcus’s client.’

‘Yeah, that’s me.’

‘One and the same,’ Marcus confirmed.

Vanessa waited for him to tell his friends that she was more than a client, but he didn’t elaborate. Meanwhile, she saw Pollyanna and Michaeley exchange glances and Dante waved at someone over her shoulder.

‘Have you written anything before?’ Pollyanna asked.

‘Not really, just essays at school.’

‘And you’re a dental assistant, aren’t you?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And have you always been a dental assistant?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So you haven’t studied literature at a tertiary level?’

‘What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?’ Marcus interjected. ‘Can you give the poor woman a second to sip her champagne?’

‘You’re right,’ said Pollyanna. ‘I’m sorry, Vanessa. Do you mind if I steal Marcus away for a moment?’

Yes, I do! Don’t leave me alone!

‘No, of course not.’

Marcus winked at her as Pollyanna led him off into the crowd, leaving Vanessa alone with Michaeley and Dante. The awkwardness was excruciating—she had to say something.

‘Um, how long have you been an artist?’ she ventured.

‘How long have I been an artist?’ Dante repeated.

Was there something wrong with the question?

‘It’s not as if a person suddenly decides to become an artist,’ Michaeley explained patiently. ‘You just are an artist. Or you’re not.’

Vanessa wasn’t sure that was true. Hadn’t she decided to become an artist when she decided to write her novel?

‘Deciding that you want to be an artist doesn’t make you one,’ Michaeley continued as though she’d read Vanessa’s mind. ‘But I’m using “you” in the general sense, so please don’t construe it as specific.’

Right, I’ll just construe it as a general insult then, thought Vanessa.

‘Dante! What can we tell you? It’s transcendent.’

An elderly couple pushed past her and pounced on Dante, and Vanessa found herself edged out of the group.

Thank goodness.

She took the chance to go to the bathroom and do a wee—her bladder always felt more nervous than she did. When she emerged, she spotted Marcus and Pollyanna and headed over to join them, catching the tail end of an exchange.

‘Do you really think it’s fair to take advantage of someone like Vanessa Rooney just to put the screws on Lotts?’

‘I’m not taking advantage. Vanessa has a very strong case. Lotts did breach her copyright, and I’m going to prove it.’

‘I believe you,’ Pollyanna said disbelievingly. ‘And, regardless, it’s kind of you to bring her out for the night.’ She turned and saw Vanessa. ‘Oh, Vanessa! I didn’t see you there. We were just chatting about Dante’s work. Have you been to an art gallery before?’

‘Of course she’s been to a gallery!’ Marcus snorted. ‘Have you?’

‘Of course,’ said Vanessa, wishing the scrutiny away. Meanwhile Dante rejoined them, along with a guy in tartan pants who looked a bit like a mosquito. ‘It’s been a while though, you know, with the kids and everything. I think the last exhibition I went to was a Ken Done retrospective.’

A sudden silence descended on the group and Vanessa was acutely aware of the deafening chatter from everywhere else in the gallery. What had she said?

But then Marcus chuckled. ‘I think you’ll find she’s being ironic.’ I think you’ll find I’m not, thought Vanessa. Why were they all staring at her?

‘I love your paintings,’ she said to Dante, desperate to change the subject.

‘Yes, Dante cites Ken Done as his primary inspiration,’ chipped in the guy who resembled a mosquito.

Pollyanna laughed but Dante glowered, and Marcus looked distinctly unamused.

Pollyanna took Vanessa’s hand. ‘We shouldn’t make fun. I’m sorry.’

‘No, you shouldn’t,’ Dante said darkly. ‘She has every right to execrable taste in art. If she wasn’t a bogan you’d call it postmodern.’

A bogan? Vanessa bristled.

‘And so what if she thinks she wrote that book? You’re forgetting that I’ve struggled with mental illness too. It’s not just the province of the great unwashed.’

Where did this guy get off?

‘I’m not mentally ill,’ she protested, but he turned his accusatory gaze on her.

‘How are we going to conquer the stigma if the people who have it won’t even own it?’

‘Vanessa does not have a mental illness,’ Marcus cut through, ‘with all due deference to those who do. Those were just lies spread by Charlotte to distract attention from her own egregious behaviour.’

‘Marcus!’

A woman with a pixie cut was tapping Marcus on the shoulder. Vanessa heaved a sigh of relief.

The woman’s name was Lucia Something-or-Other. Apparently, she was a jewellery designer. Vanessa was feeling tongue-tied after the Ken Done incident, but luckily that wasn’t an issue because Lucia Thingamabob was showing no interest in her whatsoever. She’d been chatting to Marcus for fifteen minutes and had barely registered Vanessa’s presence. Marcus gallantly tried to bring Vanessa into the conversation, but it never stuck, until a woman called Alice joined them. Apparently, Alice was a ‘foodie’, but Vanessa thought she must only sniff the food because she looked like she hadn’t eaten in months. Vanessa sucked in her tummy, feeling doubly self-conscious because Alice was wearing an original Alexander McQueen dress that had likely served as the inspiration for her own Zara knock-off. When Alice realised that Vanessa was wearing the Zara version, she was full of praise.

‘More fool me, paying a fortune for the real thing,’ she said with a sideways glance at Lucia. ‘Good for you!’

‘Thanks,’ said Vanessa, though it sure didn’t sound like a compliment.

They stayed so long that the crowd thinned, and Vanessa could actually see Dante’s paintings. She was relieved to find that she liked them, which meant that technically she hadn’t been lying.

‘Shall we make a move?’ Marcus suggested finally.

Thank God! thought Vanessa. They went to farewell Pollyanna, and the gallery owner pulled Vanessa into a hug.

‘Good luck with the case. If anyone can convince a judge to ignore all logic, it’s Marcus.’

Do your worst, Vanessa thought. I’ve been patronised by much bigger dickhids than you.

‘Thank you,’ she said aloud.

Pollyanna and Marcus kissed goodbye.

‘Give Ivy my love.’

‘Actually, Ivy and I have parted ways.’

Pollyanna raised her eyebrows. ‘Really?’

‘Don’t look so excited, there’s no intrigue—we were just on different paths.’

‘Different paths? That’s what they all say. Come on, spill. What happened?’

Vanessa waited for Marcus to explain that he’d broken up with Ivy for her, but he just gave Pollyanna another quick hug and said lightly, ‘Wouldn’t you like to know? Great show, congratulations,’ and then he led Vanessa out of the gallery. She was hoping he might take her hand, but he guided her out by the small of her back again, exchanging farewells with glamorous stragglers who urged him to call them for a catch-up.

When they finally emerged onto Flinders Lane, Vanessa felt like she needed a shower. As she searched for words, Marcus spoke.

‘You probably gathered they’re full of shit.’

Her eyes shot to his face and found him smiling. She felt a rush of relief.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she quipped. ‘I’ve never met more down-to-earth people.’

Marcus laughed and Vanessa was thrilled by the conspiratorial moment.

‘They’re not such a bad bunch when you get to know them.’ They turned the corner and he took her hand. ‘Allow me to walk you back to your car.’

‘Thanks. Would you like a lift home?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

As Vanessa pulled up outside Marcus’s apartment block twenty minutes later, her shyness came flooding back. What was the protocol? Should she keep the Corolla idling? If she turned it off would it seem presumptuous? But even as she angsted over her options, Marcus reached past her and turned the key, killing the engine. He pulled her into his arms and gave her a soft kiss that sent her world spinning. She kissed him back, and soon they were pashing like a couple of kids. Marcus took her hand and held it against his cheek, which felt surprisingly smooth.

‘See? I shaved extra-close for you. No more pash rash.’

Vanessa giggled. They kissed hungrily.

‘Come inside …’

‘I can’t—it’s a school night. I have to be there for the boys in the morning.’

‘Just five chaste minutes for a cup of tea; I won’t touch you,’ he promised, his hands expertly cupping her breasts.

‘I can’t,’ she murmured, hoping he wouldn’t be annoyed. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, don’t be …’ Marcus pulled away with a playful groan. ‘I was just trying it on. But I’d better go inside before I take you hostage.’

Vanessa laughed, but even as he reached for the door she could already feel herself missing him, and despite his kisses she couldn’t help fretting. Why hadn’t he revealed that they were a couple? Unless they weren’t actually a couple … Maybe she’d built this up into something it wasn’t? Was it just a casual fling?

She’d almost convinced herself she was fine with that when Marcus said, ‘You probably noticed that I didn’t announce our relationship.’

‘Kind of.’

‘It’s difficult.’ Marcus frowned. ‘It’d be construed as unethical because you’re a client. And the media and online trolls would have a field day—which wouldn’t be good for your case, obviously.’

No, of course not. Vanessa nodded glumly. She’d been so caught up in the lust and excitement, but Marcus was making perfect sense. She couldn’t subject the boys or herself to that kind of scrutiny again.

‘But …’ he continued.

There was a but? Vanessa held her breath.

‘It’s probably selfish of me, but I can’t stop thinking about you … So if you’re happy we keep it under our hats, I’d like to pursue this regardless.’

Swoon!

Vanessa leaned over and kissed him.

‘It’s our secret.’