Look to His Like

Chapter Nine

Definition of slang terms in this chapter:
Mobile - mobile/cellular phone. In Australia, it is obvious from the sequence of digits in a phone number that a call is from a land line or mobile line.
Moola - money
Gee-gees: horses. Going to the gee-gees - going to the races.
Arvo - afternoon.

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Realising the futility of going to bed to only sleep for one or two hours, I watched some of my Seinfeld DVD without registering it, and dragged myself into the shower. These days I couldn't take a shower without dreaming of soaping Drake's thighs, so it was in a marginally more cheerful frame of mind that I eventually emerged.

After I had dressed, prevailing thoughts of Drake had me glancing at the phone beside my bed. Would he ring again? I'd given him the brush off, well and truly, so I doubted it. With the realisation that I had no idea where Drake now stayed, a fresh bout of gloominess overwhelmed me.

Lord, what a mess, I thought, slumping down onto my bed, in what must have been my first really spot-on insight of the last five days. The next second, I straightened in excitement and scrabbled for the phone. I had caller I.D.! I pressed a button - and voila! The number of the mobile phone Drake had used to call me revealed itself. I frantically jotted down the digits as if afraid they would disappear from the little screen on my phone at any second. Of course, I had no intention of calling him, but it was heartening to know I could.

I scolded myself for my foolishness over Drake - after all, there was no place for him in my life. However, my ovaries didn't seem to know that - a party was definitely now raging in my nether regions at the existence of that number. Sufficiently revved up by it, I slipped on shoes, and said goodbye to Wolf, eager to start a new working day. As I was on my way to the door, I spied Harry's box sitting temptingly on my living room floor. I heeded its beckon, backtracked and lifted it to my hip.

By seven o'clock I was at my desk, dealing with a correspondence backlog. Nine-thirty found me at the Supreme Court, instructing Counsel in a trade practices matter. Triple espressos kept me buzzing for the duration of the morning in the stifling courtroom. At lunch while I sat in the sun in Phillip Square, I switched on my mobile to find I had two messages - one from Harry Jarup, the other from Lori.

I returned Jarup's call first. When the call was answered, Darth Vader breathing followed by a whined "Heeelllloooo" prompted my own greeting to Jarup.

"Ah, Miss Butler," he responded. "How nice to hear from you! I have some news - I have arranged for you to meet the first of your candidates this evening."

Oh, Lord. I'd forgotten the matchmaking. Furthermore, after the disaster with Bello, the last thing I wanted was to assess another potential husband. However, this was not Jarup's fault, and I was sure at any other time I would be grateful to him for his help, so I tried to sound enthusiastic as I asked him for more details.

"His name's Apollo Filiberto," said Jarup. "I think you'll like him and find him suitable. I can email you his profile if you like."

"Apollo Filiberto?"

"Why, yes," breathed Harry. "I do believe he's distantly related to the last king of Italy."

"Royalty?!"

"Distantly related," Harry said. "I understand there are a few - er - illegitimacies down the line."

Nevertheless, it would be the closest to royalty I would ever get. I told Jarup to go ahead with the email, and took down the details of the meeting - the Bistro Mozart at the Opera House, at 7 p.m. The name of the venue was a good omen, anyway. After uttering effusive thanks, I rang off. Sighing, I returned Lori's call.

"How was the bleached guy?" she asked eagerly when we had exchanged greetings.

"He was a turd," I said abruptly of Staal.

"Oh." Lori sounded disappointed, however the next second her usual optimism surged to the fore. "Onto Stage 2, then," she said brightly. "I have just the plan for tonight. We'll go to --."

"Lori, thanks so much - but I can't. I am meeting someone else tonight."

"Awesome! Who?"

"Apollo Filiberto, if you can believe such a name," I said. "He's Italian royalty, or some such thing. I'll let you know how it goes."

I imagined Lori's eyes widening and her mouth forming her usual O of wonderment. "Make sure you do! I'll want to hear all about this 'Prince Apollo'," she gushed. "I shall be hanging out for your call!"

We rang off, I threw back the remains of another espresso, and wobbled back into court, wishing I had a few matchsticks to prise my eyelids open.

Fortunately, the case was resolved within an hour of resumption, and I was back at my desk a short time after. I dragged Harry's box to my side, and rummaged around in it for a file I had read the previous night.

It seemed Harry had retained another lawyer before asking me to assist him - a Jerry Doolan, who had compiled most of the material in the box. It was not clear why Jerry Doolan had decided to cease acting, so I thought it would be prudent to place a call to him. I noticed from his letterhead that he worked for himself out of an office in Rose Bay.

When he answered my call after the first ring, I announced myself and stated my reason for calling.

"Ah, the Jabujawarra claim," he said, his deep voice thick and slurry. "I wasn't officially retained by Jarup, you know," he said hastily. "He - helped me out of a fix, and I said I would look into his case for him. That's about as far as it went."

I could imagine the "fix" Jarup probably helped Doolan out of, but it was of negligible curiosity value to me right now. "It seems you did a fair bit of research and work on the case, though" I said. "Was there a reason why you stopped?"

"It had nothing to do with any doubts I had over the rightfulness of the claim, I'll tell you that much," said Doolan with a trace of bitterness. "If you've got half a brain, you'd see that for yourself. No, it was a case of good old moola - the lack of it, in my case. I just couldn't afford to devote myself to a big case like that, especially when Jarup and his tribe don't have two figs to bless themselves with, let alone pay me. I'd also need help, but I know no other solicitor or barrister would touch it with a barge pole."

"I'm willing to touch it with more than a barge pole," I said crisply. "I would really like to meet with you, Jerry, to receive your insight. Can we arrange something?"

Doolan gave a revolting phlegmy cough, without covering the receiver. I pulled away from my own, grimacing. When I tentatively put it to my ear it again, he was saying, "....going to the gee-gees, and then next week I'm going fishing. About the best I can do for you is meet you on the weekend. How does Sunday sound? Here, at my office, say at 4 in the arvo?"

I agreed to the meeting and we rang off. Deciding another espresso was in order, I rose from my chair and left my office.

To reach the kitchen, I had to first pass through the main office, filled with cubicles for the secretarial and support staff. Glass walled individual offices of the lawyers framed this central hub of activity. As I made my way to the door that opened to the corridor, washrooms and kitchen beyond, I glanced casually in the direction of the office of Guy Gilden, the managing partner. Its door yawned open, and laughter and bright chatter spilled out. Surprised, and then not a little apprehensive, I saw several of the partners emerge, including David Sleezak, and with them, Danielle Shaw. She looked flushed, vibrant and - when her gaze briefly met mine - triumphant. I dragged my eyes away, plastering an indifferent expression onto my face, and proceeded on my way.

However, in the kitchen, my hands shook as I prepared my coffee. Had that meeting been some sort of precursor to the announcement as to who Gilden Hawke's next partner would be, or was it merely an assessment of one of the prospects? I seized hopefully on the last option. All was not lost. I still had time to play by Gilden Hawke's unwritten, carefully masked rules and make myself a serious contender for that promotion.

I turned my mind to 'Prince Apollo', and hoped fervently that this peculiarly named member of the Italian royalty would be my saviour.