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"You’re kidding,
right?"
    "No. I think he likes you."
    "How do you know?"
    "Because he asked me about your
background and wanted to know if you’re married or seeing
anyone."
    "You’re joking?"
    "No."
    "Why’d he want that
information?"
    Silvia drained her glass and
started rolling another cigarette. "Don’t play dumb, dearie. I’m
sure he wants to drag you into bed."
    "And what did you tell him?"
    "I said you’re fertile, single
and desperate."
    Robyn looked horrified. "You
didn’t?"
    "No. I only told him you were
single."
    "He’s quite nice, but he’s very,
very dull." She pretended to yawn.
    "You sure? I think he’s just
shy, which is a pretty rare commodity these days, particularly
around here."
    Robyn was a little surprised
that Silvia, who usually savaged the men on the floor, had spoken
up for Gary. But it didn’t matter. He lacked panache.
    "Sorry, there's no chemistry,
I’m afraid."
    Silvia blew out another plume of
smoke and held up the whiskey bottle. "Your call, dearie. Now,
finish that glass and have another drop."
    Robyn drained her glass and
praying that Gary Monaghan left her alone. Fortunately, he seemed
to shy to make trouble.

CHAPTER NINE
     
    Robyn rented a small terrace in
Glebe with a friend, Veronica Schubert, who worked as a corporate
solicitor at a huge legal fee factory called Douglas, Martin
& Ross , better known as Double-Cross . Whenever Robyn
worried she was too ambitious and driven, she consoled herself that
Veronica was much worse. Double-Cross was basically a
vertical gulag, except that inmates were allowed to wear suits and
sleep at home. Only the strong survived. But Veronica loved it. She
worked ridiculously long hours to meet outrageous billing targets.
After five years at the firm she was already a senior associate
and, in a few more, would become an equity partner with an office
overlooking the harbour and no life outside work.
    In her miniscule spare time, she
exercised, shopped, read self-improvement books and chased men with
demented energy. She was rarely home before eight o’clock. So that
evening, when Robyn opened the front door, she was surprised to
find the lights on.
    "Veronica, you home?"
    Veronica yelled back: "Yoo-hoo,
in the kitchen."
    Robyn dropped her briefcase at
the bottom of the stairs and wandered out to the kitchen.
Veronica’s spidery frame was hunched over the bench, chopping
zucchinis while humming to herself and bouncing around as if at a
nightclub.
    Robyn said: "How was life in the
salt mine today?"
    "Frantic. A big client wants us
to sue a competitor. Now we’re working like crazy."
    "Who’s the client?"
    "Can’t say: market-sensitive
information."
    "Who’s the competitor?"
    "Can’t tell you that
either."
    "What’s the case about?"
    "Ditto."
    Robyn didn’t want the details
anyway. She’d never been interested in commercial litigation
because there was little human drama: just big corporations
slugging it out over sums that meant nothing to any of them.
    Veronica tossed some zucchini
slices into a pot. "How was your day?"
    "Not bad. Got a fantastic new
brief."
    "Really? Who for?"
    Robyn grinned. "Would you
believe, Rex Markham?"
    Veronica turned and stared.
"Shit. You’re kidding?"
    "No. I’ll be junior counsel at
his trial in about three weeks."
    Veronica smiled. "That’s great.
Fantastic. How’d you snag that one?"
    "You know that silk I worked
with a couple of weeks ago?"
    "Brian Davis - the one who asked
you out to dinner?"
    "Yes. He put in a good word for
me."
    Veronica frowned. "I don’t
understand. You said ‘no’ to dinner, but he got you this brief.
Mmm. What’s going on?"
    Robyn shrugged. "Don’t know.
Don’t care. All I know is that when someone offers you a brief in a
big murder trial, for a client who’s paying top dollar, you take
it, no questions asked."
    "Of course. But it sounds like
he’s interested in you. So, if I was you, I’d hump him without
delay."
    Robyn frowned. "You’ve never
even met the