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guy."
    "True. But he’s a silk and has
no major disfigurements. That’s all I need to know."
    "He’s also jumped into bed with
almost every woman at the Bar."
    "Then why miss out?"
    "You’re incorrigible. Why’re you
home so early?"
    "Steve’s dropping over."
    Veronica had been carrying on an
affair with a married partner at her firm called "Steve" for
several months. Robyn had met him several times when he dropped
over for a quick shag, but still didn’t know his surname.
    "You mean, Steve from your
firm?"
    "Yeah. His wife’s visiting her
parents for a few days. She’s taken the kids. So he’s riding his
bike over. I hope you don’t mind."
    Actually, Robyn did mind -
minded a lot - because she was starting to feel like a
co-conspirator. But there was nothing she could do short of move
out.
    She shrugged. "It’s up to
you."
    "Thanks."
    Robyn looked at the food on the
bench. "What’re you making?"
    Veronica finished chopping the
zucchini. "A vegetable risotto. You’re welcome to join us if you
want."
    "Oh, no, you don’t want me."
    "Don’t be stupid. There’s heaps
of food."
    She didn’t want to seem rude or
judgmental and was hungry. "OK then. I’ll get changed."
    Robyn went upstairs, had a quick
shower and changed into jeans and a T-shirt. Back downstairs, she
found Steve sitting on a kitchen stool. He was in great shape for a
man in his late thirties, wearing bicycle shorts and a Lycra
singlet that barely contained his ropey muscles. His curly blond
hair was damp and face flushed. Hard to believe his job was to
advise on major finance transactions. Robyn would have found him
quite attractive if he wasn’t a cheating bastard.
    Robyn said: "Hi Steve."
    "Hello."
    She hesitated, not sure which
topics were safe. "How’s work?"
    "Fine, fine. Busy, of
course."
    Fortunately, Veronica said the
food was ready and started serving the risotto.
    While they ate, Veronica and
Steve gossiped about their firm: which factions were ascending and
descending; who was sleeping with whom; who would soon make partner
and who would soon get the boot.
    Everything about the
conversation was depressing: the smallness of the topics, the
meanness of the attacks and the helplessness of the targets.
Neither worried about the big questions in life or clocking down
towards death. They would spend the rest of their lives hiding in
suits and finding meaning in timesheets; they would divide their
lives into billable units and hand their self-images to performance
review committees. Their conversation convinced Robyn that she
would never, ever work in a big law firm again, no matter what.
    Afterwards, she cleaned up while
Veronica and Steve slipped upstairs. Soon they were whimpering like
torture victims. She turned on the dishwasher to drown them
out.
    In desperation, she went into
the living room and tried to watch an American court-room drama,
but kept wanting to object to the stupid fucking questions the hero
kept asking witnesses. The judge was also a moron who knew nothing
about the laws of evidence. They should have put the scriptwriters
in the dock.
    The rodeo was still underway in
Veronica’s room when she slipped up to bed. For a while, she’d been
considering moving out and living on her own. Maybe it was time to
act.

CHAPTER TEN
     
    The next morning, Robyn strolled
several blocks to the District Court Building for the sentencing
hearing of a client called Felix Basten.
    Felix was once a senior
executive at a plastics factory. The cause of his downfall was an
addiction to gambling and almost uncanny ability to lose money on
horses, poker machines, greyhounds, cards, stock options and
foreign-currency swaps. After losing all of his own money, he stole
from his employer. That was easy because Felix was responsible for
paying the firm’s building insurance premiums. Instead, he gambled
that money away, losing almost $1.1 million in three years.
    Then he lost his biggest bet. He
arrived at work one morning and found the main