Andy shrugged. ‘Sure.’
‘I’ll meet you here at one,’ she said, pressing his shoulder before crossing the road to Andy’s former building.
*
‘Give them more time,’ Ray counselled Saskia.
‘But how long should we wait before making our next move? And what is our next move?’
It hard for her to concentrate on her work, which felt futile now, in the face of what Fetch had done. She had been waiting in line for an ATM earlier in the week when she saw a university student sashay out of the bank with a gladiator cuff clipped to her ear. Saskia could tell from a metre away it was a cheap knock-off. The leaves of the fake cuffs were blunter, and rougher than her own, and the metal was tinnier. A hot rage rushed through her, then just as quickly receded, leaving her deflated and limp.
She feared everything she had worked for was slipping away. More than anything, she wanted to tell Andy about it, and ask his advice. She was furious with herself for how she had behaved when he had come to Tiba’s, and she worried that if she reached out to him now he would think she was only doing it because she needed his help. She had backed herself into a corner, and couldn’t see a way out. Her nails were bitten down to the quick.
‘It’s been more than a week. If they were going to take me seriously, surely I would have heard from them by now?’
‘I expected this,’ Ray said sagely. ‘They’re trying to discourage you. They want you to think you’re too small for them to bother writing back.’
Ray picked up his phone — he was one of the only people Saskia knew who still had a landline in their house — and dialled the Fetch reception number he had written on a scrap of paper.
‘Hello, this is Raymond Kraft calling again from Kraft and Associates,’ he said. ‘I wanted to speak to . . . no, but you see I have written . . . My client’s work has been—’
Saskia heard a click as the call was disconnected.
Ray put down the phone and shook his head. ‘Maybe it’s time to go and see Paddy.’
‘Do you think it will help?’
‘People underestimate him.’
Patrick Kirkpatrick was a sort of legal odd-jobs man. He was the lawyer Ray used when he wasn’t defending himself. Even though Ray had ended up in jail on each occasion, he was convinced that his stints would have been longer if it wasn’t for Paddy’s advice and advocacy.
‘He did get Aiden out of all of those speeding tickets,’ Saskia said.
‘I’ll let him know you’re coming,’ said Ray.
*
‘I don’t know why you’re resisting this, Andy,’ Alexa said.
They were sitting at a high table in Von Haus, drinking wine and being warmed by the fire burning in a restored fireplace. Alexa’s knee brushed against his.
‘It’s really not my area,’ Andy said, crossing his leg to break the contact. His eyes dropped to his bare fingers. It was the first day hadn’t put on his wedding band. Looking at it caused bouts of melancholic distraction.
‘Just let me show you this one thing.’ She pulled a monogrammed portfolio from her handbag. ‘These contracts are based on an old template. The social media marketing landscape is changing so rapidly, it’s hard to write agreements that will remain relevant for the life of their terms.’
‘I’m really not up to speed on this.’
Alexa ignored his protests. ‘It’s such a new area. There are so many pitfalls, and since I’m holding myself up as an expert I have to have contracts that reflect that.’
‘The US is way ahead of us, of course. Maybe someone from—’
She cut him off and pushed the documents across the table. ‘Please take a look. You can charge me anything you like.’
‘I fear you’ve overestimated my expertise.’
‘The last firm I had working on this claimed to be experts because they wanted my business, but the associate they assigned would fax me about “The Facebook”.’
‘Okay, I’ll take a look.’
*
Reading Fashion Journal at Fetch had given Saskia an idea. The back pages were dedicated to industry issues. She felt sure others would want to know what had happened. She couldn’t be the first person Fetch and its ilk had copied.
She plugged in her beaten old laptop and opened a blank page. The cursor flashed at her. She had never been a confident writer. It took her half the night, but at around 2 a.m. she had a half-page letter that outlined how Fetch had copied her design and then ignored her when she brought it to their attention. Putting it into words got her so riled up she had to take several breaks, during which she paced around the house, clenching and unclenching her fists, until she was calm enough to continue.
In the end, keeping her rant to the magazine’s four-hundred-word limit was the tricky part.
Randa was sitting on the couch reading, so Saskia boiled the kettle and made a hot chocolate for them both.
‘How’s the letter coming?’ Randa asked. ‘Do you want me to proofread it for you?’
‘Would you?’
‘I’d love to. I could use a break from gender politics.’ She turned Saskia’s laptop towards her. ‘I think writing to Fashion Journal is very canny of you. If Fetch won’t respond to your letter, let the court of public opinion have its say.’
Day 268, Monday, July 6
Patrick Kirkpatrick’s office was sandwiched between a nail salon and a pawnbrokers in a dun-coloured mall that ran from a shopping strip to a derelict car park. Two of the arcade ceiling’s six fluorescent lights had long since gone dead and the dank space was filled with the noxious fumes of the manicurists’ trade.
The Kirkpatrick and Co reception desk was unmanned when Saskia arrived. She tapped a silver bell that summoned a large man with hair the colour of Cheezels. He wiped his hands on a KFC towelette before shaking hers.
‘Paddy Kirkpatrick at your service,’ he said.
Once they were in his office, Paddy shrugged out of his jacket and invited Saskia to take a seat, as he sat behind a wide metal desk that looked like it had been reclaimed from a war office. The front of it was dented as if it had been kicked.
‘So you’re the clever girl Ray Hill’s always going on about.’ Patrick Kirkpatrick leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, flashing two sweat patches. ‘You make clothes, is that right?’
‘Jewellery.’
‘Jewellery? With diamonds and whatnot?’
‘Just silver, mostly.’
‘Very good, very good. What can I do for you today? Have you had a run-in with the law?’
‘Not exactly. Dad thought you might be able to help me with a legal problem.’
‘I assumed you didn’t come here looking for a model.’
‘Mr Kirkpatrick—’
‘Paddy.’
‘Paddy.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll show you my problem.’
Saskia opened her bag and took out her Hero cuff and the Fetch imposter and placed them on the heap of papers that covered Paddy’s desk. She had removed the tag from the Fetch cuff so, at a glance, they were difficult to tell apart.
‘What do you think about those?’ she asked.
Paddy picked one up and squinted at it. ‘I prefer gold earrings m’self. Goes better with my hair.’
‘But both of them together — do you notice anything about them?’
‘They looks like a nice set of earrings. Hang on.’ Paddy turned them both over and his hands and held them up to his ears. ‘They’re both for the left ear. Someone sold you a bum set of earrings?’
‘No,’ Saskia said, taking them from him and sliding the plastic tag over the Fetch cuff. ‘This one,’ she held up her handmade cuff, ‘is my own design. This one,’ she indicated the Fetch cuff, ‘is a copy being sold be a large chain store.’
‘Is that so?’ Paddy took them back and re-examined them.
‘You thought they were a set though, didn’t you? They look so alike you thought they were a pair.’
He murmured in wo
nderment. ‘I’m no expert, but they do look mighty similar. Mighty similar.’
‘They copied me. They’re a huge chain store and they stole my . . . my . . .’ She knew there was a word for what they’d done. She’d heard Andy use it a million times. ‘My . . . intellectual property.’
She saw a light of recognition in Paddy’s eyes. He nodded, sat forward, and frowned at the two pieces of silver.
‘That sort of thing . . .’ he began. ‘It’s a very complex area of the law.’
‘But the law’s the law, isn’t it? They stole,’ she said, louder now. ‘Stealing is against the law.’
‘It seems that they did. It’s a crummy thing that’s happened to you.’
‘So you can help me?’
Paddy got to his feet and paced around his office. ‘I don’t know that I could do much. I’m better at petty crimes. Infringements. Parole breaches. Bail applications, that sort of thing.’
‘There must be something you can do. Maybe a referral?’
Paddy coughed. ‘I really don’t know.’
‘Please.’
‘I’ll make a few calls. Ask around.’ Saskia clapped her hands together. ‘But I’m not promising anything. If I can’t do the work I’ll try to recommend someone for you,’ he said, offering his hand. ‘No charge for today. It’s just a first meeting.’
‘Thank you, Paddy’ Saskia wanted to hug him, but settled for a vigorous handshake. After the month she’d had, this small kindness touched her deeply. ‘Thank you very much.’
*
Andy pulled a file from his briefcase. ‘I did what I could,’ he said. ‘You were right, there were a few glaring omissions.’
‘I really appreciate this, Andy,’ Alexa said, taking the contracts. She started leafing through the papers. ‘This is really great. You know, I have other friends with start-ups that are heavily web-based who could really use a lawyer like you.’ She put her hand over his.
Andy withdrew from her touch. ‘I’ve just started a new job, so unless your friends and their start-ups are willing to pay enough to cover my mortgage repayments, I’m afraid I have to decline.’
‘I think you’re mad.’ Alexa put the contracts into her bag. ‘They need someone who understands this world. But you’ve obviously made up your mind.’
*
After speaking to Patrick Kirkpatrick about the Fetch case, Saskia felt simultaneously more relaxed and more exhausted than she had in weeks. She lay down on Randa’s couch and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, and so she was disoriented when she was woken by her phone around five that afternoon.
‘Hello?’ Her voice was croaky.
‘Miss Hill, it’s Paddy. I’ve been on the phone all afternoon. I think we can sue them for copyright. Come in on Monday afternoon and we’ll talk about what you want to claim.’
‘Claim?’
‘You know, damages. How much they owe you for loss of income, stress and whatnot. We’ll put together an affidavit and file a writ with the Supreme Court. I think you’ve got a case, Miss Hill. It’s going to be a lot of work. But I think we should try to take these swindlers for everything they’ve got.’
Day 283, Tuesday, July 21
Saskia walked into the Federal Court, her shoes clattering loudly on the polished floor. She had expected it to be full of lawyers rushing around, barking into mobile phones. But the only sign of life was the occasional figure in a long black robe soundlessly darting into one of the many doors, like a dark ghost.
She was waiting for Paddy in a shaft of pale sunlight that filtered down from the high windows. The eerie silence made her think of all the murderers who had walked these halls, their wrists and ankles in chains, as they sought to appeal the sentences passed on their most heinous crimes. She smoothed the pleats on the white shirt that had taken her forty minutes to starch and iron. The intention was to look professional, but she felt like an extra in a low-budget Regency drama. She tugged at the collar and wished Andy was with her.
After the writ had been filed, Kirkpatrick and Co had received a letter on Fetch stationery stating the company ‘completely rejects’ all allegations they breached copyright, and that they ‘hold their talented designers to the highest possible standard’.
‘We will fight any and all litigation arising from these baseless threats to protect our business interests and reputation,’ the letter said. It was signed by the head of the company’s product development team, Elinor Durchenko.
Paddy had almost lost his nerve after receiving that letter, holding it at arm’s length to read it, as if it might bite him. ‘I just don’t know that I’m up to the task. I’ll let you down,’ he said.
‘You can do it, Paddy,’ Saskia said. ‘We can’t let them get away with this.’
‘I feel like a crook taking your money. I can’t beat these people,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘You can, because we’re in the right.’
He sighed. ‘You have every right to protect your work. I suppose I can’t leave you to do it alone.’
Saskia looked at her watch. Paddy had told her to meet him here at 9.30 a.m. and it was 9.40, with no sign of him. She shivered from nerves and the cold. A door slammed and she spun around, hopeful.
What she saw was far scarier than any murderer — a phalanx of barristers in robes filled the corridor like a flock of bats. The folders they carried bore the Fetch logo. They advanced down the passageway with their chins lifted and their shoulders back. They had with them, not briefcases, but suitcases on wheels, that Saskia imagined were packed with the legal equivalent of dynamite. Leading them was a barrister with a deep widow’s peak. He was flanked by younger barristers and lawyers in suits of pristine navy wool, as dark and creaseless as the night sky.
Hurrying behind them, flushed and solitary, was Patrick Kirkpatrick. He saw Saskia and waved, his other arm clutching a thick folder to his chest. He had no suitcases of evidence, and no lawyers to assist him. Saskia smiled bravely, but began to wonder if she had underestimated the battle that lay ahead.
‘I’ve got some great stuff here,’ Paddy said, patting the folders and wheezing slightly. His forehead already bore a varnish of perspiration. ‘Let’s go in, shall we?’
The Fetch legal team spread itself out over the end of a large table in the middle of the courtroom. Nuggets of gold glinted as the senior barrister waved his hand about while speaking with his colleagues. His legal robe and the widow’s peak gave him a vampirish quality.
Paddy leaned over and repeated to Saskia what he had already told her. ‘Today the judge decides if you have a case. If he says yes, the real work begins.’
A man in a green jacket with gold trim got to his feet and, with great ceremonial pomp, said, ‘All rise.’
Despite her anxiety, Saskia felt a ridiculous urge to giggle. It was as if she was playing a schoolyard game of cops of robbers that had gone way too far. The idea that she had brought on this proceeding seemed ludicrous, but she felt that even if nothing else came of this endeavour, there was some satisfaction in making Fetch call their lawyers into action.
A short man in a robe entered the front of the court. Saskia was a little disappointed that he had neither a wig nor a gavel, and she wouldn’t get to see him bang his wooden hammer at these thieves.
‘That’s Judge Flower,’ Paddy said out of the corner of his mouth.
‘What’s he like?’
‘He’s tough but fair. He gets, shall we say, excited when people don’t do what they’re supposed to. We could have done worse.’
The Fetch barrister appeared thoroughly bored and unmoved by the appearance of the judge.
At the barrister’s side was a short, chubby woman with a hawkish nose, beady eyes and heavy makeup. She wore a tailored suit and lashings of eyeliner. Every time she wanted the barrister’s attention she would tug his arm. She caught Saskia staring at her and narrowed her eyes. She was one degree more civil than a hissing cat. Saskia turned her attention back to the front of the court. Judge F
lower put on a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and invited the lawyers to state their cases.
Fetch’s barrister, a Mr Lawler, repeated many of the lines Saskia had read in the letter the company had sent her: they rejected the claims completely, their designers work to the highest standards. Saskia’s temperature was rising. Mr Lawler quoted a few pieces of legislation.
‘Your honour,’ Paddy got to his feet. ‘Fetch’s gladiator cuff is clearly a copy of my client’s work. As you can see from the written submissions there are solid legal grounds to bring this case before the court.’
The judge cleared his throat. ‘Yes. I’ve read the materials,’ he said, sounding lordly and wise. ‘I think there are grounds here. But, Mr Kirkpatrick, I advise you to do your research. I’m not sure that under the legislation . . .’ And then he and quoted some sections of law that Saskia couldn’t follow. She interpreted what was happening by watching Paddy.
He looked eager, then sorry, then earnest and finally grateful.
‘Yes, your honour, of course, your honour.’ He gave a little bow as he shuffled around behind the bar table, rearranging various piles of paper.
‘Very well,’ Judge Flower said. ‘The directions hearing is set for nine-fifteen tomorrow morning. The trial will begin in September. Court is adjourned.’ Then he stood, bowed and left the court.
Paddy pumped his fist and mimed a silent ‘yesss’.
‘Paddy you did it.’ Saskia whispered.
‘Shh,’ Paddy said. He was trying to keep calm but his cheeks were rosy with glee. ‘Play it cool.’ His eyes slid towards the other end of the bar table. ‘But yes, they’re going to hear your case.’
Saskia wanted to shout, but settled for jiggling her toes.
‘You were brilliant,’ she said, keeping her emotion in check for appearance’s sake.
The lawyers on the other side of the table checked their phones and discussed which restaurant they should book for lunch. The short woman banged a pile of paper angrily against the table, a scowl on her face. She threw her handbag over her shoulder and stormed towards Saskia’s end of the bar table.
The First Year Page 30