The First Year
Page 31
‘Saskia Hill. I’m Elinor Durchenko, head of product development for Fetch.’
She stuck out her hand, but Saskia did not take it. Elinor gave a sour smile. ‘I just wanted to let you know I saw the letter you wrote to Fashion Journal about Fetch. Not quite defamation — the magazine’s lawyers were very careful not to publish anything that would get them into trouble — but I warn you not to mess with us.’
Saskia smiled. ‘Your letter said you hold your designers to the highest standard. So I don’t know why you’re worried.’
‘We’re not worried,’ Elinor said. ‘This is a friendly warning.’ Her tone was anything but friendly.
‘You don’t have to worry about me. My lawyer is very good,’ Saskia said. ‘So are my jewellery designs. But I think you already know that.’
Elinor smirked. ‘I assume your lawyer’s cheap suit is part of his technique; he lulls his opponents into thinking they’re dealing with a suburban hack, so they’re caught off guard.’ Her mouth twitched like she was holding in a laugh.
Saskia, wounded on Paddy’s behalf, replied, ‘He has better things to do with his time than shopping.’
‘What a strange comment for an aspiring fashion designer to make,’ Elinor said. She took a step towards Saskia. ‘You should know,’ she lowered her voice, ‘our staff read Fashion Journal too, and a shop assistant from our Nicholson Street store happened to tell her manager about a jumpy young woman hanging around the store one Sunday morning.’
‘So?’ Saskia drew herself up, standing tall and erect.
Saskia had known women like Elinor all of her life, from schoolyard bullies to her manager Jill at the cafe. The trick to dealing with them was not to let them know they’d intimidated you.
‘So,’ Elinor took another step forward, ‘we recorded a theft that morning. This woman happened to steal the very item that you have alleged we copied from your —’ she sniffed ‘— jewellery label.’
Saskia had the sensation of turning green, as if from a sudden onset of seasickness caused by the tilting of the courtroom floor. But she kept herself together. ‘I don’t know why you’re telling me this.’
‘I’m sure you would realise a large chain like Fetch has CCTV cameras in all of its stores. We will be reviewing the footage from that Sunday morning.’ Elinor stared into Saskia’s eyes. ‘Our policy is to prosecute shoplifters.’
Saskia knew she mustn’t give anything away. She tried to imagine how Millie would deal with this sort of incursion. If ever there was a woman above being intimidated, it was Saskia’s imperious mother-in-law. ‘What are you implying?’ she said.
‘I’m not implying anything,’ Elinor said. ‘Even if I was, what would you do about it? Implications are not illegal. Unlike shoplifting.’
*
Saskia’s heart was still pounding when they reached Paddy’s office where she told him about Elinor’s threat.
‘They’re trying to intimidate you,’ Paddy said. ‘That means they’re worried.’
‘What if they charge me with theft?’
‘They’re bluffing.’ He waved his hand. ‘Don’t let that distract you. Theft of a $29.95 piece of jewellery is a minor matter. Not to mention my particular speciality. Even if they did charge you, the most you’d get is a small fine.’
‘That could bankrupt me at this stage.’ Saskia glumly picked the hardened cheese from the Subway rolls they’d bought for lunch.
‘This time next year you could be swimming in money.’
‘You’ve changed your tune.’
He smiled and waggled his bushy red eyebrows. ‘Judge Flower has left me feeling cautiously optimistic.’
Paddy had never been to the Federal Court before, and now the public speaking portion was safely over for the day, he was enjoying himself.
‘I hope you’re right.’ Saskia said.
The ping of a bell announced Paddy had a visitor.
‘I’ll see who that is,’ Saskia said, getting to her feet.
A young woman dressed sensibly in black was waiting at reception.
‘Hello, you’re Saskia Hill, is that right?’ she asked. She was leaning slightly from the weight of a large shoulder bag.
‘That’s right,’ Saskia said, suspicious.
‘I’m Cecilia Carmichael from The Age.’ She stuck out her hand, which Saskia shook. ‘I read the letter you sent to Fashion Journal, about copyright and your jewellery brand, and I was in court today and saw the judge gave the go ahead for your case to go to trial. I was wondering if you wanted to comment?’
‘Why?’
‘I want to write a story about you.’ Cecilia smiled.
‘About my label?’
‘Yes. And about how Fetch copied you.’ Cecilia pulled a copy of the affidavit out of her giant bag. ‘I was hoping you could tell me how you discovered the forgery and talk to me about your work as a designer.’
Saskia was flattered and a little bewildered that a newspaper would care about her, but she was cautious.
‘I’m not sure I should.’ She had some vague notion that writing articles about matters that are before courts is a bad idea. She had heard Andy get mad about it at the dinner table, shouting at his iPad and ranting about mistrials and prejudice.
‘I understand.’ The young woman smiled and held out her card. ‘Call me any time. I’m going to do something short from the affidavit outlining the case. But if you’re willing to do an interview, let me know. Don’t worry, I’d never write anything that would cause a problem for you.’
Saskia nodded. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said. As Cecilia turned, and left the office, Saskia was overcome with a sense of loneliness and longing for her husband. The world went misty as tears rose up in her eyes.
Day 285, Thursday, July 23
It was 7 a.m., still dark, and the only food in the house was a frozen microwave lasagne buried deep in the freezer. Saskia pulled it free and brushed off the icicles. She was wrapped in a fleece blanket. Randa’s kitchen looked into a square courtyard. Frost dusted the scraggly grass that grew in patches under the clothesline.
Saskia stabbed the plastic covering of her lasagne with her fork, then shoved the polyurethane tray into the microwave and slammed the door. She had a long day ahead of her and would not be able to get through it without breakfast. She sucked white sauce from her thumb. It tasted of cornflour.
On the kitchen table sat a summary of the brief of evidence in Federal Court Case Little Hill versus Fetch. Fetch was denying ever having seen the cuff before. It was a coincidence, they claimed, adding they planned their accessories line up to eight months in advance.
The file was peppered with words Saskia didn’t understand. Prime face. Inter alia. Ad valorem. Ad litem.
If Andy were here she could ask him. She could ask Paddy of course, but Andy would sit opposite her at the table and explain it over something inventive he had cooked. She longed for him so acutely at that moment it almost caused physical pain. She pulled out her phone and thumbed through the contacts. Next to his name and number was a photo she had taken while he had railed about a case he had been assigned to by Franklin Harris. His eyes were wide with surprise and his mouth an open, slanted ‘O’. She touched the screen. The way he got so worked up when things weren’t right had been captured perfectly in the snapshot. Her heart ached at the sight of it. She put her phone away and scooped the microwave lasagne into her mouth as she tried once more to read the brief.
*
Andy stared out the window of his third floor office at a brick wall. At HM&L, his office window had afforded him a view of the city, up towards Treasury Gardens and, in the far distance, the purple hills of the Dandenongs. At the OPP he couldn’t even see a window from where he sat, but he wouldn’t have had time to look out of it if he did. He turned his attention away from the brick wall back to a contract that was only marginally more interesting. He told himself he was allowed to go to the tea room and get some biscuits if he began reading when he came back.
He scrolled through the text. One of the big chain stores had copied her design. His heart was hammering. He knew about that sort of thing. He would call her. But then it hit him: he knew about that sort of thing. Saskia was facing a legal problem in his area of expertise and she hadn’t asked for his help. Andy’s eyes skated over the photo again. Next to Saskia was a tall, red-haired man who was identified in the caption as her lawyer. It was right there in black and white: she didn’t need him. And apparently, she didn’t want him.
*
Saskia banged on Paddy’s office door. She had taken the day off to help him with the case. Photocopying, retrieving files, anything that would give him a fighting chance in court.
It was answered by Alicia. Before Saskia had a chance to ask her what she was doing at Patrick Kirkpatrick’s, Alicia embraced Saskia as if she had been given a terminal diagnosis. ‘I saw the newspaper article about Fetch,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? It’s just shameful what they did to you. Shameful. And I want to help.’
‘Help?’
‘You have one lone lawyer fighting a team of highly-paid barristers. The article called it a David versus Goliath battle. There must be something I can do. Reading. Retrieving files. Coffee runs. Anything that will make it easier.’
‘We can use all the spare hands we can get,’ Paddy said wistfully, coming out of his office, his shirtsleeves rolled up.
‘That’s why I called reinforcements,’ Alicia said as there was another knock at the door.
It was Annie, and a slender stylish man she introduced as a milliner named Leon.
‘Annie what are you doing here?’ Saskia was aghast. ‘What about the boutique?’
‘This affects all of us,’ Annie said in her no-nonsense way. ‘Remember my dress that was knocked-off?’
‘Fetch copies headpieces from my website every year to sell during the spring racing carnival,’ Leon said as he shook everybody’s hand. ‘They make them from inferior materials and charge a third of the price. It breaks my heart. I never thought there was any point in trying to do anything about it.’
‘It’s always worth trying,’ Alicia said.
‘I agree. That’s why I want to help. Before I went full-time with my hats I was an associate to Justice Wahlberg. I have a law degree from ANU.’
‘Yay!’ Alicia applauded.
Saskia had a call from Aiden, saying Ray had told him what had happened and he wanted to know what he could do, and the tenants of the Barton Building had taken up a collection for a fighting fund that raised close to two thousand dollars.
‘Right,’ said Paddy. ‘I’m going to pull all the recent cases where a judge has ruled on design copyright.’
‘I can help you search,’ Leon said.
‘I can read,’ said Alicia. ‘Just tell me what to look for.’
‘I can read too,’ said Saskia. ‘Let’s do this.’
Day 300, Friday, August 7
‘Happy birthday, Ando!’ Hugh was at the front door with a box of cigars and a bottle of champagne.
‘Arturo Fuente. Very nice.’
‘Got to make the most of my freedom.’ Hugh cut the end of Andy’s cigar and lit it. ‘I’m on borrowed time. This could be my last hurrah for a while.’
‘How is Tilly?’
‘Grouchy.’
‘Understandable. How long has it been it now?’
‘Eight days overdue. She says she feels like she swallowed a pot roast, still in its pot. I’ve got to be back home in exactly forty-five minutes. Things okay at Cameron’s? They keeping you busy?’
‘It’s fine,’ Andy said, not wanting to discuss his dreadful new job on his birthday. He didn’t want to dwell on any aspect of his life right now. He just wanted to enjoy a cigar in the company of his best friend — while it lasted.
*
Saskia twirled a lock of hair around her finger as she sat perched on the tall stool in her studio. Paddy had sent her a copy of the opening argument he would read to the court the following day. He had drawn a rich narrative of a lone jeweller who had set out to create a business for herself and had found the fruits of her labour ravaged by a faceless, national corporation. She felt proud, excited and nervous. A whole jumble of emotions. Most of all, she was unable to escape the thought of how much Andy would enjoy the case, and how much she wanted to discuss it with him.
She opened her wallet and pulled out a folded napkin. It was headed The First Year. She touched Andy’s blotchy signature and traced the line below: ‘I will love you every day.’ The single sheet of tissue paper was starting to fur and fray, its fibres pulling apart. Saskia folded it and gently returned it to her wallet.
She cradled her phone. She often lay awake at night drafting speeches to him or holding imaginary conversations. Given it was his birthday, it felt almost aggressive of her not to reach out. She wondered what he was doing.
For her birthday in November he’d said they could go anywhere she wanted, anywhere at all. And so she had chosen the Dosa Hut in West Footscray where nothing cost more than eight dollars and the food was served in tin trays.
‘It’s the best Indian in Melbourne,’ Saskia had told him.
After they’d eaten, sharing their curries, and generally making the other diners nauseous with their over-the-top displays of affection, the waiter had brought out a flat, charred cake sandwiched together with pink icing.
‘I can’t believe you baked this.’ She had laughed, clapping her hands together.
Andy stared at it critically. ‘You’ll believe it when you taste it.’
‘You’re a good cook.’
‘But not a good baker. It’s too precise. You can’t just toss things in to improve the flavour as you go. It mucks up the chemistry and you end up with a Frisbee made of flour and butter. Not very practical for throwing at the park.’
‘I don’t know.’ She prodded the cake. ‘This looks like it could get some good speed on a windy day.’
‘You’re impossible to buy for, you know that, don’t you? You only wear second hand clothes and jewellery — well, buying you jewellery would be like you giving me a book of torts for my birthday.’
‘That’s not true. I’m far less attached to jewellery than you are to court papers. You know, you are required by law to sing to me before we cut this thing.’
Andy pretended to clear his throat before launching into a rousing rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’. Halfway into the second line, two of the waiters joined in.
‘Dinner and a show, what more could you want?’ he said, after the whole restaurant had applauded and lifted their voices for a chorus of ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow’.
‘You’re going to come down in the world if you insist on spending the rest of your life with me,’ Saskia had said, as he’d paid the $24 bill.
He took her hands and said, ‘I don’t think that’s true at all.’
*
Sitting in Saskia’s top drawer was a box, not much larger than a ring box, with a ribbon tied around it. It held Andy’s birthday present. When she made it, she had not expected they would still be separated by the time his birthday arrived. She picked it up and stared at it, muttering a string of swear-words.
There was a sharp rapping on her door.
‘Seth, what are you doing here?’
Her ex was hovering in the hallway in a scuffed leather jacket, his shirt, as ever, open to the fourth button even though it was only eleven degrees outside. Saskia was wrappe
d in a scarf and wore fingerless gloves.
‘I was in the area. I thought I’d stop by and say good luck. Aiden told me all about the case. And I saw the newspaper article of course. Page six, not bad at all. I wish someone would rip us off, you can’t buy that kind of publicity.’
‘I suppose that’s true.’ There had been a bump in sales after the article ran. But she suspected even more people would have flocked to the Fetch website and bought the cheap version.
Seth nodded, hands sunk in his pockets, and nosed around the studio, touching her tools and picking up pieces of jewellery.
‘Seth it was . . . thoughtful of you to come by and wish me well but I’m really very busy.’
She indicated Paddy’s written submission on her desk. Seth picked it up, leafed through the pages and gave a low whistle.
‘Looks like you’ve got a strong case. Must be handy having a lawyer husband.’
Saskia made a non-committal noise. ‘Yes, well.’ She could feel sadness well up inside her.
Seth continued. ‘I bet he’d do anything for you.’
This was the line that did it. Something inside Saskia cracked. She was nervous about the case and exhausted from the work it had involved. She was also bereft, alone and brokenhearted. And now here was the man who had betrayed her, pointing out what she had lost. She bent forward and silent tears began to flow from her eyes. They rolled down the slope of her nose and onto the studio’s lino floor.
‘Sas, what’s wrong?’ Seth’s face creased with concern. ‘Did I say something?’
‘It’s nothing.’ She shook her head.
He went to her.
‘I’m fine.’ She pushed him away.
‘You are not fine. Come here.’
And even though she knew she shouldn’t, she let him hold her, because it had been so long since someone had, and over the past few months she had never needed it more. She could feel his heart thud. As Seth began to stroke her head, guilt crept up her spine and she pulled away.