LITMIR.BIZ

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look at him and it had all come flooding back. The almost instant attraction of their first meeting, the golden-hazed weeks of his whirlwind courtship, their wedding day when the world was full of dazzling promise and they were certain their love would last forever and a day, despite the scarcely hidden dismay of his parents and family. The incredible pleasure of their lovemaking, and the way they’d seemed to be two halves of a whole, neither of them complete without the other.

      And then the gradual disillusion and the pain of parting.

      ‘Dessert?’ Devin offered when she pushed away her plate.

      Shannon shook her head, dispersing the memories. ‘Maybe some cheese.’

      A burst of laughter from their neighbours drowned her voice and Devin frowned. ‘What?’

      ‘I’ll have the cheese board.’ Shannon didn’t share his surprising sweet tooth, but if he wanted something more she needed to be occupied rather than waiting for him to finish.

      Devin ordered a chocolate mousse cake that came garnished with a generous swirl of whipped cream. He cut off a slice with a fork and offered it to Shannon.

      Before she’d thought, she opened her mouth and allowed the morsel to slide onto her tongue. The achingly familiar, intimate gesture brought an unexpected sensation of tearing grief and regret. Appalled, she quickly swallowed the melting mouthful and grabbed at her wineglass, downing a gulp of red dessert wine to steady herself.

      ‘Don’t you like the cake?’ he asked her.

      ‘It’s fine,’ she answered huskily. ‘Very…rich.’

      He took a piece himself, half closing his eyes as he savoured it. ‘Mmm,’ he murmured. ‘Superb.’

      Shannon nibbled at bits of cheese while Devin finished the dessert. When he was done she pushed the board to him. ‘Help yourself.’

      He had a sliver of New Zealand-made Edam and a small piece of Gruyère, then said, ‘Coffee?’ And as the hilarity at the next table reached a new pitch, ‘Or we could go back to my place and have it there.’

      ‘Your place?’

      ‘It’s not far.’ Watching her hesitate, he said with a touch of impatience, ‘You know me better than to imagine I’m luring you into my lair for nefarious purposes. And it’s a quieter place to talk than this.’

      She had to agree with that. ‘I could give you coffee at my place,’ she offered reluctantly.

      ‘Mine’s closer. I’ll see you home later.’

      Maybe he’d feel more kindly disposed to her plans if she fell in with his suggestion. Though why he’d made it she wasn’t sure. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘If that’s what you’d prefer.’ He looked amused at her acquiescence, and she wondered if he was bending her to his will simply because he could, knowing she wanted something from him. Devin liked to be in control of any situation.

      After settling the bill he ushered her back to his car, and within five minutes he was driving into an underground garage below one of the city’s newer luxury residential buildings.

      His apartment was on the fifth floor, and he guided her into a large room with a picture window giving a view of the Waitemata Harbour at night, all winking city lights reflected like shot satin in the dark water.

      Shannon’s high heels sank into a slate-grey carpet, and Devin seated her on a deep couch covered in burgundy leather. Another couch and two matching burgundy chairs flanked a thick glass coffee table supported by hoops of burnished metal, and holding a striking bronze sculpture of an eagle with outspread wings.

      ‘I’ll get the coffee,’ Devin said, walking to a wide doorway through which she glimpsed pale grey tiles and a granite counter.

      A functional kitchen, she guessed, designed for efficiency. There would be no hanging bunches of dried herbs, or potted fresh ones on the windowsill, no antique utensils decorating the walls, as there had been in the cramped cottage she’d fallen in love with when they’d been inspecting the brand-new, soulless new town house for sale next door.

      After noticing her yearning across the fence at the colonial relic with the overgrown lawn and neglected shrubs, Devin had made the owners an offer they couldn’t refuse. An army of workers repaired the rusty guttering and worn boards, and modernised the kitchen and bathroom while Shannon had enlisted the help of an art director friend to bring the other rooms back to their quaint glory.

      The place hadn’t been at all suitable for Devin’s lifestyle. Dinner parties had been necessarily small and intimate, and most of his business entertaining was conducted in restaurants, his office building or hired spaces.

      After the break-up he’d lost no time, she guessed, in moving into this place.

      Pale green walls showed off a couple of striking black-and-white photographs and a superrealist painting of a stream bed, every rounded rock and ripple in the water rendered with breathtaking precision, creating an irresistible urge to touch and check that it was only paint. Open glass doors led from the living room to a spacious formal dining room with a long table and high-backed chairs.

      Everything looked elegant, expensive and impersonal.

      Shannon ran her hand along a couple of rows of books on long shelves, finding biographies, history and true crime stories, a number of tomes dealing with economics and business practice, a pile of National Geographics and a few other magazines. She was back on the couch, leafing through the latest issue of Time, when Devin returned with two bulbous ceramic mugs and sank down beside her, handing her one.

      ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Tell me what the film is about.’

      She picked up her coffee, instinctively curving her palm about the warm, smooth shape of the mug. ‘Have you heard of the Duncan Hobbs trial,’ she asked, ‘here in Auckland in 1898?’

      ‘Should I have?’

      ‘It was briefly mentioned in a TV programme last year.’

      He shook his head. ‘What did Duncan Hobbs do?’

      ‘He was supposed to have raped the sister of his best friend’s fiancée. The trial hinged on the evidence of his friend, the future brother-in-law of the victim.’

      ‘Was he an eye-witness?’

      ‘No, the evidence was mostly circumstantial. And not very consistent.’

      ‘So, is this a whodunit?’

      ‘A sort of did-he-do-it, anyway. But the point I’m more interested in is the personal dynamics—the change in the relationship between the engaged couple, the two sisters, and most of all the accused and his friend who was called on to testify…the choice he had to make as the key witness.’

      Devin looked thoughtful. ‘Support his best friend, and maybe alienate his bride-to-be…?’

      ‘Exactly. It’s a fascinating, true mystery story, and great for film. But expensive—the historical costumes and props, and even finding and adapting the settings, all add to the costs.’

      ‘Couldn’t you update it?’

      Shannon shook her head. ‘Attitudes have changed since then. They didn’t even have women on juries, and a rape victim was often blamed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or for leading a man on. There are all sorts of reasons why it wouldn’t work transferred to the twenty-first century.’

      Devin leaned back a little. ‘You seem to be in a hurry. It’s not as though the story is topical.’

      ‘I have a draft script, most of my crew almost ready to go, and I thought I had backing in the bag, but at the last minute I missed out after all.’

      ‘How much do you need?’

      When she told him, he didn’t blink or move, but it was a second or two before he spoke. ‘That’s a lot of money.’

      It

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