LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

mother’s an artist?’ And then his eyes widened. ‘Oh! Ohh! Cleary! Madeline Cleary? Yes! Of course! The painting in your office and the one in your bedroom. Wow.’

      ‘Yes—wow. And my father is a playwright, but not as well known. What about your parents?’

      ‘Doctors times two. So…your mother… She’s not happy about you being a lawyer?’

      ‘She thinks I get too emotionally invested in my cases. Whenever I stress out, she says, “Kaaaaate, I warned you how it would be.” And then she adds something about thanking heaven for divorce—which is her way of telling me I’m doing the world a favour, and to just get on with the next uncoupling. It’s the Cleary way, you know—fight like hell, then move on.’

      ‘Now, you see, my mother would see divorce as an admission of failure. Which is why Knights don’t divorce. Failure is not an option.’

      ‘Even if the alternative is to stick with someone who’s horrible? Someone abusive? Divorce has got to be a better alternative.’

      ‘Then why do you stress out about it, Kate?’

      Tve just…’ She paused, sighed. ‘I’ve had a run of nasty ones lately. And seeing people ripping each other apart, seeing the kids on the sidelines…’ Another pause. ‘It can make you cynical.’

      ‘Cynical. Now, that I understand.’

      ‘Which is when I start thinking about boat theft.’

      ‘I’m surprised you haven’t done it already.’

      ‘Maybe I would have—except for one small thing.’ She slanted him a glinting smile. ‘I can’t sail!’

      He touched her face. Gentle, soft. ‘Ah, well—definitely a problem!’

      ‘And, you know, my job has compensations.’

      ‘Money?’

      ‘Yes, that’s one.’

      ‘And meeting handsome architects through your clients.’

      ‘Handsome egomaniacal architects, even,’ Kate said, and laughed. ‘But I’d definitely classify meeting Willa as compensation. It was…satisfying to fight for her.’

      ‘Yeah, I get that. From what I know of Wayne-the-Pain, he would have tried to screw her out of everything just to pay her back for wanting to be something more than an arm bauble. She said you fought like a demon. That it was your way—to fight to the death.’

      ‘Yes, like I said—the Cleary way. And definitely my way. Even more so for people I love—and I love Willa. She’s…special. Strong. So much tougher than people think. I admire her more than I can say. She deserves everything good and fine in the world. Joy. Peace. Security. And love. She deserves love.’

      ‘I think you’re a secret romantic, Kate.’ He nudged her playfully. ‘So where’s my Valentine’s Day card?’

      ‘It’s in the mail,’ Kate said, nudging him back. ‘Along with a few tools of oppression—handcuffs and hot wax to go with Anais’s whip, because I think she’s on to something there.’

      Scott gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘I promise you, she is not.’ Pause. ‘Mind you, for a B&D aficionado, Anais has some remarkably pedestrian notions about love.’

      ‘What’s pedestrian?’

      ‘Let’s just say the idea of a straight up and down sex contract would never have entered her head. You and I… We’re…different. We know what we want and what we don’t. And we go for it.’

      Kate thought about that for a moment. ‘Are you saying Anais believes in love, and that that’s pedestrian? Because I hate to break it to you, Scott, but I’m pedestrian in that way too. It’s impossible not to believe in love in my family. They throw it at you in great gooey clumps, whether you want it or not.’

      ‘Ah, but that’s a different kind of love to the romantic stuff.’

      ‘The principles are the same. Real love, of any kind, glories in a person’s strengths and talents and…and their flaws too. Especially their flaws. It accepts and it…it heals. It lets you just…be. Be who you are. A lot of divorces happen because that’s not the kind of love on offer.’ Stop. Breath. ‘And that’s when the lawyers come in—earning thousands of dollars negotiating whether it’s Mr or Mrs X who gets five hundred dollars’ worth of groceries in the settlement. And that’s a true story.’

      ‘But it’s not about the groceries, is it?’

      ‘No. It’s about power. Punishing someone because they can’t love you enough, or don’t need you enough, or won’t give you enough.’ She shivered. ‘It makes you wonder…’

      ‘Wonder?’

      ‘Why you’d ever let someone have that power over you.’

      ‘And that is why you and I—two sex-crazed cynics—are meant for each other.’

      ‘For the grand total of two more weeks.’

      ‘Rollover clause, remember?’ He eyed her closely. ‘You’re not finished with me yet, are you, Kate?’

      ‘No, I’m not finished with you.’ She clinked her glass against Scott’s beer bottle. ‘Here’s to not having to get divorced. Not that Clearys get divorced any more than Knights.’

      ‘But—’ He broke off, shook his head. ‘You said your mother’s in favour of divorce.’

      ‘And so she is—for all those people silly enough to get married in the first place.’

      ‘You mean…? Hang on, I’m not getting this.’

      ‘Clearys don’t get divorced because they don’t get married.’

      ‘You mean like…ever?’

      ‘Not in recent history.’

      ‘Your mother?’

      ‘Nope.’

      ‘Her mother?’

      ‘Absolutely not—Gran was all about free love.’

      ‘Molly and Maeve’s parents?’

      ‘No. It’s easier, you know, not to rely on a man. Or, in reverse, a woman. But don’t misunderstand me—our fathers were in our lives as much as they wanted to be, and it worked very well.’ She smiled. ‘Gus—my father—and Aristotle—Shay and my other sister Lilith’s father—even get along well together.’

      ‘So it’s one of those weird, blended, out-there families that are going to be the ruin of civilisation? The Knight family would be horrified!’

      ‘Are you? Horrified?’

      ‘I said the Knight family. I’m not really part of that.’

      She looked at him sharply. ‘What does that mean?’

      He shrugged. ‘I need another beer,’ he said, and went into the apartment.

      Kate followed him inside. Waited while he grabbed a beer from the fridge.

      ‘What’s your family like, Scott?’

      ‘Doctors.’

      ‘No—I mean, what are they like?’

      ‘Well…doctors.’ He hunched a shoulder. ‘You’ve met Hugo. He’s pretty up and down perfect. That’s the standard. My family is not weird, blended and out-there. More like stultifyingly conventional.’

      ‘So you’re…what? The black sheep?’

      ‘More like the sheep with second-grade wool.’

Скачать книгу