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Counsel's Objection

Chapter 1

 “Your Honor if I may submit….” Sarah started trying to inject confidence into her voice by speaking slightly louder than she normally did.     

“Ms Hemming, please, you are not going to persist with those submissions are you? I mean really.” The eyes rolled upwards as the words dripped from the Judge’s thin mouth, the tips of his long fingers tapping against one another as if beating to an unheard rhythm.   

Sarah, shoulders back and head held high, tried to ignore the sneer from the ravenously handsome solicitor opposing her. Ever since he had stepped into Court her body and mind had gone on a frolic. I’m a lawyer, she repeated like a mantra to force her mind to focus on the job at hand instead of straying into territory she rather not right now.    

That morning, when there had been no opponent, her self-confidence had soared, only to crash when her opponent had arrived with a great flourish and “my apologies to the Court your Honor, you know what city traffic is like,” which had elicited a smile from his Honor. She had resisted the urge to run and throw up.

She knew the second her nostrils picked up Armani cologne it was him. Oh how hard she had worked to rid clothes, sheets and furniture of that scent after he had dumped her. And when she heard his deep voice, the handful of butterflies multiplied, her hands desperately hanging on to the edge of the table, to stop herself from fainting. If only she was somewhere else. Of all the solicitors and all of the courts, why was he here?  

            “Your Honor, if I may…”

“Mr Southgate?” The Judge shifted his steely blue eyes to Sarah’s opponent, with a visible shift in demeanor. Typical boys club.

“Why don’t you stand our matter in the list,” Southgate spoke slowly, his deep voice travelling through the courtroom with ease before he paused, as if gathering his thoughts. “And give us a marking at two. This way my friend and I can have some meaningful discussions.” Sarah could not help but see the bright smile her opponent was giving the Judge, with the lifeline of having the morning with no case to hear. Was it her imagination or had he emphasized the last few words?

Realizing round one had been lost, Sarah clenched her fists under the table with her eyes fixed on the paper in front of her. It was clear now Markus was going to drag this out for as long as possible. If he thought he could simply rail road her into some settlement just before two so he could collect a full days fee, she had news for him.

“Very well,” the Judge replied. “Not before two.”

The hairs on the back of her neck were bristling as she stalked past Markus, head held high. If he wanted a fight, she was up for it.   

“A word?” he whispered with that irresistible boyish smile and a twinkle in those deep blue eyes.  

Sarah ushered her client into one of the many small interview rooms to explain what was happening. Since she had not anticipated anyone appearing for the husband in this case she had told her client the matter would take ten minutes at most, just procedural issues needed to be dealt with. However, since the husband today was legally represented and Southgate wanted to talk they might be here for a while. 

“Your husband’s solicitor wants to have a word,” she explained to her client, a mousy thirty something woman who had discovered her husband had been cheating on her for most of their marriage.

“He’s very handsome. Do you know him?” Her client sounded envious.

More than know him. “In a way,” she replied avoiding direct eye contact.

“He’s good isn’t he?”

Sarah stopped. Of course Markus was good, but so was she and she had come a long way since their little fling. “He’s just doing his job.” She said flatly and turned to run straight into him as they both opened the door at the same time, he from the outside, she from the inside. He smiled giving her a gallant wave past him. Sarah closed the door firmly before taking a step away from the interview room to make sure her client could not hear their conversation as well as put a safe distance between Markus and herself.   

“Long time no see.”

            “You wanted to talk?” she asked surprised how cool and business like she sounded, not at all how she felt.

Trouble was, though, she was crumbling under his gaze. Those deep blue eyes dared to travel over her, undress her, here in public at the Family Court and she was defenseless. Instinctively she wanted to run a hand down her blouse to check for undone buttons, but resisted focusing on something just past his face. And so they stood.  

 “How’ve you been?” He broke the silence first. “You’ve changed your hair.” 

At the last sentence she felt color rise to her cheeks. There had been a few changes after he had dumped, her hair the main one. Once she never paid much attention to it, but now with weekly visits to the hairdresser she kept it in a sleek bob, not a hair out of place. The other change had been the color, changing from an ordinary brown to a golden honey. Her hairdresser had insisted it matched her skin and eyes. “Your proposal?” Sarah folded her arms as she spoke, making only minimal eye contact. Enough reminiscing, time to move on, the clock was ticking. There was not much money in this case. 

“What no pleasantries?” He scoffed. “I like the new look by the way.” There was a pause as his left hand gently tucked her hair behind her left ear. “It makes you look,” his voice trailed off as he moved his hand. 

It took all of her self control not to throw herself into those strong arms. “I don’t get paid for small talk.” She was pleased with the coolness in her voice, her confidence growing. She could pull this off. She could run this case even if Markus was going to oppose her. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve turned into a bitchy family law solicitor?” He said raising his eyebrows in mock horror. “Is that why you have the new hair do?”

Now she fixed him with cold eyes. “I’ll see you in court at two. I’ll be making an application for costs thrown away.” 

...............................................................look out for Counsel's Objection the novel.

Without Fear or Favour

I thought my day was going to be easy since defending an octogenarian for a minor misdemeanour could not be difficult, but when the interpreter said. “I can’t understand your client,” things no longer looked so rosy. How could I run a hearing without an interpreter, with my client barely speaking let alone understanding English? I simply couldn’t.

“I don’t understand your submission Ms Weenberger.”

I struggled to grasp what I was hearing. Did the Magistrate mean he did not understand what I was saying? I was telling him my client did not speak Greek but Macedonian, whereas the interpreter spoke Greek.

Somewhere deep down, an uneasy feeling started to creep in. Suddenly the old court-room seemed to shrink to an even smaller area, with the Magistrate growing visibly in stature sitting on his throne like chair underneath the familiar Australian emblem, towering over me like a vulture, his black gown wrapped around him making him appear extra fierce. If only I was somewhere else.

“Ms Weenberger I trust you are ready to proceed?” It was as though the Magistrate had not heard what I had said only minutes earlier.

I was not sure if it was my imagination or if his Honour’s voice was icier than usual this morning. And why was it the man could not get my name right. I want to yell it is Weinberger your Honour, like wine, but I kept quiet.

“Your Honour, there appears to be a problem with the interpreter.” I try again, focusing on sounding calm and in control of the situation. There was no point letting on I was ready to throw up. Memories of my ballet teacher surfaced. She used to say ‘It is not what you dance but how you dance it. If you look confident, no one will know you have made a mistake.’ So with my shoulders back and head held high, I go into battle.

“What do you mean, there is a problem with the interpreter, Ms Weenberger?”

Again I ignore the mispronunciation of my name, wondering what would trigger the Magistrate’s sympathy, or if indeed he had any.

“Apparently the interpreter cannot understand my client because my client does not speak Greek and yet the interpreter does. My client speaks,” I am interrupted mid sentence unable to tell his Honour what my client speaks.

“Ms Weenberger, where was your client born?” There was definitely no hint of sympathy or understanding.

I cringe as I realize I am flogging a dead horse. My client looks older than his eighty–six years, yet there seems no compassion from Magistrate Mullens.  How could he be so heartless?

“In Greece, your Honour,” I reply fighting the urge to run out of court.

“And where did he live during most of his life Ms Weenberger?”

I am not sure if spit actually hit me, but it would have been close.

“Greece your Honour, but..” I try to explain.

I get no further.

“Ms Weenberger it is obvious is it not? Your client was born in Greece, he lived in Greece, he speaks Greek!” Mullens pauses to rearrange some papers before he continues.

“Sergeant, please continue.”

..............................

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Revenge after Separation

Revenge after separation

Scrolling through the telephone Max had left behind was something Kim had not meant do to. In hindsight she had no idea what had possessed her to pick up the phone and scroll through text message, but she had, something she now regretted.

There was no answer when she rang the number, a number that was stored under S for Sexy. A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled how Max used to whisper into her ear “You’re so sexy darling,” right before his hand found her buttocks.

Trying hard to push aside any of those memories, of Max making love to her in front of the fire place, of Max bringing her breakfast in bed, of Max, stop it she shouted at herself and went to the cd player to turn on the music. Perhaps loud noise would be enough of a distraction.

Glancing at the clock Kim realized Max would be home in an hour. The beeping of her own phone momentarily distracted her.

‘sorry babe got to go to work meeting will be home a bit later – sorry sexy xxoo’

Part of her could not believe he called her sexy and the other part started planning her revenge. If Max was going to be late he would get the welcome home he deserved.

Quickly Kim got to work. First she sent a text message to sexy, hoping there was only one woman he was seeing as opposed to several, telling this woman that Max could not make it tonight because of an urgent doctors appointment. According to the message Max had been suffering pain in his penis since their last rendezvous and he was keen to get it checked out. Preliminary investigation pointed to a sexual disease of some sort.

Next, Kim packed all of Max’s clothes into a box after she had cut holes into most of his t-shirts and cut the crutch out of all his pants. Since he could not keep his dick in his pants there was not need for a crotch as far as she could tell.

Two hours later, her job done, boxes piled out the front, Kim locked the door and left. On the door there was a note for Max.

Sipping champagne and soaking in a hot spa bath at the most expensive hotel in town, the room charged to Max’ credit card, Kim stared at her phone as message after message appeared on the small screen.

‘what’s going on babe?’

‘where r u babe?’

‘what the fuck r you playing at?’

Eventually she grew tired and simply switched the phone off.

A week later Kim went to see a lawyer. There had been a visit from a nice police officer as well as some threatening messages from Max. She needed to know what she should do.

By the time she left her lawyer Kim had another plan. It had not been too difficult to work out who S for sexy was and armed with the address and a can of spray paint Kim found the woman.

It did not take long to write ‘home wrecker’ on the pavers in the front yard of the address. Unfortunately it did not make her fell better. The empty hollow feeling was still there.

On the way home Kim made a few phone calls.

“Yes, I know you’ll keep the deposit we paid to have our reception at your place but I cannot do anything about that. I understand your policy. No there will not be a wedding. At least not next month.”

By the time the church, reception, photographer and cater had been cancelled Kim felt worn out. The collision was not a huge one, but one that meant she received a cut to her forearm, resulting in a trip to hospital.

The young doctor attending to her was great. He was good looking, charming and funny. Once her wound was dressed he asked how she was going to get home.

It was then she burst into tears.

Several hours later Jack, the doctor from hospital, lowered her gently onto her couch and then proceeded to the kitchen to see what was in the fridge for dinner.

After two glasses of wine and some pain killers Kim drifted off to sleep. The last thing she remembered was jack telling her he would make sure he would look after her. What a great world we live in, thought Kim. You never knew what or who was around the next corner. Perhaps leaving Max had been a blessing in disguise. 

Living next door to your ex spouse

So you have finally separated from your ex. It has been a difficult road, but you have come out at the other end. Finally the abuse the swearing and insults have stopped. You are free to do as you please.  The world is your oyster. Or so at least you thought.

The for sale sign on the place next door did not worry you. In fact you are excited to find out who your neighbor is going to be when you see ‘sold’ plastered all over the sign. You contemplate throwing a party to welcome the newcomer to your neighborhood. You dream of your new neighbor turning out to be your next date, the person you might even end up spending the rest of your life with.

It is at this point you know you have definitely moved on from your ex spouse.

In anticipation you watch the removal truck unload household goods and personal items. With great pleasure you feel a sense of familiarity as you watch and imagine your first meeting with your new neighbor.

“Hi,” you say with a big smile in your best Sunday outfit.

“Hi,” replies your neighbor quietly.

“It’s a great place you’ve got there.” You know this sounds silly but you plough on anyway. First meetings can be so awkward.

The ringing of the telephone means you have to run inside and abandon your prime position. Seeing your new date will have to wait.

“I’m moving,” it is your ex spouse. As if someone had tipped a bucket of ice water over you, you stiffen.

“So? Why are you telling me?” your mind is busy trying to work out what the purpose of this call is. What does it matter to you? There must be a hidden agenda. There always was.

“No need to be rude,” the voice of your ex has risen slightly.

“No need to shout.” You are getting defensive.

“I wasn’t shouting.”

“Anyway,” you move toward the window to see if your new neighbor has arrived yet. “What do you want.”

“Why do you straight away assume I want something?” your ex hisses.

“Because you always want something.” This is getting silly.

A car pulls into the driveway. It is a black sports number. Nice. You like it. You imagine getting a ride in it.

“Look if there’s nothing else. I’ve got to go. Good luck,” You do not wait for an answer. You hang up and rush out the door. As you pass the mirror you quickly check lunch is not still somewhere on your face. No, you look presentable.

The smile plastered across your face instantly turns into a frown when you get a look at your neighbor. You cannot believe. There must be a mistake?

“You hung up on me prick.” Your ex now shouts across the driveway and gives you the finger before walking toward the front door.

As you watch you cannot believe what you have just seen. This is like your worst nightmare, or pretty close to it.

You go back into your own home and pace the length of the living room. You need a plan and you need it quickly. 

Four weeks later you shut the front door and say good bye to your house. It was a difficult decision, but one that had to be made. Who wants to live next to their ex, not you that’s for sure. 

The Dish, taken cold

He tried to look into those deep blue eyes, digging deep to find something, anything. Once they had held him, seduced him by their sea and sky. Her eyes alone could have won anything they desired from him. But now none of that; all he could see were the images at the end of his surprise trip to their home. Where there was perfection, was now shattered ruin.

Watching her, without hearing what she was saying, he realised how easy it would be to give in to temptation, to put his hands around her porcelain neck. Surely there would have to be some pleasure to see her wince in pain and those deceitful eyes plead with him? Or…he stopped himself. What had a psychologist once said to him? Something along the lines of, ‘we all have psychopathic tendencies, with the only difference being everyone else is able to control them and a psychopath is not.’ Of course he could not do it here, in public, but maybe later at home in private.’ Angry with himself for having such terrible thoughts he knocked the sugar bowl over and thousands of crystals spilled onto their table.

“Where are you today, sweetheart?” Emily put one hand on his.

He pulled his away and caught her raised eyebrows.  Quickly he reached for his coffee. He would not stoop to public confrontation. That was not how he had been raised, to air his dirty laundry in public, particularly not in what had become their favourite café over the last six months. Many a coffee had been had here to plan for their most special day. Today had been arranged to go over last minute details.........

Pre Nuptial Agreements

To sign or not to sign that is the question.

Imagine the candlelight dinner, the champagne the expensive ring and then the question every girl wants to hear, not.

“Darling would you mind just signing your rights away please, just in case it does not work out between us?”

A bucket of ice might be kinder than the man of your dreams uttering those words.

What will you do? Anything, since you love this man, you worship the ground he walks on. He is the father of your children? Or is he? What if there are children? Will you be destitute? It does not bear thinking about. 

That night as you lie awake replaying the most romantic dinner ever had, those few little words come back to haunt you. No, not the once will you marry, those other ones, those about signing some document to make sure you will not make a claim on his fortune should the marriage not work out.

Sure, you had been surprised he raised it when he did, but you could see his point. He had worked hard to get to where he was financially. It was what made him attractive, he worked hard, had goals. Not one of those aimless drifters your girlfriends dated. Not like Jonathan who could be found down by the beach every day. No, Ken was different. He was, what was he? For some reason none of the brilliant things you normally think about him come to mind.

Was he a self centred bastard obsessed with money? He must be, why else would he want to ensure none of his fortune is lost at the end of the marriage. And what’s with the prediction of the end of the marriage? Was he playing around already? Was he not sure? Was he having second thoughts?

It does not matter. Whichever you look at it now something is missing from the relationship. Could he have brought it up more tactfully? You know the answer is no.

Perhaps Ken is not the right man after all. Perhaps there is someone more generous around the corner, someone who will not mind sharing his or her fortune for better or for worse, for richer or poorer and for married or separated.