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“He has a thing for you,” he repeated calmly.
She managed to produce a noise between a splutter and a sneeze.
“He does not.” She actually felt…scandalised. It was as if he’d told her, in those irritatingly bland tones, that Nigella Lawson had given up baking cakes to peddle diet pills, or Rodin’s The Kiss was actually a portrait of vampiric exsanguination, or her parents were practicing Satanists.
It was ludicrous.
“No, he doesn’t,” she said, more firmly. “Why would you even think… He’s Melissa’s ex-boyfriend!”
The prosecuting counsel appeared to be unimpressed with her defence.
“Do you think that might be why he’s Melissa’s ex-boyfriend?” he asked, unperturbed.
What? She didn’t… Ack.
“Dale does not have a thing for me,” she said between gritted teeth.
Apparently a wise man knew when to retreat from the fray.
“Maybe not,” he conceded, and it was the verbal equivalent of a placatory pat on the head.
Much more of this and she would have no enamel left on her back molars.
“Why don’t we change the subject?” she suggested tightly. Right now. “And talk about something more pleasant. Like religion and politics. Or the hearing on Friday.”
There: an appeal to the man’s Nile-wide chivalrous streak. His attention was immediately diverted.
“Are you worrying about it?” he asked, reaching for her hand. Mick was a definite toucher. She was not, by nature, but her usual reserve was apparently situation-specific. Her fingers turned in his grasp, curling around his. “Because I wasn’t giving you a line at the hospital to avert a meltdown, Soph. It really shouldn’t be a big deal at all.”
“Will you be there?” she asked, and hoped that it had come across as curious rather than needy. She wasn’t so far gone that she was going to fling her arms around his knees and cling.
He looked a bit surprised.
“I will if you want me to be,” he said slowly, releasing his hold, and she frowned.
“But don’t you have to give evidence?”
“No. The firm submitted a report to the police, but there are plenty of witnesses to Darvie’s part in the incident and he was taken into custody on the premises. The Crown needs your statement to place Maria Harper at the scene.”
She had originally brought up the trial as a distraction; now she really was getting nervous again.
“Oh.” Sophy frowned. “But…I thought you said you were going to Auckland this week as well?”
“I am,” said Mick grimly. “I’m going first thing Friday morning.”
To judge by his lack of enthusiasm, one might have thought that his impending journey would involve crossing the river Styx rather than the Waitemata Harbour.
She thought he was going to continue the trend of strong and silent, and leave it at that, but he went on, sounding as if she’d pulled the information out of him with a pair of red-hot pliers: “My brother’s getting married on Saturday.”
It was the first time he’d voluntarily initiated a conversation about his family. She had been starting to wonder if they were arms dealers or lifestyle nudists. Leaning her head back against the couch, absently rubbing the stiletto-ache in her heels, Sophy studied him. She thought it best to remain quiet, let him decide if he wanted to go on.
“My father is fairly…adamant that I attend,” he said. His large hands were playing with the half-empty mug, which he realised after a minute and stopped, leaning forward to put it carefully down on the coffee table, a safe distance from her study notes.
“Well, sure,” she said cautiously. “It’s a big deal, I suppose, your siblings tying the knot. And a wedding is always exciting.”
Actually, she ranked weddings as social occasions only slightly less hellish than school reunions, but it didn’t seem festive to say so.
Mick’s lips twitched.
