Read Online April Fool by William Deverell - Free Book Online

daughter is in equally fierce rebellion. Arthur has a sense that the Save Gwendolers are about to suffer a minor publicity setback.
    Tabatha waves a finger at Cud, yelling, “You are out of her life. Last weekend she came home at two o’clock smelling of, of…I don’t know what.”
    â€œTequila, my love. Maybe some pot.”
    Reverend Al moves to dampen this embarrassing debacle, puts an arm around Tabatha, murmuring, “A quiet moment of reflection.”
    A rope ladder flutters from the platform. Felicity clips onto a safety line and morosely begins her descent. Watching her causes Arthur’s stomach to tumble, and he allows Reverend Al to pull him away. “Hard to believe, but I’ve been missing your croaky voice at hymns.”
    Arthur apologizes: the weather was too pleasant last Sunday. He casts a look up: Felicity halfway down, Margaret bent over the railing, Cud Brown positioned behind her buttocks. This repellent scene is blocked by foliage as Arthur is led to the priest’s young guest, perched on a windfall cedar, fusshing with a cellphone. “Name is Lotis Rudnicki,” says Reverend Al. “Member of your tribe, old fellow.”
    What tribe? A Polish surname, but one makes out brushstrokes of Africa and Asia. The international woman maybe, her genes fed from many streams. Under the spike hair, energetic oval eyes that betray the arrogance of youth. Rose-petal lips, marred by the lip ring. As the current argot has it, she is in your face, with Che Guevara and her revolutionary slogan. She snaps her phone shut, flashes Arthur a practised smile.
    â€œLotis is our mouthpiece,” Reverend Al says. “She’s with Sierra Legal Defence.”
    â€œYou’re a lawyer…?” Arthur can’t hide a hint of incredulity.
    â€œAlmost.” A large confident voice from this small package.
    â€œHow does one be almost a lawyer?”
    â€œI wilt under cross-examination, I get called to the bar in May.” A mocking drawl, an indifferent shrug.
    â€œI trust I won’t be premature in offering congratulations.” Why has Arthur taken on this formal tone? He is almost icy. It’s not the T-shirt, not the lip ring (but why would she want to mar those plump smiling lips?). It’s the youth. That is what’s in his face, the whole bag of youth and hope and naïveté andboldness and ill-understood idealism wrapped up in this cheeky little woman.
    â€œShe’s been staying in our cottage,” says Reverend Al. “Giving us advice.”
    â€œAh, yes, tutorials in direct action.”
    â€œEco-guerrilla warfare,” Rudnicki says. “Fought with sound bites and close-ups.” She cranks the handle of an imaginary antique camera. “Angle on Felicity Jones as she blows her hero a kiss, then follows her mother out of the frame.”
    â€œIn my day, Ms. Rudnicki, lawyers became involved after the fact, not at the planning stage of a tort.” He says this with an intimidating smile, challenging her. This snip has been devising scenarios to get her environmental law group in the news. Arthur understands now why he’s so displeased with her–she is the agent of a broken home at Blunder Bay.
    Her look is more scornful than hurt, and she fires back. “What do you think Garlinc’s lawyers were doing, playing with their dinks? They were at the planning stage of a fucking crime . The rape of a virgin forest, isn’t that how you put it, Mr. Arthur Ramsgate Beauchamp?”
    She stands, defiant, hands on hips. Rise Up! her bosom cries. An abrasively theatrical young woman, American accent, Californian in manner. Reverend Al shifts nervously, not daring to come between them.
    â€œHave you done some scripting on the next scene as well, Ms. Rudnicki? It plays out in a courtroom.” He wants to know what she’s made of, this mouthpiece for the Save Gwendolyn Society who is young enough to be his