UPDATED WITH CH 1 OF H. P. BAXXTER’S NOVELLA: Caught between the competing attentions of village Venus Kerstin Ancilleri and official girlfriend Vanessa Grech, the Law Commissioner takes drastic action to disguise himself in Valletta this morning
Members of my international worldwide network of spies saw an interesting scene (one of many) in South Street, Valletta a few days ago.
There stood Vanessa Grech, the Law Commissioner’s ‘official girlfriend’, on his Strait Street c/w South Street office doorstep, ringing and ringing the bell in a fine drizzle of rain. No reply.
She gave up and wandered off down to a restaurant in the same street. Minutes later, the office door opened and the Law Commissioner appeared, checked that the coast was clear, and hurried down the street towards the same restaurant which his girlfriend had entered.
Minutes later, he emerged from the restaurant, hurried back up to his office, unlocked the door and – surprise! – a young lady walked out. My spies didn’t wish to make any hasty conjectures, but it looked like she had been locked in so that he could emerge from the office alone – and if he found the other lady still there in the street, he could say ‘Sorry, darling, when you rang the bell I was in the lavatory’ or whatever the equivalent is in Hal Ghaxaq.
———–
Meanwhile, H. P. Baxxter has very kindly written and sent in the first chapter of a novella inspired by the complicated love life of the Law Commissioner and Chief of Constitutional Reform.
DON’T MAKE ME DO IT!
This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
– Perfectly Legal, Legally Perfect –
A novel
Chapter One
The empty street. The door. Then the knock. Sudden, unexpected. It hit him like a gavel. Who could it be? He wasn’t expecting any clients this afternoon.
Hot, furious, sweating, throbbing between arousal and fear, he waited. For two seconds. For two minutes.
Then he breathed. She lay beneath him, spread like a sheaf of legal papers, like the Book of Common Law, open at Article 69, Paragraph The Second Attempt, Line of Concentration. The black gown framed her so perfectly. The First Hall of the Civil Court will smell of musk tomorrow.
Once more he set about the business. M’Lud, I wish to develop this line of questioning. I hereby present Exhibit A. Where is this all leading to, Counsellor? Would the Counsel for the Defence come to the point please?
Come. The points. He buried his face in them and breathed deeply, inhaling. Chanel with a hint of Tippex.
Again, the knocking on the door.
Again! This time he withdrew his statement and fumbled for his mobile phone, ever ready, pulsating with a life of its own.
Eleven messages. Fifteen phone calls. Had he really taken that long?
The he realised he hadn’t concluded his argument yet.
“You must go,” he snarled.
“But why? We’ve only just started?”
“Go now! I have a heart! I have feelings too! I am human!”
“My powerful, darling rooster, what is the matter?”
“Leave now! I am trapped in an aquarium of despair! An aviary of deceit!”
And she consented. Like so many jurors before her, she had been awed by the strength of his arguments, by the power of his iambic pentameter, by his masterful presence. Top job.
Frantically, he grabbed at the pile of discarded clothing and squeezed himself back into his business suit while she got dressed. Two minutes had gone by since the last phone call.
He raced her down the stairs and listened. Then he looked through the keyhole. The coast was clear. He bade her leave.
No, no time for a final kiss. Leave.
Fifteen minutes he waited. Then he steeled himself and opened the door. He stepped outside and strutted off to the cafe.
On the corner he passed a street sweeper, who looked at him curiously. He strode on and entered the cafe.
“Darling!” he said.
——
Chapter Two
The street sweeper squinted at the man swaggering down the narrow street. Why was he wearing a woman’s blouse?
TO BE CONTINUED….
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How dare you question Franco’s loyalty? He’s a fine, upstanding middle-aged man.
Respected by everybody, may I add.
Lawrence Gonzi will be relieved to learn that he was not the only one towards whom the cock fighter was not loyal.
Another Cock and Bull story.
This guy will go the JPO way before he even says “I DO”.
I thought that sessions behind closed doors were only for the Courts, but then Franco Debono is the Law Commissioner let no one for a moment forget.
But then surely a client is entitled to a certain degree of privacy when in consultation with his/her lawyer on sensitive issues; and lawyers are always bound by professional secrecy.
http://85.119.122.3:8000/en/newsdetails/news/national/Citizenship-scheme-should-be-discussed-by-Constitutional-Convention-Franco-Debono-20131121
Ouch.
This is becoming more interesting than I thought. I need to stock up on nibblers.
Sensitive matters, relating to review of law of course, are best dealt with in chambers.
Life in Malta is such a massive source of inspiration. A few more years of this and we’ll be knee deep in Booker and Nobel Prizes.
You have to wonder how our “established” writers manage to turn out such boring drivel. Probably self-censorship. I find that Earl Grey helps loosen writer’s block.
H.P., censorship is soon to be replaced with cyberbulling legislation. You might have to keep your work off the internet.
Hilarious, H.P. Baxxter. I’m starting to fear that you have lots of this stuff tucked away.
Let me remind you that Gone With the Wind was found in a suitcase under Margaret Mitchell’s bed. A friend convinced her to publish. Don’t let yourself be the undiscovered Margaret Mitchell.
Also, if you focus on Franco Debono, you might even want to use the same title – just a suggestion.
Standard case of client left behind in the bathroom at closing time. Happens more often than think.
I’d love to read a whole published book of these novellas one day.
Or books, each delving into a subject in its own right.
Did a Maltese writer ever go into the series-type of novel? A political series of just this sort would make a lot of sense, especially in this climate.
Judging by the ratings of this site and Baxxter’s quality within it, I would say that readership numbers and interest could be a quantifiable estimate.
Go on Baxxter, give it a shot. I’m sure it will turn out to be a collector’s series.
The novellas alone should be the subject of a contract with Net for the brilliant sketches they provide.
Hear hear!
I think there is more truth to be found in fiction than in any piece of factual writing. I learned that rather late in life. Perhaps the weight of years is making me sentimental.
Publishing fiction is a delicate thing, because it needs the right audience. That is to say, it needs an audience that understands. Daphne’s readership does. We are the national book council that never was.
I would have bet Franco could not stand the free publicity Jeffrey PO got recently about his relationship saga and he is trying to catch up.
But then Franco is only a follower and an irrelevant guy now, clearly not first in class.
Ja traditur.
Can’t wait for chapter 2. Keep it coming H.P. Baxxter.
My gosh, what a great way to start the day. Am waiting with bated breath for the rest of chapter two.
How many times will the cock have to crow?
I assume that on emerging from the den of deceit he bellowed like a bull from the corrals, fearful yet full of hope that he can defeat the forces of good.
Please don’t disappoint your readers this time, Baxxter. Do regale us with the whole novella.
What a waste of resources. Net TV could create one of the best sitcoms ever. Come on Baxxter, start burning your midnight oil.
[Daphne – Hardly. These things only work in British English, and even then, they are misunderstood by 85% of the population of Malta.]
85% is an understatement, Daphne.
Looks like something out of Grisham’s novels.
One word – priceless.
HP you’re brilliant. Keep them coming and please don’t let us wait long.
I’m not brilliant. I’m just an idiot with a deathwish.