‘Was there something I could help you with? I thought you were supposed to be in court.’

‘No, no, court’s finished for the day, I’m a free agent. No, I just heard about your exploits this morning and thought I’d pop around to make sure you were okay.’

‘Oh. Thank you, I’m fine.’ I can’t have been a convincing liar as he stood there, with one eyebrow cocked up. Oh, what the heck, company might be good, even if it was him. Paul, for all his obnoxiousness, was one of those men who seemed to feel the need to protect me. I remembered him doing it in my Mataura days and he obviously couldn’t control the urge here either. It was annoying in a gratifying kind of a way.

‘Did you want a cup of tea or coffee?’ I asked as I led him down the hallway.

‘Coffee would be good, thanks.’

I bypassed the lounge and headed straight down into the kitchen to make the drinks. Paul followed along behind, pausing here and there to take in the original artwork on the hallway walls.

‘There’re some rather well-known names on the paintings,’ he said. ‘Is that a Ralph Hotere?’

If he was impressed with the hallway gallery, he’d be blown away by the works in the lounge. Aunty Jude and Uncle Phil’s approach to art was to buy works they loved from emerging artists. The pay-off was they got to enjoy living with pieces that gave them pleasure, and over time, some of those emerging artists had turned into stars. They also had friends in the right places.

‘Whoa, great view.’ In the kitchen, Paul headed straight to the vast picture window. The Kershaws’ ridge-top house had a million-dollar view, and that was probably not much less than the price tag of the house. From the rooms on this side you could see down across the dense green belt and to the central city, then on to the glittering harbour and peninsula, with the Pacific Ocean in the distance. Nightfall removed the water vista, but added a new dimension of beauty with the sprinkling of city lights moulded into the contours of the hills. It was one of the things I loved about this city. Every corner turned brought with it a new pocket vista, whether it be the harbour, peninsula, green belt or historic architecture. Even the clagged-in drizzly days were somehow spectacular.

‘It must be tough having to look at this every day,’ Paul said. ‘And it’s Maggie’s aunt’s house? They must have a bit of dough.’ I hadn’t really thought about it that much, but I suppose they must be pretty well off, considering the art collection and antique furniture and the address. Highgate. A grand old house on Highgate. Expensive real estate, even if the parking was crap.