They exchanged greetings and Gordon waved down a waiter.
“No – no – let’s go and eat!” Peter shooed away the waiter before he could take any orders.
“Fine with me,” said Gordon. He turned to Louise. “So, see you tomorrow at the –“
“Private Bin, mate,” added Peter helpfully as he put down his empty glass and prepared to leave. “But right now we are going to Manuka for dinner.” He addressed the girls and said “Nice meeting you.”
“We’ll be in Manuka, at the –” Gordon looked questioningly at Peter.
“Santa Lucia’s,” Peter provided the details.
“Santa Lucia’s, if you feel like joining us,” Gordon added, then smiled as they departed.
“OK,” said Louise. “See you later.”
Watching them leave, Margot asked Louise “What was that?”
“What?”
“The ‘see you tomorrow’; ‘we will be in Manuka’? Was he asking you out?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I didn’t think so, either.”
“It was more of a ‘you can hang around with us at your own expense and I won’t have to pay for you or chauffeur you around’ sort of thing, I think.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” Margot bought drinks from a passing waiter and handed one to Louise. “So, do you want to go?”
“No, not like that. Do you?”
“No.”
“He’s cute, though, huh?”
“Very, very cute. Gorgeous in fact.” Margot sipped her drink. “You know,” she added thoughtfully, “It’s OK to be like that – casual, no strings, when you aren’t really attracted to the guy, but if you are –“
“And I am –“
“-then it is deadly. You have started your whole relationship on a casual, no strings attached basis from which it is impossible to recover.”
“I know. Best to avoid him for a while.”
“So, we had better give the nightlife a miss for the rest of the weekend. Otherwise he will think you are OK with his evil scheme.”
Louise nodded, sighing. “He so knows I’m interested. Well, I’m sure he will find lots of girls who are more than happy to slot into his freebee, non-dating lifestyle. I just won’t be one of them.”
“We have to draw the line somewhere.” Then Margot brightened up and added “Let’s go to the races, though. It’s the Canberra Cup this weekend – everyone will be there and we couldn’t possibly run into him in that crowd. We have tickets to the Member’s Stand, thanks to Rachel, don’t forget.”
“You’re right – we do! Good plan! We will be all fresh and gorgeous, having had an early night on Saturday, and I have the most delicious pair of peachy-pink Capri pants to wear – with matching Mr Christian shoes.” Louise had all but forgotten her disappointment and was looking forward to Sunday already. She clinked glassed with Margot. “Down, but not out!”
“Ole!”
“Labor omnia vincit.”
“What does that mean?” Margot looked puzzled.
“Work overcomes all difficulties.” Louise shrugged at Margot’s look of inquiry, and said “It’s Latin, and you said something in Spanish. I thought it would sound good.”
“Coming from you?”
“Yeah, I know – what was I thinking? Why do they teach us all this stuff anyway?”
“My sister, Helen,” said Margot, “is a teacher, and she says they teach as much as they know, whether it is useful or not, hoping to fill in the allotted time.”
“Poor bastards. Imagine being a bloody teacher? Ugh!!” Louise drained her glass, and linked her arm through Margot’s. “And now, I think, is the allotted time for us to scan the room for friends. Didn’t Rachel say she would be here? Let’s go and get our tickets to the races!”
*
Canberra is officially the driest capital city on Earth. When it does rain, it very conveniently does so between the hours of two and four am. Consequently, it was without concern that the Royal Canberra Racecourse Committee planned its annual betting ring extravaganza.
The racecourse stands fronting onto the track and houses the formal dining rooms, balconies and bars for members and private parties. On the occasion of big race meetings like the Canberra Cup, the grounds beside the track and to the north of the stands become neatly populated with private marquis, each bearing the logo of a professional firm or other company. But the real action is to be found behind the stands – in the bookies ring. Jack McRobertson, the handsome owner of the Private Bin had the best spot, situated as he was in the cup of the horseshoe arrangement. His bagman, Andrew McCarthy, winked at Margot as the girls sauntered past, pretending to check the odds listed on the boards.
“Has Andrew called you yet?” asked Louise quietly.
“Don’t ask stupid questions, Lou,” Margot replied. “As if I wouldn’t take out an ad in the Canberra Times if he did!”
“Sorry – didn’t mean to rub it in.” Louise kicked herself for crossing the line between friendly concern and plain old nosiness.
Ahead, and moving against the crowd, a young woman waved and called to Louise.
“Lou! Lulu!! Over here!”
“Look, Margot – there’s Rachel.”
They watched Rachel coming towards them, dressed in her inimitable style. She wore a tight, pencil thin, calf length black skirt; clunky Betty Boop style red high heels; a huge mushroom-like black straw hat that would make Maggie Taberer jealous; a very small, very tight, white boat neck T shirt and carried a shiny red handbag. Looking closer, Margot read the fine print which ran in a single line across Rachel’s chest: “itty bitty titty committee”. She laughed and Rachel shrugged.
“I’ve got to get noticed somehow!” she said defensively. “Not all of us are as well-endowed as you Catholic girls!”
Rachel had met Louise at work a couple of years earlier, and had been draw to the older woman. They were both the product of a girls’ school environment; Rachel had been educated at the Church of England Canberra Girls Grammar School, and was fascinated by the fact that Louise and Margot had attended a Catholic girl’s school and been taught by nuns wearing long black habits. She often referred to this as though it was a cultural difference between them. Perhaps it was.
Margot and Louise, however, thought her interest unwarranted and did not encourage it. As Margot had once said to Rachel, “Look, Rach, it’s no big deal. When you have grown up with religion, you are sort of immune to it.
“It becomes like the family dog. You love your dog because he has always been there for you, but if you never had him, you wouldn’t miss him. And when it comes to holiday time, the dog is a real pest because you can’t go away for too long because of him. He ties you down so much that you wish you didn’t have a dog – but you do.” It was the best explanation she could come up with.
Today they exchanged greetings, then Rachel asked breathlessly, “Where’s James?”
“Oh,” answered Louise, “he is just parking the car. We got him to drop us at the gate.”
Rachel smiled as she led the girls back into the corporate marquis she had emerged from. “He is taking me to the Red Hill Carousel restaurant tonight,” she informed them.
“Is he?” Louise was impressed that her little brother, who was the same age as Rachel, had chosen such a ritzy restaurant. “I think James is smitten with you, Rach,” she warned. “He said he’ll meet us at your marquis. Lead the way!”
Louise knew that Rachel was between serious boyfriends and James was little more than a fleeting diversion, but they were both over 21 and at least James knew she was out of his league. So what if he got rejected by the doctor’s daughter and spent more than he could afford trying to impress her? He would feel ten feet tall when he was with her, and no doubt learn something about the world.
Rachel worked at Collier’s, a big real estate development firm in town, and had the entire staff, from the CEO to the receptionist, wrapped around her adorable little finger. She had str
awberry blonde hair and the look of a grown-up Pollyanna. Her slender, undeveloped figure belied her 22 years and Rachel still, on occasion, had to prove she was old enough to buy a drink. Fortunately, she rarely ever had to do so, surrounded as she usually was by admiring, protective men.
“Oh – Mike – “Rachel touched the arm of a well-dressed, mature man as he passed by. “I want to you to meet my friends –” Mike stopped courteously and gave a small bow to Louise and Margot.
“Lovely to meet you, ladies,” he said, taking their hands in turn. “Please – won’t you have a glass of champagne?” And he beckoned a waiter bearing a tray of half-filled flutes.
Margot and Louise thanked him and accepted a glass each before he was called away to another group.
“Mike’s the chief exec,” explained Rachel. “He plays golf with Dad – that’s how I got this job.” She put down her glass and waved as she saw James attempting to enter the tent. He was being stopped by a covert “doorman” who was checking his credentials. “Let him in, Keith – he’s with me!” Rachel called, and she was off to James’s rescue.
James was already feeling nervous and uncomfortable, which he hated, and he resented the doorman for immediately sensing that he did not belong to this group of men who sipped champagne and look relaxed in suits and ties. His face was feeling warm as he struggled to defend his right to entry, and seeing Rachel rushing to his aid was the perfect balm. He visibly relaxed as she clutched his arm above the elbow and hugged it to her side.
“I know what you’re up to, Keith,” she said teasingly to the doorman. “You just don’t want to let in any competition!”
Now it was Keith’s turn to blush, since it was common knowledge that he thought Rachel was ‘a babe’.
Rachel tut-tutted and pouted at Keith, who smiled and waved James in. James looked him up and down in a superior way and began to breathe more easily.
“You smell nice, James,” she said cheekily. “Look – here are Lulu and Margot.”
“Hi Margot, Louise,” James had found his voice but not his comfort zone. Louise felt for him, and tried to distract him.
“Hi, Bud.” The whole Keats family had called James “Bud” since he was a little boy, because he had followed his big brother, Michael, around adoringly, earning him the nickname “Buddy”. “Have you seen Michael and Roxanne?”
“No – they are in the Member’s Bar. Anyway, they will make sure we don’t see them today; or at least, that I don’t see them.”
“Did you and Michael have a falling out?”
James laughed. “How did you guess?”
“Gee – I don’t know!” Louise shared a laughed with her brother and hoped he was now more at ease. James was a nice looking young man, and he wore his clothes well. He lacked confidence, though; the result of being an undiagnosed dyslexic and consequently failing at school. By the time he had found out why he couldn’t read, he was too old to go back to school and start again.
He had a pleasant nature, a mechanical mind, a healthy body and the ability to fix anything, anywhere, anytime. James was never out of a job and often in demand, given the multifarious skills he had acquired working his way from being apprenticed to a deaf French-polisher and learning sign-language, to his current position as senior locksmith at Chubb’s. He was often called upon to change the locks at the Goulburn prison – a well-paid, lacklustre, regular job; as well as crack the safes which various senior public servants closed and were then unable to open.
Louise liked James but often grew impatient with him. She thought her father and brother, Michael – even Sam, her brother-in-law, used James as it suited them, and James let them. So she was not sorry to hear that James was asserting his view on something – anything.
But today they were at the races and the champagne was flowing.
James turned to Louise and said conspiratorially “Lou – can I speak to you later?”
“Of course,” said Louise.
“Not here. It’s private.”
Louise suspected bad news of some sort, but was happy to leave it for now. “Margot,” she caught her friend’s attention. “Let’s go and put on a bet.”
“Oh, you can do that here, Lulu,” said Rachel. “We have a courier who takes your bets and places them at the TAB for you. You don’t have to leave the marquis.”
“Yes, I know,” said Louise, who hadn’t known about this service at all. “But we can get much better odds in the bookie’s ring, can’t we Margot?”
Margot laughed, familiar with Louise’s thinly veiled subterfuge. “Possibly, but I think we’d be going out there anyway, just to see whether a certain Mr Chris Hardy is around.”
“Oh, okay – well, good luck with that, and don’t get lost,” warned Rachel.
“How are you getting home, Lou?” asked James. “Because I’m taking Rachel out to dinner after this.” He smiled at Rachel, who smiled back happily.
“I know, Rachel told us – it sounds lovely. Don’t worry – we will be fine.” Lou looked over at Margot for confirmation as she spoke. “We will get a taxi or something.”
“Yes, thanks James,” added Margot.
“Don’t drink too much, Bud,” warned Louise.
“You either, Lulu,” responded James, saluting her with his soft drink.
“Margot – let’s go!” And Louise took Margot’s arm and guided her towards the entryway.
Once they were outside the marquis, the girls paused to reconnoitre.
“What is the name of the bookie he works for?” asked Margot, preparing to scan the boards that named each bookmaker in the ring.
“I don’t know; I’m not even sure if he works for the same one every weekend – or if he even works every weekend. I do know that he keeps detailed racing-form records of his own; and that he is a bagman here sometimes.”
“Well, I’ve heard so much about his guy that I would really like to get a look at him,” said Margot.
“Hhhhhmmm.” Louise looked her friend up and down. “Maybe that isn’t such a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Well, what if he likes you?”
“Louise! I would never take a guy from you!”
“Oh, I know, but that wouldn’t stop him from preferring you to me, would it? Guys can’t control those things.”
“Guys can control plenty,” said Margot firmly.
“Well, either way – it’s too late now!” exclaimed Louise in hushed tones. “There he is – over there, under the Tiny Murphy board.”
Margot’s gaze followed Louise’s, and she watched Chris Hardy selling a bet to a punter. He was above average height, with shoulder length, wavy dark hair cut into a mullet. He was good looking in a “cowboy” sort of way; dressed as he was in a Western shirt, jeans and riding boots.
“Louise – you don’t mean the one with the long-hair, do you?” Margot had to make sure she was looking at the right man before passing comment.
“Yes, and don’t be like that! Wait till you meet him.”
“Does he really work at the Tax Office?” It was apparent that Margot had imagined a quite different looking man to the one she now saw.
“He is one of the main ‘post-audit-debt-recovery’ guys.” Seeing Margot’s look of non-comprehension, Louise explained. “They chase down tax cheats.”
“Aaah – so all you have to do is fudge your tax return and he will arrive at your door?” Margot was teasing her now.
“No, Margot. Chris chases the people who make money on the black market and then launder it in a legitimate business. For instance, say you grow some marijuana – a lot of marijuana – and sell it, you would make a fortune in cash, right? Well, you can’t just put it in the bank.”
“Why not?”
“Because every bank in Australia is legally obligated to inform the Tax Office of any cash deposits over $10,000. Normal businesses don’t deal in cash – not in large amounts, anyway. They might deposit some cash, but it will mostly be in the form of cheques or transfe
rs between other bank accounts. Large cash transactions indicate illegal business operations, like drugs.”
“Oh. I suppose that makes sense.” Clearly this was something Margot, like most law-abiding tax payers, had never before thought about.
“But you must pay tax on all income earned, whether it is the result of illegal activity or not. So, Chris and a few others track these types down and get them into court before they can launder their ill-gotten gains.” Louise stood up straighter and flicked back her hair with a jerk of her head. “At work, I call him “Diamonds and Helicopters Hardy”. He pretends to hate it, but I think he is secretly chuffed.”
“So – is this racing job – and the mullet hairdo – just a cover?”
“No – he really loves racing! And he would wear his hair that way regardless, I’m sure! Seriously, though,” Louise asked Margot, “don’t you think it is ‘John Farnham’-ish? Don’t you think it suits him?”
“Lou – it is a mullet for God’s sake! They went out with the Bay City Rollers! Ughh!”
“Oh, stop. Come on. You have to meet him now. And be nice.”
They walked over to where Chris stood alone, having timed their arrival to co-incide with the start of the next race, the closure of betting and the bookie’s changing the odds on their boards.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?” Chris smiled in spite of himself. Louise thought he might even have been pleased to see her.
“Hi, Chris. I told you I’d look out for you if I came to the races today.” Louise turned to Margot. “Chris, this is Margot. I was just explaining to her about your weekday job, at the diamonds and helicopters factory.”
“Yeah, right,” Chris grinned at them, trying to look tough but only managing a sheepish expression. Louise felt encouraged. “So – are we winning today?” he asked.
“We don’t actually bet, Chris,” Louise confided. “We come here to see and be seen. Don’t you think we brighten up this dreary crowd?” She stood closer to Margot and struck a pose. Chris laughed.
“You look like two gelato ice creams,” he said.
It was true. The girls were wearing summery outfits in edible colours: Louise in pale pink and Margot in a light, frosty green.
Christmas in Canberra Page 4