‘I’m sure you will, Lauren, you’re good at social chit-chat.’
Lauren screwed up her face and said, ‘It doesn’t mean I enjoy it.’ She sighed, and absentmindedly stroked the cat that had just jumped on her lap. ‘What shall we do next on the Driscoll angle? We need to get up to speed on that.’
‘You should hear from your neighbour soon, shouldn’t you?’ Ro seemed reconciled to Lauren having talked to Phyl about the plot.
‘I’ll remind her,’ said Lauren, ‘and meanwhile I’ve got other things on my mind.’ She needed to mend fences with Kirsten, but she didn’t mention that to Ro.
9
‘A very pleasing night to honest men’
Lauren walked into Whistling Sisters and pushed through the Friday night crowd jostling around the downstairs bar. She spotted a Rainbow Wellington sign pointing up to the first floor. This was their end of year gathering and the one meeting a year Lauren made sure to attend. It was where she caught up with gays and lesbians she had known working in the public service. She was relieved to park the Lange affair, with its troubling complications, in exchange for an evening that promised to be convivial.
At the top of the stairs the noisy group spilled out of a function room. Lauren made her way through towards the drinks table, nodding at a few people as she went. She began to wish she had come with a friend. Many of the faces were younger and unfamiliar and those she recognised so far were not people she knew well. Mostly they had been junior colleagues.
It was nearly time to be seated. The MC, camping it up in a bandleader’s costume covered with spangles and silver stars, began to call out names from a list and hand people name badges with table numbers on them. This was a new way to allocate seating, Lauren thought. It helped when you didn’t know where to put yourself, which was what she was starting to feel.
Lauren’s badge said Table Six. She found a seat next to a man who looked African, who was wearing a colourful shirt. He welcomed her with a wide smile.
‘Hi,’ she said, ‘I’m Lauren. And you are…?’
‘Kiano.’ Tall and lean, he towered over her even when seated.
‘I love your shirt. Is it a dashiki?’
Kiano inclined his head with a smile. ‘Yes, how clever of you. Have you spent time in Africa?’
‘Just once, years ago. A work trip to Nairobi, it was very brief. But when I could get out, I wandered through the markets. I loved the fabrics. And the jewellery.’ She nodded at Kiano’s hands. An ornate silver ring glinted on the fourth finger of his left hand and silver chain bracelets adorned both wrists.
‘I’m hoping that Michael is assigned the same table,’ Kiano said, fingering the ring. ‘We’ve just arrived in Wellington and I know hardly anyone.’
‘I’m sure that won’t last. People are friendly here. And it’s good to brave social gatherings like this. What brings you to Wellington?’
‘Michael is a Kiwi. We’ve been together twelve years.’ Lauren thought she could discern a blush suffusing his dark skin. ‘I’m Kenyan but we were living all over Africa. I met him on a development project in Burkina Faso, but most recently we were in Cape Town. Michael’s just retired. I saw a job that would suit me with your Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade, so it seemed a good idea to return him to New Zealand.’ His eyes sparkled. ‘I’m a bit of a fish out of water, though.’
‘I’m sure your knowledge of Africa would be snapped up in Foreign Affairs.’ Lauren liked the man, she decided. There was something about him, direct and honest.
There was little time for more conversation before others joined their table. Some of them Lauren knew, so the drought was broken. A man who was once Lauren’s subordinate sat down on her other side, greeting her warmly. Two exes who were allocated seats next to each other attracted a lot of teasing, especially when someone noticed that their current partners, no love lost between them, also ended up next to each other at a nearby table.
Once they were all settled, conversation flowed easily. The new government had been sworn in just the day before. There was speculation about the raft of new ministers, mostly inexperienced. This was a subject of intense interest to many in the room. Senior public servants would be working with ministers directly.
The man on Lauren’s left said, ‘So Winston Peters has got himself Deputy PM, the wily old fox.’
‘I doubt he’ll ever be called to act as PM for any length of time, though. Jacinda would want to keep her eye on things,’ said a woman from across the table.
‘What about Andrew Little? I’m sure he’ll do well as a minister. He may have been an unimpressive leader but what a great queen-maker.’ Someone whooped at the unintended double-entendre.
Lauren chimed in. ‘That was splendid of Little to stand aside, there’s not many leaders prepared to do that.’ Her mind darted to their investigation–if a leader won’t stand aside, you don’t try to kill them. She wanted to find out everyone who was involved, but it was so frustratingly slow, no wonder she had never been drawn to research. She made an effort and pulled herself back to the present. Someone else, world-weary, cynical, or just an experienced government-watcher was saying, ‘The next thing there’ll be lots of strikes. All those pent-up demands. They knew it was a waste of time striking under the Nats but Labour is more sympathetic, they’ll find it hard to say no. There’ll be lots of unrest.’
Everyone had an opinion and the voices got louder. As a newcomer to the country Kiano hadn’t said much, just listened with interest. Then he said quietly to Lauren, ‘We’d better ask Michael what he thinks. He’ll have an insider view.’
‘Really?’ Lauren wasn’t sure what he meant.
‘He was a young Labour MP in the eighties, won a safe seat in the Wellington area. Petone, I think it was called.’ He stumbled over the unfamiliar name and looked questioningly at Lauren, who nodded. ‘He didn’t get as far as being a minister. There were a lot of old hands around, not like now. But he did hold associate roles, I believe, mostly to do with overseas aid. That’s where he got interested in development work.’
‘What’s his surname?’ Lauren asked.
‘Peston, Michael Peston.’
‘That does ring a bell.’ What a lucky break, thought Lauren. Maybe he’d be able to tell her more about the atmosphere around the Beehive at the time. He may have heard whispers about the plot. She thought hard. He must have known Kevin Driscoll, too, perhaps even worked closely with him. Ugh, fancy having that sod as a colleague.
A free-for-all began, with dessert and coffee arriving at a side table and people changing places to sit with friends. Kiano brought Michael over and sat him next to Lauren. A man in his late sixties, she guessed, balding with reddish curly hair and a freckly tanned skin somewhat the worse for wear. Too much sun, Lauren thought. He was nicely dressed in a dark green shirt, black jeans and wore a ring that matched Kiano’s. He did look vaguely familiar. She would have seen photos of him as a younger man in the public eye.
‘Nice to meet you, Lauren.’ They started to chat and Michael talked about their decision to make New Zealand their home. He had reservations after so many years away. ‘I loved Africa. It was such a wrench to leave. New Zealand has always seemed so dull in comparison.’
‘I know what you mean.’ Michael had said exactly what Lauren had always thought. ‘I lived in the UK from university days on into my thirties. I was completely ambivalent about coming home. New Zealand seemed small and stultifying, stuck at the end of the world. But it’s really not the same place now and I’ve fallen in love with Wellington. Coolest little capital, gay-friendly, such a lively arts scene, great coffee. I’m sure you’ll find your feet.’
Michael explained that he and Kiano were renting an apartment in the central city while looking around for somewhere to buy. His sister, recently widowed, still lived in Lower Hutt. He looked forward to spending time with her and taking an interest in her grandchildren who often stayed with her. ‘I missed out on seeing my niece and nephew grow up, so I can ha
ve the pleasure of taking an interest in the next generation.’
‘What sort of place are you looking for?’ Lauren asked. ‘I hope you’re not going to be one of those retirees who escape up the coast.’
‘We have looked up there. I want a garden and the climate is better. But it’s a long way for Kiano to commute and we want to enjoy the city life. There’s a place we’re considering in Hataitai. It’s just within our budget. The garden has potential even though the section is hilly, and the house is roomy with great views over Evans Bay. A bit dilapidated, but I’ve got plenty of time for renovating.’
‘And the neighbours aren’t in your face,’ chipped in Kiano, ‘so when I get going on the sax they won’t be banging on the door.’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ Lauren said, ‘You’d be just down the road from me. Make sure it’s watertight though. I had a friend who bought there and found that the southerlies bring horizontal rain, so it was a constant battle with water getting under the eaves.’
‘Good point,’ said Michael, digging Kiano in the ribs, ‘I’ll get the lad to crawl up there when we take another look at it next week.’
Coffee over, a band started up and tables were cleared for a dance floor. Lauren decided to leave and began to say her goodbyes. She was about to tell Michael that she would like to talk to him about his time in government, when he said, ‘Take my card. We’re having drinks this Sunday, part of our getting-to-know-people mission. Six o’clock on. Do you know the Seiko apartments? Just one street back from Clyde Quay.’
The cocktail party at Michael and Kiano’s was lively. Lauren had persuaded Pam to come with her and there was a sprinkling of people she knew slightly. It wasn’t a large apartment and the place was crammed. The guys seemed to have been doing their networking efficiently. She guessed that some were new colleagues of Kiano. They had that public servant off the leash look.
After cocktails, which were strong enough to go to Lauren’s head immediately, Kiano picked up his sax and Michael sat down at a compact keyboard in a corner of the room. They launched into ‘Graceland’, Michael riffing on the piano with a drumbeat set in the background. Then Kiano joined in, a quick succession of notes pouring off his instrument followed by a mellow jazzy solo.
‘Wow,’ Pam shouted into Lauren’s ear, ‘You do know how to pick them.’ The song was one of Lauren’s favourites and she pulled Pam into the small space where people were already moving rhythmically. It was fun, she felt much more like dancing than in the bigger crowd at the Rainbow function. The men played a few more numbers and then put down their instruments despite hand clapping from the group. Kiano bowed dramatically and said ‘It’s great to be here and I hope you’ll all become friends.’
Lauren hoped so too; she liked them both. But she still hadn’t managed to approach Michael about getting his take on the eighties. The party hadn’t been the right place to bring it up.
On Monday morning Lauren felt seedy. She cleared her breakfast things and decided to ask Phyl if she could take Monty for a walk. Fresh air would help. She was strolling along Oriental Bay with Monty on a leash when who should she run into but Michael, walking in the opposite direction. ‘Well, hello,’ he said, ‘Who have we here?’ as he bent down to pat the dog, who responded by jumping up enthusiastically.
‘Down, boy,’ Lauren said. ‘He’s being naughty. But he’s anybody’s. Anyhow, what are you doing? Clearing your head after last night?’
‘Yes, this is my usual beat. But I needed this morning’s walk more than usual.’ He smiled at her.
‘Me too,’ said Lauren ‘It was a great party, but I do take longer to recover than I used to. Why don’t we have coffee, I’m sure that would help.’
Lauren often patronised a beachfront café nearby, where owners and their dogs were welcome at the outside tables. Its northerly aspect caught the sun, making it pleasantly warm. Michael went in and ordered for them both. Monty shuffled around a bit, then curled up into a contented heap.
After some brief chat about Wellington’s housing market, Lauren got to the point. ‘You looked familiar when we met at Rainbow Wellington. Kiano said you’d been an MP in the eighties. When I came back to New Zealand in 1985, I was with Government Print. Initially, at least, until they sold it from under us. I must have seen your photo in the newspapers but I don’t think we met in person? Though we may have, it was a long time ago.’
Michael shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘It was a pretty hard time for me, Lauren. I don’t really talk about it. I came into Parliament a young man on fire, an idealist, and then found myself in the most dreadful atmosphere around the Lange-Douglas quarrel. I stuck it out till the end of the second term and then I bailed.’
Lauren nodded, encouraging him to go on. Damn, it might be quite hard to get anything out of him. He seemed more at ease when he talked about his subsequent career.
‘I met a lot of people involved in development through political oversight of New Zealand’s aid programme. So when I left Parliament I got a job with an international aid organisation. It wasn’t the traditional way of missions, “helping poor people in Africa” ’–he made quotation marks with his fingers–‘raising money for food and clothing and so on. Development projects were undergoing an exciting phase, becoming politics in action. They gave me the opportunity to do the sorts of things I’d wanted to do when I got elected. And as well, I learned to love Africa.’
Michael had a faraway look in his eyes. Lauren was impressed by his fervour. She found herself drawn to the man; she thought they could be friends. But it was going to be hard to get anything out of him. She took a deep breath and plunged in. ‘Michael, you say you’re not keen on recalling your time in politics. I understand that, but I’m on a bit of a mission.’
Michael looked wary. ‘And what would that be?’
Lauren began to tell him about her friend Ro’s work on women of the fourth Labour government. He winced, but signalled her to go on. ‘It’s strange to realise that the times you went through are now history,’ he remarked. ‘Though it doesn’t always feel that way. Anyhow, what is it about your friend’s work that has you on a mission?’
Lauren had by now decided Michael’s reluctance to recall those times meant that he was certainly a man to keep their secret. She went on to tell him about Ro’s discovery and how she had been reluctantly drawn into Ro’s investigation.
Michael looked more and more uncomfortable. He heard her out, then said nothing. His knuckles were white as he gripped his coffee cup. ‘So….’ He paused, seeming to struggle with himself. ‘OK, Lauren,’ he said. ‘I might have something for you. I do hate to talk about that time but Kiano’s been nagging me. He reckons that I need to make peace with the past or I’ll find it hard to settle down here.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Kiano says that perhaps I should go to a counsellor, but hey, Lauren, if you really do want to drag me through these memories, I’m willing to have a go.’
‘That’s really kind of you,’ said Lauren. ‘Can’t say I’ve ever pretended to be a counsellor. People tell me I get impatient when other people run on about their problems.’
Michael laughed, this time genuinely. ‘We’re the perfect match, then. I don’t want anyone to ask me how I’m feeling and you don’t want to supply the tissues.’
‘Quite so.’ Lauren laughed too. ‘Can we talk further on Thursday? I’m free then if you are.’ They arranged a time, and both carried on with their walks in opposite directions.
As Lauren got home from the library later that afternoon, juggling a pile of books and her door key, Phyl stepped out from next door.
‘I’ve just heard from Deirdre, she’s back in New Zealand,’ she said. ‘And I’ve got news. How about you take Monty for another walk tomorrow afternoon and then come in for a cuppa?’
‘Thank you, Phyl, I’m dying to know whether the police thought there was a plot.’ She paused, looked hopeful. Phyl ignored the look. ‘Tomorrow then,’ she said and she bustled back inside.
10
‘Make me acquainted with your cause of grief’
Monty had a shorter walk than usual the next afternoon. When they returned Lauren seated herself at the dining table where Phyl had cleared a space, taking care not to break the jigsaw she was working on.
‘What is it this time?’ said Lauren, peering at it upside down.
‘Just another sailing ship,’ said Phyl. ‘They’re fun to do, all that sea and sky is a challenge.’ She put their mugs of tea on the table, and sat down opposite Lauren. Lauren looked at her expectantly.
‘Deirdre’s turned up trumps,’ said Phyl. ‘She was always one of my best staff. She’ll make police commissioner some time. She’ll be the first Māori woman to get there.’ She smiled and for a moment Lauren thought she was going to get a tale about Deirdre, but no.
‘First, I must apologise. I probably put you wrong about Lange’s flat nearly catching fire. That did happen and the Diplomatic Protection Squad was called. It turned out Lange had taken a sleeping pill and fallen asleep so heavily in his armchair that he didn’t smell the smoke from a pot he’d left on the stove. The investigation went no further.’
‘No need to apologise.’ Lauren sounded flat. ‘We haven’t got far enough yet to be put on the wrong track.’
‘The real story,’ Phyl continued, ‘was that he was having constant bouts of pain over a number of months. His staff noticed and were worried. He’d break out in sweats and was obviously suffering, but he always brushed it aside when anyone asked him if he was all right.‘
‘Yes?’
‘In the end he got desperate enough to take himself to hospital. He’d dismissed a suggestion that it might be angina because of where he had the pain but the hospital said that’s what it was. An angioplasty fixed it.’
The One That Got Away Page 8