Starlight Peninsula

by Grimshaw, Charlotte

  Slow down, Klaudia said. Be mindful. Breathe.

  Savour beautiful things.

  Eloise and Silvio took a short-cut across a lawn, and crossed a concrete driveway. Now they were on the road, where they could intercept Simon when he came back from the run.

  Silvio lay down in the shade of a stone wall. Eloise waited, her mind on Klaudia and the outrage she’d committed. The betrayal. Oh yes. Klaudia had, at the end of their last session, smoothly announced that she couldn’t see Eloise next time because she was going to attend a ‘yoga retreat’.

  Just like that. Bare-faced. Cool as a cucumber.

  Eloise thought about it now, with bitterness. Klaudia was going to laze around with massages and yoga and a ‘juice detox diet’ for days, days, while Eloise could go off and die for all she cared. It had taken great self-control not to storm from the room, hotly denouncing Klaudia’s monstrousness. She’d had to pretend she was having a panic attack about something else.

  Not that she was getting dependent. God forbid.

  The cicadas made their wall of sound, the clack and shimmer of the summer air. Silvio burrowed himself down in the cool grass, in the shade of the dry stone wall. Near Simon Lampton’s gate, a cat leapt onto the fence and watched.

  She heard the slow thump of his feet on the pavement. Towing Silvio, she stepped out from the shadow of the wall.

  His voice was guarded, not warm. ‘Eloise. I was wondering when I’d …’

  ‘I’ve got my car,’ she said. ‘Can we talk?’

  He bent over, his hands on his knees, breathing hard. He wiped his face on the bottom of his T-shirt, glanced up at the house.

  ‘Okay.’

  She led him to the car.

  ‘You want me to get in?’ He was going to refuse.

  ‘Yes. Please, Simon.’ She got Silvio to jump in the back seat.

  He hesitated, shrugged. When he folded himself into the passenger seat, his knees pressed against the glovebox. He felt around under the seat for the lever and the seat shot backwards.

  Eloise started the engine.

  ‘Are we going somewhere?’

  ‘It won’t take long,’ she said. ‘Please?’

  He pulled his sweaty T-shirt away from his chest. ‘Where?’

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you. And I’ll show you something.’

  They drove in silence. She could feel the heat coming off him.

  ‘Don’t you have air-con?’ he said.

  ‘It doesn’t work.’

  He wound down the window, wiping sweat off his face with his forearm. He sat very still as they drove along Mountain Road, and, as they were approaching Mt Eden, he asked again, sharply, ‘Where are we going?’

  The little car bounced over the cattle stop and began chugging up the hill road. Simon didn’t say anything.

  ‘I want to show you Arthur’s flat,’ Eloise said.

  ‘No.’ He looked at his watch.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I haven’t got time. Karen, my wife, will miss me.’

  ‘It’s a private place, good for talking. It won’t take long.’

  She parked in the shade. ‘Why don’t we talk here?’ he said. She insisted, and he got out finally, reluctant. They left Silvio in the car with the windows wound down, and she led him to the path below the crater, across the hillside and over the walking track, to the back of Arthur’s flat.

  ‘Here,’ she said.

  He glanced around. ‘What are we looking at?’

  They sat down in the grass above the concrete deck with its wooden trellis, the flowering wisteria vine, the silver water bowl set there for a dog or cat, a single deckchair, on which hung a coloured swimming towel and a bathing suit. The back door was closed; there was no sign of anyone at home.

  She said, ‘This was Arthur’s flat.’

  ‘Oh. Did he own it?’ Simon’s voice was toneless.

  ‘No, rented it.’

  ‘It’s a lovely spot,’ he said.

  She caught the polite, artificial note in his voice. He didn’t see what she was seeing: the beautiful, lost past. Their bolt-hole on the edge of the mountain. Summer evenings ranging on the hillside above the city, watching the sun go down over the Waitakere Ranges. Winter mornings with the huge rain roaring on the corrugated-iron roof, the melancholy singing of a thrush on the wet fence, the walking track turned into a brown water race, streaming down the hill.

  Simon sat in the grass, his arms folded across his chest. There was such a stillness about him. His arms and legs were wiry and muscular; you could tell he was super fit for his age.

  Now was the moment to explain, but she’d forgotten the lines she’d rehearsed, the approach she’d decided on. How had she meant to put it? Just give him an outline, don’t tell him too much. Keep your cards close to your chest. Even though that means facing everything alone …

  ‘You know I told you I didn’t ask enough questions. I accepted what they told me about Arthur’s death, and that was it.’

  ‘Yes.’ He put a hand to his neck and rubbed it, as if at a sudden pain.

  ‘So, I’ve asked some. Questions.’

  He looked at his watch again, and she understood: he was busy, things to do. There was only so much of her antics he would put up with.

  ‘Asked who?’ he said, wiping his forehead. She caught the sharp smell of his sweat.

  ‘I spoke to Detective Da Silva again. You don’t remember her.’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe I do. Vaguely.’

  But he had turned, his eyes fixed on her. She hesitated.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘What did you and the detective talk about?’

  ‘About Arthur.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  She waited. Silence.

  His expression had changed. He was patient, but she was pushing it. He looked hard at her and said, ‘Eloise, I’ve tried to explain to you that I think you’re getting carried away. I’ve told you: there’s nothing to see here. But if you’re going to keep approaching me and dragging me places, and talking to the police, and somehow involving me, I think you need to tell me exactly what you’re doing.’

  ‘Sorry. It’s just, I’m trying to think it out by myself and …’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Look Eloise, I told you, politics in this country is boring, right? No conspiracies, just committees. Maybe … maybe I wasn’t being entirely open with you, and that wasn’t fair. I’ll tell you one thing, if you keep it to yourself. All right? Ed Miles gives me the creeps. If anyone’s up to anything, it’s him. Now even just saying that aloud sounds fanciful to me. Because I’m a doctor. I treat patients — women. My life is very what you’d call down to earth. No glamour, no conspiracies, no politics. I’m just a doctor.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I probably shouldn’t say this, but I have a huge, successful practice, and you know why that is? Because women trust me. They come to me with their incredibly sensitive issues, and I help them. They trust me more than their husbands. They say to me, If you run into my husband in the ward, don’t tell him what we talked about. As if I would. I’m there to help them. And to keep their secrets.’ He touched her arm lightly. ‘Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve been feeling very alone lately,’ he said.

  She lay back in the grass. The clouds were edged with bright seams. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought so.’

  Eloise sat up. ‘Okay. This is just between us, right?’

  ‘Yes. Definitely.’

  ‘The detective said someone made an inquiry about Arthur, from the outside. Maybe someone high up. She thought it might have been about his post-mortem.’

  Simon was expressionless. ‘So?’

  ‘She got the sense she was being told not to investigate any further. And she thought maybe this was because they’d been getting a bit too close to the people at Rotokauri.’

  Eloise paused, frowned. Had Da Silva actually said that? Yes. Well
, near enough. She went on, ‘So, I got an idea. Roysmith and I have just done a piece on the internet mogul Kurt Hartmann, right? Whom the Americans are trying to extradite. We interviewed him. I got the idea to ask Hartmann about Ed Miles.’

  Silence.

  Finally, Simon spoke. His tone was incredulous. ‘But I was at Rotokauri, too.’

  ‘Exactly. You said Ed Miles gives you the creeps. If there was something funny about Arthur’s death, wouldn’t you like to know?’

  He let out a short laugh. ‘Not specially.’

  Eloise winced. He didn’t have to sound so brutal.

  Simon squeezed his hands together; he turned to her and said, ‘Okay. Okay.’

  Silence.

  He started again, ‘The people you’re talking about. They’re my friends.’

  ‘I didn’t get the impression Ed Miles is your friend.’

  ‘The Hallwrights are more than friends; they’re family.’

  ‘I know. I wanted to tell you what I’d done because I thought you’d like to know.’

  Again he looked incredulous. ‘Thanks. You could have checked with me first.’

  ‘Simon, you told me you’d think about it, and that you might even look into it. I thought you wanted to find out as much as I did.’

  ‘Christ. You go off and unleash that giant ogre …’

  ‘I haven’t unleashed him. He’s not an ogre actually, he’s very nice. I just asked him if he knew anything about Ed Miles.’

  Eloise looked at the red iron roof of Arthur’s flat. She said in a slow, intent voice, ‘A layer of the world has been hidden from me.’

  ‘You didn’t tell the policewoman about talking to Hartmann?’

  ‘No. I won’t. It’s a secret.’ She turned to him. ‘I’m serious about this, Simon. I let Arthur down. I’m trying to make up for that. Even if there’s nothing to find out, I’ll know I’ve asked.’

  Simon looked away, distracted. Birds rose from the trees along the walking track, flapping wings.

  He said, ‘Hartmann won’t do anything.’

  Eloise said, ‘He might.’

  ‘Why would he?’

  ‘Ed Miles is Minister of Justice. Ed Miles wants Hartmann extradited. And Ed Miles was at Rotokauri.’

  ‘Christ,’ Simon said. ‘Oh no.’

  Eventually he held his hands out steady and said, ‘Okay, you’ve done it now, so let’s think it through.’

  She waited, looking at his big hands.

  ‘First of all, there’s not going to be anything to find.’

  ‘Probably not,’ Eloise said. She watched the birds flying in formation over the suburb.

  He said slowly, ‘But if there was something, it would only relate to Ed Miles.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Process of elimination. It’s nothing to do with me. All I did was field a few questions, first from Arthur, then from a couple of bored young cops. That was it. I didn’t “look into” anything. David Hallwright was the prime minister, so looking into things wasn’t his job. It was beneath his pay grade. The person who looked into things was Miles. He was the fixer, the person who calmed things down.’

  ‘Calmed things down,’ Eloise repeated. Like Klaudia — she had calmed things down, after Eloise had flown into a panic about the yoga retreat. Be mindful, Eloise. Breathe. Klaudia had taken deep breaths herself, to demonstrate. And Eloise had pretended she was upset about something else.

  Simon moved closer and took hold of her arm. ‘Eloise, the more I think about this, the more worried I get.’

  ‘We’re not doing anything wrong.’

  ‘But think. Think what you’ve done. I must be out of my mind even talking to you. You’ve effectively set Kurt Hartmann on the Minister of Justice. It’s about as serious as you can get. Even if there’s nothing to find, and there won’t be, you’ve set them against each other.’

  She blinked nervously. ‘They’re set against each other already. If Ed Miles has done nothing wrong, then there’s no harm in mentioning it to Hartmann …’

  ‘He’s the Minister of Justice. Whether he’s done something wrong or not, what if he finds out what you’ve done?’

  ‘Well, you and I won’t tell him. And neither will Hartmann.’

  ‘How do you know Hartmann won’t?’

  ‘He promised.’

  ‘Oh. And he’s Mr Reliable?’

  ‘I believe him. All we did was have a conversation. He said my visiting him was a nice distraction. He needs to take his mind off things while he fights his extradition case. We had a long talk at his house, he said he’s going to teach me some computer games.’

  ‘At the Hartmann mansion? You went there?’

  ‘Sure, I’ve been there twice.’

  ‘Well, you do tend to bowl up to people’s houses.’ A new thought struck him. ‘He’s surely being watched. You will have been seen going there. Without Roysmith.’

  ‘I had some extra questions for him, from Scott,’ Eloise said with dignity. ‘I was there on official business. Then we put our phones in the portable chiller on his golf cart, and talked down at the hen house.’

  ‘The hen house.’

  ‘He keeps chickens. They’re his Zen.’

  Simon let out a mirthless laugh. ‘And how will you talk to him again?’

  ‘He contacts people by encrypted email.’

  ‘How James Bond.’

  Eloise said, ‘He did say a delicate approach was required.’

  Simon said, ‘A delicate approach. I don’t know whether I’m talking to someone outrageously cunning or the village idiot.’

  ‘Well, I know you don’t follow politics, Simon. But Ed Miles is supposed to be after Jack Dance’s job.’

  ‘You mean information that makes life difficult for Miles is worth something. To Jack Dance. Christ, this just gets worse.’

  ‘I don’t know. Could it be? I told you, I just want to be able to say I asked.’

  Simon sat silent, as if struggling to take it in.

  Finally he said, ‘Listen, I don’t think you understand. What you’ve been doing is potentially dangerous. It could hurt my friends, or even me — not that I’ve done anything wrong.’

  She turned to him with feeling. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

  Is it possible, Klaudia, that I could be just slightly in love with Simon Lampton?

  He said, ‘I want you to promise you won’t tell anyone about this. Not family, friends, workmates, no one. You and I can deal with this together.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You should know that Ed Miles is a formidable and clever guy. And he is extremely ambitious. If anyone gets in his way, he does not play nice. His policy is: pay back double. So you — we — have to be careful.’

  Simon looked at her searchingly. ‘You’re a good person, Eloise. You’re sensitive about people’s privacy, in a way that maybe Arthur wasn’t — not because he was bad, but because he was driven. By his art. I know you’re not trying to make mischief, to cause harm. You want to make up for something. You’re trying to honour Arthur’s memory.’

  ‘Yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing. Honouring Arthur. You understand it all. You understand.’

  ‘Of course I do. Here, come here.’

  He put his arm around her and they sat together in the long grass. His voice was low and soothing. He said, ‘It’s all right, Eloise. We’ll work this out together. I know people, after all. Everything’s going to be fine.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The Sparkler and Eloise walked Silvio across the dog park and returned in time for the news. Mariel Hartfield and Jack Anthony appeared in matching outfits, his tie the same electric blue as the stripe in her jacket.

  ‘I used to think those two hated each other,’ Eloise said.

  The bulletin rolled smoothly towards the first commercial break: crime, crime, politics, crime, unusual weather events, Pacific affairs, an article (marketing disguised as news) about record demand for a new Apple product.

  When Eloise w
ent to the kitchen for a drink, the Sparkler switched to the cartoon channel. Eloise couldn’t be bothered arguing. They watched as Soon, the obnoxious dwarf, behaved appallingly (he set fire to a building and began a blackmail plot) while his counterpart, conscientious Starfish, wrung his hands. The action involved the Bachelor, who rode around on a flying bed accompanied by his hissing girlfriends, the Cassowaries, and a visit from the Ort Cloud, the large purple mass with eyes and a mouth full of wicked teeth, who reminded Eloise of Kurt Hartmann.

  Eloise watched, pressing the cold wine glass against her sunburnt cheeks. After a while she said, ‘Is the giant purple cloud good or bad?’

  The Sparkler didn’t take her eyes off the screen. ‘Good. His wife’s bad. When the Ort Cloud and his wife fight, there’s chaos in the universe.’

  ‘How did Roza Hallwright come up with it all?’

  The Sparkler had her fingers wound in Silvio’s coat. ‘Who?’

  ‘The woman who made it up. Maybe the characters are based on real people.’ Was David Hallwright in there? What about Simon Lampton? Perhaps he was Starfish, the good-hearted one, who tried to undo the wrongs committed by wicked Soon.

  The Sparkler said, ‘Yeah. It’s based on a real dwarf and a real starfish.’

  Eloise laughed. ‘Sarky!’

  Silvio jumped up with an explosion of barks, sending Eloise reeling back.

  ‘I wish he wouldn’t do that.’

  The Sparkler had her hand up to her hair.

  ‘Oh, God, sorry.’ Eloise grabbed a tea towel on the way to the door, where Silvio was already up on his hind legs and scrabbling. She let Carina in.

  Carina fought her way past the ecstatic dog.

  Eloise said over her shoulder, wishing Silvio wasn’t quite so pleased, ‘The Sparkler’s fine. Good party. She reeks of booze — only because I tipped a glass of wine over her head.’

  ‘Okay …’

  Eloise dabbed at the Sparkler’s hair. ‘Sorry. The dog’s so loud.’ She turned. ‘You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you? Mum’s on her way; she rang me. I’m cooking.’