‘Scusa, I’m so sorry,’ said a mortified La Contessa, whose bite of the vol-au-vent had squirted mayonnaise-coated tuna onto Charlotte’s dress. La Contessa dabbed at the surgeon’s chest with her serviette, smearing the mayonnaise stain further. ‘Oh dear, it doesn’t seem to be coming off.’
‘Don’t worry – I will go and dab it with some water,’ said Charlotte graciously, before turning and heading into the house in search of the bathroom.
‘Perhaps try some soda water,’ La Contessa called out helpfully, Baxter sat in the middle of the verandah, his back leg scratching unhappily at his dog-sized dinner suit, until La Contessa finally relented and bent down to take it off. The unhappy hound visibly sighed with relief as the restrictive polyester garment finally came off. As La Contessa straightened up, looking for somewhere to put the mini suit, the silver-haired man who had walked in with Charlotte came up to them.
‘Hello, Nick,’ he said.
‘Brett, you old villain,’ said Nick as the two men clasped each other’s hands and patted shoulders. ‘I didn’t expect to see anyone I knew here this evening, least of all you. What are you doing now?’
‘Just doing my best, Nick. You know me.’
‘Always, Brett, always. But I mean what are you doing here?’ said Nick, before catching La Contessa’s eye as she walked back from stowing Baxter’s dinner suit underneath a coffee table by the door. ‘Oh yes, my wife, La Contessa Mariabella Belluci, this is Brett Porterhouse, probably the finest bookmaker and master of the track I have ever had the pleasure of handing my money to.’
‘The pleasure is all mine,’ said Brett, kissing the back of La Contessa’s hand. ‘In answer to your question, “What am I doing here?” I should remind you that I was Robert Monaro’s first ever campaign manager. I helped him win his seat and have been bumping around in the background ever since.’
‘I guess having a dodgy bookie on the payroll is a pretty good thing for a politician,’ said Nick with a grin.
‘Less of the dodgy, mate,’ said Brett. ‘But you’re right.’
In fact, Nick recalled, Brett had been hailed as the author of Monaro’s election success. He had insisted on Monaro appearing with his medals during a town hall debate with his Labor rival that had emphasised the left-wing candidate’s lack of steel on foreign policy. And it was Brett who saw the potential of taking Alan Griffin to task over deliberately turning a blind eye to the slow asbestos poisoning of so many of his workforce.
‘As I recall, the Liberals picked Rob up to cash in on the popular “war hero” vote and parachuted him into a safe seat,’ said Nick. ‘They probably didn’t expect him to make Prime Minister quite so quickly. I think you might have had a part to play in that.’
‘There was more back stabbing in Canberra back then than Rome when Julius Caesar was removed from office,’ agreed Brett. ‘Hard to keep up.’
‘And where’s the old cheese and kisses?’ asked Nick.
‘My dear wife is at home,’ Brett said grinning wolfishly. ‘I’ve told you what I’m doing here; now you can also guess who I’m doing here.’
‘Not the surgeon?’ said Nick, his eyebrows shooting up. ‘You are punching well above your weight there, Brett old boy. Isn’t she married too?’
‘’Fraid so, Nick. What’s a bloke to do? My missus doesn’t want to split up and Charlotte’s hubby has made it clear he will go for the house, which is the last thing she has left. So we are trapped into having an affair that everyone seems to know about.’
‘Oooh yes,’ enjoined La Contessa. ‘I have seen pictures of you two together in the social pages. Didn’t you just have a spell up in Byron with those Hollywood types? Nick and I have been meaning to take Elsa and Chris up on their offer to stay over for a mini boot camp but something always comes up. Anyway, I had no idea you and Nick were friends.’
‘We have known each other for years, on and off the track,’ said Brett. ‘Done each other a few favours over the time.’
‘I’m not sure I want to know what that means,’ said La Contessa. ‘I’ve met some of Nicky’s friends who owe or are owed favours and they can be, well, not the sort of person I expected to meet on the lawn of Kirribilli House.’
‘Ah well, Mrs Moore, maybe I’m the exception that proves the rule.’
‘Or the bad penny that keeps turning up.’ Nick grinned as Charlotte reappeared on the balcony, a darker patch just visible on one side of her gown. Baxter, sniffing the ground for more fallen canapés, rubbed against her leg, leaving a mass of shedded white fur from ankle to knee on the black garment. La Contessa purposefully forced herself not to look at the dog hair and met the surgeon’s gaze instead.
‘There you are, gorgeous as ever. No one would ever know!’ she enthused as the Prime Minister reappeared from inside the house.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are still awaiting the arrival of one more guest but I think we should start to move inside . . . Ah, here you are.’ He was interrupted by the arrival of a chic toned blonde woman in her fifties wearing a figure-hugging ivory-beaded knee-length dress. Monaro’s face lit up and he gave the woman a gentle kiss on the cheek, briefly holding her gaze as her eyes sparkled against the setting sun. ‘I’m sure our highly respected Foreign Minister and Deputy Leader of the Liberal Party Karen Knight needs no introduction to you all, given the wonderful job she has been doing with the recalcitrant Chinese.’
‘Delighted to meet you,’ said La Contessa after making a beeline for Karen. ‘I’m such a fan. It is so good to see a woman giving it to the boys in Canberra. I hope you are going to be our next Prime Minister.’
‘Thank you, you are very kind,’ the Foreign Minister said, clearly used to dealing with gushing enthusiasm from women she had never met before. At 54, the former lawyer had cut a swathe through political circles, rising quickly to a post that had propelled her onto the world stage. It was there that she had impressed so many of her countrymen with her resolute handling of uncooperative foreign leaders. She had won significant trade concessions from a number of partners, had charmed the British Prime Minister and the American President into a solid alliance against moves by Russia into Arctic territory and was now standing firm in the face of extreme bullying tactics from China. The fact that she was single only seemed to add to her allure, although she frequently attended political functions and electorate soirees with her young chief of staff, a brilliant tactician widely regarded as ‘a man bag’ for his boss, and currently on leave visiting his elderly parents in Port Macquarie.
‘Karen, I’m sure you can make your introductions as we go inside,’ said the Prime Minister, cutting off any further gushing from La Contessa.
As Monaro guided the blonde Foreign Minister into the house, Nick saw Patricia glower at the hand solicitously placed at the small of Karen’s back.
‘Reminds you of when Paul Keating did that to the Queen,’ said La Contessa, looking in concern at Patricia. ‘The British tabloids called him the Lizard of Oz. I wonder . . . ?’
‘Judging by the look on Patricia’s face, that is a sobriquet she would like to apply to her husband right now, although Karen doesn’t seem to mind,’ said Nick, looking around. ‘Seems odd the band has started to pack up.’
‘Are you leaving already?’ La Contessa asked the voluptuous cello player nearest to her.
‘Yes, our booking was only until 7pm; we are going to join the rest of the Sydney Harbour International Tempo Ensemble over at the Opera House for another performance later this evening.’
‘Oh, you’re SHITE!’ said La Contessa, as Nick’s poorly timed mouthful of Champagne snorted out of his nostrils at her use of the acronym. ‘But you are not the whole orchestra, just a little bit of SHITE? How lovely of you to come and play for us here before your main performance.’
‘You might be able to hear the complete SHITE orchestra from here,’ said the cellist, seemingly oblivious to Nick mopping at the Champagne spray with a serviette.
‘Oh, I do hope so,’ said La Contessa. �
�I’ve always loved this SHITE since that wonderful Hungarian émigré Viradi Alexander founded the orchestra all those years ago. In my opinion you simply cannot get enough of this SHITE.’
‘Now, darling, we have to go inside,’ said Nick, recovering and quickly guiding his wife away from the surprised cellist. ‘I don’t think I will be able to maintain my composure if you discover your inner Hungarian.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’ said La Contessa, offended as they walked towards the double doors the others were filing through with Baxter padding along at their heels. ‘I think my Zsa Zsa Gabor impression is very good.’
‘No, don’t . . .’ implored Nick.
‘A penis is all a girl wants,’ she said loudly in a thick Hungarian accent as they stepped into the dining room. The hubbub of conversation stopped and every face turned towards them.
‘Quite,’ said the Prime Minister smoothly. ‘There is never enough happiness to go ’round. Perhaps we should take our seats.’
CHAPTER 5
Blackmail
‘First off, I would like to welcome you all to Kirribilli House and thank you for coming,’ said the Prime Minister, standing at the head of the long table in the dining room. It was stylishly furnished, if slightly cluttered, with an Arthur Streeton original hanging over the fireplace behind the Prime Minister. There were bookcases on the wall to his left, opposite the verandah doors that opened out onto the lawn and busy harbour beyond. Australian native flowers sat in vases on side tables in the sitting area at the other end of the room. Directly opposite Monaro, and with her back to the opening to the sitting room, his wife, Patricia, smiled back supportively. She did not glance at the Foreign Minister sitting directly at his right hand or the French Ambassador and his wife to his left, but kept her eyes firmly on her husband. Nick and La Contessa were seated opposite one another in the very centre of the long table. The Prime Minister continued, ‘A little bit of housekeeping to start . . .’
‘Jesus, surely you’ve got enough staff for us not to do that,’ quipped Hayden from his spot next to La Contessa. Brett, sitting next to him, stifled a smirk.
‘A little bit of housekeeping,’ repeated the Prime Minister, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, as he often did during question time, doing it now as if to underline his authority. ‘You will see an envelope on the table in front of you with your name written on it. Could you please place your phones and any other electronic devices in there. They will be returned to you after the meal.’
Taylor, the youngest person at the table and a prolific poster on social media, gasped in horror and opened her mouth to protest.
‘I’m sure you will survive,’ said Alexander, putting his hand on her arm. ‘Only now when you look up from your phone do I see just how beautiful your eyes are.’
She blushed at the intensity of his gaze and allowed the diplomat to slide her phone into the envelope. Charlie, watching his old colleague and fellow diplomat in action, chuckled. ‘Don’t worry about your phone, Taylor,’ he rumbled in that deep baritone. ‘You’ll have more than enough to keep your hands full sitting next to Alex.’
Patricia threw him a frosty glance.
‘This is slightly irregular, Prime Minister,’ said Sir Aiden. ‘Is it really necessary?’
‘Now, now Sir Aiden,’ Charlotte chided him with a throaty chuckle from across the table. ‘Look at what happened the last time a Governor-General saw fit to question a Prime Minister.’
‘Ha, I don’t think this is quite on the dismissal scale set by Sir John Kerr when he challenged Gough Whitlam, Charlotte.’ Monaro laughed. ‘But I’m afraid it is necessary, Aiden. It will all become clear.’
He raised his hand as he sat down and a liveried waiter walked to the table and went around collecting the envelopes. Once he had them all he took them through the door to the kitchen. Baxter, who had been carrying out a thorough sniff of the perimeter of the room, realised the door was opening momentarily too late and, despite a last-minute dash, missed his chance to investigate the source of the delicious smells wafting into the room.
As a murmur of small talk drifted across the table, the waiter returned with a magnum of 2008 Dom Pérignon Champagne and moved around the table filling their glasses. Once he had completed the task and retreated once again to the kitchen, fending Baxter away from the door with skilful footwork, the Prime Minister again rose to his feet, flute in hand. ‘Friends – and that is why you are all here, because you are friends – can I propose a toast to you all? And thank you for a lifetime of love and support. To friends.’
Across the table the toast ‘to friends’ was repeated to the clink of glasses.
‘Now, to the business of the evening, which is not just to watch the fireworks and see in the New Year, but unfortunately to set off a few fireworks of our own,’ Monaro said.
‘You are being very mysterious, Scout,’ rumbled Charlie warningly from the other end of the table. ‘Don’t want to scare the horses.’
‘I’m sorry, Charlie, but it will all become clear,’ replied Monaro as the waiter reappeared with starters in Bormioli Rocco glasses.
‘Buono! Prawn cocktail,’ burst out La Contessa. ‘My absolute retro favourite.’
The Prime Minister shot her a quizzical glance, uncertain if she was being sarcastic before realising there was no irony intended, and carried on. ‘Once Adam here has finished serving the starters, he and the rest of the staff will leave the house and the grounds.’
A hubbub of surprised voices rose up at once and Monaro gave his trademark politician’s grin and fanned them to silence with his hand. ‘Don’t worry, the chef has prepared a beautiful coq au vin that simply requires us to serve it. He has provided Patricia and me with very detailed instructions on what to do. We may need a little help with the clearing and serving.’
‘Of course we will ’elp,’ said Armand. ‘But if you don’t mind me saying, this is extremely unusual to be invited to a dinner party hosted by a head of state, the Prime Minister of a country, and told to “serve yourself”.’
‘The frog’s got a point there, digger, er, Prime Minister,’ joined in Hayden. ‘As the old GG said, it’s a bit bloody weird. Time to be fair dinkum and tell us what the game is.’
‘Not only will the staff be leaving,’ continued Monaro. ‘My personal security detail will also be retiring to join the Australian Border Force officers in the guard house by the gate.’
He indicated behind him the two men in dark suits with the tell-tale earpieces and expressionless faces of security officers in Hollywood movies.
‘Highly irregular,’ repeated Sir Aiden. ‘I think you had better explain what is going on.’
‘I will once they have gone,’ said Monaro firmly. ‘But I would like to assure you that we will all be perfectly safe. The perimeter of Kirribilli House will be under guard and no one will be able to get in or out. It will just be the fourteen of us here in the house until I give the all-clear to the guard house that it is time to come back in.’
‘How exciting!’ said La Contessa. ‘I think you had better get them to top up the Dom before they go.’
As the waiter reappeared to charge the glasses, an excited hubbub drifted over the table at the unusual turn of events. Nick watched Charlotte and Anne-Sophie whisper together while the diplomats Alexander and Charlie exchanged bemused glances across the table.
‘Before the excitement begins, I wanted to corner you, Charlie, about the chinks,’ Hayden said, leaning forwards in order to engage the Australian Ambassador to China past Brett, who leaned back in his chair to allow the two men to talk.
‘Well, that is my current area of expertise,’ said Charlie, his brown eyes flashing. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘They are blocking my whales from coming to my Australian casinos,’ complained Hayden irately. ‘It’s killing my business.’
‘Unbelievable! You have whales at your casinos?’ interrupted La Contessa. ‘Surely that’s very cruel?’
‘
Ah, my Milanese marvel, he is not referring to the aquatic placental marine mammals,’ explained Nick from across the table. ‘But rather the extremely well-heeled Chinese gamblers who fly to Australia on casino-sponsored junkets for the sole purpose of betting.’
‘Exactly right,’ said the casino mogul. ‘Without them, my business model simply does not work. I need the Australian government to put some pressure on those chink commie high-ups to get the ball rolling again. What do you say, Charlie?’
The diplomat took a considered sip of his Champagne, weighing his response carefully. All eyes at that end of the table rested on him. He steepled his fingers in front of him and then looked to his left at the florid, expectant face of Hayden Hill.
‘My understanding of the situation, Hayden, is that your people attempted to recruit the whales directly, without going through the Chinese agents who traditionally set up these deals. Is that correct?’ he said in that deep, reassuring voice.
‘Damn right I did – cut out the money-grabbing middle men,’ agreed Hayden.
‘And in so doing you upset a system of back-scratching and payments that sees money flowing into the pockets of people all the way up the governmental chain,’ said Charlie. ‘It may not be the way things work in Australia but it is the way the Chinese do business.’
‘It’s rotten to its core,’ complained Hayden.
‘We have corruption of our own, of course, Hayden, but putting that to one side: in trying to buck the Chinese system it appears the system has bucked you,’ said Charlie. ‘How many of your people have been arrested now?’
‘Five,’ replied Hayden. ‘Three locals plus two of my Australian area managers. No trial, no charge, nothing. They are just sitting in jail. And my high-roller rooms are sitting empty.’
‘I can assure you our diplomatic teams in Beijing are doing all they can help to those people.’
‘To hell with the people – what about the whales? I’m haemorrhaging cash here.’
‘My responsibility is to Australian citizens in China,’ said Charlie, giving the casino mogul a withering glance. ‘Not to businesses that ignore local traditions and damage themselves in the process. This entire affair has cost us a great deal of goodwill and placed further stress on an already strained relationship.’
The Dying Diplomats Club Page 4