‘Ah my Rimini rambler, what have I told you about bringing home strays?’ said Nick casually, stepping out from behind the door where he had been preparing his martini, and jamming something hard and metallic into the man’s back. ‘Would you mind awfully unhanding my wife? I find it does distress me and I would so hate to see you come to any harm.’ Baxter let out a low growl of warning from Nick’s side.
‘It’s OK, Saunders,’ said the Prime Minister. ‘La Contessa is perfectly harmless, I can assure you. Let her go.’
The man released La Contessa’s arm and stepped to one side, casting a quick glance down at the cocktail shaker Nick had jammed into the small of his back.
Nick nodded apologetically. ‘Best I could come up with on the spur of the moment.’
‘It was big enough to be a shotgun, but very cold,’ said Saunders. ‘I didn’t want to take a chance after I watched you put fat boy over there on his arse.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Trevor Saunders. Former SAS and now part of my security detail,’ said Monaro. ‘When I told you things were under control, it was because Saunders here has been monitoring things from a number of hidden cameras that were installed in Kirribilli House when I took office and undertook a number of renovations and redecorations. The last incumbent left the place in a bit of a mess, to be honest. Children and pets: what can you do?’
‘Trevor has not done a very good job of keeping everyone safe,’ said La Contessa frostily, rubbing her arm, which still bore the red imprint of the security guard’s fingers. ‘Having people under surveillance does not mean they are under control. By my count we have a dead diplomat in the toilet and another one missing.’
‘Unfortunately since you have been gone we have found the other diplomat dead under a fig tree,’ said Nick. ‘Charlie Johnson – poisoned, naked and the colour of a Smurf.’
‘A Smurf?’ said La Contessa. ‘That is unusual.’
‘Perhaps the tapes in those cameras could help us piece together what happened to Alexander Brown,’ said Nick.
Saunders shook his head. ‘The cameras only pick up the doorway to the foyer – and besides, the lights were out when the commotion happened. No need for it now; it looks like you have got the culprit.’
Hayden Hill glowered from the chair. ‘Untie me now – my lawyers will hear of this.’
‘No, we have a suspected poisoner,’ said Nick. ‘We don’t know who killed Alexander and we are no closer to establishing who the blackmailer who started this whole chain of events is.’
‘Clearly it is time to call in the professionals,’ said Sir Aiden. ‘Let them review the tapes and question Mr Hill here properly.’
‘We are in no danger,’ said Monaro curtly. ‘I want this resolved and finished before we allow the boys in blue to get involved and come tramping all over my private life with their size nine boots.’
‘In fairness, mon ami, it is not really your private life that we are talking about here but your professional life which, as Prime Minister of your country, is fair game to everyone; not just, how you say, the boys in blue,’ said Armand. ‘In France of course we do things differently but even our gendarmerie would raise an eyebrow at the death of two diplomats in the Palais de l’Élysée in one evening.’
‘I don’t care what anyone says or thinks, I am determined to see this through,’ said Monaro firmly. ‘Now you know that Saunders is observing from upstairs, you should all be reassured that no further harm can come to anyone.’
‘A fat lot of good he did for the last two fellas,’ observed Brett wryly. ‘Robert, me old mucker, I’m no fan of the rozzers but if you keep going as you are, this could easily cost you your job.’
‘It may already be too late for that,’ said Monaro quietly. ‘And I certainly don’t want it to cost anyone . . . anyone else . . . their lives. But I feel that if we don’t see this through to the end now then it will never be resolved.’
Trevor Saunders looked directly at the Prime Minister and said, ‘In that case I might go back upstairs to my post, sir.’
The Prime Minister nodded and the security officer turned to leave, pausing briefly in front of La Contessa. ‘I’ll be watching you,’ he said. She shivered and Nick instinctively put a protective arm around her shoulders. Baxter growled at him again.
‘We still have a while until the midnight fireworks,’ said the Prime Minister. ‘I think we can at least wait until then to try and resolve this issue. I’m sure Nick has some questions he wants to ask us.’
CHAPTER 13
The Congress of the Vole
‘Come in here,’ said La Contessa, catching Nick’s arm and pulling him into the foyer as everyone else filed back to the dining table. She pulled him along the corridor and into the downstairs sitting room where she had hidden from Patricia earlier. They were standing nose to nose in the partial darkness.
‘Oh, my Siracusa siren, this is an unexpected return to form,’ murmured Nick, nuzzling her neck and allowing his hands to run down the small of her back. ‘No time like the present, I always say. It reminds me of that time we were at your cousin Tony’s wedding . . .’
‘Darling, not now,’ said La Contessa brusquely, pushing his hands away. ‘I pulled you in here because I needed to talk to you privately.’
‘Ding dong, old thing; I need to talk to your privates too,’ said Nick, putting his hands back where they were.
‘Nicholas Moore, concentrate,’ hissed La Contessa. ‘I need your blood in your brain not in the part of your anatomy it seems to be rushing to at this moment. We have two murders and a blackmail to solve.’
‘Ah yes, my Ragusa realist,’ conceded Nick sadly. ‘Although I do often have my most brilliant thoughts in the haze of post-coital languor.’
‘Really? You would be able to enjoy “post-coital languor” here in the Prime Minister’s downstairs sitting room after having what I have heard you crudely refer to when speaking to your friend Cleaver as a “knee trembler”?’
‘It sounds much more sexy when you say it with that Italian accent,’ said Nick, before catching the warning signals of mounting fury in the creases on his wife’s brow. ‘But now you mention Cleaver, did you manage to get on to him?’
‘Yes I did, thank you for asking,’ said La Contessa. ‘He said to tell you “message understood” and that he will be making his way here ASAP.’
‘Excellent, well done,’ said Nick sincerely. ‘Apart from Trevor, the secret agent in the attic, did you find anything else?’
‘Yes,’ whispered La Contessa before halting and holding her breath as footsteps clattering on the marble floor and the rustling of ice revealed that someone was retrieving a bottle of wine from beneath the carving. ‘I got into Robert’s office across the hall. There was an old laptop in there that was still being used. It —’
‘Nick! La Contessa! Where are you?’ Patricia called. ‘Robert wants you to come in and talk to us.’
‘Try and find out about the Iraqi gold and just what Karen Knight is up to,’ whispered La Contessa, frantically rooting around in her clutch before coming up with her bright red lipstick. She whipped it on and then grabbed Nick and kissed him hard. Moments later they emerged from the sitting room, Nick sheepishly wiping away the lipstick with his handkerchief.
‘You two haven’t changed a bit.’ Patricia laughed for the first time that night. ‘I can’t believe you are up to that nonsense when so much is going on. Come on, the others are waiting.’
They headed back into the dining room with Nick scooping up the cocktail shaker and filling it with ice on the way there. He poured in three measures of gin, one of vodka and a half of vermouth and began shaking vigorously.
‘So these two German secret agents walk into a London pub during World War II and order a martini,’ he said, taking his place at the table and pouring the icy martini into the two glasses in front of him and La Contessa. ‘The barman asks, “Dry?” and one of the agents says “Nein, zwei.”’
‘You are a fo
nt of ridiculous jokes,’ snapped Sir Aiden. ‘For some reason the Prime Minister seems to put some faith in your deductive skills. I think we would rather see a bit more of that than have another bout of The Paul Hogan Show.’
‘Ouch,’ said Nick.
‘A little harsh,’ agreed La Contessa. ‘I thought it was a very good joke, darling. Why did they say zwei?’
‘Because they wanted two not . . . Never mind,’ said Nick, looking around the table. ‘I guess if anyone else has any bombshells to drop, now would be a good time to do it.’
‘Well, actually,’ began Karen. She was sitting to the right of the Prime Minister, who was back at the head of the table. He looked sharply at her.
‘No, Karen,’ he snapped. ‘Not now.’
‘I am sorry, Robert, but it has to be now,’ she said. ‘I need to say this publicly and make clear my intention to step down as Foreign Minister and Deputy Liberal Leader.’
‘That is ridiculous,’ said Monaro. ‘I won’t allow it.’
‘I will serve out the rest of this term in parliament on the backbench and then not contest my seat in the next election.’
‘Absolutely not, Karen. We have discussed this. No,’ said Monaro angrily. The others around the table sat in surprised silence at the sudden turn of events. Patricia watched her husband impassively from the opposite end of the table.
‘Karen, if you don’t mind me asking, why?’ said La Contessa. ‘You are held in such respect in that job.’
‘I agree,’ said Charlotte. ‘You are a shining example to young women that they can succeed in public life and, in fact, do a much better job than most of the men. No offence, Robert.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Karen graciously. ‘But I am stepping down for personal reasons. I genuinely do want to spend more time with my family.’
‘I didn’t think you were married,’ said La Contessa.
‘No, I’m not, but my mother is now in her eighties and becoming increasingly frail so I would like to spend more time with her back home in Queensland,’ said Karen. ‘The trips away plus the time spent in the Canberra bubble mean I hardly ever see her.’
‘I’m sorry to say this,’ said La Contessa. ‘But it does seem rather a shame to stop a successful career just to spend time with your mother because she is getting old.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Nick, which earned him a frosty glance from his wife across the table. ‘Not that spending time with elderly mothers is a bad thing,’ he recovered quickly.
‘I mean, why stop now?’ said Taylor, who had been following the conversation and appeared recovered enough from her fainting fit to join in. Hayden, whose hands remained tied, glowered at her as though she was betraying him by speaking. ‘Like, you are totally epic,’ the influencer continued. ‘I thought you were going to take over as Prime Minister. That would be, like, totally fierce.’
‘That is very kind of you,’ acknowledged Karen with a smile. ‘But I do feel that this is the right move for me now. And the right time.’
‘Goddamn it, Karen, no!’ shouted Monaro, his face mottled red with anger. He banged his fist on the table, causing the cutlery to jump and clatter against the side plates. ‘I will not let you do this. You cannot throw away a career, a lifetime’s work, over, over . . . I just won’t let you do it.’
‘I’m sorry, Robert, but my mind is made up,’ she said with the same still calm that made her such a good negotiator for Australian interests on the world stage.
‘Damn it to hell,’ shouted Monaro, jumping to his feet so violently that his chair fell backwards. He picked up his wine glass and hurled it against the Streeton painting. Wine splattered the canvas as the glass bounced off and then shattered on the floor. Monaro stormed across the verandah and onto the lawn, where he could be seen taking deep breaths in an attempt to bring himself under control.
‘As exit interviews go,’ said Nick, breaking the stunned silence. ‘That was one of the more impassioned.’
‘Rather,’ said Karen, her face white. She took a sip of her wine.
‘Come on, darling, let’s go and find something to clean up the mess,’ said La Contessa, getting to her feet and heading to the kitchen.
‘Duty calls,’ said Nick with a smile. He followed her into the kitchen, where she was already opening the cupboard under the sink. She stood up with a blue brush and dustpan in her hand and gestured for Nick to grab the cloth on the draining board.
‘I have heard politics is a passionate business and I guess that rather proves the point,’ said Nick.
‘What, you think that was about politics?’ said La Contessa incredulously. ‘Nick Moore, for a detective you can really be quite dense sometimes.’
‘I’m not sure what you mean, my Bardolino bamboozler,’ said Nick. ‘I just saw the Prime Minister quite naturally get very upset at the thought of losing an ally, an able lieutenant and quite possibly the best Foreign Minister this country has ever had.’
‘Oh Nicky, really?’ sighed La Contessa. ‘What you saw was a man getting very upset at the thought of losing his lover.’
‘What?’ said Nick in shocked surprise. ‘Nonsense. That is your hot Latin blood coming to the fore. It’s just you who can’t see a man and woman together like that without thinking they are dancing in the sheets and doing the old hibbety-dibbety. Whipping up a jig on the old bed flute.’
‘Darling, it’s as plain as the nose on your face,’ said La Contessa. ‘Besides, that’s what I was trying to tell you. I saw the emails on Robert’s old laptop; he obviously uses that for stuff he doesn’t want people to find. He has a private email account on there and they have been writing to each other.’
‘Wow,’ said Nick in astonishment. ‘Rob and Karen enjoying joint sessions of congress, roasting the broomstick, doing push-ups in the cucumber patch, shrimpin’ the barbie . . .’
‘I think I get the picture,’ said La Contessa. ‘Yes, working closely together and becoming lovers. It is not such a surprise really.’
‘Agreed, but you would have no idea they were having a bit of the old slap and tickle until you were told,’ said Nick. ‘And then it’s so obvious. No wonder he was upset.’
‘It was quite a reaction,’ said La Contessa, giving Nick a gentle nudge towards the kitchen door. ‘I wonder what Patricia thought of it?’
‘You think she knew?’
‘She’s a woman,’ said La Contessa. ‘We always know.’
They emerged from the kitchen to be met by a sea of silent, nonplussed faces. A blanket of melancholy emptiness seemed to have settled over the gathering. Nick and La Contessa walked back to their seats before a ‘Yowf’ from the kitchen reminded them all that Baxter was still in there and brought Nick quickly back to his feet.
‘He is an adorable dog,’ said Anne-Sophie as Nick let the grateful beagle back into the room. ‘We French adore our dogs.’ Her husband scowled. ‘Well, most of us do. Tell me, where did you get him?’
‘It’s not so much where did we get him,’ said Nick, returning to the table as Baxter entered his routine of winding himself in ever decreasing circles before settling in his curled position on the rug by the fireplace. ‘But more a case of how did he get us?’
‘What do you mean?’ Anne-Sophie laughed. ‘He is a remarkable dog, I agree, but for him to keep two humans is too funny.’
‘No, it’s true,’ said La Contessa. Baxter’s big brown eyes remained open, as if he knew he was the topic of the conversation. ‘We were in England visiting Nick’s Great Aunt Mabel in Cornwall.’
‘A remarkable woman,’ interjected Nick. ‘I was reading an article about world champion surfer Kelly Slater, who was saying we are all put on this earth for a reason, a purpose, and when we are doing that one thing we are truly happy. Mabel was like that.’
‘So she was an athlete?’ asked Anne-Sophie as the rest of the guests listened, distracted momentarily from the real-life dramas that had come crashing into their lives.
‘In her chosen field, I supp
ose she was,’ said Nick. ‘Great Aunt Mabel devoted her life to the singular pursuit of finding the ultimate cream bun. It was a never-ending quest and over time she developed the physique and stamina of a world-class cream-bun aficionado. An Olympian of the chocolate éclair. A pentathlete of the vanilla slice. Apple turnovers, jam doughnuts: you name it, there was nothing she would not tackle.’
‘So she was fat?’ asked Brett.
‘She was of generous proportions. To say she was fat is to dismiss the years of training and dedication that woman put into her passion,’ said Nick. ‘Although it is fair to say that she wasn’t the sharpest knife in the cutlery drawer. On one occasion she raised the alarm after visiting the lavatory because she feared a minor stroke had partially paralysed her legs, only to find she had forgotten to pull up her pantyhose. Anyway, I digress; we were visiting Great Aunt Mabel when Baxter found us.’
‘Oh darling, you are a terrible storyteller,’ said La Contessa. ‘You have missed the whole point. During our visit there was a series of apparently random poisonings across the Cornish countryside. The common thread was that the people had just consumed a Devon cream tea when they died.’
‘That’s ridiculous; you cannot expect us to believe someone was randomly poisoning cream buns,’ exploded Sir Aiden. ‘I think we have rather more important things to discuss right now.’
‘Truth is often stranger than fiction, Sir Aiden,’ said Nick quietly. ‘Remember the cases in Australia of someone tampering with the headache tablet packets? Or putting needles in strawberries? There is often a lot to learn from the past.’
Sir Aiden huffily bit his tongue and picked up his wine as La Contessa, sitting next to him, blithely continued with the story. ‘Yes, the English newspapers were in a frenzy calling for the police to find the “Cream Tea Killer” – and I’m sorry to have to correct you, Sir Aiden, but they were not poisoned cream buns. A cream tea is of course a scone with cream and jam. Around the tourist traps there we call them Devonshire teas.’
The Dying Diplomats Club Page 11