by Peter Corris
‘Yeah, I heard. Terrific tan.’ It was true, she was wearing a green dress with white trim; her tan was TV commercial standard and she looked cool, clean and lovely. I was trying to hold my feelings in neutral but they wouldn’t stay there. I wanted to touch her very badly. She moved her hand across the desk a little towards me, it was like a negotiating party advancing under a white flag. I reached down and put my hand lightly over hers.
‘Let’s go out for a drink,’ I said.
‘I thought you’d say that.’
We went back to the downstairs place of course and talked and drank there for a couple of hours. She had the goods on Keir Baudin all right and I had no reason to stop her exposing him, even if I could. I felt a bit sorry for the old man, though. I told her how the Chatterton case had developed and she expressed a polite interest. The fact was that she was committed to her story and the career advance it was probably going to bring her. I struggled with the knowledge that she didn’t need me.
‘You look better,’ she said, ‘fitter and you’re not smoking. You’ll be better at the job.’
‘Yeah, we’ll both be better at our jobs.’
She went back to work and we met again later. We ate, drank and made love and she went on with her work. I stayed in the flat and read her books and walked around Canberra seeing how the taxpayers’ money was spent. The city’s grass and gardens were drying out and would soon be yellow under the summer sun. After a few days I had a strong yen for a Beach and I tried to persuade Kay to come to the coast with me but she was too involved in her story. We spent an evening together in which we couldn’t find any common ground. Truth was, I was in Sydney and she was in Indonesia and we both knew it. I went back to Sydney to wait for work. Her articles on the Indonesian connection were run in all the Capital city papers; the next time I saw her name in print she was writing about crime and politics — in New York City.
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