‘No’, I said. ‘I’m not too keen on it; when they all pack down like they do I imagine I can hear the spines snapping. What did that bloke call it? Wrestling on the run? It’s all right when it flows, but it doesn’t seem to flow all that often.’
‘Right.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘Paul Guthrie.’
We shook. ‘Cliff Hardy. I’m here looking after things for Roberta.’
‘Gathered that. Drink?’
I shook my head. ‘No thanks. I’ll have one before I go. I’d better go outside and make sure the football hero isn’t stealing the hubcaps.’
He nodded. ‘Talk to you again.’
My turn to nod; he walked away-a calm, self-assured little man with something on his mind and what looked like mineral water in his glass. He looked slightly out of place in the gathering, but it didn’t seem to worry him.
Everything was quiet outside. I stood near a bush with a nice, strong scent and enjoyed the cool evening air as a break from the noise and the smoke. I’d left the jacket of my suit inside, but I still felt uncomfortable in tailored pants and a collar and tie. It was that sort of party though, and in my usual get-up of shirt and jeans I’d have stood out a mile as the crowd controller. The party was up at a loud roar; a few people trickled past, going in and out. They all seemed to be having a good time, and I wondered if their lives were fuller and richer than mine. Richer in worldly goods I could be sure of; they had expensive cars and credit cards to keep the tanks eternally full. My car was old and half a tank was all it was used to. On the other hand, jobs like these had pushed me into the black economy. Some of the clients wanted to pay in cash and who was I to quarrel? I’d had a conversation recently with Cy Sackville, my lawyer, in which he’d advised me to form a limited liability company in order to protect my earnings.
‘I’d make a loss’, I said.
“That’s the idea. The shot is to get someone else to act as a director-your brother or someone…’
‘I haven’t got a brother.’
‘No? You’d probably be a better person today if you did- less selfish.’
‘Have you got a brother, Cy?’
‘No.’
I hadn’t formed the company, and tax problems were a possibility; even so, a year’s income wouldn’t buy most of the cars owned by Roberta’s guests. Against that, I could have the collar and tie off in an hour and spend the day on the beach.
Back inside everything was going swimmingly-some of them were actually splashing about in the pool-and the dry ones were happily getting wet in their own way. Roberta wafted up to me and put the hand that wasn’t carrying the champagne glass on my arm.
‘Cliff, darling. So marvellous of you-getting rid of that awful footballer. Paul told me all about it.’
‘Why was he here, Roberta?’
She looked at me with eyes that seemed to be focussed on something that would happen the day after tomorrow, if then.
‘Why are any of us here?’
She drifted away and joined a group that was admiring the view across to Point Piper through a floor-to- ceiling window. A tall, strongly built woman with a lively, broad-featured face and short-cropped reddish hair broke away from the group and strode across the room towards me.
‘Hello’, she said. ‘Been hearing all about you. So you’re the minder.’
She had a deep, husky voice like a blues singer, and her party clothes consisted of a black overall arrangement without sleeves which zipped up the front and was gathered at the ankles. There were no doo-dads on it and she wore no jewellery.
‘That’s just what they call it on TV, I said. ‘I don’t get paid in Nelson Eddys or anything.’
She laughed. ‘D’you know much rhyming slang?’
‘Not much, no.’
‘I heard a good one the other day-’arris for bum. Know it?’
‘No.’
‘It goes-’arris is short for Aristotle, rhymes with bottle; bottles and glass equals arse. See?’
‘Yes, good. What’re you, a writer?’
‘No.’ She waved the hand that held a cigarette; a wisp of the smoke went into my face; I coughed and moved back.
‘Don’t!’ she said sharply. ‘Look, it’s a Gitane; I only smoke one a day. Don’t spoil it for me.’
‘All right.’ I sniffed at the cigarette. ‘Wish I could smoke one a day.’
‘Why can’t you?’
‘I was a tobacco fiend for twenty years. Gave it up. Scared just the one would probably set me off again.’
‘Mm, might. Better not try. I’m Helen Broadway; I asked Roberta to introduce us but she didn’t seem to understand what I meant.’
‘Cliff Hardy, hello. I think the champers has got to her. She’s Brahms.’
‘And Liszt.’
I laughed. ‘Right.’
We moved away from other people, as if by mutual agreement. I looked around a bit, staying in touch, but most of my attention was concentrated on her.
‘Apart from the fact that you’re sober, like me’, I said, ‘and that you’re not wearing any jewellery, like me, I’m trying to work out what’s different about you-I mean, compared with all these people.’ Mentally, I put Paul Guthrie in the ‘different’ basket too.
She leaned towards a table and stubbed out the Gitane. She had a dusting of dark hair on her long, brown forearms.
‘You won’t guess’, she said. ‘I’m not foreign, I haven’t got cancer, I’m not a lesbian. I’m from the country.’
‘You’re not! That’s original-where?’
‘Up near Kempsey, ever been there?’
I had, chasing people and being chased, some years back. Shots had been fired and a truck with people in it had gone up in flames. Not my favourite memories. But I was prepared to give the place another chance. I liked Helen Broadway.
I told her I did know the Kempsey district and we exchanged a few place names. I told her I should go on my rounds and she came with me, again by unspoken agreement. It was very pleasant; I almost felt as if I was at a party. It was cool outside; she wrapped her bare arms around herself and stood close, using me as a windbreak.
‘Good name’, I said. ‘Broadway.’
‘Married name. I’m separated though, I think.’
‘How does that work? Thinking you’re separated?’ We went back inside and I poked my head into a room where bags and other guests’ belongings were stowed.
‘Mike’s given me a year off. His sister’s going to look after the kid. She’s twelve and she needs a break from me as much as I need one from her. I can do what I like for a year.’
‘How long have you got left?’
‘Well it’s coming up for a six-monthly review any day. I can go back or stay on down here.’
‘Which?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘How about money?’
‘We had a good year on the farm and in the business. Mike gave me half.’
‘What have you been doing?’
We were back in the main party room now; the noise level was still high but the party had thinned out. I was wondering whether Helen had an escort or whether she might like to stick around until the last reveller left. And what would my approach be? The matter was set aside by Paul Guthrie who planted himself squarely in front of me.
