‘I’ve been consorting with other famous people,’ I said. ‘I met Mike Cundall last week. And the beautifully preserved Ros.’
I told her about Mrs Purbrick’s library.
‘The son and heir’s in with a fast crowd,’ said Linda. ‘Comes from spending too much time in Sydney. Sam’s been trying to get out from under Mike for years but everything he touches turns to dog shit. The nasty coke habit and the gambling don’t help. Then along came Cannon Ridge.’
‘What’s the story there?’ Linda knew Melbourne.
‘The Sydney smarties put together this consortium to tender. It’s full of funny money. They brought in Sam because they reckoned the Cundall name could swing the thing. Not an unreasonable assumption. I mean, Mike Cundall used to just front up to see the last Premier, no appointment, shown straight in. And people heard him shouting at the Premier. Now that kind of thing cuts ice in Sydney.’
And Linda knew what cut ice in Sydney. She’d left Melbourne, and me, to be a current affairs television star in Sydney. That was where it all went wrong between us.
‘And he did swing it?’ I asked.
She forked up the last of her squid and chewed thoughtfully. ‘Let’s say it was swung,’ she said. ‘Noone quite knows how. WRG, the other bunch, they thought they had it stitched up. Australian company, experienced resort operators worldwide, went through the probity stuff without a hitch, pitched the tender on the high side to be sure and threw in some sweeteners. Cometh the hour, they find Anaxan has got them covered on all counts. Into shock they went.’
‘I heard Barry Moran saying everyone in the media knew the name of a tender panel member who’d been put under duress.’
Linda looked around. ‘Said to be a bloke called Rykel. A conservation bureaucrat on the panel. The whisper is that a large sum arrived in his wife’s bank account just after the winner was announced. A transfer from a numbered account at the Bank of Funafuti or some such.’
The wine arrived. Then our plates were removed.
‘According to Mike Cundall,’ I said, ‘and Mike tells me things all the time, this leak stuff is just WRG’s way of screwing the government into letting it bulldoze a large section of Gippsland. Presumably the section that houses the last known breeding ground of an endangered creature.’
‘With tiny pink nose. Yes, Anaxan’s got the spin doctors putting out that story. Best in the business. Ponton’s. Did you know Gavin Legge works for them now?’
‘Openly? He’s come out?’
‘This mole has lost his value on the inside. Damaged goods is Gav.’
‘What’s his book called? Living Off the Land: How to Take With One Hand While Also Taking With the Other?’
‘ Media Relationship Management in the Cyberage. It’s a slim volume.’
‘I beg your pardon? Are we talking about the Gavin Legge who offered to get the name of the man who was tiling his shower into the paper? As a contra deal?’
‘We are. Ponton’s keep people chained up in New York to write a book for every new consultant. It’s called WTB cred.’
‘What? Wing Tailed Buzzards?’
‘Wrote the Book. As in, the expert on the subject. Then they subsidise publication and bribe the reviewers in the business press to say things like succinct and definitive work, brilliant insights, etcetera. All easy, cheap. One decent contract, Ponton’s are in profit.’
‘Shocked, that’s all I can say,’ I said.
She gave me the Linda eye and half-smile. ‘Yes, well, you would be, pottering around as you do exclusively in Christian outreach circles.’
‘Have a heart,’ I said. ‘Not just Christian. I don’t discriminate on grounds of faith.’
She raised her glass, serious, put out her left hand and touched my face for an instant. ‘To old friends new again.’
We touched glasses. I also thought I felt a leg touch mine and an erotic charge went through me, through the core. I often thought about her athlete’s legs. ‘That’s a good toast,’ I said. ‘Welcome home.’
‘I may never leave Melbourne. Well, maybe not never.’
‘No. They say never is now down to six months.’
Donelly appeared, beaming smoked-salmon face moist above his surgical garb. ‘You’ll be wantin somethin to close with.’
I shook my head. Something about this personal attention was nagging at me. Celebrity-sucking, yes, but there was something else.
‘I want the memory of your stuffed squid to stand alone,’ said Linda. ‘So a short black would be lovely.’
Donelly smiled at Linda, smiled at me, bowed and departed.
I poured the last of the wine, having had the sense to come by cab. ‘You’re not driving?’
‘The station pays for after-work limousines,’ said Linda. ‘It’s in my contract.’
‘Good.’ We looked at each other, smiles beginning.
‘As someone steeped in the lore of Sydney,’ I said, ‘do the names James Toxteth and Colin Blackiston mean anything to you? They’re venture capitalists, but that’s all I know.’
‘Jamie Toxteth, yes. Are you planning an IT startup? Involving horses?’
‘I’m trying to find out about someone who ran away with someone else’s album of naughty snaps, died of smack, turned out not to be who he said he was.’
‘This doesn’t sound like Jamie Toxteth country to me,’ said Linda. ‘Jamie plays polo. The Toxteths are landed gentry. They own Mount Toxteth station. It’s huge, like a small country. A country of sheep. Prince Charles spent weekends there.’
‘He’d like a country of sheep. They have no problem with following the most stupid. What would a woman in Melbourne be doing driving a car owned by a two-dollar company Jamie owns?’
She raised her cup. ‘This place is closing. For all I know, women all over Australia drive cars owned by Jamie. I may be the only one left out. This was a lovely evening.’
Linda found her mobile and rang for a cab.
We rose. Linda went to get her coat. I appreciated the way she looked from behind as I strolled towards the waiting Donelly.
‘Show me where to sign,’ I said. ‘And may I say that if I were a squid, you would be my preferred stuffer.’
He ran fingers over his brow, disturbing the long strands of hair that originated well to the west.
‘That’ll be $38.50,’ he said, a light in his eyes, a glow, an unearthly glow. He’d been waiting for this moment for three years. ‘Your outrageous bill paid in full plus $38.50. And we’d prefer cash. If it’s a cheque, you’ll have to leave your watch.’
An era ended, closed. A watershed, a turning point. Dining out would never be the same.
I gave him a $50 note, said, ‘I presume there’s a discount for cash.’
‘Certainly.’ Donelly went away, he was gone for a few seconds, and when he returned, he counted out $11.50 in change. Then he said, ‘And here’s your discount.’
He put half an unshelled peanut in my palm.
‘You’re being petty, Donelly,’ I said. ‘Give me the other half.’
Outside, rain and cold had driven everyone except a few drug desperates into shelter. We stood against Donelli’s window. ‘I’m back at the boot factory,’ I said. ‘What about you?’
‘I bought a place in Carlton. On Drummond Street, near your old office. It’s nice, an old building, used to house nuns.’
‘I can understand you feeling at home.’
She put a fist under my chin. Her cab arrived. ‘I’ll drop you,’ she said.
Seize the moment? No. Patience. I shook my head. ‘Wrong direction. We’ll do this again, I hope.’
She opened her hand, touched my lips with three fingers. ‘Call me.’
I was at home on my way to bed, in a better mood than I’d known for some time, when the phone rang.
Cam said, ‘Somethin we should do tomorrow morning. You okay?’
