Dreamily he watched the sky purple as the sun slid from view. The birds took their roosts and fell silent, settling down forthe night.
Chapter 32
Billy McBride
Billy took the train to Brisbane: private coach to Charleville then first class all the way, dining cars and single-sleepercarriages, he didn’t like to share. At Roma Street station he hailed a buggy and told the driver to take him to the BellevueHotel, only a short trip down George Street but he wasn’t inclined to walk. Po-faced, he watched the city trundle by. He’dvisited often enough by now. Some of the architecture was impressive, he supposed—the courthouse, the new treasury building,the land office and suchlike—but think of the money it had cost to build them, and to what end? That was the thing with cities:everything was on the surface, no substance, no return. They built these things out of vanity: a bunch of monied old boysputting their pizzles on display.
They reached the Bellevue quickly, Billy climbed down, a bellboy came to take his bags. He was traveling with just a smallsuitcase but let the boy carry it anyway, Billy marching ahead of him into the hotel. A curved three-story corner building,with ornate cast-iron balustrades encircling the two upper floors, the Bellevue sat adjacent to the immense grandeur of ParliamentHouse, opposite the famous Queensland Club, and looked out over the ornamental parkland of the Botanic Gardens, the riverjust beyond. Billy noticed none of it. Not even a glance. Ignoring the doorman’s greeting, he walked through the lobby tothe desk.
“Mr. McBride,” the clerk said, smiling. “So nice to see you again.”
“Is my room ready?”
“Of course, sir. Will you be needing anything after your journey? Refreshments? Laundry? A bath?”
“Aye, a bath. Hot. I’ll eat in the restaurant after. A table by the window.”
“Very good, sir. There’s a bell in your room, just give it a pull and—”
“I know how the bloody bell works.”
“Of course. My apologies. James will take you up.”
“There is one other thing, actually.” Billy leaned forward a little, lowered his voice. “I need an address for an old friendof mine, a lawyer by the name of Henry Wells. It’s been a while since I saw him, I thought I might drop in. His office, ideally.Whatever you can find.”
“I’ll get right on it. I’m sure it won’t take long. Please, enjoy your stay.”
Billy lay in the perfumed bathwater, soaking the journey from his bones, then unpacked and dressed, put his travel clothesin for laundering, and ate alone in the restaurant downstairs. He was one of only a few diners. Midafternoon, most tablesempty: a man sipping tea and reading a newspaper, two women giddily drinking champagne. Billy ordered steak and stared outthe window, chewing. Watching the crowds shuffle by. From a back room somewhere there came bursts of raucous laughter, thesounds of glasses clinking, voices competing to be heard. Billy asked the waiter what was happening and was told it was themembers’ bar.
“It’s a hotel—what members?”
“Of parliament, sir. From next door. They’re finished for the day.”
Billy checked the wall clock, scowling. It was just after three o’clock. Workshy bastards. No wonder nothing in governmentever got done.
He was crossing the lobby again when the desk clerk called to him: “A message for you, Mr. McBride.” Then, quietly: “Thataddress you asked me for.”
Billy took the folded sheet of paper, glanced at it, tucked the note away. “Thanks,” he said, swiveling on his heels and makingfor the main doors. He didn’t hear the clerk say “My pleasure, sir,” or see him scurry away into a side office as soon asBilly’s back was turned.
* * *
If Henry Wells’s name wasn’t on the little brass doorplate, Billy would have assumed he’d been given the wrong address. Theoffice was in a run-down backstreet somewhere in Fortitude Valley, halfway along a row of boarded-up shopfronts, dilapidatedtenements, piss-stained doorways, and rat-infested rubbish piles, and might once have been a tailor’s workshop judging bythe faded lettering on the sign. There was shouting coming from the tenements, an argument; somewhere a door slammed. Billychecked the street in both directions, cupped his hands to the filthy window and peered inside, saw a little seating areaand empty reception desk, light coming from the office behind. Billy tried the door and opened it. A bell tinkled overhead.He stepped into the waiting area and a voice called, “Just a moment! Please take a seat!”
Billy didn’t bother. The tiny chairs looked more suited to a schoolroom. Instead he browsed the framed certificates hangingon the walls, and the spines of ancient law books on the shelves. He picked up an old magazine from the coffee table and droppedit again. There were no papers on the reception desk, he noticed, no stationery; a dusty film coated the plain, unvarnishedwood.
“Sorry about that,” Henry Wells announced, bursting through the office door. “I’m afraid my secretary is sick at the momentand I’m just so flat out with—”
He pulled up short when he recognized the visitor, flushing suddenly, shock then anger in his face. Other than being a littleheavier, Billy had not changed much these past nine years, though for Henry age had not been so kind. He was bald now, anauburn crown, and his once cherubic plumpness had turned emphatically to jowl. His eyes were dark and bloodshot behind hislittle round spectacles, and his suit looked years-old and threadbare, the cuffs fraying, patches sewn onto the elbows.
“Billy McBride. What the hell are you doing here?”
“I wondered if
