

Illusion

by

Lynn Allen

Published by Lynn Allen on Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Lynn Allen

cover image: Dougal Waters, GettyImages

The characters and events in Illusion are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental and not intentional.

ISBN for DG ebook 978-0-646-55357-3

Smashwords Edition License notes

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For those who serve in the corridors of power with an open mind and a just heart.

### PART ONE

There is always a well-known solution to every human problem - neat, plausible, and wrong. H.L.Mencken.

CHAPTER ONE

'If we don't fix this then the minister and the board are going to be all over us. _Inside Cover_ will love it.' George Eton, the Public Affairs Director, pushed his black hair back from his forehead. 'We're sorry to lay this on you, boss, but I can't camouflage this with good news. Whichever way we look at it, we're heading for a public relations disaster.'

'I agree with George,' said Josephine Baxter, head of the Policy & International Division, her laconic tone a contrast to George's agitation. 'There are worse fates than appearing on the second page of _The West Australian_. Such as having to explain to the minister why normal contracting procedures have not been followed.'

'Or appearing on the front page,' said George.

'Or why our newest software project is the subject of intense interest from a global corporation I didn't even know existed.' Anne Oldham, the third of the Institute's directors, fidgeted with the single pearl at her neck.

The three executives retreated into uncomfortable silence, having vented varying levels of frustration. Their new Managing Director, Elizabeth Wallace, had arrived from Scotland three weeks before. Perhaps the combination of jet lag from the long flight to Australia and her insomnia had dulled her mind. At this, the first business meeting of her senior team, she had hoped for a low-key conversation on the Institute's projects, not cryptic intimations of disaster. The trio before her were a far cry from the sociable characters that had welcomed her with an impromptu afternoon tea on her first day. Since then most of their interactions had been about the budget. No matter how they sliced it, there were inadequate funds for their current operations. Elizabeth was left wondering how they would finance the myriad of ideas she had been generating since being offered the job in London three months before.

'I think we all need to take a deep breath,' she said. 'I can't say that I recall anything about the projects you mentioned.' She checked the index to her notes on the laptop before her. 'What did you call them? _Remembering_ and _Valkyrie_? Did I miss something in the two foot pile of briefing papers so kindly presented to me on day two?' She smiled at them, aiming for a flippant tone in an attempt to relieve the tension in the room.

George and Josephine looked to Anne who was pulling at her fingers, pushing back cuticles on what looked like bitten nails. 'No, there was nothing in there about them,' Anne said. 'That was deliberate. We talked about it. I decided the best way to brief you on _Valkyrie_ was to show you. I planned to do that next week. _Remembering_ is Michael's project so I don't know its status.'

The mysterious Doctor Michael Robinson, Elizabeth thought. One of two missing directors. Whereas Mario Fiori, the head of State Collections, was on sick leave, Robinson gave the impression of avoiding her. She had received no advice from him on _Remembering_ or any other topic for that matter. Not a word.

'Given this is the first I've heard of these projects and you believe there is a major issue, can you explain what it is you want me to do? Why not begin with what has triggered this urgency? Perhaps you should start, Anne.'

Because Anne's responsibilities included the Institute's budget, Elizabeth had spent more time with her than the others and had come to appreciate her quick intelligence. While Anne often exhibited a nervous energy, Elizabeth thought she was more anxious than usual.

Anne clasped her hands on top of her papers and took a deep breath. 'For me, the main issue is protecting our software. If Vision Industries get their hands on _Valkyrie_ then years of work will just disappear into some multinational's bailiwick. It's the same old story.'

'Vision Industries? Do you mean Vision Industries International?' Elizabeth interrupted. 'The French conglomerate owned by Martin Cheval?'

Anne and Josephine exchanged surprised glances. 'You know of them?' Josephine asked.

'Yes, I do,' Elizabeth said. 'But why on earth would Cheval be interested in anything the Institute produces?'

From the momentary tightening of Anne's shoulders and Josephine's raised eyebrow, Elizabeth realised she had caused offence. She chastised herself for implying an Australian government agency, particularly one located in Western Australia, would be of interest to a wealthy European magnate. Yet, cultural cringe or no, that was her reaction. To her knowledge Martin Cheval had not ventured far south, centring his interests on telecommunications and surveillance systems in Europe and Canada. Once a regular feature in the business pages, he had become something of a recluse in recent years.

' _Valkyrie_ uses next generation web tools as well as translation software in its search strategies so I can see why they would be interested,' Anne said, unable to keep the defensiveness from her voice. 'Especially after they bought SysWA.'

'But that's not the reason they're interested,' said George. 'It's a contractual thing and they want to get rid of the obligation. Sorry, Anne, I know it's your pet project, but I don't think _Valkyrie_ interests them in the slightest.'

Josephine Baxter was the least flustered of the three. While Anne and George debated the value of _Valkyrie_ she made notes. Before Elizabeth could comment, Josephine rose from her chair and switched on the smart board.

'Look, you're both right,' she said, 'but I think we're missing the point. Let's plot this out.'

She drew boxes and connecting lines, filling the board with arrows, dollar signs and words, ignoring George and Anne's suggestions. Elizabeth thought Josephine's calligraphy matched that of her appearance. The sage coloured silk suit she wore was yet another outfit with perfect cut and fit.

'As you can see,' Josephine said, pointing to the first box, 'what we have here is the company, SysWA, our home-grown success story that went national and made a bucket of money from government contracts after starting out as a Perth-based software developer. They grew into a major supplier of data warehousing systems for state and federal governments. Last year they won a huge contract with the Singapore government that they didn't think they would get. I suspect that's when they came to Vision's attention as I'm told on good authority they tendered for it.'

'Martin Cheval doesn't like losing,' Elizabeth said, recalling his irritation over failing to win a Scottish contract for CCTV systems.

'There was a lot of talk about SysWA going public but it never happened,' said George. 'The family members couldn't agree. Why should they? They were making a mint as they were.'

Elizabeth was catapulted back three years to the day she made a decision to take her company public. Her sympathies were with SysWA. If only she had been as wise. Memories of the new hostile board and endless press speculation about her wealth after the sale assisted in her decision to take the Institute job. It was a relief to be in Perth where she was unknown.

'They certainly were raking it in,' Josephine said, 'and then last year, out of the blue, it was announced that Vision Industries International had bought SysWA for an undisclosed sum. Rumour is it could be as high as thirty million dollars. Small bikkies compared to resources companies but a big deal for the family that started in an office in the back shed.'

'Well, this is all very interesting but I don't see what this has to do with the Institute as yet,' said Elizabeth, dismissing her memories.

'Let me explain, then.' Anne moved to the board and added to Josephine's drawing. 'SysWA had contracts with these six government departments and with us. The SysWA brand is going to remain as the Australian entity for the time being but the Australasian operations are going to be run from Singapore. The local CEO has stepped away to his mansion on the river and vineyards down south. The new Singaporean CEO insisted on meeting with the Institute.'

'Yes, and he gave us little notice,' Josephine added as she and Anne returned to their seats. 'We had to front up to a meeting to discuss projects we knew too little about. Michael wasn't here.'

They were all over the place again, Elizabeth thought. 'Do you mean Michael Robinson? What does he have to do with it? You were talking of _Valkyrie_ , weren't you?'

'Sorry, that's my fault,' said Anne. 'I'm concerned about the effect on _Valkyrie_ but the SysWA contracts were about _Remembering_.'

'And we can't talk about that because Michael keeps it all too close to his chest,' said George. 'Treats everybody like mushrooms. Easy for him, he's so full of it.' He shrugged his shoulders in response to Josephine's disapproving scowl.

'Tell me about the meeting with Vision, then,' said Elizabeth. 'Who was there and what was the point of it?'

'Gordon Burns, the former deputy CEO was there,' Anne said. 'He's been with SysWA from the beginning. The meeting was asked for – demanded if you ask me – by Jules Vupin, the new Australasian director. I must say he dripped Gallic charm once he got here but I went into the meeting pretty annoyed. His assistant had said he was coming to Perth for two days and wanted to clean up all outstanding messes inherited from SysWA. Her exact words.'

'We weren't too impressed with being called a mess,' said Josephine.

Elizabeth could imagine Josephine being unimpressed. Josephine presented as precise and business-like, from her shoulder length silky black hair to her designer stiletto heels. With her Eurasian heritage she was small in stature but she had a no-nonsense approach that Elizabeth could imagine intimidating a giant. Messy would be the gravest insult.

'So, there we were, Josephine and I, unprepared for what was to happen,' said Anne. 'This was the week before you started. Michael was on leave and we had very little to go on. Turned out that Vupin wants to tidy up the outstanding work on _Remembering_ and close off the account but they don't want to be seen to be pulling the plug on us because they want to have a good working relationship with the government.'

Elizabeth was puzzled by their agitation. They were seeing crocodile infested waters while all she could see were tiddlers. Wasn't it simply a matter of renegotiating a software contract that the company wanted to put to bed? She was about to say so when George spoke.

'Come on, guys.' He pressed his hands into the arms of his chair and shook his head. 'We've danced around this long enough. Loyalty and solidarity are one thing but I'm sick of being embarrassed by Michael's games. We agreed we'd be upfront with the new boss.'

Josephine and Anne looked at each other then Anne fiddled with her papers. As Anne bent her head her copper-coloured hair fell across her face. Elizabeth had become accustomed to Anne's various hairstyles. Piled high one day and tucked behind her ears the next, its voluminous unruliness suggested she was trying to disappear behind it. Josephine nodded to the top of Anne's head and then to George to continue.

'We're sounding like nervous nellies,' he said, 'but what we have here is a can of worms no one has been prepared to open. Because Michael was not here to meet with Vupin and Burns, Josephine asked me to review the contract files for SysWA's work on _Remembering_. I couldn't get hold of the working files because they were locked in Michael's office and his assistant wouldn't give them to me, no matter how charming I was.'

'Given that I was Acting MD, and George's charm failed us,' Josephine smiled at George, 'I called in Michael's assistant and demanded the files. She told me he had locked them in his office and she didn't have a key. After that, I called in the finance staff and they pulled the payments made to SysWA. They go back years and while we can't match them against the contract files, there are a few anomalies.'

'Anomalies?' George thumped the arms of his chair. 'They're not anomalies. They're fraud.'

'Don't minute that, Barbara,' Elizabeth said to her secretary beside her, thinking it would make no difference if she did as Barbara used shorthand. 'That's a serious allegation, George. Do you have evidence to substantiate such an accusation?'

'Well, no, but it's pretty obvious.'

'No, it's not,' said Josephine, as if talking to a child. 'You need to be careful what you say, George. SysWA's one thing but Vision's a whole different ball game.'

George folded his arms but kept a defiant gaze on Josephine who continued, unperturbed. 'Anne and I went into that meeting knowing that SysWA had received a lot of money from the Institute over the years but not knowing what for. Nor do we know what verbal commitments have been made to them by Michael.'

'What does a lot of money mean?' asked Elizabeth.

'Well, the original amount was $10,000 but over the last four years the amounts total $500,000 with payments monthly for most of that time. The work is listed on the invoice as software services, digitisation work and website design.'

'Website design!' George interrupted again. ' _Remembering_ still doesn't have a live website. That's part of the problem. We've been telling writers we're going to launch it for over twelve months and Michael won't set a date. I haven't even seen a test site and I'm supposed to do the marketing.'

Elizabeth ignored George's outburst. 'I agree that $500,000 is a lot of money for a website. There must be more to it than that. What is _Remembering_ supposed to offer?'

Anne began to speak but Elizabeth stopped her. 'No, sorry, let's not go there. Come back to the Vision meeting. What happened there?'

'My main concern was not so much they wanted to bring _Remembering_ to completion.' Anne pushed her hair from her face. 'I think it should be closed anyway as _Valkyrie_ does a better job. My worry is that Burns insists they have been promised the rights to develop and market the software. He said that includes exclusive access to the _Remembering_ archive for the production of digital products. Burns said that they had an Internet game under development based on exploring Australia as a pioneer. Sort of a SIM game for new settlers. That's my project. I've been doing the specs for it and I've kept it under strict security.'

'That's got to be corporate theft,' said George. 'If they have that –'

'Who made the promises?' Elizabeth interrupted him.

'That's the problem,' said Josephine. 'Without the files we can't see how much of this is in writing but even verbal promises could be held up as contracts and we could never take them to court.'

'No, legal battles with Martin Cheval are not a good idea. He's a notorious litigator in Europe and he never loses,' said Elizabeth, 'but let's not jump that far ahead.' She made some notes on her laptop, a new tablet computer that had become her constant companion. She had better investigate Martin Cheval's recent activities for herself.

'So, you can see why we need you to take over these negotiations and get us out of this mess before we have a lawsuit on our hands,' said Anne.

'And the first person you need to sort out is Michael Robinson,' said George. 'Somebody needs to bring that bloke into line.'

****

'What was that about? And where's Michael Robinson?' Elizabeth asked Barbara as they walked from the boardroom into Elizabeth's executive suite.

Barbara picked up the messages left on her desk. 'Where do you want me to start on the first question? As to the second question,' she looked at the paper in her hand, 'Michael's decided to stay in Sydney for two more days. For important meetings at the State Library and State Archives, this says.'

Elizabeth smiled at Barbara's excellent mimicry of a posh accent. She leaned on the wall and watched as Barbara put away her Executive papers and tidied an already clear space, evidence of the able and efficient executive secretary she had proven to be. She had kept Elizabeth well prepared as she negotiated her way through more than a dozen meetings with a bewildering array of public servants, all of whom were eager to prosecute their particular needs.

'I've been here three weeks already and, apart from the brief niceties in the corridor, I've barely spoken to him,' Elizabeth said. 'I'm beginning to suspect a deliberate tactic rather than coincidence.'

Barbara locked her shorthand notebook in her desk and laughed as she removed her half-moon glasses. 'Oh, it's deliberate all right. His usual opening move is to pretend his opponent doesn't exist. Wait till you see his second move.'

'Opponent? He's decided I'm an opponent?' Elizabeth moved towards the door that separated their offices. 'On what does he base that opinion?'

Barbara followed Elizabeth. 'Don't take it personally. It wouldn't matter who's sitting in that chair.'

Elizabeth looked at her watch. 'I was going to ask if you wanted a drink but maybe I shouldn't keep you. Look at the time.'

'I'd love one. Gin and tonic?' Without waiting for an answer Barbara walked to the sideboard and began slicing a lemon. This had become something of a ritual for the two women who had spent several evenings finalising the Institute's entry in the parliamentary budget papers. Elizabeth had not refused to put her name to a set of performance measures that read like notes to a mining company's balance sheet.

'Gerry's left a message saying he's staying in Sydney for an extra night so no hurry. Maybe Michael and he have cooked up a conspiracy.' Barbara chuckled. 'Just joking. Gerry can't stand the man.'

'Let's sit outside,' Elizabeth said, putting her laptop and papers on her desk. She pushed back the large glass door at the end of her office.

'Okay, I'll just go get some ice.'

Elizabeth removed her jacket and kicked off her shoes. She stepped onto the balcony that was as big as her office. On the fourth floor of the building and facing the river, it was often too windy to enjoy. She breathed in the still evening air, warm and smoky from another hot April day and yet another bushfire in the hills. Would autumn never come? At least there was no howling sea breeze so she sat in one of the large wicker chairs and allowed herself a quiet moment. There had been precious few of them since Barbara and her husband had picked her up at the airport. It felt like months since she left rainy London, abandoning the uncomprehending Alex to his parliamentary career.

Barbara had apologised for being the one to welcome her as the chairman, Roger Lui, was in London for a few weeks on business. Elizabeth had been glad to begin the new job without him. Best to navigate her own way around the networks. Of course, one had to meet people to get to know them and that was proving difficult with two of her senior staff.

Elizabeth liked Barbara from the start. The extensive email and telephone conversations arranging her travel and providing her with background information showed not only Barbara's professionalism but also her kindness. Gerry and Barbara had welcomed her into their home with a small dinner party at their South Perth apartment. Gerry was a newspaper executive looking forward to retiring and he had entertained them with stories about local politicians, saying he would write a tell-all book. Barbara told Elizabeth she thought they would carry Gerry out of his job in a box; he loved the game of it too much and, if he wrote his books, they'd tar and feather him first.

Barbara stepped onto the balcony carrying a tray with the drinks as well as a cheese and fruit platter. 'Might as well have some nourishment,' she said. 'Can't say that I noticed you having any lunch today. Or yesterday for that matter.'

Elizabeth tolerated Barbara's mothering tendencies. They were offered with such grace it was difficult to take offence but she was not going to encourage her. She had to admit she had been skipping meals. The days flew past as she rushed from one commitment to another. She had told Barbara that morning to make no more appointments without checking with her.

'So why was there so much intensity over the Vision business?' Elizabeth asked. 'Obviously I'm missing something. It was a bit like trying to grasp melting jelly.' She sliced some brie and spread it on a slice of apple.

Barbara leaned back in her chair, kicked off her shoes and put her legs on the matching footstool. Her small, pudgy feet reminded Elizabeth of her mother's. Buying shoes was always a challenge for them both. Elizabeth's long narrow feet matched her height and shape and her mother would joke that Elizabeth needed to stop growing because no man like a woman with big feet. She had stopped at 5ft 10in, a veritable Amazon in their Scottish village.

'Most of it revolves around Michael's ego.' Barbara rolled the ice in her glass as if to emphasise her point. 'He's the centre of the universe and we are but his playthings.'

'It's obvious he doesn't share much with them,' Elizabeth said. ' _Valkyrie_ 's got Anne excited but this _Remembering_ project has them pretty mad. Interesting name. They appear to have forgotten more than they remember about it.'

'Yes. I can't help you much on those as Michael moved me to being Board Secretary when he got the Acting MD job.'

'I thought you were Jean Renfrew's secretary.' Elizabeth remembered Jean's gratitude for Barbara's friendship and loyalty.

'Yes, Jean was State Librarian for a long time and I was with her for seven years.' Barbara sighed, helping herself to strawberries. 'They were good times till she suddenly resigned. We were close but something happened that she wouldn't–or couldn't–tell me about. Even Gerry couldn't discover anything but I suspect Michael had a hand in it.'

Elizabeth had known Jean Renfrew for several years when she lived in Perth but had seen her rarely since returning to Scotland. In the last ten years their communication had shrunk to Christmas cards.

'Michael didn't like my connection to Jean and I knew too much about some of his games,' Barbara said. 'When he got the acting MD job he moved me out of his office but I can tell you that nothing about _Valkyrie_ or _Remembering_ has been to the board. So Josephine's right to worry. Michael knows Roger Lui doesn't like surprises. Not that it'll make a blind bit of difference.'

Elizabeth gazed across the wide balcony to the water slipping down the stainless steel-covered wall that glistened in the evening sun. The sound of the water muted the hum of traffic. Was the reason her executives were so panicked about Vision as simple as the board being kept in the dark? Her impression of Roger Lui when they met in London was of a quiet, reasonable man.

'I was going to retire,' Barbara said, 'when Michael moved me. I didn't want to work for the Black Prince–oops, sorry, I mean Elliott Prince.' She looked anything but apologetic. 'He was acting chairman and he made Michael acting MD without consultation with the board or with the minister.'

'Why would he need to discuss it with the minister?' Elizabeth asked. 'I was told the board is independent of government.'

Elizabeth thought Barbara's smile was indulgent. 'Oh, yes, we're independent. According to the legislation but in reality, we don't scratch ourselves without the minister telling us we've got an itch. Wait till you meet Jeremy Hayes. You're in for an experience.'

'We were going to have dinner in London but he cancelled at the last minute so I had a lovely evening with Roger Lui and his wife instead.'

'He probably had a more important person in his sights. Jeremy's quite the networker.'

Elizabeth did not want to encourage Barbara's criticisms of people whom she was yet to meet. 'You were telling me about your decision to retire,' she said. 'What made you change your mind?'

'When the Prince himself asked me to become Secretary to the Board you could have knocked me over with a feather. Given the closeness of Prince and Robinson, I just assumed Michael would have discussed with him my loyalty to Jean. Prince told Michael he needed someone with my corporate memory to help him in his role as chairman.'

'Wise person,' said Elizabeth, 'and now you have that job as well as running my office. It's not too much?'

Elizabeth thought Barbara looked tired. She knew she had a busy life with her grandchildren as well as her love of sailing. Her ruddy complexion attested to too many hours in the Australian sun. Elizabeth's sixteen years old skin had rebelled against that same sun when her family migrated to Perth. Her teenage angst over a few freckles on her pale face became a full-blown panic as more and more brown spots appeared. She had retreated indoors, a move that hindered friendship in a country of sun worshippers.

Barbara began to rise from her chair. 'Don't you go worrying about me. You've got enough on your plate. I'm looking forward to watching you deal with the boys. Gerry said that Prince tried to stop Roger Lui being appointed chairman. Prince and the Premier were great mates but when you've got someone as rich as Croesus wanting to support your government you're not going to say no. Refill?'

'Let me,' Elizabeth said, taking their glasses and gesturing to Barbara to sit. 'There's no need for you to wait on me all the time.'

She stepped into her office, marvelling again at its minimalist beauty. She was still astonished by the executive suite with its massive desk facing the Swan River. The adjacent meeting room had leather sofas as well as a round jarrah table that could seat eight and her personal bathroom was bigger than the one in her London flat. Barbara had explained that the décor with its fine timbers, abstract art and coloured glass bowls sourced from Western Australian artists were all chosen because their minister was to occupy the offices. The fourth floor above had been planned as a conference centre and apartment for visiting dignitaries but there had been such a scandal over the cost of the whole complex that their minister had joined seven other ministers in the north wing.

On her first day Elizabeth had been appalled by the strange array of ornaments displayed on every surface. Barbara explained they were gifts from government and corporate dignitaries. Elizabeth banished most of them by the end of her first week. Two objects, however, remained. In the corner, sitting in its own glass case was a geisha doll, resplendent in a red and gold kimono. The detail on the face, hands and fan displayed a delicate craftsmanship. The opposite corner contained a similar case with another figure, this time a samurai warrior. Elizabeth had edited a book on Samurai costumes so she appreciated the authenticity. She wondered what Japanese connections warranted such exquisite gifts. Something told her not to remove them. Perhaps she would need the adeptness of both geisha and samurai in the coming months.

****

Elizabeth had spent the morning poring over the project reports provided by Anne Oldham, reading the one on _Valkyrie_ with care. The report was professional but there was little clarification of Anne's concern. As Elizabeth entered Anne's office, George Eton was sitting at the meeting table. Anne explained that she and George thought it would be more useful to meet with her together rather than separately as scheduled.

So much for getting their individual accounts on the project, thought Elizabeth. She had noticed the two of them together, often in the coffee shop, in intense conversation. She decided to go along with them, although she would also meet with George alone because she had a few questions for her volatile Director of Commercial and Business Services. Dressed in his usual uniform of white business shirt, silk tie and bright red braces, he offered a confident smile.

'Hope you don't mind us reorganising you,' he said. 'We thought two heads would be better than one.'

'We wanted to bring you up to date as soon as possible,' said Anne. 'As I mentioned yesterday, we don't want this blowing up in our face.'

'Or, rather, in _your_ face,' George said, looking at Elizabeth. 'Wouldn't look good for this to be the first publicity your appointment gets. Chairman Lui would not be a happy chappie. No, sir.'

George's relaxed posture did not convince Elizabeth that he took the matter seriously–whatever that matter was. The links between their pet project and the Vision negotiations still appeared far-fetched to Elizabeth. 'Fire away,' she said to them. 'You've got my attention. Let's see what this _Valkyrie_ is all about.'

Anne pointed a remote control at the wall covered by four large digital screens. They watched a five-minute presentation of images, sound and text that merged across the displays.

'Meet _Valkyrie_ ,' Anne enthused, as an animated figure of Odin's handmaiden in battledress appeared. 'This is the name and logo for our most significant secret R&D project. This is our Voice Activated Learning and Knowledge Retrieval Interface. Hence _VALKyRIe_. Its software is designed to recognise people's voices, translate requests from one language to another and then search across multilingual global databases. It remembers the search paths so it learns quicker ways to display that information in the future. We've got English and French working at the moment and we've got some corporate international funding to develop the software for Chinese, Japanese and Spanish interfaces.'

'Pretty cool, isn't it?' George sounded like a star-struck teenager. 'It works on one screen, but also on two or four, showing different data types and languages simultaneously. So you can have a picture on one screen, text on another and online chat on another. And the Valkyrie avatar is always there to help with voice or text.'

At Next Generation Publishing Elizabeth had experimented with voice-activated retrieval across their authors' texts but she had seen nothing like this at European electronic publishing conventions. The combination of the multilingual capacity with learning pathways was a good idea but she wondered about the power needed to drive the system.

'Its specifications require it to present previously used search strategies,' Anne continued. 'After the client confirms a satisfactory search it amends the pathways for optimal future use or suggests a new one. Often the way people find information is circuitous and time-intensive. They bookmark the correct source but lose the search strategy. They get diverted to new information and find different things to what they intended so there may be two search results and two pathways rather than a simple solution to the original request.'

'Anne's too modest,' George said. 'She's published loads of research on cognitive processes around information retrieval and we want to operationalise her theories as quickly as possible.'

George's admiration generated bright red spots on Anne's cheeks. 'It's not just my ideas.' She shook her head. 'And for operationalise read commercialise, George's sole motivation in life.'

'And a very good motivation it is, too,' he said.

Elizabeth did not want to dampen their enthusiasm. 'Didn't I read about something similar going on with the EU? Perhaps with their information society projects using World Health Organisation data?'

'Yes, you're right,' Anne said. 'We're in regular contact with WHO and have shared some of our prototypes. We exchanged early versions so we can make sure they work across the large networks. WHO and the EU are giving us access to their secure networks.'

'The secure networks?' asked Elizabeth. One of her authors had written a controversial book on the secrecy surrounding inter-governmental data sources. 'Now you have my attention. But you said earlier you were keeping much of this project secret. If this is publicly funded shouldn't it be open source?'

'Need to know basis,' said George, tapping the side of his nose. 'We've got some potential private sector partners who are keen to help us commercialise this and we've shown it to them only after they signed confidentiality agreements. Perhaps too hastily as it's turned out. Now we have Vision Industries on our case.'

George and Anne exchanged hesitant glances. 'Maybe we were a bit out of line yesterday getting stuck into Michael,' Anne said, 'but we need to explain some organisational politics here. Shall I do that now?'

George nodded to her.

Anne leaned onto the table and whispered as if the walls could hear. 'I need to explain that there are two product development streams. While we've done most of the work in-house, we have an outside contractor. The guy we used is a genius, a one-man operation. An expert in virtual reality.'

Elizabeth knew this would be praise indeed from Anne who herself had completed a PhD in retrieval systems at MIT when she was 24 years old.

'His name is Daniel Power and he did the _Valkyrie_ avatar for us and the integration of voice and image is his work. The other work has been done solely by our staff and this is where we have used the _Remembering_ data to test the cross database searching ideas.'

'I thought _Valkyrie_ and _Remembering_ were separate projects,' Elizabeth said. 'You gave me the impression that Michael Robinson kept _Remembering_ much to himself.'

'Yes, that's true, for most of the time,' said Anne, 'but we approached Mario for permission to use the electronic archives and he agreed. He didn't see a need to ask Michael.'

'This is Mario Fiori?' Elizabeth asked.

'That's right,' said Anne. 'You still haven't met him, have you? He's been sick. He suffers from asthma and his flu has turned into bronchitis. Anyway, as Director of State Collections, Mario has final say on the use of all the collections, including digital. He gave us access to the digital manuscripts of twenty local authors who have been involved in _Remembering_.'

'And he got hammered for it.'

'Let's not go there, George.' Anne pushed her hair behind her ears.

'Well, I think we should,' he said. 'You need to tell the boss about what your tutor said.'

Anne bit her top lip. Elizabeth gave her time to think.

'Well, I'm doing a creative writing Masters and my writing group–'

'They're called the Ursulas because they're all writing science fiction,' George said.

'My tutor is one of the authors who has approved their papers being part of the _Remembering_ project and he said he's not happy with the relationship with the Institute.'

'Well, come back to Valkyrie for the moment,' said Elizabeth. 'You were talking about the software developer.'

'Yes, I was. Sorry, it's just also connected,' said Anne. 'The problem we face is that Vision employed Daniel out of the blue three months after they bought SysWA. They must have offered him a fortune because he's an independent type. I can't understand how SysWA even knew he was working for us.'

'But we have our suspicions and it starts with M,' said George.

'SysWA was doing work on _Remembering_ ,' Anne said.

'A lot as it turns out,' George interrupted again.

'And now SysWA has been taken over by Vision, they are arguing that they have an agreement to commercialise our IP when we have made no such agreement.'

'Yes, you told me that,' said Elizabeth.

'Yes, of course, sorry.' Anne's face flushed again. She paused and looked at her hands. 'I hope I did the right thing but I told Gordon Burns that whatever we do with whatever partners there would be no end-user charges for Australian citizens.'

'Why did you involve the private sector at all, then?' Elizabeth asked. It was beginning to sound like an attempt to change horses mid-stream. She had some sympathy for Vision's predicament but she wanted to alleviate Anne's distress.

'Government policy, mainly,' Anne said. 'We can't do total in-house development. Ideology says we're not capable of doing anything without private sector help.' Anne's tone left no doubt that was an insult. Her English accent was tinged with American influences that Elizabeth thought made her sound like two different people. She sounded American when she was being forceful and then more English when anxious. Her dress sense was equally conflicted: expensive business trousers teamed with a silk shirt above which she wore no makeup.

'The thing is,' Anne said, her tone calmer, 'we think we could negotiate a joint venture with the EU or the UN for controlled commercialisation. Use the creative commons idea.'

'That's Anne's idealism talking,' said George. 'There are good commercial opportunities. It just depends on who gets to capitalise on them. SysWA's Gordon Burns is arguing that government shouldn't even be in this game of software development and he said he would pressure the minister and the board to hand over everything we've produced.'

Elizabeth could see their quandary. Who had created this mess? These kinds of issues should have been dealt with at the beginning of the project, not half way through. She did not fancy their chances if Martin Cheval's lawyers took the same stance as Gordon Burns.

'It's so much more complicated now Vision owns SysWA,' said George. 'Anne's crystal clear there is no contractual arrangements on _Valkyrie_ but Gordon Burns says things that horrify us.'

'Like all source code for both projects are his,' said Anne. 'It's a nightmare.'

Elizabeth wondered how senior executives could get themselves into such a lather when they did not have the whole story. Why was it so impossible to get Michael Robinson to explain any agreements he had made? 'Sounds like you're working in the dark without a torch,' she said. 'We need to find out more about the contractual arrangements but in the absence of any, I suggest we hold our ground. It's not easy to take intellectual property cases through the courts.'

George's agitation got the better of him. Ignoring Anne's reproving look, he moved to the screens and pointed at the _Valkyrie_ avatar who moved in and out of caves, as if searching for something. 'This is the reason I took this job. I was sick of working on brand marketing for spoilt rich kids. There's been a huge investment in setting up the Institute and as far as I'm concerned that means anything produced here belongs to us and we have every right to make money from it.'

Anne pushed herself from her chair and limped to her desk. Barbara had explained that a childhood accident left Anne with one leg shorter than the other but Elizabeth thought Anne looked more tired than usual as she poured herself a glass of water.

'Our future funding's not guaranteed,' Anne said, 'so if we're going to do any R&D we need an income stream.'

'And not be screwed over by the private sector.' George accepted a glass of water from Anne and gulped it.

The two of them sighed and looked at Elizabeth.

'Well, I am impressed with what you have shown me but what you have told me sounds like a commercial and political minefield. You've raised even more questions than yesterday. How do you suggest we proceed?'

'Sorry to lay this on you, boss,' said George. His dark brown eyes stared at Elizabeth. 'For my part, I think we should just launch it. Make a big noise and claim the ground. Challenge them to challenge us.'

'I've told George maybe we should be more cautious till we know what we're dealing with,' Anne said. 'That's why it would be best for you to sort out Vision Industries first. I've put together all the written contracts and extracts from project meetings that I can find.' She stepped to her desk and picked up a thick file from amongst the piles of folders on her desk.

'Good heavens,' Elizabeth laughed, 'I suppose you'd like me to read them in the next couple of hours?' Her attempt to lighten their mood failed again.

'No, I've written two pages on top and provided indexes to the rest, as well as this,' Anne said, handing Elizabeth a thumb drive. 'Given one of your degrees is in law we figured you'd want all the evidence.'

Elizabeth stood, ready to leave, unconvinced she was any the wiser.

'Can we just say how pleased we are that they've appointed someone with a commercial background,' said George, 'because, boy oh boy, do we need to change the culture around here. Too many "everything should be free" types.'

'Well, I'll see what I can do.' Elizabeth hoisted the papers on her arm. 'I'll also need the paperwork on SysWA and _Remembering_.'

'Michael needs to brief you on that,' said Anne, sounding as if she would love to tell her version.

'Good luck on that one,' muttered George as Elizabeth left.

****

'I hope you enjoyed the tour of my empire. Well, my part of your empire. We may be small in number but we can find out anything about anything.' With a light bow, Josephine Baxter showed Elizabeth into her office.

Elizabeth's meeting with Josephine and her staff had continued for almost an hour. Although the director's powerful presence loomed over the group, it was clear Josephine's team respected her. Elizabeth found the managers reticent when she asked for specifics but she was unsure whether this was because of her role as MD or whether they were somewhat wary of saying too much in front of their director. Either way, it left her uneasy.

The Policy and International Division was located along the corridor from the MD's executive suite. The views were to the east and the Darling Ranges across the greens and blues of the river foreshore.

'Hard to take, isn't it?' Josephine said, noticing Elizabeth's pause to gaze through the window. 'It annoys our corporate colleagues that government has such prime real estate.' She waved Elizabeth to armchairs at the end of her large office. 'It's appropriate that the Policy Division faces east, don't you think? The bureaucrats in Canberra would like to think that's where we get all our wisdom.'

Elizabeth knew of Josephine's distinguished career that included a senior policy role in the Australian Prime Minister's Department. With a string of higher degrees, including a PhD from the London School of Economics, she could have her pick of senior jobs anywhere in the world. Elizabeth was curious about the reasons Josephine chose Perth. As, no doubt, she pondered, Josephine was about her.

'We've been marking time for too long,' Josephine said as they sat. 'Australia's getting behind, to put it mildly, in some IT policy areas. It's been difficult without a permanent head that has the right connections. We desperately need some international networks.'

Elizabeth cringed. Permanent head. Shades of _Yes, Minister_. The last thing she wanted was to be seen as a career civil servant. 'It's some time since I lived in Perth,' she said, 'so I have some catching up to do with the local scene, both politically and otherwise. And, since I want to start with the big picture, where better than to start with the international policy division, given our looming conversations with a French corporation?'

'Where, indeed? Do you want to talk about Vision Industries or is there anything specific from the background information I gave you that you want to explore further?'

'You've all been pretty diligent on the paper front so why don't you give me your personal assessment?'

Josephine explained the Division's role and its major projects. Elizabeth listened to a pragmatic synopsis of the Institute's origins and international status. While Josephine's Singaporean connections were to be expected given her origins, her network in Europe and America was unexpected. Elizabeth wondered whether Josephine had applied for the MD's position. If she had and there was any disappointment or resentment, it did not show.

'You might know that the Institute was founded with some degree of controversy,' Josephine said. 'When both the federal and state governments changed in 2001, part of the policy focus was to position Australia as a player in the global knowledge economy. The Olympics in 2000 generated a lot of interest in Australia's policy makers. Bill Gates and a few others stirred us up with all sorts of derogatory comments about how well placed we were in some ways to take advantage of the information revolution but how our policy frameworks were all wrong. I was in Canberra at the time and it was great to see people listen to what some of us had been saying since the 1980s.'

'And now there are so many more issues demanding attention. Like climate change and terrorism. How do you keep politicians' attention on information matters?'

'It's not easy but I must say we are fortunate in our minister. Jeremy Hayes is committed to our success. His international links helped. He lobbied for years to get the Institute created. The founding was less than orthodox.'

Elizabeth knew that the Western Australian and federal governments had agreed to establish a new organisation. She did not know its genesis had been a private sector venture capital firm based in Japan and Singapore that offered to fund research in information retrieval systems on the condition it be located in Perth.

'The amount of research funding was huge,' said Josephine, waving wide her tiny, manicured hands. 'The funding was dependent on the continuing involvement of the universities, the corporate sector and the Singaporean interests. That's where I became interested because one of the venture capitalists is a friend of my uncle.' She pointed to two backlit display cases housing four Japanese dolls. 'These were gifts from that company. It's faded from the scene a bit since Roger Lui took over.'

Josephine tapped on her laptop's keyboard and a diagram appeared on the smart board that occupied the end wall of her office. The Institute's organisational chart appeared as a narrow pyramid. No wonder they needed a _permanent head_ , Elizabeth thought. A general must have invented the pointy command and control approach. Or maybe a Shogun.

'As the Institute was set up by a WA Act it had to report to a minister,' Josephine said. 'The bureaucrats decided they could reduce the total number of departments by moving the arts agencies as well as government information services into it. Mario will be able to tell you more about that as he and Michael Robinson lived through it.' Josephine's dismissive tone conveyed her lack of interest.

I'm not interested in the history either, Elizabeth thought, but she knew from her childhood that the past was always present. She wondered what promises were made to such a disparate group of players to get commitment to a new institution and what lingering resentments she might find.

Josephine continued. 'So now we are a conglomerate of knowledge workers, librarians, museum curators, IP lawyers, government information specialists, web designers, data warehouse managers, uncle Tom Cobley and all.' She offered another diagram that looked like a spider web. 'You name it, if it's got anything to do with information we're it. In the end, the arts people escaped. It helps to have rich and powerful friends.'

Josephine leaned across to her desk and retrieved a card from her in-tray on a surface that was as uncluttered as Anne's had been chaotic.

'That's an invitation to the next Art Gallery opening. Look at the sponsors. That's what we need to attract. We should have got some big name supporters for _Valkyrie_. It should have been bringing people together but as you've noticed, it's producing the opposite. We've still got a few cultural change issues to sort out.'

More discussions on cultural change were not what Elizabeth wanted. In her experience that was a piece of management-speak for blaming the staff rather than the leaders. Josephine was beginning to sound like the Harvard Business School graduate she was.

'It'll be good that we are such a diverse group,' Elizabeth said. 'We're all interested in creating and sharing knowledge, including the artists. How do we encourage cooperation?'

'We don't but that's what we need.' Josephine took off her jacket, revealing olive-skinned muscled arms. Anne had told Elizabeth that Josephine was a champion rock-climber and had climbed in the Grand Canyon. No wonder she remained calm in the face of her colleagues' frustrations.

'George and Anne are brimming over with ideas,' Josephine said, 'but they're focused on the Vision Industries blow-up at the moment. We need to get past that and have a bigger vision, if you pardon the pun.'

'I wanted to talk to you about that,' Elizabeth said. 'I've got a call into Martin Cheval's office to speak to him but I would like to hear your ideas. Some background information on SysWA and its principals would be useful as well as what you can find out about Vision's strategies. I know Michael Robinson has been managing that relationship but he's going to be away for the rest of the week and this is not a conversation I want to have with him on the telephone.'

Not that he's responding to Barbara's attempts to speak with him, Elizabeth thought, irritated again by the man's unavailability.

'So do you know Martin Cheval well?' Josephine asked.

'Our paths have crossed over the years because of his interest in rare books. My aunt was a serious collector of rare botanical and scientific books. Cheval has a similar passion but his interest is in revolutionary France. He's a great admirer of Napoleon. My aunt and Cheval used the same book dealer.'

Elizabeth chose not to share how much she had enjoyed the many conversations with Cheval on politics and ideas whenever their paths crossed at antique book fairs. She had little interest in old books but as her aunt's health failed she assisted her in developing the collection that Elizabeth later inherited. What to do with it was one of many neglected decisions left behind in Scotland.

Josephine's assistant entered with afternoon tea and arranged a painted porcelain coffee pot and gilt-edged cups on the table. The pattern had an oriental flavour with red and yellow flowers but the style was sleek and modern.

'These are exquisite,' Elizabeth said as she took the cup and saucer from Josephine. 'Another corporate gift from our Japanese benefactor?'

'Aren't they lovely? They're mine, actually. Chinese, not Japanese, made by my aunt in Singapore. She's having an exhibition at a local gallery here next month. You'd be welcome to join us, if you're free.'

'Thank you. I'd like that. Can we check closer to the time?'

'Yes, of course.'

'We were discussing my forthcoming conversation with Martin Cheval.'

As Josephine drank her coffee, holding the cup with both hands, matching silver and diamond rings sparkled on both hands. She savoured her drink and Elizabeth waited for her to speak.

'I have provided you with what I've gleaned but I'll check the files again and see what I can get from Michael's secretary with your authority behind me. We mustn't let this divert us. There are issues like Vision everywhere.'

'I hope they are not all generating such anxiety.'

'We need to pay more attention to global trends. We have a national remit to produce blueprints for how Australia can take advantage of new developments in science, technology and ICT. We're supposed to be influencing policy settings. I envy the Brits their Foresight UK program.'

'I agree, it's terrific. I thought we could set up a similar unit here.'

'That'd be great, but we have enough difficulty getting a futures dialogue going internally, never mind with Canberra. Now you're here with a global reach, maybe we can get decision makers to engage with us.'

'You don't think there is enough engagement?'

Josephine shook her head, pouring more coffee for them.

'How long have you been battling the forces of darkness?'

Again, Elizabeth's attempts at levity failed. Josephine's frown remained.

'I've been here since 2003. I was in the federal government's policy unit in the Prime Minister's Department before then. Prior to that, ancient history.'

Elizabeth realised she would get no more personal information. Josephine intrigued her. What drove this soft-spoken, fine-boned woman who straddled Eastern and Western cultures?

'In many ways it's exciting being out of Canberra and closer to Asian developments,' Josephine said, 'but it's annoying when Canberra forgets that it was government strategy in 2002 to decentralise policy work in our areas. It's a never-ending battle to make sure they don't duplicate what we do.'

'So how do you prevent that?'

'By spending a lot of time in Canberra and Sydney, liaising with people in similar areas. It doesn't work by e-mail. You need to have face-to-face meetings and get people to commit, eyeball to eyeball. I make sure their people come here, too. I will drive you to distraction with suggestions on how we keep on the front foot.'

'Let me have all your ideas, then, and let's see if we can't shake a few trees.'

'Of course, with all the new technology there's no excuse for not keeping people up to date. There's no reason to re-centralise policy work but that doesn't stop them. Perth may be a nanosecond away electronically but the koala triangle is alive and kicking.'

'Sounds like some of the problems I had getting my Scottish business accepted in London. I've often wondered why Scotland struggles so much. Look at how well the Irish did, in spite of all their troubles. Although some of that's looking a bit shaky now.'

Unspoken were her thoughts that she hoped she had not come to a similar situation. Perth was much further from Canberra than Glasgow was from London, but she knew it was more a matter of mental than physical geography.

'Of course, the Perth people do have to remember that we are part of a national organisation,' Josephine said. 'We're not always as co-operative as we could be. At least with your appointment they can't accuse us of being parochial.'

'Although I did live in Perth 20 years ago and I've never lived in the wise eastern states.'

This time Josephine returned Elizabeth's laughter. 'I think the board could do more. There have been so many changes at the top and we've set up a lot of Chinese walls, sometimes for good reason. Not a problem for me with my years of training in being inscrutable.' Josephine pointed to her hooded eyes under silky black hair. Softening her reserve, she explained her father was Australian. Her Chinese mother came from Singapore where her grandparents still lived. Elizabeth thought that explained the silk outfits, no doubt purchased in Orchard Road.

'Much of what Singapore was doing with its Intelligent Island work back in the 1980s was largely ignored by Australia,' Josephine said. 'They're still miles ahead of us. And given the governance disaster we're heading for with _Remembering_ , _Valkyrie_ and this argument with Vision Industries, we're in danger of not even getting out of the starting blocks.'

CHAPTER TWO

Returning to the Institute building after a refreshing walk along the river, Elizabeth stood at the foot of the steps leading to the entrance. She pondered for a moment her responsibilities for the national and international activities within. How much did she know about what she had taken on?

The Institute building had been constructed on the wide grassy foreshore between office towers and the Swan River. An L-shaped structure, it turned its back on both city and Government House, addressing its public faces south to the water and west to King's Park. With aggressive contemporary angles and materials, it looked what it aimed to be: a high-tech facility asserting where Australia's future industries lay. Barbara had mentioned that local wags dubbed the building 'the belfry' because the Premier was batty to tackle another construction project after the furore over his predecessor's folly, the adjacent bell-tower. Elizabeth wondered why the tiny building housing the old St Martin in the Fields' bells would cause such a storm. It was hardly the equivalent of putting the glass pyramid inside the Louvre although she remembered the perennial 'hands off the foreshore' mantra. Whoever had persuaded the government and city council to build on the Esplanade must have powerful connections.

The building gleamed in the evening light, aluminium-clad surfaces contrasting with the black glass windows and the surrounding green lawn. It showed an austere face to Barrack Street on the east but the inner west and south-facing sides provided cloister-like verandahs bounded by planters, ponds and fountains. A few people were walking along the river's shore, groups of tourists were picnicking under the trees and, Elizabeth noted with pleasure, several people were lounging at the edges of the building, lost in reading books. She captured the moment with her constant companion, a twenty years old SLR Pentax.

The camera had been a gift from Aunt Fionn. When Elizabeth escaped to Glasgow, leaving John's accusations behind her, Fionn had suggested she view her new life as a big adventure and record it all on film. That way you'll pay attention to what you have rather than what you believe you have lost, she had said.

Elizabeth loved the weight of the SLR, the decisions needed to take every shot. The camera had proven an excellent companion for a woman alone, both a shield against and a window onto the world. While she enjoyed her laptop computer she had no desire for a digital camera.

On her way out for her evening walk earlier, she had revisited the exhibition spaces on the ground floor where she was reminded of the changes wrought by the digital world. One exhibition focused on the history of writing with displays on cuneiform, calligraphy and hieroglyphics; the other on satellite and wireless communications developments. The quality was as good as anything she had seen at the Smithsonian or the British Museum, replete with interactive options and holographic displays. She took a shot of the large external display banners then checked her watch. She had booked a call to Martin Cheval through his assistant who insisted he would call at 12 noon Paris time _exactement_.

Elizabeth wondered again at the source of Anne Oldham's anxiety. While sharing Anne's enthusiasm for knowledge systems she had tried to reassure her she would not allow any leakage of intellectual property. Elizabeth's work in publishing meant she knew the related law like the back of her hand. She did not share with Anne her uneasiness about discussing the Institute with Cheval when she was missing pieces of the puzzle. It was Michael Robinson who held not only the pieces but also the picture. She would need all her wits to sound confident with someone as astute as Cheval.

The early evening breeze was warm on Elizabeth's skin as she decided to linger on the south verandah. The intense heat of the day had been blown away by the sea breezes known as the Fremantle Doctor. The Doctor rescued Perth people most afternoons, making the city more comfortable in its Mediterranean climate. Technically, autumn was three weeks old but it did not feel like it to Elizabeth. Thirty-five degrees heat at the end of April reinforced her belief in global warming.

As she settled in the shade at a table in the river-facing cloister she took a deep breath. She had sauntered along the river to the Causeway, the sun and breeze at her back, in an attempt to shift a looming headache. She closed her eyes and checked within. Her sinuses were clear and the nagging pain behind her left eye had disappeared. Saying a silent prayer of thanks, she opened her eyes and watched the ferries crossing to South Perth. A migraine she did not need. Not now, not so soon into the new job.

Her afternoon with Mario Fiori would have been enough to give anyone a headache, she thought, reflecting on her strange visit with the beleaguered Director of State Collections.

****

'We're very proud of this facility,' Mario had said, waving his hands towards banks of compactus shelving, vinyl floors and glaring fluorescent lights. 'I always start my tours here.' They were standing on the lower ground floor below the State Library's main building in the cultural district. In spite of chest congestion that gave his voice a throaty whisper, Mario appeared eager to infect her with his passion for the collections in his charge. They had walked from the Institute building underground from the Esplanade below the city, Mario's muttered directions his sole communication.

'This is state-of-the-art storage,' he said. 'We have here archival and library materials, museum objects and artworks as well as some of the government's earliest and most precious documents. Security, air-conditioning, fireproofing. It's all world's best practice. Each area is electronically controlled so each item is linked to computerised indexes and robotic arms pick up the item in different ways depending on the type of object and deliver it to the retrieval area in the museum, gallery or library reading room through the tunnels we have just walked. Each item has bar codes on it so it is tracked from here to the service areas and to the reader's desk or study area so we know where each item is all the time.' Mario blew his nose. 'There's another floor above this just the same. This used to be a car park. We'd had storage problems for years. This was part of the long overdue revamp of what was known as the Cultural Centre.'

He stopped to take a deep breath that brought on another coughing fit. Elizabeth wondered whether he had travelled much overseas. Impressive as the facility was, it was no more impressive than that to be found in several international galleries and libraries. The collections were tiny compared to the British Library or the Bibliothèque Nationale. Either this was the most exciting thing in Mario's life or he thought she would be excited by it from what he had heard of her. As someone who had published many long-forgotten manuscripts, Elizabeth needed no convincing of the worth of such documents but she wondered whether Mario's interest was in the objects themselves or in making them available for others to enjoy. He looked comfortable in his rabbit warren.

'Very impressive indeed, Mario,' she said. 'But why did we start our tour here?'

'I wanted to show you how these collections have come together from the many institutions that worked to develop this wonderful archive. We have material from the business sector and local government as well as private donors. An excellent example of cross-portfolio cooperation to achieve our outcomes.'

More public servant speak, she thought, observing his rotund chest expand with pride. What assumptions about her had he made that would lead him to believe she must be convinced the Institute was a paragon of bureaucratic cooperation? And that evidence of this was miles of compactus shelving?

After two hours of Mario's lectures on the collections' dire need for attention that Elizabeth suspected was code for more money, she was grateful for the coffee proffered in his office on the top floor of the new museum building. As he settled his overweight body into a too small lounge chair, Elizabeth wondered how he coped with being so many floors above his precious basement. The short, balding and scruffily dressed man with his half-moon glasses perched on the end of his red nose reminded Elizabeth of an arid nineteenth century scholar who would consider his time better spent on the objects of his research than the pupils to whom any knowledge might be imparted. A veritable Mr Casaubon, Elizabeth thought, suppressing a smile. She wondered how he related to Josephine, Anne and George. She remembered Jean Renfrew's description of how her position had been 'butchered beyond belief' through the creation of the Institute, creating a collections post and a services post. Mario had been put in charge of what became known as the State Collections because, according to Jean, Michael Robinson could manipulate him. So far it was a credible interpretation. Elizabeth could imagine Mario taking no interest in anything beyond his treasures.

'Thank you for sharing your collections, Mario. I must tell you some time about my visits to the British Library manuscript room when we were setting up the Women of Ideas series and wanted to use the original texts.' She smiled as he sat forward, interested.

'Any major collecting institution has its challenges, as I'm sure you know and I look forward to working with you on those,' she said. 'You've mentioned funding and storage for the physical objects but could I ask you about the digitisation projects? I've heard about some aspects of the _Remembering_ project. Could you tell me more about that?'

Fiori shrunk back into his chair, whether from mental or physical discomfort it was impossible to tell, sipped his coffee and looked at the ceiling for inspiration.

'Hmm, yes, well, where to begin?' he muttered. 'We started digitising the library manuscripts collection in the 'nineties and we got a real boost from Roger Lui who's our current chairman. Sorry, of course you'd know that – and Jeremy Hayes, who's our current minister – oh, you know that too. Sorry.'

'Go on.'

'Well, they're great friends and both passionate private collectors of rare books and manuscripts. We'd rather the state bought everything we need but we just can't afford it.' He put his coffee on the side table and rummaged in his pocket for a crumpled handkerchief. He blew his nose and coughed again. 'Sorry, sorry, this dratted cold. Where was I? Yes, well, it's a long story but we got money from Mr Lui and then Jean Renfrew won a bid for federal funding so we've been digitising photographs and maps as well. It's a wonderful resource but it's not like seeing the original, of course.'

He drifted off again into descriptions of the wonders under his care while Elizabeth forced herself to remain patient. Apart from his single-mindedness, he should be home in bed, but she wanted his version of events before talking to Robinson. 'So where is the _Remembering_ project at now?' she persisted. 'I get a sense it is all but complete.'

'Oh, it'll never be finished.' Mario waved his handkerchief. 'We've got some funding left but the last instalment has been held up by the Commonwealth bureaucracy. I'm not sure why.'

Elizabeth sensed he knew more than he was saying. 'What do you think we should be doing about moving it along, then?'

'Oh, goodness, it's not for me to say. With the creation of the Institute, everyone's focus has been on product development, restructuring and so on. All about efficiency, they say.' His tone inferred this was a pathetic notion. 'Some of us think we're being run by bean counters.' He drained his coffee cup as if aware he had said too much.

A long silence followed. He removed his glasses, pinching his nose between his eyes. 'Perhaps that's a bit harsh,' he continued, 'but we do feel that we've been pushed a long way down the totem pole with all this emphasis on making money and foregrounding all the whiz-bang technology. It's understandable, I suppose. What with the construction of the Institute's building, so much money's been spent that the government and the city want to see what they call a return on their investment.'

He paused again. Elizabeth thought she should finish the conversation and send him home. She let him gather his thoughts while she examined the framed prints from Gould's _Birds of Australia_ that adorned his office walls. She assumed they were prints. The originals would be under lock and key, never to be exposed to human inspection.

'We do have a huge image and sound database, of course, from the _Remembering_ activities,' Mario said. 'Over a million items, all taken from the film and sound archives, government papers, objects, artworks and so on. They're all catalogued to world standards. A lot were on the web but as the databases got bigger the search engines have not been working well and people are relying on the subject specialists in the various reading rooms. Unfortunately since they keep cutting staff numbers in those areas to save money, we don't have enough people to do the work and can't keep up with the demands.'

No wonder he was low, Elizabeth thought. He could talk himself into a state of depression in minutes. She imagined again this quiet, distressed man interacting with the energetic George. They were poles apart.

'So what do you think needs to happen with _Remembering_?'

Again the ceiling was consulted for advice. 'Me? Oh, well, mm, it's not for me to presume to know the wishes of the board or the minister. I suppose it's all a case of priorities, which outcomes should be funded. I'm sure in the fullness of time we will be informed about our current budget and then we'll do what we can with what we are given. They all work hard, you know. Absolutely wonderful staff. We're focusing on preservation and indexing what we can. It's slow but good work.'

Elizabeth groaned at this lengthy obfuscation that brought on another coughing fit and a delicate blowing of Mario's beleaguered nose. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, she ended their meeting and escaped with gratitude hanging in the air on both their parts.

****

Shaking off the lingering unease over Mario's discomfort, Elizabeth stepped into the building. A security desk dominated the centre of the foyer, its technology more fitted to mission control than a public building. Elizabeth approached the uniformed guard. Beam me up Scotty, she thought, each time she saw him.

'Good evening, Jock,' she said.

Easing his short stocky body from his chair with what looked like some pain, the beaming Scotsman walked around the desk. 'Dr Wallace, you've been for a walk then?' he said, looking at Elizabeth's sports shoes, a contrast to her business skirt and short-sleeved top.

With her jacket over her arm she shivered at the cold blast from the air conditioning.

'I've just come on duty for the evening shift, one of the lads is sick,' said Jock. As chief of security, Jock Stewart had been one of the first people Elizabeth met. 'How are you enjoying the flat upstairs then?'

'It's a bit strange, Jock. At night it's spooky being the only one in the building apart from you or your staff.'

'Aye, well, just press your buzzer and one of us will be there. You're safe enough. This building has state-of-the-art security.'

'Yes, so I've noticed. Every major building feels like Fort Knox or an Italian bank. There's no guns but it's not the Perth I remember.'

'Well, it must be quite a while since you lived here. Mind you, it's no' as if we have the Crown jewels.' Jock's Scottish accent was strong. He had migrated from Glasgow thirty years before but sounded as if he had just stepped out of a Clydebank shipyard.

'I spent the afternoon at the Library and the Museum and the security is much less visible than here,' Elizabeth said, putting on her jacket.

'Aye, I think it's because of all the computers. The boffins think the machines are more important than the people or the precious books and pictures. Can't see that myself. I can go to the Library and look at the rare books but no one but myself and the other shift supervisors are allowed into the third floor technology centre. We have to stay there with the cleaners.'

Elizabeth made a mental note to discuss this with Anne Oldham. She was yet to have a tour of that floor.

'Of course, it's more likely to be connected to the north wing,' said Jock. 'With eight ministers of the Crown over there, it's like the Green Zone. What are they afraid of? Have you had the privilege of visiting our esteemed leader over there?'

'No, the minister is still overseas, as I'm sure you know, Jock,' Elizabeth said, smiling at her fellow countryman who had on several occasions demonstrated his total lack of respect for those in power. 'I get a sense that there's not much goes on here or in the north wing that passes you by.'

'Och, I don't know why you say that,' he winked. 'And have you not met the minister at all, then?'

'No, not yet.'

'Lovely man,' Jock said, leaning on the edge of his counter while keeping an eye on the monitors. 'He always stops and has a chat. Tells me he loves Scotland, always mentions Aviemore and the skiing. I'm just a poor lad from the Gorbals whose Dad drank himself to death after Clydebank went south. Does he think I would bump into him on the slopes if I lived there? As if I could afford that!'

Elizabeth did not want to get caught again with one of Jock's excursions down memory lane. The man loved to talk. With his knowledge of the building's activities, she wanted to keep him onside but she was tired. The headache might have been waylaid but the fight had left her weary.

'Well, I'd better be getting upstairs,' she said. 'I've got an international call booked.' She moved towards the lifts. She noted the Technology Assessment Centre was still open with a dozen intense faces poring over computer screens. She was impressed with this service where people could try out software and hardware, attend courses on multi-media or make appointments to speak with vendors.

Not so pleasing was the closed bookshop next door. Of everything she had seen so far this was the most disappointing as well as the most exciting. Disappointing because it was a traditional bookshop with scant connection to the Institute's purpose. While the shop at the Art Gallery offered books on artists and art movements, art materials and objects, the Institute shop offered bestselling fiction, a few biographies and stationery. It had no Western Australian focus. It could be an airport shop anywhere. She was excited because it gave her the opportunity to create something new, like the shops she had created in the UK. She had called them IDEASHubs where they featured books, DVDs and other media to encourage new thinking. They were spaces for conversations with remarkable people. In Glasgow and London she had hosted controversial thinkers many of whose first books had been launched by her Next Generation Publishing company.

'I've just taken a surprise upstairs for you. A delivery from the Luis,' Jock said, interrupting her thoughts. 'Must be time for a whisky on the balcony, eh? Put your feet up and enjoy the view for a wee while.'

Elizabeth pressed the lift button. 'Yes, I think that's just the ticket, Jock. I can't get over how beautiful the river is at this time of night.'

'It sure is. You'll have lots of friends on Australia Day. It's a great spot to watch the fireworks.'

****

Each time Elizabeth entered the apartment she was stunned anew by its understated elegance and spaciousness. The staff insisted on calling it the penthouse and no doubt it would compare favourably with the top floors of the new apartment towers built along the Esplanade to the east of the Institute building. Elizabeth told herself to enjoy it until she decided where she would live. So different to her family's nineteenth century mansion in Glasgow the clean minimalism reminded her of her London flat which she had gutted and refurbished five years before.

The lounge and dining areas occupied most of the space with a kitchen tucked under the mezzanine floor below the bedroom and en-suite. There were no internal walls, the various living spaces delineated by rugs patterned in shades of eucalyptus greens. Elizabeth recognised the small orange and yellow shapes as suggestions of the erythrocorous species. She had planted six of these trees in her beloved beach house but she dismissed that from her mind as she put her jacket and keys on the dining table.

On the table was an orb-shaped vase overflowing with yellow gerberas and ileums, a silver paper wrapped object and an envelope. The card inside showed it was from Felicity Lui, the chairman's wife, whom she had met in London.

'Welcome to Perth, and our apologies for not being there to greet you,' the card read. 'Roger and I are in Oxford, meeting our newest granddaughter, who's beautiful, of course. Roger is doing business as well (some things never change). We hope you have found things to your liking. I'm sure the indomitable Barbara has overlooked nothing. I hope you have some time for reading. I so enjoyed our chat about books and just to make sure you do, here is one of my favourites. We'll catch up when we get back and I'll expect a full report. Best wishes and welcome again, Felicity Preston Lui.'

Felicity's note sounded just like her, a combination of warmth and friendly bossiness. Elizabeth had connected with the chairman's vivacious wife, enjoying their excursion to an opening at the new Tate Gallery to which Felicity had tickets. Afterwards they had dined at one of Elizabeth's favourite restaurants next to the Thames and spoken of Perth, books and publishing.

Removing the wrapping from the book, Elizabeth discovered Alex Miller's _Conditions of Faith_. She had read _The Ancestor Game_ that had won the Miles Franklin Award. She would add Miller's book to the growing pile next to her bed.

As she set the book on the table she glanced at her reflection in the mirror that formed the backdrop to the dining area. She could see the fatigue around her eyes and decided she would take a sleeping pill to try to banish her relentless insomnia. She touched her head, attempting to smooth her short red hair. It felt strange still, the loss of her shoulder length curls. She had gone straight to the hairdresser the day Alex had told her of his plans. He had always loved her long hair.

She shook her head to banish the thoughts and went to the kitchen. She poured a glass of Brookland Valley sauvignon blanc and contemplated the view across the apartment to the balcony beyond. The pinks and oranges of the evening sky were reflected in the river's surface. Elizabeth loved this time of the day in the apartment where three walls of glass gave a sense of floating at the edge of the city. She had imagined living in temporary accommodation with an urgent need to find her own residence and was delighted to be offered the eyrie above the river. She decided to stay there until her boxes arrived which would be at least six weeks. She had better begin to look for somewhere soon but her time was occupied with the dramas presented by her staff.

Reminding herself that she must be ready for Cheval's call, she turned her attention to food. Cooking for herself was almost as enjoyable as cooking for others. Her Aunt Fionn had joked that Elizabeth must be a foundling because no one in the family had ever paid any attention to food. Mince, tatties and porridge with an occasional pudding, that's all we need, Fionn joked often as her niece presented yet another dish from yet another new cookery book.

After constructing a Caesar salad for which she made the dressing from scratch, Elizabeth took her meal to the balcony. The breeze had died and the warm air welcomed her as she settled into one of the large wicker chairs and ate her meal. As often as possible she retreated to the balcony, a space almost as large as the apartment. It was shaded by a sail structure, anchored by large steel bolts in the face of Australia's windiest city. Along the east side of the balcony was a narrow elevated pond planted with reeds above which water glided down a stainless steel wall. Along the west side was a series of planter boxes from which a few trees peeped over the parapet, a brave act that rewarded them with shredded tops.

Elizabeth shivered. Perhaps she was putting her head too far above the parapet. She had been flattered to be offered the job. It had come at the right time. She had accepted for so many reasons: a new start, an escape, proving something to herself, maybe even a homecoming. Coming home? Where had that idea sprung from, she wondered, as memories of her last conversation with Alex flooded back.

She sipped her wine. Well, she thought, it's done now. I have things I want to achieve and the first thing is to sort out this Vision Industries confusion.

'Here's looking at you, kid,' she toasted herself aloud, tilting her glass to the darkening sky.

****

'Elizabeth? Is it you calling me from _Australie_?' Martin Cheval's call was on time.

'Yes, it's me, Martin. How are you?'

'I am well, but puzzled. What are you doing on the other side of the world? Are you opening new offices? I have this message that says you are in an institution.'

Elizabeth laughed. 'I think something has been lost in translation. No, I'm not involved with Next Generation Publishing anymore. After we went public I decided I didn't like the new regime.'

'So what is this institution you are in, then?'

'It's not an institution. It's an Institute that specialises in information research and services. It's an Australian government organisation and I've just been appointed Managing Director.'

There was a pause at the other end of the phone. Elizabeth wondered if she had lost the connection.

'You are working for _le gouvernement_? _Non_! Last time we spoke you were going to do something with digital media. What happened?'

'Last time we spoke was five years ago, Martin,' Elizabeth said. 'At the London Rare Book Fair.' She smiled as she recalled his horror when she told him of her experiments with digitising her authors' works and that the new e-books revolution could make rare books available to all. Vision Industries International made a fortune from new technologies but its CEO and chairman did not share Elizabeth's desire to democratise knowledge.

'Cinq ans? _Vraiment_? We are all getting older, non? I remember now. We found a first edition of Redouté's _Les Lilacées_ in a tiny shop near the British Museum.'

'I'm glad you remember.' She knew their conversation would come a distant second to his acquisition.

Elizabeth took the telephone to the corner of the lounge area. Josephine and Anne's briefing notes were before her. Unfortunately, they contained nothing more than she already knew. There were too many gaps in the relationship with SysWA. She was relieved she knew Martin Cheval but she also knew his reputation for scrupulous attention to his business affairs. He was likely to be more prepared than she.

'My secretary tells me you are calling from Western Australia,' said Cheval. 'Is this not where you lived as a young woman? You have returned?'

'Yes, I have returned. I was offered this position and, as they say, it was an offer too good to refuse.'

'And this strange organisation? You say it is government? I cannot imagine you working for the government. You are not my idea of a handmaiden. What is your department called?'

'The International Institute for Information Services and Research,' Elizabeth said, cringing again at the name that did not lend itself to a pronounceable acronym. IIIS&R. Her staff shortened it to The Institute and the chairman had referred to it once as the Triple I. Sounds like a cattle ranch, Alex had quipped when Elizabeth told him of her decision.

'It's what they call here an independent statutory authority,' she said. 'It's got its own Act of Parliament but the national and state governments fund it. We have some corporate and philanthropic support as well.'

'Sounds like what the English call a dog's breakfast,' Cheval chuckled. 'Or is it too many cooks? And you are the chief cook?'

Elizabeth did not feel like defending her new organisation to the irreverent Frenchman, realising she might have the same conversation with her friends to whom she was yet to explain her move.

Perhaps interpreting her silence for offence, Cheval apologised. 'Pardon, Elizabeth, I should be more respectful of your decision. They are most fortunate to have you but what makes you telephone me? My secretary tells me there is an urgent business matter you wish to discuss?'

'Yes, Martin. Your company recently acquired an Australian company called SysWA. It would appear that SysWA has had a long relationship with the Institute and there are a few problems.'

'SysWA? Yes, I know this. It is a small acquisition. Jules Vupin in Singapore is in charge of that. He has been there three months setting up our operations. Have you spoken with Jules?'

'No, not yet. Let me be frank with you, Martin. SysWA's contracts with the Institute might have some irregularities that are difficult for me to explore, given my recent arrival. I will speak with Mr Vupin, but may I ask you some questions first?'

'Bien sûr. Fire away, as you say.'

'No bullets to fire, just some puzzles to solve.' Elizabeth wondered how frank to be with Cheval. How much authority had he given Jules Vupin? Cheval was known to keep a tight rein on his people. 'It would appear that SysWA developed some software for us and there is some confusion over ownership. My staff tell me that Jules Vupin wants to sort this out as soon as possible, as do I. However, the former SysWA deputy CEO is adamant that the software belongs to SysWA and thus Vision Industries. I am told he has threatened legal action. I would not want to get into an intellectual property argument with your company.'

'No, nor would I,' Cheval said. 'I do not like having legal arguments with governments. They keep you in court for years. I doubt that the software developed would be of much interest to us but please give me some time to investigate this.'

'Thank you.'

'I have faith in Jules. He is a ferocious defender of the company but he is a fair man.'

Ferocious was not the word Elizabeth wanted to hear.

'I think I remember the SysWA purchase now,' Cheval continued. 'We bought the company because of their surveillance technologies. It had some talented software engineers and came to our attention when they competed with us for some large contracts. We think they could have become serious competition so we acquired them. I must ask Jules whether there is anything else of value.'

Elizabeth had a fleeting thought that perhaps she had made a mistake putting SysWA on Cheval's radar. 'Thank you, Martin. Could I ask you for one more favour? Could you send me copies of contracts SysWA has with us?'

Martin Cheval chuckled again. He sounded amused by Elizabeth's predicament. 'Do I assume that the new général is having trouble with her intelligence network? Perhaps disaffection in the ranks of her new commission?

'Something like that,' Elizabeth said, trying to sound unconcerned. Did he know more than he was letting on?

'I will have my secretary get the information from Jules and send what we have to you in confidence. But may I suggest to you that early opposition to your reign will not become obedience later. Eliminate before you are eliminated.'

Elizabeth remembered his tendency to pontificate, sounding like his hero Napoleon, but there was an unfamiliar harshness in his voice.

'Thank you for your help,' she said. 'I'm sure there's nothing of consequence here but the paperwork will help me deal with it more quickly.'

'We will speak again soon,' Cheval said. 'Perhaps I should take more interest in our Indian Ocean region now that I have a friend, how do you say, down under? Do speak with Jules Vupin. He may not be as charming sometimes as he should be but he does appreciate clever women so he will enjoy his discussions with you, I am sure.'

CHAPTER THREE

'I am most pleased that you accepted our offer to join the Institute,' Roger Lui said. 'As Chairman of the Board, I'm doubly delighted to have you at the helm.'

'Thank you, Mr Lui. I'm delighted to be here,' Elizabeth said. 'From what I've seen so far, there's a lot of excitement. This is a stunning building in an impressive location.' She swept her arm across the views from her office. The river glistened below a luminous blue sky. A ferry pulled away from the jetties, no doubt carrying tourists to Rottnest Island on a perfect spring day.

'Beautiful, isn't it? I never tire of being near water.'

They were sitting at Elizabeth's meeting table prior to her formal introduction to the Institute's board. Barbara had briefed Elizabeth on board members, their likes and dislikes but reserved her greatest admiration for Roger Lui, recounting how unexpected had been Jeremy Hayes's offer of the chairmanship two years before.

'He believed it was because of his interest in rare books combined with his knowledge of electronics,' Barbara had explained, 'but he was amazed to discover dozens of mundane decisions waiting to be made about personnel, contracts and other bureaucratic nonsense. He uses the word "administrivia" every time he thinks the board is becoming too operational. He prefers it to concentrate on strategic issues.'

Elizabeth refrained from telling Barbara that the word 'strategic' had been on her list of banned words at Next Generation Publishing. She agreed with Australia's Don Watson that managers used too many _weasel words_.

Roger Lui's vision for the Institute and his quiet passion for making his adopted country a global force in what he called the knowledge world together with his wife's passion for books and literature had influenced Elizabeth's decision to accept the job. Felicity had wasted no time in announcing her Scottish ancestry. Her family migrated to China as missionaries but fled Nanking to Hong Kong days before the Japanese massacres. She declared herself to be an avid student of Chinese history with a special interest in the role of the missions. When Elizabeth was at Next Generation Publishing she had published a novel based on the Nanking atrocities so they had much to discuss.

'The Luis are wealthy and so people pay attention to them but I love how down-to-earth they are,' Barbara had said. 'He took quite a shine to you. Your ears should have been burning the day he told the board about your appointment.'

Roger Lui looked every bit the successful businessman, dressed in white shirt and a well-cut dark grey suit. His sunflower yellow tie was an unexpected flamboyance. It lay across his rotund body that attested to the love of food Elizabeth had observed in London. She reminded herself she needed to negotiate the boundaries of their relationship. She had been her own boss for so long, it was bound to be difficult to defer to anyone.

'Felicity and I have arranged for you to meet some people on Sunday night. Just a few influential individuals who we think might be useful to us,' Roger Lui said, 'and who are keen to meet you because they think you will be useful to them. I assume that's not a problem? Or is your social diary full already?'

'No, not yet. I'd be delighted to join you and Felicity. Thank you for your generosity.' Elizabeth wondered what criteria invitees must meet to receive an invitation. She suspected Roger Lui was a man unaccustomed to having his invitations refused. Barbara had explained that Felicity was a talented hostess who opened their Peppermint Grove home frequently for fundraising parties. Barbara had forewarned Elizabeth about the invitation, wishing her luck with the _glitterati_.

'We have a meeting with the minister at six before our guests arrive,' Lui said. 'Jeremy told me he had no time in his diary but I insisted he meet you as soon as possible. I'm off to Sydney next week so we might as well combine business with pleasure.'

He gave Elizabeth a potted history of his longstanding relationship with their minister without mentioning the furore that Barbara described over Hayes's decision to appoint Lui to the board.

'I will not make a habit of organizing your weekends,' he said. 'We all need our own time and space but there are some who think the Institute should never have been created. They suspect all sorts of cloak and dagger stuff. I need to guide you to those who are on side and those who aren't. Of course, I've invited only supporters. Time enough to meet the blackguards later.' As he laughed his narrow eyes disappeared and his shoulders shook with amusement at his own wit.

Elizabeth had no thought to the Institute having active enemies but it was to be expected. Her experience on several European Union consultative committees had exposed her to some of the techniques used by senior bureaucrats to achieve their country's objectives. It was not always easy to tell who was genuine.

'Jeremy Hayes is supportive, of course,' Roger Lui continued, 'but being Minister for Education means that while he fought hard to get the information services portfolio he doesn't spend a lot of time on it. Just doesn't want any problems. He has enough with the education sector. He says there's never enough money so he hopes we'll generate our own funding through research and product development.'

He went on to describe Jeremy Hayes's ways of working and though he spoke well of him, Elizabeth suspected there were some differences of opinion.

Lui frowned at his gold watch. 'We must join the board soon but there's something I want to warn you about. It is a bit awkward but I'm sure you will be able to handle it.'

He clasped his hands on the table before him, displaying a gold and diamond ring on his right little finger and a wide gold wedding band on his left hand. 'One of our directors, Michael Robinson, is unhappy at not getting the MD position. He was appointed as State Librarian after Jean Renfrew left. When the Institute was created and various bodies absorbed into it, including all the government libraries, Robinson became Director of the new Division of Information Services. I didn't have much to do with the organisation then but I understand that there was some turbulence in the situation. Apparently, some believed a librarian should have been appointed and that Robinson's qualifications were inadequate.'

Elizabeth remembered Jean's anger but could not recall the details. The normally subdued Jean had sounded as if she could have strangled whoever was being considered.

Roger removed his glasses and stared at the window. 'To cut a long story short, Robinson was given the opportunity to act as MD. It was supposed to be temporary but the process took six months longer than it should have so he became firmly ensconced. To hear him speak, you get the impression he was the brain behind the creation of the Institute itself and he's entitled to lead it.'

'Why did he think he would get the job when you travelled overseas to interview people?' asked Elizabeth. She remembered the whole thing leaking like a sieve. She was unimpressed to see her name in the newspaper because she had told neither her Perth friends nor Alex about it.

'Robinson's talented enough. PhD from Oxford in technology and innovation and wrote a book that was made into a TV series. Technology is all he talks about. That's why he didn't get the job, by the way. The panel took the view that while IT is central to our operations, it's a tool. I don't think the word service or client is in Michael's vocabulary.' Lui pulled at his ear. 'Goodness, I own an electronics company and he bores me to distraction. I've never met anyone with such single-mindedness.'

'Is he likely to stay, then? If he is as talented and disappointed as you say, why not move on?'

'Well, I'm not sure. Elliott Prince, the Deputy Chairman, and I took him to dinner to encourage him to continue as Director of Information Services. I can't tell you how successful we were in convincing him he is valuable to the Institute. I must admit that I leaned towards telling him he'd be better off elsewhere but Elliott is his greatest supporter. I don't want the Institute or your appointment embroiled in some nasty gossip or board discontent just when you're getting started.'

Lui rose from his chair and stood with his back to the window. In spite of his short height he carried a quiet confidence. His movements were slow and precise as he folded his arms but Elizabeth sensed a chained energy that if unleashed would carry all before it. This man had sold his businesses in Hong Kong and moved his family to Perth before the Chinese took over. She doubted a disappointed government executive would disturb his equilibrium. There had to be more to the story.

'Robinson's just turned fifty,' Lui said. 'He has young children and is a member of a family that has deep political connections. His wife is the daughter of one of Australia's wealthiest men. Michael appears driven, as if he has something to prove. I can't predict what he will do next. Maybe you'll charm him into coming on side.' Buttoning his jacket over his stomach, he walked to the door. Smiling at Elizabeth, he held it open for her. 'He may not be too effusive on day one. I'm told he likes the ladies so he might think all he has to do is charm you.'

Oh, no, thought Elizabeth, not another one of God's gifts to women. The last thing she needed was another Jeremy Smythe-Jones in her life. Just recollecting her erstwhile marketing director's patronizing, upper class manner made her shiver. His type might like the ladies but they don't like them in positions of power.

Elizabeth and Roger Lui entered the boardroom in which about a dozen people stood around, chatting over their pre-lunch drinks. The large room's lavish furnishings would be at home in global corporations, Elizabeth thought, and it was a far cry from her company's modest meeting room. Like her office, it had floor to ceiling windows on the south side, open to the sunny, plant-filled balcony overlooking the omnipresent Swan River. The board table that could seat twenty stood upon a deep-piled carpet of modern design in colours evoking the Australian outback. Sand coloured marble tiles covered the rest of the floor. A triptych in oils dominated the room. It ran the length of the west wall, matching the beauty of the carpet with its vivid ochres, reds and blues overlaid by slivers of green.

Roger Lui guided her to a tall man dressed in a black suit that Elizabeth recognised as Armani, Alex's favourite designer. 'May I introduce Elliott Prince, our Deputy Chairman?' Lui said. 'Elliott, meet our new Managing Director, Dr Elizabeth Wallace.'

'Dr Wallace, welcome,' Prince said, crushing her hand in his while engaging her with unblinking pale blue eyes. 'Lui came back from London very pleased with himself. Told us he'd found the perfect MD. Hope you're prepared to live up to the fanfare. Lui doesn't like to be proven wrong.'

'I'll try not to,' Elizabeth replied, smiling up into the suntanned face below a head of close-cropped black hair. Prince looked how Roger had described. A prince of the city indeed. His understated elegance combined with a magisterial air exuded a palpable self-confidence. Elizabeth knew the type. He believed he had power, absolute power. She knew from the biography supplied by Barbara that he was as blue blood as you could get in Australia, descended from the first free settlers in the Swan River Colony. Private school, University of Western Australia law school and Yale University graduate, he was chairman of several mining companies. Elizabeth wondered why he would settle for deputy chairman of the Institute. His cool politeness towards Lui suggested he would not relish playing second fiddle.

A waiter offered champagne. Elizabeth asked for a mineral water as Prince regaled her about his last visit to England, mentioning several London clubs and his friend who owned a castle in Sussex.

'Don't let these corporate types give you the impression the Institute's run by big business,' interrupted an energetic voice. Elizabeth turned to see a short woman dressed in a bohemian style with a long skirt and loose red overblouse.

'Welcome, Elizabeth. I'm Ngaire French and I'm delighted to meet you again. We met at a Writers' and Publishers' Conference several years ago in Edinburgh. We're thrilled that Jeremy and Roger had the brains to pick not only a woman but someone who can read as well. I doubt Roger or Elliott could tell you the title of a novel, far less its contents. Maybe we can introduce reading as an intelligent pastime for the board. Welcome again.' Ngaire held out her hand.

A pair of laughing brown eyes looked at Elizabeth through grandfather spectacles. The short grey hair and hippy style with the multitude of jangling silver bracelets were unforgettable. Ngaire French, the Australian writer who had set up her own publishing company in the late 1990s because of her strong stand against what she saw as exploitation of writers. Many of the conference delegates had thought Ngaire's ideas more suited to tropical climes where Pollyanna ideas about the rights of authors might get a better hearing. The publishers had hated her ranting against their indifference to writers' lives.

'Thank you, and yes, I do remember your conference paper,' Elizabeth said. 'I'm delighted we have a person with your interests and commitments on the board.' They shook hands, Elizabeth noting that Ngaire looked much older than she remembered. 'And may I say how much I admire your writing? We sold quite a few copies of your last novel in our new London store before I left. We tried and tried to get you to come on a promotional tour but your agent said you'd not leave Australia again.'

'Never again. I travelled so much when I was younger, Iiving in suitcases. I have neither the energy nor the inclination any more. I just stay put and write. I come to Perth for board meetings and other occasions that I can't avoid. I have enough material for a dozen novels and I adore my beachside abode in Albany. Not much gets me out of there. You must visit and I'll show you Scotland in Australia. You'll feel right at home.'

'I'd love that. It's years since I visited Albany.' Elizabeth felt an immediate connection to this woman who looked fragile enough to be blown away by an Albany gale. She had enjoyed French's irreverent writing about rebellious women and looked forward to discussing it with her.

'I'm impressed with your company's _Women of Ideas 2000_ series,' continued Ngaire, 'but is it true you are planning to publish two thousand titles?'

'No, no, that's a common misconception although I'm sure we could find two thousand women of ideas. It was a millennium stunt. I refused to let the marketing people use the word. Everything that moved and anything that didn't, like domes and ferris wheels, ended up with that word attached to it. The focus is on women thinkers over two thousand years.'

Ngaire put a tiny hand with rings on most fingers on Elizabeth's arm. 'Maybe we should consider setting up our own publishing arm in the Institute,' said Ngaire. 'I've been trying to persuade the board to do this for some time. Can't have an R&D division without publishing, can we? Mind you, so much testosterone, nerds and bytes around here, we'd have trouble persuading them to publish tedious things like stories, wouldn't we, Michael?'

Ngaire had directed her question to a tall, blonde-haired man who strode past them towards the table laid for lunch. She watched him move a place card from one end of the table to the other. So, Elizabeth thought, Michael Robinson's feigned indifference had not prevented him attending the board meeting. She watched as he greeted a short woman in her thirties who beamed up at him as he bent to kiss her on both cheeks. Elliott Prince joined them and shook hands with Robinson while slapping him on the shoulder. As they spoke Robinson looked over the woman's head towards Elizabeth.

Roger Lui was right. Robinson had his supporters on the board.

****

Elizabeth sat between Roger Lui and Barbara Smith, opposite Michael Robinson who had occupied the seat next to Elliott Prince. So that was what he had achieved by moving the place cards, Elizabeth thought. Josephine, Anne, George and Mario had taken their designated seats at the far end of the table. The chairman tinkled his glass with his knife and everyone but Robinson ceased their conversation. He muttered something in Prince's ear and Prince nodded.

'I'm sure you'll all want to join me in congratulating Dr Wallace on her appointment. I can tell you she is a formidable negotiator. It took some persuasion for her to agree to join us.' Roger Lui nodded to Elizabeth who smiled at the sea of welcoming laughter. Prince's smile was more a twitch of his lips while Robinson avoided her gaze by lifting his water glass.

'All of you will have read the minister's press release as well as Dr Wallace's cv. A press conference has been organised for later this afternoon. Let me just say today that to have someone of Dr Wallace's calibre with her background in business and publishing is indeed a privilege. Finally, she has arrived. It's taken some time but this is reasonable since Dr Wallace is not only taking up a new position, she's changing her home and, if I may be so presumptuous, coming home to Perth.' Lui raised his champagne glass. 'Dr Wallace, welcome back to Perth. We hope you will find both great challenges and great satisfaction here. Please join me in a toast to our new chief executive.'

Elizabeth nodded acknowledgement to the raised glasses and smiling faces. She noticed Robinson did not touch his glass. Roger Lui suggested board members introduce themselves over lunch. As she listened to members speak either about themselves or their expectations of the Institute, Elizabeth felt like some insect pinned under a microscope. Josephine and Anne looked interested while Mario Fiori sat with eyes downcast, perhaps still suffering from the after-effects of his cold. At times she was aware of Michael Robinson's scrutiny. He leaned back in his chair, ignoring his food. She could not decide whether his demeanour was indifferent or hostile.

In a moment's silence between board members' introductions Robinson spoke.

'Dr Wallace, we have met briefly. I am _Doctor_ Michael Robinson, Director of Information Services,' he began. Well, that's got rid of the matching PhDs, Elizabeth thought, observing the bewilderment on several board members' faces. 'My role is to ensure that the people of Australia receive the best possible information, whether ministers or ordinary persons.' His slow drawl suggested he found his participation the height of tedium. 'Of course, these days we are expected to charge for various services. I maintain a watching brief over all areas in the Institute. After all, I cannot deliver satisfactory services without the necessary policy, infrastructure and funds to do so. I have a national and international role. I sit on various national bodies and visit Europe at least once a year to represent Australia on several standards bodies. I understand you have done some work for the EU. I can't understand why our paths have not crossed.'

Several board members shuffled in their chairs. Anne Oldham's face flushed as she scowled at Robinson. Elizabeth ignored the inference that had her work been as important as his they would have met. This was neither time nor place to lock horns. She was grateful for Roger's warning about Robinson's disappointment. She could afford to be generous and, as the cricket-mad Alex would say, let that one go through to the keeper.

'One of our main problems is money,' he continued, addressing the room as if delivering a speech. 'We have tried a range of activities to increase our funding base, but part of the reason for establishing the Institute was to take a commercial focus. We're dragging our feet on this. I think we could make considerable income from charging for various services as well as commercialising our intellectual capital. Perhaps we can all learn from you, Dr Wallace. I understand you have some commercial experience from running a bookshop or two?'

George Eton opened his mouth to speak but Anne's hand on his arm deterred him. Elizabeth shook her head to tell him not to worry about it.

They were saved by Roger Lui. 'Well, hardly a bookshop or two, Michael. Dr Wallace was head of a multi million pound chain of bookshops and an associated internet selling, writing and publishing company. Indeed, she was the United Kingdom's Businesswoman of the Year three years ago. I thought you would have known that, being in the information business.'

Lui delivered this rebuke with such delicacy that the situation was diffused. Elizabeth could appreciate why he had been so successful in both Western and Eastern business sectors. Michael Robinson should be able to see there were two iron fists hidden in the velvet words.

At Lui's urging the three remaining board members who had not spoken introduced themselves. Their comments were brief and modest. Robinson's speech had dispelled the sparkle from the group.

Fred Fromberg was a down-to-earth, softly spoken pastoralist who presented as a larrikin from the bush, complete with leathery skin and akubra hat on the table behind him. Roger Lui had explained to her that Fromberg was one of Australia's wealthiest landowners, had led community support for many reforms in native title, developing partnerships with indigenous people on his land long before the word _Sorry_ was uttered by the Prime Minister.

Doing business in England, Elizabeth had learned to decode accents, dress and manners into social pecking orders but she knew that Australia was a country easily misread. An upper class accent and a bespoke suit did not a millionaire or a gentleman make anymore than a battered Akubra made a lover of country.

Professor Henry Jones, academic specialist in politics and Asian history demonstrated his erudition with great warmth in a short treatise on the role the Institute should play in the region. Jackie Olson, small business owner and erstwhile lawyer who, according to Roger Lui, had political connections on both sides of politics was open and warm in what felt like a genuine welcome. Elizabeth would have sensed a kindred spirit, a self-made hardworking professional woman who would support other women had she not observed the earlier embrace with Robinson.

'So, Dr Wallace, what do you think of the latest VAR system from Houston Tech?' Robinson cut off a question Elizabeth was about to ask Jackie Olson. 'We've been testing it lately to see whether we'll add it to our Technology Assessment Centre's programme.'

Elizabeth knew about the new breed of voice activated retrieval systems and she had a contact at Houston Tech but she decided to feign ignorance. Elizabeth let him have the field to see how far he would go with his game of one-upmanship. She expected Roger Lui to interrupt. Why was he allowing Robinson the floor? Indeed, why were any of the directors there? She hoped this was because of the welcoming lunch and not normal practice.

In the silence, people were waiting for her to speak. Were they assessing how she would deal with Robinson? 'How do you go about deciding whether to put software into the Centre?' she asked.

Robinson smirked, tilting his head in Anne Oldham's direction. 'We're waiting for Ms Oldham to give us the go ahead. The system's been designed to handle anglo, afro and hispanic American accents as well as cultured English ones but we need to do some testing with our Australian accents. That's why we're working with a beta test version.'

Anne glowered at him as George leaned over and whispered to her.

'I look forward to the results,' said Elizabeth, looking towards Anne who was holding her peace with some effort.

Elizabeth watched Robinson take up again the theme of his own importance and his close relationship with the experts at Houston Tech. He was a handsome man with his blond hair and chiselled features. His well-cut suit and confident air would be at home in an investment bank. Intelligent and talented he might be to have achieved what he had in his life but Elizabeth gave him no points for self-awareness. She saw none of the disappointment mentioned by Roger Lui. She thought again of Jeremy Smythe-Jones. She had learned the hard way to pick her battles. Appointed by her Aunt Fionn to lead the new publishing arm of their company, she had made matters worse by outscoring him to the point where one of them had to leave. Since it was her family's company the choice was obvious but she lost credibility with the staff who saw the situation as a clash of personalities resolved by rank. Smythe-Jones's behaviour had reeked of a corruption she could not prove and she vowed that if faced again with a similar situation she would be more circumspect. She was not going to begin her tenure as MD by getting anyone more offside than necessary. Robinson was declaring war but wars were not decided on the first skirmish.

CHAPTER FOUR

Sunday morning, Elizabeth clawed her way to wakefulness, wondering where she was. It took some time to open her heavy eyes and make sense of the dishevelled bedroom flooded with unfamiliar light. What day was it and which country was she in?

Slowly she remembered, reliving a dream about dinner with Alex in London, the plane trip to Australia, her visit to the Museum where Mario had locked her in the stacks and her search for a rare manuscript. Finally she registered where she was, recalling the debilitating migraine that had engulfed her on Friday evening. Saturday was a blur of pain and medication-induced torpor, hovering nausea and misery. How she loathed these attacks. Frequent companions of her youth, they had become a rarity for most of her time in the UK. Sometimes there was a connection between the familiar demon and overwork; at other times she suspected a hormonal connection. As a child she had seen them as the judgment of an evil angel sent to punish her for an unremembered infraction. Australian doctors had blamed the heat and intense light for which her northern genes were unprepared. One crackpot therapist suggested there had to be some benefit in them at an unconscious level; otherwise she would cease to suffer.

As Elizabeth pushed herself up to sit on the side of the bed, she closed her eyes and resisted the temptation to sleep. Behind the grogginess lurked an anxiety about why the migraine had swooped when she was in such a good frame of mind. She had been excited about the way the job was developing, shaping a new phase of her life. She knew that a migraine could consume her when she was at the end of her tether about something. It's God tapping you on the shoulder and telling you to slow down, her grandmother would say, a message you'll keep getting till you pay attention.

She surveyed the disaster area that was her bedroom. The cocoon into which she had escaped for forty hours was a mess of discarded clothes, tangled sheets and blankets, water and medication on the bedside table, tissues and a wet towel on the floor. She raised herself from the bed, doubting the fiend behind her eyes had gone. Tentative steps made her woozy but she gave thanks for the mercy of a pain-free head. The medication relieved the intensity but the debilitating fatigue that descended on her afterwards brought a depressed mood if she allowed herself to sleep too much.

She pushed to the back of her mind her chattering worry about the headache and the reasons for its visitation. Pushed even further away her concern about being so tired she would be unable to function the next day. In the mirrored bedroom it was impossible to avoid her image. She expected the familiar gorgon-like figure with long curly hair standing out from her head but the face that met her was a stranger. She had forgotten again that she had cut her hair the day before leaving Glasgow. Makes you look ten years younger, the hairdresser had said. As Elizabeth splashed water on her face she thought she had gained those years back overnight. Her eyes were heavy and sunken in a face so pale her freckles took centre stage. Her mother always said she knew when Elizabeth was poorly because her normally pale green eyes would change colour to a murky dark greenish-brown.

Elizabeth knew that a tepid bath, fresh clothes and a tidy room would restore some sanity. She had decided to call Cass to see if she were free later in the day. Her own company held no attraction if it were to be shared with the unwelcome residual misery. She knew that the episode was over enough to venture into fresh air.

Holding onto the handrail, she stepped down the stairs and was hit with the glare from three walls of glass. She pressed the button to close the drapes, welcoming the resultant soft blue shade. So much for the idea of going out into Perth's May sunshine. Winter was a week away but the hot weather showed no signs of breaking. Perhaps she would just lie on the couch for a short while. Perhaps a short sleep.

****

'Well, well, so you finally got here,' chirped a friendly voice.

'Cass? I was going to call you today.' Elizabeth looked at her watch. She had slept for four hours. Her mouth felt dry and she shivered. Her eyes refused to stay open.

'Well, Perse, I got in first. I got back from Melbourne last night and crashed for twelve hours. Still jetlagged from the China trip.'

Elizabeth swallowed tears that betrayed her fragility. Only Cass called her Perse, a nickname given to a new migrant, first as teasing for her preposterous middle name then as a secret badge of affection.

'Sorry I haven't been here to welcome you home, but I've barely been here for the last six months. I'm home for a few weeks now so we can catch up. Are you free today?'

Elizabeth had expected Cass's easy assumption that Perth was home. 'I would like to see you today, Cass. I had a migraine yesterday so fresh air would be a good idea.'

'That's great but it needs to be this evening. It's the matriarch's eightieth birthday today. The whole dynasty will be there, worshipping the Great Penelope. You know how my mother loves an audience. You could come. She'd love to see you but I bet you feel like shit. I know what those headaches of yours are like. Unless they've improved in recent years?'

'No,' whispered Elizabeth, tears coming again, 'they haven't changed, although I've had fewer in the last ten years. I'd love to see you later. I'll pass on the birthday but give Penelope my love. Are you okay to meet around six?'

'Six is perfect, just the excuse I need to escape. I will have suffered enough reproving glances from the tribe by then. How about the Barrack Square café, just opposite your new mausoleum?'

Elizabeth opened the curtains on the east wall and found she could tolerate the light. She had forgotten the intensity of these southern skies. Perhaps by six o'clock the glare will be kinder. She had time for another sleep.

****

Elizabeth dispelled the last of her grogginess by walking along the river shore half an hour before her meeting with Cass. The early evening air was warm on her skin. She turned her face to the lazy breeze. She had never understood the effect of water on her wellbeing. All she knew was that she could rely on it to lift her mood.

She had felt better by late afternoon after lying on the couch, listening to Patty Griffin. She began reading Felicity Lui's gift. Conditions of Faith grabbed her from the first line, intriguing her with references to Glasgow, Paris and the palpable descriptions of an enervating Australian summer's day.

As she walked westwards towards the café, the sun dipping behind the Kings Park hill before her and the wide expanse of the Swan River on her left, a tribe of black swans nodded along beside her. She marvelled again at the transformation of the city's riverfront. The car parks and riverside roads she remembered were now gardens and walkways. In one of her emails Cass had described successive governments' redevelopment of the foreshore as Perth's _Petits Projets._ Fiddling at the edges, she called it. The bell tower, the expansions of railways, new bridges and sinking roads held no attraction for an environmental lawyer who sued corporations for what she called ecological rape and pillage. Elizabeth thought the shady plane trees, the boutique hotels and cafes brimming with laughing people and Institute building were a vast improvement on the spaces she remembered. She wondered what it was that annoyed Cass so much.

Elizabeth thought the Institute building's location well suited to its tenant. With the cafés, a sailing club and a public swimming pool, the elegant building's setting added to the cosmopolitan feel. Cass had called it a mausoleum but there was nothing death-like about it to Elizabeth. She intended to make the Institute as well known for its achievements as its building was for its architecture.

Cass was sitting at the edge of the café built on a steel and glass deck over the water. With a glass of champagne before her, she tried to keep her sleek black hair out of her eyes as she spoke into her mobile phone and scribbled in her notebook. Elizabeth kept her distance, letting Cass complete her call.

From their first day at university they had been inseparable for almost fourteen years till Elizabeth's unexplained departure. Their lives had taken different paths since then but Cass's intensity remained unchanged. She did everything at breakneck speed and often three things at a time. That energy and determination had built an international legal career and her own practice. Elizabeth watched till Cass snapped shut her phone and threw it on the table, downing her champagne in one gulp.

'Was that work or something else that just annoyed you so much?' asked Elizabeth.

'Perse! How are you?' Cass screeched, rising from her chair. She enveloped Elizabeth in a long, fierce embrace then held her at arms length. 'You look awful. What you need is champagne.'

'Well, you look great, Cass, if annoyed at someone.' Elizabeth pointed at the mobile phone. 'No champagne for me, thanks, and I don't need to be told how I look. You should see how it looks from my side. All I wanted was a quiet weekend. I guess I got one, but not the way I imagined.'

They sat down as Cass ordered drinks, more champagne for her and a ginger ale for Elizabeth. 'Perse, I'm not surprised. I bet you haven't stopped since you arrived. A new job's a huge change, never mind one on the other side of the world.'

' _You_ can talk. Just back from China, then Melbourne, off to your mother's party and now me. When did you last have a day off?'

'Can't remember. But you know me. I love it. On another point, _Elizabeth_ _Persephone Wallace_ , why didn't you let me know your arrival date? You could have stayed with Penelope. She's cross with me for not arranging that. She's got so much room in that house, she gets lost. Or you could have stayed at my new apartment. I'll show you when we finish here. Where are you staying, anyway? Some awful poky government-funded flat, I suppose.'

Cass calling her Elizabeth meant a serious chastisement. Cass's teasing aside, offence had been taken. While Perse was the nickname that Cass had used since they were students, Elizabeth was what Cass called her 'posh' name. When she was trying to get her friend's attention, Cass called her Queen Elizabeth, knowing how much the Scottish Elizabeth hated any reference to her Sassenach namesake. But Elizabeth was in no mood for one of Cass's advisories.

'Let's sit here for a bit. I'd forgotten how lovely Perth evenings are. I'd forgotten as well how hot the days can be. I don't remember May being like this. Where's winter?'

'Global warming, sweetheart. Hottest May on record. I love it.' Cass stretched her bare arms wide. She was wearing a fire engine red sundress with its matching jacket draped across the back of her chair.

The two friends sipped their drinks and gazed over the water abuzz with ferries returning from day trips, tired children and sunburnt tourists winding their way to city hotels.

'Penelope sends her love,' Cass said. 'She wants me to bring you for a visit asap. She says she'll put on a dinner party for you to make sure you meet up with the right people. She doesn't want you getting in with a bad crowd. As if you could avoid it in that job, hobnobbing with pollies all the time. Goodness, Perse, I never imagined you as a public servant.'

'Why not? Serving the public. Isn't that what you do? You pretend it isn't but I know you're a socialist at heart. Well, a socialist with money. Just because I've always been in business doesn't mean I can't serve the public.'

'Ha! Where have you been, old friend? You've always been such an idealist and when you told me you were doing that EU policy work I thought to myself, oh dear, she's going to think she can make a difference from inside the system.'

Elizabeth took no offence at her friend's outburst. 'It's so good to see you again, even hear you use my crazy nickname but don't ruin all my illusions in the first five minutes.' She gave Cass a gentle push in the shoulder. 'And no one calls me Perse these days. Let's not give any ammunition to the great Australian nicknames. I could end up being called Down Under.'

'I like Perse but it'll be our secret.' Cass tilted her head and gave Elizabeth her familiar cheeky grin. 'Mind you, given your modern high-tech job it's ironic to have a woman with an ancient name in charge.' Cass stood, grabbing her handbag and jacket. 'Anyway, try going through life with the name Cassiopeia. No one can even spell it. Thank God most people I deal with these days have never heard of Mama Cass.'

****

'Well, let's have it,' said Cass. 'Why have you taken this crazy job and why leave your beloved Glasgow? Last time we spoke you weren't going to take it. And what's cooking with Alexander the Great?'

They were on the balcony of Cass's South Perth apartment overlooking the river. The city buildings formed a wall of lights on the opposite shore. Both the sun and the breeze had disappeared

'I don't have much to add to what I said on the 'phone from London,' Elizabeth said. 'Roger Lui was persuasive. He convinced me I was a perfect fit. I can do some great things here, Cass. There's no need to be in London or New York these days to initiate global projects. I'm impressed with what Australia's trying to do in these knowledge spaces and I'd like to try to make a change at the level of government policy.'

'But how could you just up and leave Next Generation Publishing? You built it from nothing and now you just walk away?' Cass was curled up in a large armchair with her feet tucked underneath her. She had exchanged her dress for a pair of track pants and a tank top with the message Save the Sun Bear across her ample breasts. She had pulled back her shoulder length hair and clipped it at the back of her head.

'Once we went public,' Elizabeth said, 'I felt like a slave to the board with shareholders and market forces the sole topic of conversation. I thought I'd be able to stay on the board and continue to influence the company's direction. More fool me. They dropped some of our best authors.'

'What happened to the EU consulting work?'

'We produced a lot of advice that decision-makers ignored. To come here with power to actually do things with the Australian government was tempting.' Elizabeth gazed across the water as sounds of laughter floated towards them. She stretched her arms in front of her to release the familiar post-migraine stiffness. 'I'm grateful for this opportunity, Cass. It's what I want to do.'

Cass put up her hands in mock salute. 'Objection sustained. Cross-examination over but remember, if you need some help, please ask.'

Elizabeth refused again Cass's offer of champagne. 'What about you? What's going on with you?'

Cass filled her own glass. 'Well, setting up the firm with Helen has been hard work but now we have three international partners things are great. No way was Hawkins Morrison going to make me partner. I don't know why I hung around so long waiting for the boys to anoint me. I'd have withered to a prune before that lot would have watered my career. And I got tired of Sydney. It's like living in New York or London, just too big for me. So, here I am. Jet setter principal of Lawson Johnstone.'

Cass went into the apartment to organise their food. Elizabeth stood and leaned on the glass balustrade. The apartment occupied the top floor of the six-storey building. Situated at the edge of the foreshore gardens, the view across the grass and river was uninterrupted The balcony was large enough to house two armchairs with matching footstool, a table with six chairs and a stainless steel barbecue that looked to Elizabeth like a small kitchen, reminding her how amenable the Perth climate was to outdoor living.

Cass returned with plates of cheese. 'I bought this apartment last year when I decided to settle back here and I love it. It's my bolthole. I prefer living alone. Victor's apartment in Sydney and mine here give us two pads to choose from.'

'It's a beautiful location. I've been walking around the river a lot and it feels great. I've visited a lot of European cities in the last two years and there's a palpable peace here. Not to mention the space. London has become so crowded.' Elizabeth did not mention the bombings. She had been in London that day at a meeting at the Tate Modern. Ever since she had avoided the city that once she had loved almost as much as Glasgow.

'I practically live out here,' Cass said. 'I don't know which are more beautiful, mornings or evenings. I see more mornings since I have so many late meetings or cases to prepare. I take the ferry to work so it's easier to stay at the office than cart work home.'

Gazing at the city Elizabeth had decided to try to call home for the second time in her life, she hoped that she had made the right decision but, in any case, she had only a three-year contract.

'So, where will you live?' Cass asked.

'For the moment, in the Institute building. You see the gardens on each balcony? Well, the top one is attached to an apartment and a small conference suite. It's impressive.'

'So you're living in the royal suite? You could rename it the Queen Elizabeth rooms.' Cass bit into a strawberry. 'You know there was a great scandal about that apartment?'

'Barbara filled me in on that. She said it was only part of the story.'

'They call the ministers' wing The Bolthole because they disappear into it and the press can't follow. They won't even do doorstops there.'

'I suppose in some ways you can understand their concerns,' said Elizabeth, 'but for god's sake, this is Perth, not Baghdad.'

Cass stretched her legs and folded her arms above her head. 'So, what's the apartment like? Gold plated taps and chintz carpets, jarrah wood on every surface?'

'No, it's the height of minimal elegance. Not a splinter of jarrah or a chintzy bit to be seen. A bit spooky at night, though, with the empty building, a security guard and me. It'll be fine till I get a somewhere of my own.'

'Speaking of a place of your own, will this be a place for two? You haven't mentioned Alex.'

Elizabeth had been rehearsing what she would say to explain his absence. 'He's been elected to the Scottish Parliament so he has to spend his time there.'

Cass's creased forehead and narrowing blue eyes showed that she did not believe a word of it. 'There's an apartment for sale in this building. Why not buy that? Then you could take the ferry to work, given that you hate driving so much.'

Elizabeth looked at the ferry gliding across to the jetty. 'Cass, I don't mind driving that much. I have a car in Glasgow. I can imagine you on the ferry but I'd get seasick every time. Remember when your father took us sailing and I embarrassed myself appallingly by being so ill, and we never left the river.'

They laughed together then fell silent. Cass's adored father had died five years before.

'My able assistant, Barbara Smith, tells me she is your neighbour here.'

'Yes, she lives on the floor below. Her husband, Gerry, is a senior exec in newspaper publishing. They sold their house last year and moved in here. I haven't seen her for months. I thought she was going to retire.'

'Yes, she told me. The good news is she says she'll stay on.'

'She'll be helpful to you. She's a regular James Bond when it comes to finding out what's going on, and Gerry's a great source of info on the town's intrigues.'

'Well, I wasn't planning on needing James Bond, but if I do, it'll come in handy.'

Cass was not to be diverted. 'You never know. Barbara and Penelope got onto a huge kerfuffle last year when they were part of a group opposed to government trying to sell public land along the foreshore to a Hong Kong company. They lobbied anyone who stood still long enough. They succeeded but there were some strange threats. But you know Penelope.' Cass pointed to the heavens. 'She's got connections and she uses them.'

'Cass, you're supposed to be welcoming me and sharing my excitement about my new job. You've been in environmental law too long. Let's worry about the reds under the beds later. Weren't you going to offer me some dinner? I've hardly eaten since Friday.'

'Yes, okay.' As they stood Cass put her arms around Elizabeth. In her bare feet she fitted under Elizabeth's arms. 'I'm thrilled to have you here,' Cass said. 'I just want you to go into this with your eyes open. There's something weird about that organisation. The government says WA can be this great world centre in the global information economy,' Cass held up her fingers as inverted commas, 'but there's too much secrecy about that Institute.'

Elizabeth turned Cass around and gave her a push into the apartment.

'Let's talk about your work over dinner. We've done enough analysis of mine. Who's in your sights these days? Do you remember when you argued with your mother, trying to convince her that Colombian drug cartels were behind the wine industry?'

'I think I argued the case brilliantly for a sixteen-year old.' Cass closed the balcony doors. 'Colombia's not the only country with powerful families that influence government. Welcome home.'

CHAPTER FIVE

'Elizabeth, welcome to our home. Please come in.'

Felicity Preston Lui stood at the top of the steps leading to her front door as the taxi drew up. The entrance to the house was screened by trees planted in the centre of a short circular driveway behind high walls and security gates. Elizabeth had half-expected an armed guard to block their way as the taxi driver announced her to the intercom.

'Welcome to Fort Knox,' he had said as they were buzzed through the steel gates. 'Talk about over the top. Geez, who do these people think they are?'

When Elizabeth lived in Perth in the '70s and '80s her visits to the wealthy suburbs had been limited to the Lawsons' home. The once wide front gardens had been replaced by pristine green verges, limestone walls and grilled gates.

Felicity was dressed in a long black skirt and an emerald silk tunic embroidered with silver and crystal butterflies from shoulder to hip. In her ears were matching diamond and emerald drops shown off to perfection against her long neck below blonde hair piled high on her head. As they crossed the hall their high-heeled sandals clicked on the marble floor. Felicity paused to show two women where to position enormous bowls of yellow roses and ileums.

'I'm so pleased you accepted Roger's offer,' she said as she opened a door at the end of a narrow corridor. 'I just knew you were the right person. God knows we need a few more women at the top in government. They're practically invisible and getting less visible every day.'

Elizabeth nodded, hoping her expression was appreciative enough when in reality she was fed up with the repetitive litany of 'so good a woman got the job.'

Felicity led Elizabeth into a large room furnished with white leather sofas and floor to ceiling bookshelves. A champagne bucket and glasses sat on the sideboard amidst a sea of silver-framed family photographs.

'I know you've come to meet with Jeremy and Roger and I won't keep you long but I thought we could have our own celebration. This is WA's finest champagne.' She poured the wine without waiting for Elizabeth to agree and handed her a glass. 'Here's to your success.' Felicity toasted her. 'Please, sit for a moment.'

They sat in two armchairs next to each other, facing an illuminated walled garden. The wide glass doors were open to the unseasonably warm June evening, revealing a courtyard of ferns and water falling over a large granite orb. Two blue and white Chinese urns stood in the corners surrounded by bamboo.

'Tell me what it's been like so far,' Felicity said. 'Slain any dragons? Have you found somewhere to live? Do you think Perth has changed much since you were here?'

Elizabeth laughed. 'Which question should I answer first? It's hard to believe it's only been ten weeks. It feels like a lifetime since I left rainy London. So many people, so much paperwork, so little time. I've seen no dragons, just an overgrown jungle of paper.' She chose not to mention she had glimpsed some crocodiles but was yet to determine the size of the swamp.

'Oh, yes, they'll be good at that,' said Felicity. 'When Roger was first made chairman I swear they needed a truck to deliver the bumph they said he should read.' With an imperious wave of her hand, a large emerald ring caught the light. 'Where do you think you'll live in Perth? There's a house for sale two streets away from here. I could introduce you to the owner.'

Elizabeth expected Felicity's directness. At dinner with the Luis in London Roger Lui's oriental reticence receded in the face of his wife's curiosity. After her lengthy interview with the chairman she had wondered how much of herself she had been able to communicate, so clinical and targeted was his questioning. Their dinner conversation had revealed a different Roger Lui, one teased to life by his wife's forthrightness. She told Elizabeth stories of their life in Hong Kong, her Scottish ancestry and their life in Australia. Once the two women's shared love of the novel was revealed, her husband spoke less and less, content to indulge his companions.

Elizabeth scanned the room, noticing laden bookshelves that occupied the walls on her left and right, the vases of roses on the sideboard and the piles of new hardback novels on the coffee table. 'This is a beautiful room,' she said. 'It must be heaven after a busy day.'

'Yes, it's my retreat. No children, Roger or grandchildren allowed. Water, green things and books, that's all I need and I'm in heaven. This is my secret garden. Just like the book.'

'I loved that book as a child.' Elizabeth remembered her own secret garden under a copse of silver birch trees at the end of the loch. Her grandmother's favourite place, shared with a favourite grandchild. Grandma could never have imagined a room like this, Elizabeth thought, but then she would have no need for it. The natural world was her home.

'Thank you so much for the flowers and the book,' Elizabeth said, squinting at the rows of books. She itched to explore Felicity's collection. There were first editions of Jane Austen, George Eliot and Virginia Woolf similar to those in her own collection.

'I love choosing books for other people,' Felicity said, 'but I wasn't sure what to choose for you. Although we had great conversations in London, I haven't got to the essence of you yet so, I thought, I'll just give her one of my favourites. Alex Miller is brilliant, and not appreciated internationally as much as he should be. Have you started it?'

Before Elizabeth thought to explain she had not read past fifty pages but already she admired Emily Stanton's determination to live her own life, Felicity looked at her watch. 'Jeremy and Roger are closeted in the study so I'd better take you up. Jeremy's an old friend of ours. He's clever so you'll get on, I'm sure. He doesn't like stupid people, but the problem is he thinks most people are stupid.'

'This is our first meeting.'

'Yes, I know. It's ridiculous. Roger's not impressed. Still, they're all the same. Winter recess and they're all off to Europe for important business like Lords and Wimbledon. Just don't put up with any nonsense from him.'

As she opened the door for Elizabeth, Felicity put her fingers to her lips in mock contrition. 'Oh dear, I don't suppose I should say such things about an esteemed Minister of the Crown.'

They walked towards the stairs near the front entrance. Caterers were buzzing around the rooms beyond the hallway. 'We've invited lots of interesting people to meet you. I've told them you know all the famous writers but be prepared. They'll want to talk politics.'

Elizabeth found herself envying Felicity's playful confidence. She was sure this was a woman who got what she wanted while making the giver feel glad to meet any demand. Felicity reminded her of Cass, the way they relished each moment. Her Aunt Fionn was like that. Elizabeth saw herself as a pale shadow of their ebullience. At the new Tate Gallery the day after their dinner at the Dorchester, Felicity's excitement at a painter's strange work had been matched by her enthusiasm for the devonshire tea at the Gallery café. Everything delighted her.

'There, there, you two, Elizabeth doesn't have time to play just now,' Felicity said, as she gathered up two Burmese cats. 'These are our children now everyone has flown the coop,' she said. 'This is Wong and this is Tau.' The two cats draped their purring seal-brown bodies over Felicity's shoulders.

Barbara had said Felicity had been a model and Elizabeth could believe it. With her porcelain skin untouched by sun or wrinkles she had a classical beauty. As she caressed the cats her large blue eyes closed in what Elizabeth thought was a picture of unselfconscious sensuous beauty.

Hugging her two charges, oblivious to the claws grasping her beaded shoulders, Felicity showed Elizabeth upstairs to Roger Lui's study, waved her in and then glided towards the stairs. The cats examined Elizabeth from their lofty position, their serene amber eyes the perfect adornment to their elegant mistress, glittering butterflies trapped in their clenched paws.

****

Elizabeth entered the time warp that was Roger Lui's study. She blinked in the gloomy smoky atmosphere, a sudden contrast to the party-ready brightness of the rest of the house. Redolent of a 19th century scholar's retreat, the room contained three chesterfields ranged before a marble fireplace surrounded by bookshelves. Roger Lui and a grey-haired man she recognised as Jeremy Hayes sat opposite each other, smoking cigars. Elizabeth suppressed a giggle as she thought of Dr Watson and Sherlock Holmes musing over their latest criminal puzzle. They were so intent on their conversation it took a few seconds for them to notice the door had opened, letting in light with their expected guest.

'So glad you could join us, Elizabeth,' said Roger, putting his cigar and whisky glass on the table and rising to meet her. 'We've been arguing over the relative merits of our fast bowlers' performances so you've saved us from a rather futile conversation since we're going to lose the Test. In any case, Jeremy and I never agree on cricket.'

Elizabeth stepped onto a deep-pile Persian carpet.

'Let me introduce you to the Honourable Jeremy Hayes, Minister for Education and Information Services, and my good friend.'

Hayes unwound his long body from the couch, revealing almost seven feet of an athlete's physique. Placing his cigar in the same hand as his whisky glass, he extended his long arm shook Elizabeth's hand with a gentle firmness. Roger guided her to the couch opposite Hayes and facing the fireplace. Hayes folded himself again into the chesterfield that for any one else would be roomy. He stretched his legs before the hearth.

'Roger has told me a great deal about you, Dr Wallace,' he said. 'I trust his judgement so I'm sure we'll get along fine.' The minister was dressed in a rumpled white shirt with a red tie while his trousers were in need of pressing. His dishevelled appearance contrasted with Roger Lui's smooth white collarless shirt and trousers, his bare feet in white leather sandals.

'I'm pleased we could have this informal chat in Roger's lair,' Hayes said. 'We've got our job cut out for us with the Institute. The Opposition is on my case about a dozen things so we need you to hit the ground running.' He drew on his cigar and sighed through the smoke.

'I'm delighted to be here, Minister,' Elizabeth said. 'I've met the board and I'm confident we'll develop a good relationship. The senior management team is a talented group. I've got a few ideas I'd like to explore with them.'

'Good, good, good. It won't be easy, you know.' Hayes leaned towards her, oblivious to his cigar ash dropping to the rug. 'I hope Roger's not pulled any punches about what we've been through. Far too much media focus. I wonder sometimes why we ever agreed to get into bed with these multinationals. They're always on my doorstep wanting some regulation removed and complaining to the press when I don't do it.'

Barbara had briefed Elizabeth about this former basketball champion and electronics entrepreneur who amazed Perth by entering politics. He could not sit still, clinking the ice in his glass and crossing and uncrossing his legs.

'I've had some briefing on the private partnerships but my main issue at the moment appears to be renegotiating a set of software contracts,' Elizabeth said. She wondered how much of the Vision situation had filtered through to the minister's office.

'Software contracts, is it? That'll be that Robinson bloke. Right royal pain in the arse, he is, with an emphasis on the royal,' Hayes snorted.

Elizabeth noticed Roger Lui's slight frown but the minister was oblivious. 'Couldn't captain a team if his life depended on it. Don't know why the board agreed to him standing in temporarily. Mate of Elliott Prince's, I suppose. They both get up my nose. You'll have to get rid of him.'

Elizabeth refrained from asking whether he meant the Deputy Chairman or the director.

'Now, Jeremy, you know you can't get involved in management decisions,' soothed Roger Lui. 'We're not going to tell Dr Wallace how to run her own show. You'll put her off completely and we haven't even finished our first drink.' He laughed but looked quite uneasy.

'Yes, yes, yes, Roger, but it'd be easier if some players left the field. Let me explain, Dr Wallace. May I call you Elizabeth?'

Elizabeth returned Hayes's smile, nodding to him to proceed.

'And I'm Jeremy. Can't stand all this minister and honourable stuff. You'd think we were pommy lords. I get a bit carried away over the Institute. What a bureaucratic saga it's been trying to get the right MD. I suppose we should have appointed someone from the beginning but I wanted to get the cross- government agreements sorted out first. Then the whole thing got confused when the central bureaucrats started their departmental restructuring. I told the Premier all this ideology about a smaller number of departments being more efficient is just claptrap.' He pushed himself from the couch and refilled his glass from Roger's sideboard. He remained standing in front of the fireplace. 'Anyway, I digress. The original concept of the Institute was to be a small policy, research and development operation with a national and international focus. One of those slash and burn committees convinced the Premier that it would be a good idea to add responsibilities for all the libraries, archives, museum and god knows what. That's why we have this crazy name. I wanted to call it The Knowledge Institute but got rolled on that. Then I had a devil of a time fighting the information services integration. Well, as you can see, I lost that one too.'

'Well, you are the minister now,' said Roger, 'and creating the Institute, with whatever name, was quite a feat.'

'Yes,' grinned Hayes, 'and I'm not letting it go. No one appreciates what we're trying to achieve here. You know, Elizabeth, too many Australian ideas have been lost and too many Australians are going overseas. We need to get them back as well as keep the young ones here. I'm blue in the face talking and writing about it.'

Elizabeth had read some of Hayes's discussion papers. In Britain, he was respected as a government leader committed to delivering the benefits of a global information society to all its citizens. She suspected Whitehall had adopted a lot of his ideas. Josephine had told her he had been treated in Australia with an amused deprecation similar to that meted out to the talented Barry Jones while being lauded overseas. When Elizabeth read Hayes's paper to the 2007 EU Information Society meeting she found herself agreeing with what he proposed.

'We're in danger of having a camel on our hands,' Hayes continued. 'So much for my vision of a thoroughbred. I won't bore you with the details of every professional association, industry group or local company that thinks the Institute should be doing things differently.'

'Now, we do have a lot of support, Jeremy,' said Roger. 'You're painting an unduly pessimistic picture.'

Hayes sat down again and drained his glass. 'Roger's giving me his evil eye. He's worried about me discouraging you.'

'I'm not so easily deterred,' Elizabeth said. 'I've been around a few EU projects. We should be grateful your bureaucrats came up with a camel. I've seen beasts so strange they'd make Star Wars' aliens look normal. Anyway, I have fond memories of riding a placid and amenable camel on Cable Beach so if a camel is all we have to deal with we'll be fine.'

Something about Hayes's energy and frustration touched Elizabeth. He was too open, too WYSIWYG for a politician. 'I'd much rather you shared your concerns with me,' she said. 'I appreciate frankness. I'm delighted to have the job but I can't do it without you and Roger's guidance. So, tell me a bit more, warts and all. Or should I say humps and all?'

The three laughed and the atmosphere eased as Roger offered a benevolent smile to his two guests.

Jeremy Hayes loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. 'Good, good, good. I can see you are a realist. Let me tell you about the positives as I see them or Roger's going to get hot under the collar. Then I'll return to the warts.'

Elizabeth listened as Hayes outlined his vision for the Institute. Roger need not have worried about her disappointment. On the contrary. She was astonished at the convergence of her hopes and Hayes's expectations. Whether from the effect of the whisky or relief that she supported him, Hayes launched into a soliloquy on his dreams for the Institute. Like most Western Australians, he saw the biggest hurdle as the Commonwealth government.

'They try to control what we do on the basis of the funding they provide,' said Hayes, 'which is a mere 30%. They bleat endlessly about accountability. The WA government built the building and purchased all the equipment so those are state assets. A lot of my colleagues see the federal dollars as a grant rather than a funding partnership. They think I'm getting too close to Canberra. Some of them still want to secede although this time round we're talking about seceding from a republic before it's been established. Welcome back to Western Australia, Elizabeth. Some things haven't changed.'

****

The next two hours were a whirlwind of introductions. Felicity shepherded Elizabeth through the expansive ground floor spaces of the Lui mansion, pausing long enough with each person to cement face and name in Elizabeth's consciousness. The indoor spaces flowed into the outdoor patios, glass doors folded back, letting in winter air that reminded Elizabeth of Scottish summer evenings. The winter weather patterns were delayed yet again.

Fashionably dressed people greeted Felicity with familiar affection and much kissing of cheeks. Amidst the buzz of laughter and animated conversation, the house and guests exuded the understated elegance that comes with great wealth. Although not a fashion tragic, Elizabeth recognised dresses whose simplicity demanded fierce price tags.

The contrast between Roger's study and the ground floor continued to bemuse Elizabeth. She surmised Felicity's taste reigned supreme. White leather sofas and glass tables, subtle lighting and flower arrangements were reflected in mirrored walls. Patios and gardens beyond the open doors repeated the sandstone shades of the interior. Colour came from flowers and paintings; paintings that Elizabeth suspected would never cross the threshold of Roger's den. Abstract, modern works that needed vast walls to be appreciated provided slashes of red, fuchsia, yellow and green. Elizabeth thought the house had a Scandinavian feel, remembering her recent visit to a friend's home on Lake Mälaren. She noticed with some discomfort that her cultural cringe was still intact. Why should she find the European flavour of the house so unexpected? It was a long time since she lived in Perth, she told herself, so perhaps she should leave such baggage behind.

Elizabeth's feet were aching, the penalty for two hours standing in fashionable but foolish high-heeled shoes on marble floors. Felicity paused in front of two women seated in an alcove created by stairs and bookshelves. Ngaire French was in animated conversation with an older woman whose leg was in a plaster cast.

'Elizabeth, let me introduce you to my fellow conspirators, Beverley Farrington and Ngaire French,' Felicity said. 'You've met Ngaire already, of course. Beverley is the major shareholder and former Chairperson of Farrington Industries. They are both on the Preston Lui Foundation Board and we three have a wonderful time deciding how we should spend the money.'

Felicity had introduced all her guests with charming warmth but the affection she showed in leaning down to embrace Beverley Farrington suggested a deeper connection. Ngaire rose from her chair and kissed Elizabeth on both cheeks. Elizabeth sank into the waiting armchair.

'I wager you two have been doing the room for hours,' said Ngaire. 'Elizabeth can't need to meet any more new people tonight, so let's have some champagne and talk about Karri.' Felicity agreed, sitting next to Elizabeth and indicating to her caterer to bring drinks and food for her guests, .

'Forgive me for not rising,' Beverley Farrington said. 'As you can see I've been in the wars. All my own stupid fault. Fell over my dog.'

She was a striking figure, with silver bobbed hair. A flowing aquamarine silk dress draped her ample figure and matched the colour of her laughing eyes. Elizabeth suspected she was in her seventies at least.

'I think Franz knows my cast has something to do with him. He sits on my knee and growls at it. He must think it's a big bone which it is, I suppose, and broken in two places.'

Ngaire French looked as bohemian as she had at the board meeting with a scarlet beaded shawl around her shoulders as a concession to the party spirit. Elizabeth assumed Ngaire had entered the Luis' circle through the Institute board connection because she was no western suburbs matron.

'Why don't you tell Elizabeth about Karri, Madame President?' Felicity said, kicking off her sandals and tucking her feet underneath her.

'Love to, and Ngaire can explain about the Festival. That's what we've been discussing but first, Elizabeth, a warm welcome to you. Roger is to be greatly applauded for appointing a woman who has published good literature. And I'll wager you have read a great deal.'

Beverley accepted a plate of cheese and fruit from Felicity and passed it to Ngaire. 'As Felicity mentioned, I am President of what we call Karri. That's short for the Karri Writers' and Readers' Centre. We don't have a physical centre yet since we work out of the Preston Lui Foundation offices. The Foundation funds most of our work although we do have other sponsors.'

'Yes, we do,' Ngaire interrupted, 'and Farrington Industries is a generous one.'

'Oh, it's nothing.' Beverley dismissed the comments with a wave of ring-laden hands. 'It's my way of making sure I get to be President. I love books and I love being bossy so I get to do both. I'd become an old grump since I stepped down from the company. I tried to explain to my children that being a full-time grandmother was never on my agenda. Felicity rescued me.'

Elizabeth could not imagine anyone describing this bubbly woman as grumpy. 'The writers of Australia must be glad to have someone who is so committed to them,' Elizabeth said. 'Tell me about your project.'

Beverley, Ngaire and Felicity took turns describing their labour of love. They drew Elizabeth into their circle with their intelligence and enthusiasm, at times finishing each other's sentences. Felicity explained that the Preston Lui Foundation was a non-profit philanthropic organisation that funded health research. Roger's father and two brothers had died early from heart disease so they focused on raising cardiac research funding.

'I was drawn first to help with children's health but, coward that I am, I just couldn't cope with the illness or abuse. I was horrified to discover such problems in Perth. I just didn't expect it here.'

Ngaire took up the story. 'After Roger was appointed to the chairmanship of the Institute board he and Felicity hosted a dinner for some friends who might help the Institute. We got talking about how Felicity wanted the Foundation to be involved in something different but she was not sure what. We talked for hours. Everyone left, Roger went to bed and we kept talking. We talked about travel, books, ideas, women's roles, all sorts of things.'

'Yes, we did. I hadn't enjoyed myself so much in years,' laughed Beverley. 'To think I almost didn't come that night. Ngaire couldn't resist exploring the bookshelves. She said that if that astounding collection of novels was Felicity's there was an answer. We needed the coffee after that because we spoke till three in the morning about novels, literature and reading in general.'

'And editing and publishing,' continued Ngaire. 'All the great loves of my life. Then we made the connection to the Foundation and agreed to think about a project. Felicity and Roger were heading off overseas for a month so we got together later and cooked up Karri.'

'Cooking is the word,' said Felicity. 'We've got so many ingredients and we keep adding new ones. Our cake is rather large and we're not sure how to bake it because we might find we've bitten off more than we can chew, if you don't mind me exhausting my metaphor.'

Before Elizabeth could comment, Beverley spoke. 'I suppose we should have let you get a bit more settled but let me tell you about Perth. You'll get wined, dined and welcomed, invited onto a dozen boring committees and government working parties. The blokes know they have to have women on their groups. Gender balance they call it. I call it tokenism. Just say no to them all and yes to us and you'll have lots more fun.'

Ngaire patted Beverley's knee. 'There speaks a self-made woman. Don't feel pressured, Elizabeth. Well, do, perhaps, because as you can see we're keen on this. Why not come to our winter readers' festival in July and see what you think?'

'That's a great idea, Ngaire,' said Felicity. 'Stay with us at our Margaret River cottage and go to some of the sessions. The dinner is always great fun. You're bound to know some of the international writers.'

'Well, I must say your enthusiasm is infectious,' said Elizabeth. 'Anything that gets people reading has my support. Can I talk to you some more in a few weeks?'

'Of course,' said Beverley. 'Sorry, we've got a bit carried away. You haven't got a word in sideways. Of course you must find out more. For all we know, you're glad to leave publishing behind you and don't want to know about all this.'

Before Elizabeth could assure them her lifelong interest in books would be unlikely to wane, Roger Lui was at her elbow. 'Jeremy is leaving us now. I think we should farewell him together. Shall we?'

Elizabeth smiled at the bookish trio and followed the chairman through the house to the patio. She felt like a handmaiden as she heard Beverley's whisper. 'Yes, Jeremy needs his worshipping entourage at all times.'

****

The Honourable Jeremy Hayes towered over the group gathered around him. Next to him a back clothed in a well-cut jacket looked familiar to Elizabeth. Her body knew who it was before her mind. With rising nausea she knew this was John Fredericks, her ex-husband. There was no way to avoid the encounter as Roger strode towards the group. The Luis' Peppermint Grove mansion was the last place she would have expected to find the globetrotting photojournalist who she remembered preferred denim to Italian cloth.

'Must be going, Roger,' said Hayes. 'No need to see me out. I should be somewhere else by now but I bumped into Giovanni here. Can't imagine how I missed seeing him earlier and we needed to discuss the education launch.' He slapped John on the back. 'Elizabeth, let me introduce you to this reprobate.

Giovanni Federico, my occasional media manager. He refuses to join my staff, insists on keeping his independence. Giovanni, meet Dr Elizabeth Wallace, tonight's guest of honour.'

So Mama won in the end, thought Elizabeth. _Giovanni Federico_. Before she could reply he responded.

'Actually, Jeremy, we do know each other although we've not spoken for years. Congratulations on achieving the dizzy heights of the public sector, Lizzie.'

He leaned over as if to kiss her cheek but she drew back while extending her hand, bristling at the use of his old term of endearment. Jeremy Hayes looked puzzled but uttered some farewell platitudes and walked off with his host. The group dissolved, leaving John and Elizabeth alone.

'Giovanni Federico? And media manager to a mainstream politician? Whatever happened to the left-wing Australian nationalist called John Fredericks?' Elizabeth heard the bitterness in her voice.

Giovanni sipped his wine, staring at Elizabeth as if to refresh his memory of her face. 'He's still here. He got smart. We're on our way to being a republic now, you know and, as Jeremy said, although I help him with media management, I'm freelance. We've all gotten older and maybe a bit wiser.' He looked her up and down. 'Looks like you've well and truly joined the establishment. Government job and cocktails with the rich and famous. Not too bad for a pair of working class migrants, eh, Lizzie?'

'Don't call me that.'

He laughed at her, the same old mocking tone. Elizabeth sighed. Why did she have to deal with him here? The John Fredericks she knew was obsessed with his photography and documentaries on the world's trouble spots, presenting the case for the downtrodden and dispossessed in ways that made the powers-that-be wary of him. What transformed him into this designer suit clad figure, leaning against a marble column in a millionaire's home?

'Working with government ministers on their media image?' she asked. 'Is that helping the disenfranchised masses? I think that's the right phrase from your last book.'

'So you've read my books. Glad you haven't forgotten me completely.' He sipped his beer. He was slimmer than she remembered, looked as if he worked out. His jet-black hair showed no sign of grey. 'Jeremy's a good bloke,' he said. 'He's a fanatic about your Institute. You're lucky to have such support. Most ministers I know swap from portfolio to portfolio, becoming instant experts on the bleeding obvious. He would have had a big hand in selecting you although Roger Lui's getting all the credit.'

'I met him for the first time tonight,' said Elizabeth. 'The chairman spoke of him when he interviewed me in London but I can't see how Hayes would have known any more about me than Roger Lui did.'

He lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke upwards. 'I might have put in a plug for you.'

Elizabeth thought his smile too smug. She looked out over the swimming pool area to the river beyond and concentrated on a brightly lit yacht making its way upstream. After years of putting her marriage to John Fredericks behind her, burying the pain and rejection, was she expected to haul over the coals of their relationship at a cocktail party?

'Your mother would have been proud of you,' he said. 'She used to ask me how you were when I visited her. She missed you.'

'I'm sure your company made up for it.'

She knew her mother had stayed close to him. Try as she could to be reasonable it had been her mother's ongoing friendship with John and his mother that had soured their relationship till the end. Elizabeth was in Glasgow and her brother lived in Melbourne so it was churlish to begrudge her mother's friendships. She had wished her mother had assuaged her loneliness with different people, people who did not blame Elizabeth for the death of her marriage.

'So how do you feel about being back in the old town?' he asked. 'Won't working for the government be a bit of a comedown?'

'Your friend Jeremy Hayes would be upset to hear you think his Institute is less important than an insignificant Scottish publishing company.'

A petite voluptuous woman walked towards them, leaned into Giovanni who put his arm around her shoulders. Dressed in a figure-hugging red silk cocktail dress, she stretched to kiss his cheek, flicking wayward strands of her long black hair behind her ears with fingernails painted to match her dress. 'Darling, I've just escaped the dreaded Farrington juggernaut,' she said. 'I'm going to check on the children, talk to Felicity about a couple of things then I think we should be going.'

Well, thought Elizabeth, he has remade himself. New name, new wife and new children by the sound of it, and they would have to be young because his wife looked young enough to be his daughter. It seemed John Fredericks was well and truly buried. She would be happy for it to stay that way.

'Lizzie – sorry, Elizabeth,' he said. 'This gorgeous creature who has forgotten her manners is my wife Gabriella. Gabbie, this is Dr Elizabeth Wallace, the famous new managing director of Triple I and the guest of honour here this evening.'

Gabriella greeted Elizabeth with a white-toothed smile. She appeared comfortable in her skin, at home in the Lui circle and not at all fazed to encounter her husband's ex-wife.

Elizabeth shivered as he looked at his wife with the same devotion Elizabeth once cherished. She needed to find a reason to feel happy for him. Keep the John box locked. Focus on Gabriella and the new Giovanni.

'Sorry, sorry, too much rushing,' Gabriella chirped. 'It's lovely to meet you. I've heard so much about you from Giovanni. He's kept up with your career, you know.'

Oh, yes, I'll bet, thought Elizabeth. Like keeping an eye on a former enemy after a war. 'Pleased to meet you,' she said, extending her hand. 'I met Beverley Farrington earlier and we talked about the Karri Writers' Festival. Are you helping them with that?'

'Oh, no, I'm not a book reader. No time, what with the firm and the children and Giovanni being away so much,' Gabriella poked her husband in the ribs. 'Beverley heads up the Preston Lui Foundation's promotional committee. I'm helping with the publicity for a fundraising dinner for cardiac research. You must come. Anyone who's anyone will be there. Good for networking in your new position.'

Gabriella sparkled with the gushing enthusiasm and immediate intimacy that Elizabeth expected from PR people but it was infectious, nevertheless. 'Oh, and I'm sorry. I haven't congratulated you on your appointment. People are impressed you'd leave London and Europe for little old Perth. If you need some media management, give me a call.'

Elizabeth wondered why people kept asking her why she would leave London for Perth. Were there rumours about her reasons for accepting the job? She had noticed Perth's penchant for gossip, how anyone new had to be understood and pigeonholed as soon as possible. She hated the prurient interest in her appointment, likening it to an insect pinned in a display case.

'Well, thank you, but I don't think of Perth as little,' she said to Gabriella. 'There are many cities in Europe much smaller although not as isolated.' She turned her head to the river. 'I'd forgotten how beautiful it is.'

'Let me leave you two to catch up. I know you haven't spoken in years so you must have lots to talk about. I have to check something with Felicity, and then we _must_ go.' Gabriella disappeared with a smiling nod to Elizabeth and another kiss for Giovanni who hugged her close.

'Tell me about your children,' Elizabeth wanted to pre-empt any further questions about herself.

'We have two girls. Octavia who is six and Livia who is two. Both are bright and beautiful, just like their mother. I am dominated by women but then you always thought I was, especially when it came to my mother.'

Not going there, thought Elizabeth. Stick to the girls. 'Exotic names. You've gone back to being Italian with your birth name, you've married an Italian and given your children imperial names. Emperor in your own household.' She tried to sound light-hearted and casual but she had never imagined him as anything but the lonely, international photojournalist that stared at her from book-jackets. His mother must be ecstatic, she thought. Italian heritage grasped and two grandchildren, although she's bound to have preferred sons. Far better than life with a childless Scottish immigrant.

'Gabriella's not Italian, by the way.' He accepted a glass of red wine from a passing waiter. 'She's fiercely proud of being an Aussie. Born and bred in Melbourne. Her parents emigrated from Sicily around the same time as mine.'

'So how did you meet?'

'We crashed into each other while looking upwards and I fell over and broke my wrist, so Gabbie says our union was blessed since we were gazing heavenward.' He paused as if reliving the memory. 'The reality is a bit more prosaic. After years of covering conflicts and having nowhere to call home, my mother suggested I go to Italy and stay with her sister in Florence. You know how I hated having the Italian stuff rammed down my throat all the time, but I'd been ill with gastric parasites that wouldn't clear up after Angola. My aunt and her family were wonderful and I began to get interested in Italian architecture. Do you remember how I always wanted to do architecture at uni but my grades weren't good enough?'

Elizabeth nodded, accepting against her better judgment a glass of red wine proffered by another hovering waiter. What she remembered about university was John's extracurricular activities. Wine, women and song in reverse order as he was a talented musician and played lead guitar in a blues band.

'I decided I didn't want to wander all over Europe from the base in Florence which had been my intention. I was so tired all the time so I photographed the hill towns around Florence as a gift to my mother for her sixtieth birthday. I started to love Italy through the camera.'

'That was a beautiful book. Wistful, somehow, not like a foreigner's view at all.'

'Oh, you read it then? I always wondered whether your mother sent it to you as I asked. I thought dedicating it to you might make you write to me. I gave up after you didn't. I got the message but by then I had met Gabbie and my life changed.'

He looked at Elizabeth with the same puzzled expression he had when she told him she was leaving. Could he still not understand after all these years?

'This explains why you were in Italy but not how you met Gabriella,' she persisted, ignoring his silent questions.

'Oh, yes, well. I kept returning to San Giminiano. Those towers. I was walking backwards trying to get exactly the right angle and Gabriella was doing the same thing and we both lost our balance. She was completing a fine arts degree at the university in Florence and was drawing the opposite tower. The rest is history.'

'So what are you doing back in Perth if you've become so Italian, even changing your name?'

'I'm not Italian. I'm Aussie through and through but I think it's time I acknowledge who I am. Gabriella's the same. Her parents have remained as Italian as mine. She was overseas on a scholarship for a year and it was just natural we would come back here. We travelled for a few years but knew we would return once we were pregnant.'

The images he presented of their perfect life with two tiny princessas made Elizabeth change the subject. 'Since you seem to be so close to Hayes what's the general view of the Institute? What's the good oil, as Aussies say?'

'Glad to see you haven't forgotten the language even if you do sound like a Pom. Look, I'm not as close to government as my relationship with Jeremy would suggest. I work for the Opposition leader too. The state government has a thin majority. Jeremy gets worried that the Institute doesn't get enough attention. It's hardly the most important issue facing the government. He'll expect you to prove quickly that the Institute is worth having.'

'Worth having? I've been told it's a towering example of federal-state-local government and private sector-university partnerships.'

'You've put your finger on it. Too many players. Look, I'm sure no one's pulling the wool over your eyes. There's a lot of pressure on Hayes and Lui to deliver.'

'So tell me a bit more about Hayes, then. What do you think he wants to achieve?'

'He's a genius but he's a funny bloke. He gets frustrated with the bureaucracy and having to consult with so many people. He should have stayed in industry but he's driven by a need to make a difference, leave some kind of a legacy. He made his millions, entered politics late and he's a man with a mission.'

'The John Fredericks I knew would have seen the idea of serving the community as a laudable goal. You sound cynical, Giovanni.'

'It's just that most things take longer than he wants,' he responded, ignoring or not hearing her barb. 'Things get blocked by some unintelligent bureaucrat at every stage, all under the guise of ensuring accountability. Even my media releases, approved by Jeremy, end up getting murdered by so-called government media specialists, some of whom I know are just hacks.'

John never liked not getting his own way, thought Elizabeth. Sounds like he and Jeremy Hayes are good company for each other. 'You still haven't told me what he wants to achieve.'

'Hard to say. He was a major player in the republic debate and he was fairly confident that he'd win the ballot to lead the party and be Premier for the 2004 election but the party wouldn't have him. He had argued long and hard that a republican federation should have nationally focused institutions in each capital city, reduce the domination of Canberra. That's always a popular stance here, as I'm sure you remember. When a good friend of his became the new Minister for Education, he persuaded him to fund the Institute. If he couldn't be Premier, then at least he got second prize. He believes in the information age's benefits being made available to all. His words, not mine.'

'Why is that so hard to believe in?'

'Try visiting the Palestinian refugee camps or the remote villages in China. They don't have electricity far less the bloody Internet.'

'Well, it's a reasonable goal for some countries. How does he see us achieving it?'

'You're asking a lot of questions.'

'And you don't have the answers.'

'I'm not sure he knows. He needs you to tell him.' Giovanni drained his glass and set it on the table next to him. The patio was now empty save for them. 'He's a self-made man, no silver-tail. He's a wealthy bloke but still feels deeply the gaps between indigenous people and the rest of us. He was a major donor to literacy programs and then took a serious interest in policy. He astonished us when he sought pre-selection and then went straight to the front bench when he was elected. Money always counts, doesn't it?'

His belly laugh triggered memories of their long youthful arguments on politics. That was safe ground for them. They had marched against the Vietnam War, supported the Democrats to _keep the bastards honest_ and railed against the dismissal of the Whitlam government.

'So what is the connection between Roger Lui and Hayes?'

Giovanni ignored her question. He was watching Gabriella embracing Roger Lui at the top of the stairs. 'There's Gabby. I must go. I'm flying to Paris tomorrow to cover the umpteenth attempt to sort out war criminals from the Bosnian conflict. Good luck with the job, _Elizabeth_.'

Elizabeth watched him go to his wife, embrace her as if they had not seen each other for some time and walk together to the door, arm in arm. She released a long sigh, realizing she had been holding her breath. Her legs ached and she was consumed by a sudden fatigue. The devotion on Giovanni's face as he had watched Gabriella made her think of Alex. Had she done the right thing leaving him? He had been her friend, lover, companion and refuge for more than twenty years, the same number of years since she had seen John/Giovanni.

Felicity and Roger Lui approached her and she stepped towards them, anxious to make her farewells.

CHAPTER SIX

Elizabeth concentrated on walking slowly to her office. Barbara said something about the minister but left her words hanging as Elizabeth shook her head. Normally Elizabeth worked with her door open but she needed to compose herself. It took all her will power not to slam the door.

This is the limit, she thought, her head thumping with disbelief. It's unconscionable. These people have no respect for each other nor do they act as if their duty is to the public good. For ten weeks she had attempted to have a meeting with all of her so-called executive team but to no avail. She had experienced nothing like it. She was accustomed to working with outstanding people, united by a shared purpose. At Next Generation Publishing her team had worked together in troubled times. At the Institute, Elizabeth had begun to suspect one's place in the pecking order was the prism through which information passed. Antiquated controlling processes made a mockery of the omnipresent high-tech facilities. When she emailed all her staff in her first week the Chief Information Officer objected to her bypassing what he called the line of command. With what she thought was exemplary self-restraint she resisted suggesting he stand to attention when he addressed her.

Elizabeth had agreed with the chairman that she would initiate no structural changes in her first six months because of the already traumatised staff's perceptions that each time there was a problem they were reorganised. While all but one of the directors were impatient to convince their new MD of the wisdom of their analyses of the Institute's challenges, Elizabeth was determined to hear directly from her staff. She continued sending weekly emails and holding staff meetings in the Institute's theatre once a month. She had insisted on a blog being set up and although she encouraged staff to engage with her there were precious few postings.

There was a chasm between Josephine, George and Anne who had been appointed new to the Institute and those who had come from the libraries, archives and museums. Mario Fiori and his curators guarded their collections with Cerberus-like ferocity while the three latecomers exhibited high levels of frustration. Elizabeth appreciated their enthusiasm but she had observed in them an unattractive air of superiority. Others responded with veiled resentment at the new directions which they viewed as driven by private sector motives and would result in failure to meet what Fiori called the 'nation's cultural obligations.' He alternated between frightened capitulation and dogged obstructionism whenever money was mentioned, reminding his audience of the woeful inadequacy of his budget. His stooped posture and gloomy countenance had not lifted as his bronchitis faded. He reminded Elizabeth of a bassett hound.

These were minor burrs under her skin compared to the third camp, a camp of one. Dr Michael Robinson. Until that day, he had absented himself from all formal meetings of the executive team. Between out-of-town commitments and six weeks' leave, organised while he was Acting Managing Director, he maintained his invisibility. Elizabeth had found his deputy, Paul Thompson, to be a pleasant enough young man but he was unwilling to make any decisions. She suspected he had been instructed to do nothing during Robinson's absences. What galled her most was that Barbara had made three appointments for Robinson and Elizabeth to meet and although confirmed by his secretary he had failed to appear. Each time Barbara had to call to find out where he was, only to be told an urgent matter had arisen which needed Dr Robinson's attention.

Michael Robinson's presence or, rather, his absence, hovered over Elizabeth like a thundercloud unwilling to release its deluge. She tried to discount the critical comments made about him, promising herself she would make her own assessment but his continued non-engagement made that difficult. She empathised with his disappointment at not getting the MD's job but it was time he decided whether he was on her team or not. She was running out of patience.

Elizabeth breathed into her stomach. As she relaxed she recalled one of Fionn's favourite expressions. Her aunt had been committed to 'just doing it' long before it became a clever marketing slogan. As a single woman in Glasgow's male-dominated 1950s business world, Fionn was an anomaly. She told Elizabeth the story often of how after her father's death she appointed herself chief executive of his printing company. She said that scared the horses but she rolled up her sleeves and got on with it. While the Glasgow captains of industry accepted her eventually, their wives never did.

Pouring some tea and picking up her notebook, Elizabeth pushed open the sliding doors to the balcony. The air was cool after a morning shower. Winter had arrived. She stood at the parapet next to the fishpond and its water fountains, blessing again the architect who had created the perfect retreat for a harassed executive. She welcomed the chill on her body, dissolving the heat of her unexpected anger.

She prided herself on getting on with most people but something about Michael Robinson was taking her to a place she did not want to go. He had generated an aggravation in her that smouldered in her solar plexus. If confrontation was needed, so be it. She would stomach this no longer.

Robinson had been pleasant enough at the beginning of the executive meeting. The early items on the agenda were dealt with quickly, Robinson contributing nothing. He sat at the edge of the group with an air of indifference. He smirked through George Eton's presentation of the marketing for the next exhibition, checking his watch several times.

The main agenda item was a discussion on _Valkyrie_ and Elizabeth's report on her conversations with Martin Cheval. She agreed with Anne that they had indeed developed a world first and she would protect it from Vision. Anne, George and their teams had worked day and night to finalise the _Valkyrie_ presentation. Elizabeth wanted to convince the board that it would be a strategic move to demonstrate it to the nation's information services ministers at their upcoming Council meeting.

Any hopes Elizabeth had about an uneventful discussion lasted for fifteen minutes into Anne Oldham's presentation. Anne explained the success of the parallel testing against commercial search engines while Elizabeth asked about the co-operation from a wide range of multilingual advisory groups.

Robinson showed some interest in Anne's presentation, tapping notes into his PDA. Mario's taciturn anxiety gave way to an unexpected enthusiasm. 'This will make the _Remembering_ data look good,' he said. 'I know we've used _Remembering_ for data testing but could we develop some features to showcase the 1890s silver photo plates that we've just restored for the Swan River exhibition? The chairman would love that.'

Robinson grimaced across the table at Mario. 'I've told you before that the search engine for _Remembering_ is perfectly adequate. In any case, SysWA would never agree to combine them. And neither will I.'

Mario shrunk back into his skin, his head drawn into his chest. Robinson's venom startled Elizabeth but Anne was unperturbed. 'Why would SysWA have anything to do with it, Michael? Surely they were only subcontractors on _Remembering_? _Valkyrie_ is an Institute project. We can do what we want with it. So why would applying what we've developed to _Remembering_ not be a great idea?'

'It is,' said Josephine Baxter before Robinson could answer. ' _Remembering_ 's search engine is pretty primitive and Anne says it won't work on large data sets and it falls over completely on picture files. Isn't that why we've developed _Valkyrie_ , so that size, data type, language and location don't matter?'

Elizabeth remained silent, grateful for Josephine's challenge. Robinson left Josephine's question unanswered but tension showed in his white knuckles gripping his silver fountain pen. Anne continued to expound the value of the integration of _Valkyrie_ and the _Remembering_ databases. Robinson's wall of cold water had extinguished Mario's short burst of exuberance.

'I'm impressed with the multilingual interface,' Elizabeth said, after waiting a few seconds for Robinson's contribution. He began to type in his PDA again so Elizabeth spoke to Anne. 'Presenting text, image and sound according to parameters set by the client is impressive. For me, the sophisticated thing about it is the way it learns. I haven't seen anything this smart. Do carry on.'

George and Anne grinned at each other and completed their presentation, outlining both the commercialisation and educational possibilities. George proposed an ambitious marketing plan, beginning with a launch by their minister. Mario said no more but his obvious pride when the _Remembering_ archive's film images were displayed gave Elizabeth some hope he could be brought on side.

'There are a couple of things I want to clear up,' Elizabeth said. 'I would like a document, Anne, that says the system meets specifications. In particular, I want assurances that testing has occurred over large amounts of data, both on the Net and on in-house databases. I remember being told that a system could go live after it passed its acceptance tests on fifty users. It crashed four days later with fifty five.'

Anne nodded her agreement as Elizabeth turned to George. 'Your marketing plan is fine but I want you to think beyond Australia. This has applications across education and health. Let's not badge it as just another search engine. Work on a unique angle and let's see if we can get the Prime Minister to launch it at a national event.'

'Yes, ma'am.' George's wide grin was returned by all but Robinson.

Elizabeth continued. 'And we need to look at an international location. Talk to the federal government about beaming our launches to our embassies and trade missions. There's a major European Union Information Society Conference in Paris next year. Check out whether we can have a presence in the trade expo.'

' Great, yes, sure, good idea.' George's grin could get no wider. He looked like a boy let loose in a sweet shop.

'Use _Remembering_ data to showcase the _Valkyrie_ software, as Mario suggested.' Elizabeth's attempt at encouragement failed as Mario's head was bent over his papers. 'Perhaps have a writer speak on how wonderful this kind of access will be to researchers.'

Robinson leaned back in his chair, hands spread on the table. He turned his body towards her but his eyes spoke to the wall. 'Such enthusiasm is admirable but premature. Let me explain a few facts. The _Remembering_ project was funded by the Commonwealth Government to celebrate our federation in a documentary heritage archive. It has its own retrieval software that works fine. By all means, launch your _Valkyrie_ but you cannot use _Remembering_ data without revisiting the agreements. As I said before, I won't allow it. Neither will the lawyers.'

His fellow directors, including Mario, looked from him to Elizabeth who let Robinson's words hover. Fionn had taught her years ago about the devastating power of silence. 'Sometimes giving them enough rope to hang themselves,' she would say,' ends up with your head in the noose. Try not responding.' Fionn would laugh at Blaise Pascal's dictum that all of man's troubles stem from his inability to sit quietly in a room alone. 'Man's biggest troubles come from trying to live with a woman's silence. A bull doesn't know what to do with a cow that stares him down.'

Elizabeth was aware of her team's discomfort as they shuffled papers and sipped cold dregs from coffee cups. Robinson was undaunted, continuing to consult the ceiling.

Josephine came to the rescue. 'I'm glad you've brought up the issue of agreements, Michael. The timeline for the project ran out in June this year. Jean Renfrew's been on to me about acquittal reports that are overdue but that's not the main worry.'

'Jean Renfrew's an old fusspot,' Robinson hissed. 'She should deal with me. I'm the project manager.'

Josephine maintained her even tone. 'Jean has contacted me because it's become a legal issue and that's my responsibility. What's more, you haven't been here. As I said, that's not the main worry.' Josephine looked to Elizabeth. 'Jean tells me that our writers have written to the Western Australian federal MPs and questions may be asked in the national parliament. Jean wants a statement from us that she can use to brief the MPs but she's not sure how long the issue can be left.'

This was news to Elizabeth. 'Why are the writers communicating with Members of Parliament?'

'A lot of nonsense.' Robinson glowered at Josephine. 'Ngaire French will be behind it. She hates anything to do with technology. Anyone who uses anything other than a quill pen is the devil's own as far as she's concerned. I'll deal with it.'

Elizabeth stepped in. 'I think we had best deal with this together, Michael, but I will need your advice. So now we have two issues here: the funding and the writers. But there is a third, is there not? I'm told we have some contractual issues to clarify with Vision Industries International.'

'There are no problems.' Robinson pulled his jacket closed. 'The Commonwealth funding is fine. Jean Renfrew's just being an old woman, as usual. The _Remembering_ data is not to be used in _Valkyrie_ because there are copyright issues. The writers are wrong. In any case, it's not what Mario's librarians have advised.'

'The librarians? Which librarians?' Elizabeth looked at Mario who was red in the face. 'What does what they like or not like have to do with _Valkyrie_?' She had trouble keeping the irritation out of her voice. How many more opinions did she have to consider? Talk about standing on shifting sands.

Robinson looked at her as if she needed everything explained to her. 'The librarians in charge of the heritage collections have put an enormous effort into _Remembering_. It's won national awards and it meets their needs as it stands. Not many researchers require access to these collections.'

'Good God, Michael, wake up!' Anne Oldham slapped her hand on the table. ' _Remembering_ is practically dead. It's the digital equivalent of a dusty archive. Jean Renfrew started this project in the 1990s. Don't pretend you care about Mario's rare collections librarians. You've ignored all their recommendations. Why can't you see that _Valkyrie_ will not only showcase your project but it will also enable us to develop services and products that will generate income? Every time we discuss this you give us different reasons for your opposition.'

'Yes, and I'll give you another.' Robinson spoke to Anne as if to a naughty child. 'SysWA has been bought by Vision Industries International and Gordon Burns has become one of their senior executives. He has a clear understanding about what can and can't be done with _Remembering_ and your wonderful _Valkyrie_ doesn't feature.'

Anne slammed her portfolio together and stood up. 'We're getting nowhere. If you had been here you would know that the boss has spoken to Martin Cheval about this. Right now I have to leave this wonderfully co-operative meeting to take a conference call from Jules Vupin in Singapore so we can clean up the mess you've made with SysWA. I'll go before I say something you might truly regret, Michael.' As Anne headed for the door, Elizabeth heard Anne mutter. 'Your goose had better be cooked this time.'

While George's narrowed eyes showed his solidarity with Anne and Mario's shrunken form showed he wished he were somewhere else, Josephine's silent equanimity betrayed no emotion. To give Robinson some credit, his wide eyes betrayed some shock at Anne's outburst.

Elizabeth decided to end the meeting. The antagonism amongst her senior staff was unproductive. The map of the swamp may be no clearer but King Croc had surfaced.

The next day, Elizabeth was still pondering her approach to Robinson's animosity. As she had so many times before she mentally consulted her dead aunt. There was something familiar about the situation. Should she tackle Robinson head on or leave it a while?

There had been many evenings spent with Fionn before a roaring fire. Drambuies in hand, they had argued politics, business and the dastardly deeds of the male species while Glasgow's rain or snow beat against the century-old windowpanes. Fionnhuala Madeleine Campbell, adored daughter of John Campbell, printer, had led the development of her family's business into a national icon. She had added a chain of stationery stores. Later Elizabeth had added Next Generation Publishing and the IdeasHubs.

Mary Campbell, Fionn's sister and Elizabeth's mother, had been a sickly baby in whom her father showed no interest. His beloved wife had died giving birth to this fourth and last of his daughters. Fionn, the first, determined to be the son her father had longed for, became mother to the poor neglected Mary. Fionn demanded an education, insisted on joining the firm, never married and gained the deep devotion of her father by the time he died at the age of forty-nine. Although she disapproved of Mary's choice of husband, she adored her only niece. It was Fionn who provided Elizabeth with the Scottish bolthole she needed after the breakdown of her marriage.

Dubbed Attila the Hen by the city's business elites, she gave no ground and expected none. Elizabeth was in no doubt what Fionn's advice on Michael Robinson would be. 'He's never going to get on side so set him adrift. No room for two captains on any boat.'

Elizabeth expected Robinson to have his supporters. She had seen the connection with Elliott Prince and perhaps Jackie Olson but she wondered who else on the board would have preferred a home-grown candidate or, given the repetitive commentary on her gender, a male one. She did not want to establish an early reputation as ruthless or rash. She needed more information and, unfortunately, she needed it from him. He was at the centre of the _Remembering_ problems. If he had broken commitments to authors and to the national government or had set up contracts without authority then she would have to move against him, but how would she get reliable information? The man generated such powerful antagonism.

While musing over her options, the door to her office opened and Robinson walked in. 'Ah, Michael, come in.' Elizabeth gestured towards her meeting table and moved to pour herself a coffee from the pot provided by the ever-efficient Barbara.

Robinson moved past the table and sank into one of the leather sofas with its back to the window at the river end of the room. He undid the button of his suit, settled the yellow and black striped tie on his chest and folded one leg over the other, grasping his ankle. 'No coffee for me,' he said. 'I've just finished morning tea with my team, just to say thank you to my deputy Paul for defending my territory.'

Elizabeth took her time settling into the opposite sofa. 'It's hard to believe I've been here all these weeks and we've had no chance to talk. There's a lot to discuss and some of it is quite pressing.'

'Yes, I can see how you would feel pressured. This is a complex organisation. As you know, I had quite a bit of leave owing and I'm on a few national committees whose meetings have clashed with your executive meetings. Roger Lui was aware of those. We discussed my overseas trip when he pleaded with me to stay on.'

Elizabeth spluttered her coffee as she heard his interpretation of the chairman's motives.

'I'd be interested to hear where you think the Institute needs to go,' she said. 'I'm told the merger was not handled well and I wondered if there were any residual issues that you think we need to address?'

She would give him the chance to work with her. Had there been no warnings from Roger Lui and her staff, not to mention the minister's antagonism, she would have been inclined to accept his behaviour as the natural response of a huge ego that had assumed an automatic elevation to MD. Absenting himself was understandable. It remained to be seen whether his absence had cooled his irritation. It had not increased her patience.

'The merger was handled brilliantly,' he said. 'Of course, as you would expect, some staff objected. Loss of control, they said. Loss of face, more likely. Loss of playing in their own fiefdom with no accountability. Elliot Prince chaired the merger steering committee but I was project manager for the libraries and museums integration. It was complicated, of course. Quite difficult for outsiders to appreciate all the issues but it went well. I've had a lot of experience with restructures both in Australia and Hong Kong, all bigger than this one. Elliot and I negotiated our way through. You just need to be firm with some people. Tell them to get over it.'

'So you don't think there are outstanding issues?'

'Can't think of any. I had no difficulty as Acting MD. Of course, with the latest changes, who knows? I think the newer people have some way to go to understand the complexity of the modern public sector. Some will catch up, I suppose, but a lot of them just don't get it.'

He shrugged a shoulder, dismissing any notion he might be at fault. 'Lovely people, of course, on the whole. Enthusiastic but a bit old school. They need a strong hand. They're so stuck in the last century and I don't mean the twentieth century. I've experienced this kind of thing before. In Hong Kong...'

Elizabeth watched him as she listened to his cavalcade of achievements most of which she had read in his cv. There was no doubt he was a handsome man. With his blonde hair, his chiselled cheekbones and blue eyes she could appreciate why women found him attractive.

'The minister and the chairman feel we have a few problems that need our urgent attention,' she said. 'I have to speak with the minister in two weeks on the next National Information Infrastructure Council meeting. I understand you attended the last committee meeting. I don't have a briefing on that and Barbara tells me she can't find the files. Can you help me with this?'

'The files will be in my office somewhere. There's nothing of much interest to anyone else. I have been handling the committee work. I can brief you after the next meeting.'

'It's my intention to attend these meetings, Michael. I think it goes with the territory, so to speak. I assume you attended in your capacity as acting MD, not as Director, Information Services?'

'It links with my information services responsibilities. I see no reason not to continue. There's a lot of ongoing business on the Australian network infrastructure. I assumed you wouldn't want to pick up the technological issues. Australian communications policy is a rapidly evolving field and there are urgent decisions to be made.'

Elizabeth thought Robinson lacked the patrician air of his friend Elliott Prince despite his superior tone. There was nothing elegant about the way he sat with his legs spread open. He smiled at her, holding his relaxed position. The way some men leaned back opening their arms and presenting their crotches as some show of superior force always reminded her of the monkeys with orange behinds, strutting their territorial stuff.

'The minister and I will attend the Council meeting and I will let you know if I need a deputy at any time.' She paused for a few seconds. 'Please give the files to Barbara and if you can see your way clear to provide me with a briefing note, I would be grateful.'

Robinson stood. Elizabeth wondered whether he was going to walk out. 'I will have that coffee now,' he said, moving to the sideboard to serve himself.

Elizabeth watched the raindrops run down the window and hoped his next move would be more conciliatory. He returned to sit on the edge of the sofa and sipped his coffee. 'There is one issue you might need to follow up. There were some discussions about using the national information networks for community-based learning. The PM wants older people involved.'

'Well, that's a good thing. I think the baby boomers are an excellent target group. They'll be cashed up and many are well-educated.'

'Yeah, right, but I think the PM has older people in mind. A geriatric cyberworld. I can't see what it's got to do with the Institute but Jeremy Hayes is keen on that positive ageing nonsense.'

Ignoring his bigotry, Elizabeth decided to pursue his slight concession to conversation. 'Thank you, I'll follow up on that. Could we speak a moment about the _Remembering_ project? There were some differences of opinion at executive yesterday.'

Robinson sat taller on the sofa. 'Ah, yes, the _Remembering_ project. Happy to talk about that. Excellent, exciting, world-class, innovative and groundbreaking. Most people don't appreciate the significance of it. Breakthrough stuff, you know.'

So he can get excited about something, Elizabeth thought. Not such a cold fish after all. 'I'm impressed with what I've seen but I'm sure you'll agree that WA writers taking their problems to federal politicians implies their grievances are not being addressed by Institute staff. What do you think the problem is?'

He leaned back again, folding his arms. 'It's a storm in a teacup. One of the writers is upset about access to her papers. I explained that now they've been scanned, who's going to bother with the originals? It doesn't help when a few librarians keep stoking the fires of the writers' rage. Be a good idea if you sacked a few of them.'

'Who? The writers or the librarians? That's a bit drastic, don't you think?'

Elizabeth's attempt at humour fell on deaf ears. Robinson spoke quietly, leaning as if to share a confidence. 'A few of the librarians haven't come to terms with technology and business approaches, even after all these years. Amazing, isn't it? They don't accept that the Institute has to be run on a commercial basis. The public needs a decent return on its investment. And technology gives it to them.' He cooed with conspiratorial charm. 'I understand you've run a small business. Sacking one or two people might make the rest realise the public sector's changed. No more jobs for life.'

He was good, she thought. If she challenged him, she would look defensive. 'Well, Michael, I'm not in the habit of sacking people because they have a different point of view. You have been in the public sector longer than I have but isn't it a rule of thumb that if our minister has a problem then we have a problem? Or, rather, I have a problem and in this case, since the _Remembering_ project is your responsibility, you have a problem. So, can I have your suggestions about what we say to the minister to stop this being his problem?'

'As you wish.'

'Let me ask you about the SysWA Vision deal. While you were on leave Josephine had to deal with that. There might be some problems there.'

'Not at all. Gordon Burns and I have a clear understanding.'

'Gordon Burns is now reporting to Jules Vupin and Vupin believes there is a problem.'

Robinson sucked his breath in between his teeth and set his coffee cup on the table.

'I've spoken with Martin Cheval,' Elizabeth said, 'and it appears there is a misunderstanding but we have agreed we will clear it up. Is there anything you would like to tell me?'

'Can't think of anything.'

She had had enough of him. 'I have another meeting now. Please provide me with a briefing on the national infrastructure meeting within three weeks as well as your recommendations on _Remembering_ by close of business tomorrow, including copies of all correspondence between the Institute and SysWA for the last twelve months.'

She stood, walked to the door and held it open for him. He remained seated and Elizabeth wondered if he were calculating whether to continue the conversation. If he was, he decided against it, rose and sauntered past her. She suspected no paperwork would be forthcoming but he would make a big mistake in thinking she would ask for it twice **.**

CHAPTER SEVEN

Elizabeth, Felicity and Beverley arrived early at the coastal vineyard for dinner. On the drive from the Luis' Margaret River property they agreed that the first day of the weekend Karri Writers and Readers Festival had been a great success in spite of the wintry weather. The children's day on the Friday had been the greatest challenge as crowds exceeded expectations and the showers had turned the grass around the marquees into mud.

The wild wind and rain had eased by evening. Elizabeth savoured the rippling whispers of the vine leaves, the reluctant chatter of birds settling down for the night and the distant murmur of the ocean. The moisture-laden vineyard nestled amidst eucalypts and peppermint trees that sparkled pink and orange under the setting sun.

Felicity and Beverley complained of the cold and rushed inside to supervise last-minute preparations, leaving Elizabeth on the veranda. Unlike her companions she thought the July evening was perfect. How to explain to Western Australians that these temperatures would have encouraged her Scottish family to walk along the cliffs in the gloaming? She leaned on the railing, grateful for a moment's solitude. While she appreciated her new friends' inclusion of her in their activities their frenetic energy was enervating. Their enthusiasm over her appointment as Managing Director was undiminished. They had taken her under their wings and introduced her to sponsors and visiting writers.

And what wide wings they were, Elizabeth thought. During preceding weeks she had observed Beverley's persuasive talents. Political and business contacts supported her philanthropic activities at lunches and dinners where Elizabeth was introduced as the guest of honour. Felicity's circle included international connections that could make one both proud and envious. They had told Elizabeth they wanted her to feel at home in Perth. They had asked her to launch the Preston Lui Foundation's Reading's Fun For All programme, aimed at encouraging reluctant and poor readers of all ages. Books piled by Elizabeth's bedside covered topics from bibliotherapy and the history of reading to young adult novels recommended by Felicity and Beverley.

The owner of the vineyard brought Elizabeth a glass of red wine, teasing her about crazy poms when he heard her accent. He failed to persuade her to come inside to the fire. Elizabeth sipped the delicate wine, marvelling again at the multimillion-dollar industry that grew from the twisted twigs lying dormant before her. She breathed in the last of the sky's redness over the ocean visible between the hills. If only Australia's writers could be as appreciated at home and overseas as the wine, Elizabeth thought. Although she had promoted Australian authors in her bookshops she knew the British public explored not even the tip of the iceberg of talent floating in the southern oceans.

At the Festival in the forest at the edge of the Blackwood River some of that talent had been on show. Five hundred people had made the trip, some from the east coast and others from Singapore and India. Judging by the queues at the bookshop for signed copies, the authors should be as pleased as the readers. Next Generation Publishing had sponsored several writers' festivals in the UK and she had held the hand of many an author as they revelled in or endured their fans' adoration. She knew what a good festival felt like and this was proving to be a good one indeed.

While Saturday had been stimulating she had more fun the day before on the children's day. The face painting, puppet shows and clowns engaged the children at the breaks but it was their rapt attention to story telling that mesmerised Elizabeth. Felicity had persuaded her to chair a session on picture books. Elizabeth had been nervous because she had little experience of young children but she need not have worried. The children were far more interested in their favourite authors than anything she might say. Those authors had the status of pop stars, mobbed after each session for their autographs.

As she was leaving the tent Elizabeth felt a tug on her trouser leg. A small face looked up at her and asked for her autograph. Before Elizabeth could speak a young woman took the girl's hand. 'No, Jemima, this way. I'm so sorry, Dr Wallace.'

'No, that's fine,' Elizabeth laughed. 'I wish I was a famous author. They love the stories, don't they?'

She knelt down and looked at the face painted with a rabbit on one cheek and a duck on the other. 'Is your name Jemima? Is your rabbit called Peter?'

'Yes!' she squealed. 'Like my brother. He's Peter Rabbit and I'm Jemima Puddleduck.'

Elizabeth stood and smiled at the girl's mother. 'I see we have a Beatrix Potter fan here.'

The little girl pulled again on Elizabeth's trouser leg. 'My mum's name is Beatrix with an x. Like for kisses.'

The young woman's petite frame made her look scarcely more than a child herself. She extended her hand. 'My name is Beatrix Longdon. And this precocious monster is my daughter.'

'Grandpa Joseph! Peter!' Jemima screeched and ran to an older man who leaned on a cane while holding the hand of a little boy.

'Grandpa, this is Elizabeth like in the story _Little Saint Elizabeth_.'

'Dr Wallace, forgive my cheeky granddaughter.' Mr Longdon extended his hand as his daughter picked up Peter. 'May I congratulate you on the way you handled the irascible politician at lunch.'

Elizabeth had hosted a lunch for adults while the children were entertained. The visiting climate change expert had spoken of the link between global warming and population growth, perhaps not a wise topic for a room full of parents. The conversation had polarised when the female MP argued the need for universal access to contraception.

'You demonstrated both patience and diplomatic skills,' Longdon said. 'I suspect you will need them in great measure in your new position. Now, we must go, children.'

As Elizabeth watch them head for the author signing queue, Ngaire French was at her elbow. 'You know who that is?'

'That's a family that loves Beatrix Potter books.'

'Maybe so, but they're also Michael Robinson's wife, children and father-in-law.'

'Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?'

Valerie McConochie, the Festival Patron, attempted yet again to commence the evening's formalities. The deafening noise from hundreds of eager voices quietened as the restaurant owner clanged an old ship's bell, the symbol on their wine labels. Valerie smiled her gratitude to him.

'It's great that you're having such a good time so I'll get over the speeches as quickly as possible,' Valerie said as the room settled. If her short, thin frame and close-cropped white hair gave an initial impression of aged fragility, her erect stance and clear voice suggested otherwise. Dressed in a purple silk trouser suit edged in gold embroidery of Indian origin with a soft white pashmina draped around her shoulders, she did not look her age. She was Beverley Farrington's oldest friend and was ninety years old in a few months.

As she watched Valerie thank the sponsors and writers, explain the history of the vineyard's connection to a local writer and thank Felicity for the Foundation's support, Elizabeth shivered with a déjà vu moment. When Fionn was in her eighties she was granted the freedom of the city of Glasgow. Like Fionn's acceptance speech, Valerie's was witty, revealing strong opinions on the value of culture. She bemoaned Australia's support for the arts in general and literature in particular. While the local Member of Parliament beamed, the Australia Council representative's weary smile showed he had heard it all before.

'Now, I want to pay a particular welcome to Jean Renfrew who is well known to all of you. We lost Jean in 2002 but I'm sure that has been Canberra's gain. Those federal government chaps need sorting out. We hope she'll persuade her minister to do a bit more for WA writers.' After the cheers faded Valerie asked Jean to say a few words.

Elizabeth watched Jean Renfrew walk from her table at the back of the room, pausing to acknowledge old friends who stood to embrace her, like a star's victory procession to the stage. Jean's resemblance to glamorous thespians ended there. Her appearance had not changed much over the years: black trouser suit, boots and white shirt. Her single concession to evening wear a gold brooch in the shape of a wattle sprig.

'Thanks, Valerie,' Jean said, smiling at her audience. 'It's lovely to be back and see the Festival doing so well. I'm trying to persuade Felicity to bring the idea to Canberra next year. Maybe that would get some funding.'

A few people hooted their agreement. Jean spoke about her new position, telling jokes about the national capital's intrigues. Jean's face, free of make up as always, shone with delight as she reminisced about her Perth team in the 1990s.

'I'm so pleased that Elizabeth Wallace has accepted the Managing Director's position at the Institute. Most of you will know that I left when I felt the State Library would always be second fiddle to the economic rationalists and tech-heads taking us down a commercial path with the new Institute.' The librarians at Jean's table shouted their agreement.

'Our plans for The Centre for the Future of the Book, an Emerging Writers' Centre and knowledge hubs have all been dropped and various functions of the library and museum merged or discarded, as you all know,' Jean continued, impervious to Valerie moving to her side. 'You can imagine my delight when I heard that Elizabeth Wallace had accepted the MD's job.' There was polite applause as Jean clapped her hands towards Elizabeth. 'Welcome. You are among friends, Elizabeth. Your lifelong commitment to books and ideas coupled with your stunning business success means those bean counters won't be able to pull the wool over your eyes. But you'll need courage, like the Braveheart of your namesake. Our cultural institutions are becoming corporations, our artistic life an industry that must be justified in numbers of customers and our artist's voices are being silenced by the hegemony of funding favouritism.'

Elizabeth told herself to smile and remain calm. Jean meant well but she didn't need a public lecture on how to do her job. Clearly, Jean's bitterness had not mellowed since last they spoke. Elizabeth did not see her job as book-centred and did not want a horde of followers expecting her to lead them in some Luddite notion that technology meant the death of books or reading. Valerie looked towards Elizabeth who felt the connection again. Valerie seemed to be saying, that's just the way Jean is.

Valerie touched Jean's arm but she was not finished. 'The last time I spent an evening with some of you was at my home for Burns night. Well, you'll be pleased to know I have not brought any haggis with me but I have got a bit of the old country to welcome Elizabeth to her new home.'

A Highland piper entered in full regalia and the deafening skirl of the bagpipes filled the room. Some people clapped in time to the music, others covered their ears as the piper blew out a medley of Scottish airs, walking into each corner of the room before exiting the restaurant. When silence again reigned, Jean spoke to Elizabeth.

'We look forward to working with you. For the people in this room the _Remembering_ project and our literary heritage is dear to our hearts. Don't hesitate to seek our help at any time. I'd like to finish with some advice from Robbie Burns. Although you will have the devil behind you in this huge undertaking, may the worst thing that ever happens to you be that your horse loses its tail.'

Elizabeth's embarrassment at all the attention receded as she gave herself up to the Scottish lilt in Jean's recitation of the familiar poem, the bard's words reverberating down the years. She was a child again at her grandmother's knee, safe in her descriptions of their beloved Highlands tinged with sad wisdom.

But pleasures are like poppies spread,

You seize the flow'r, the bloom is shed:

Or like the snow falls in the river

A moment white- then melts forever;

Or like the borealis race,

That flit ere you can point their place;

Or like the rainbow's lovely form

Evanishing amid the storm.'

****

'She's lost none of the fire in her belly.' Ngaire French leaned over and spoke to Elizabeth. 'I thought Scottish people were dour and conservative till I met Jean. I do miss her iconoclasm.'

Ngaire and Elizabeth were seated at a table with six local and international writers. After meeting so many new people at the Festival she was grateful for the familiar faces around her. One of the authors, Joseph Ward, had launched his third novel over lunch that day. His novel addressed the pain of adolescence and unemployment in Australia's faceless suburbs. Displaying a deep understanding of Marxist philosophy, he had berated the callousness of the capitalist state. Elizabeth thought that his face with its six piercings above a Metallica T-shirt would be a shock to any employer, Marxist or not. His subtle command of English had astonished an audience that might have expected a torrent of street language and expletives.

'I love Jean,' Joseph whispered to Elizabeth. 'They drove her out, you know. It nearly destroyed her. You can't be in the public sector and have big dreams. Bureaucrats run the show, stuff up people's lives. It's not only writers and artists. Look at the way we treat refugees and don't get me started on the way our aboriginal people have been ignored. Politicians and their flunkies have no imagination.'

Ngaire touched Joseph's arm. 'I love your passion, young man, but when you get older you'll see you have to settle for whatever you can do. You can't fix some things.'

Joseph was having none of it. 'Young people get trodden on and disappointed. No wonder they end up as old people with diminished expectations. Their dreams get so small. That's why I love Jean. For some reason, she's refused to give up her passions. I hope I can be the same when I get to her age.' He put his hand over Ngaire's. 'And you don't fool me, Ngaire French. You're not still publishing we struggling writers and travelling from Albany regularly for the Institute board because you want things to stay the same.'

Joseph turned to Elizabeth. 'You know, Dr Wallace, if it wasn't for people like Ngaire, a lot of local authors would never get published. The GST nearly killed the Australian publishing industry. Without Ngaire publishing and Jean promoting the authors at the State Library silence would be all that Australians hear in their hearts. That's why I love Jean. And you too, Ngaire.' He put his arm around Ngaire's shoulders.

'That's a bit bleak, Joseph, but we need people like all of you.' Ngaire swept her arm across the table to widen the conversation. 'Keep writing your marvellous manuscripts.'

'Ha, don't talk to me about manuscripts,' said the elderly woman on the other side of Ngaire. 'Jean would be horrified if she knew the half of what was going on.'

'Yes, too true,' said a well-dressed man who looked around the same age. 'The wonderful _Remembering_ project should be called the Forgetting Project. It's certainly forgetting our papers. How many times has the advisory group met, Joseph?'

Ngaire and Joseph exchanged glances, she pleading with him to leave it be but Joseph shook his head. 'It hasn't met as often as they said it would but I've been too busy with my own writing, anyway. The Digitisation Advisory Committee has been focusing on electronic texts. I've been wearing out my own digits.' He tapped his fingers on an imaginary keyboard.

The middle-aged woman next to him had been silent for most of the evening. Elizabeth did not know her name but remembered her diligent attention at the Festival events. Several times Elizabeth had seen her short stout frame weighed down with a book-laden calico bag in each hand. 'Joseph, your sense of humour always amuses me,' the woman said without a smile, 'but this matter is too serious. I for one would like to take the opportunity to share our concerns with Dr Wallace. While we have her captive, so to speak.'

Ngaire interrupted. 'Elizabeth, let me introduce you to Janet Easterman, a successful writer who lives here in Margaret River.'

'The _Remembering_ project relies on what they now call the State Collections,' Easterman sneered. 'A grand title, reminiscent of the crown jewels and indeed they are. We signed agreements that our work could be used in the so-called 21st century digital world. The idea was that CD-ROMs would be developed as well as our own websites. We were assured our work would be respected and an advisory group would vet what was done. We were to share in any profits but that was never my motivation.' She pulled her jacket across her ample breasts and stared at Elizabeth.

'Yes, I've heard a bit about it,' Elizabeth said. There was no point in ignoring the issue. No point, either, in pretending the evening was about anything but work.

'It all started to go wrong when the Institute was established,' Janet Easterman addressed the table. 'There was a lot in the newspapers about the creation of this great new department. Of course the federal pollies expected us to be thrilled that they were letting WA have anything at all. The local MPs carried on as if we'd won the lottery.'

'We didn't worry about it too much,' said another writer who Elizabeth recognised as the young Singaporean author who had settled in Perth and blown the whistle on some shady deals between Singaporean and Australian companies in her latest novel. 'Our arrangements were with the State Library but overnight the Library and the Museum merged into this vague notion of the State Collections, as Janet mentioned.'

'Yes, even our beloved Battye Library disappeared. That's when the wheels really fell off,' continued Janet. Elizabeth remembered her now. Easterman wrote historical novels about eighteenth century English aristocracy that sold well in the UK.

'The whole point of _Remembering_ was to tell the stories of Western Australia. Unashamedly parochial,' Janet said. 'No apologies for that. We were excited by Jean's ideas. We would select a story, say the discovery of gold and all the literature, history, maps, oral records, film from whatever source would be produced digitally to show children where we've been and celebrate what we've achieved.'

'But the problem was,' continued the Singaporean whose name Elizabeth had forgotten, 'the absorption of this project into the Institute has meant a new set of players. Jean never said much but you could see she was unhappy with a lot of it. Still is, obviously.'

'Dr Battye must be squirming in his grave,' muttered Janet.

'Losing Jean was a real blow,' said Joseph.

'Yes, it was,' agreed Janet Easterman, 'and since then we get fobbed off. New instructions are being given to the staff. Michael Robinson has got his own ideas. Even Mario Fiori doesn't know what's going on. He's supposed to be in charge of the magnificent _State Collections._ '

The omnipresent Michael Robinson, Elizabeth thought. She did not need to respond to Janet's allegations for the conversation had its own momentum. Janet dominated with her report on how she had accessed her papers for research on her current novel. The original order in which she had deposited them had been changed. She was affronted that she had been unable to find her way around her own manuscripts. 'I wasn't happy with Fiori's explanations about _Remembering_ 's requirements and wrote to Michael Robinson. His reply implied the manuscripts didn't belong to me and the Institute could do as it damned well pleased.'

Joseph looked nonplussed. 'That doesn't sound right. None of these issues have been brought to the advisory committee. The project's been going for years. Why leave it till now to raise the matter?'

'I didn't know about it. I don't go to my papers often. In any case, there was no point.' Janet slapped the table. 'I'd contacted Michael Robinson when he was acting head honcho. I've been quite ill and I didn't have the energy or inclination to take him on. I did speak to the previous chairman but he told me it was an administrative matter but now I'm not so sure.'

'I'm wondering if we should change the subject,' said Ngaire. 'We're supposed to be enjoying ourselves, after all. Why don't you leave it with us?' Her smile earned her a scowl from Janet and a relieved murmur from the rest of the diners.

Good manners prevailed. Elizabeth would have preferred to hear more but bowed to Ngaire's role as a board member. 'I think that's a good idea, Ngaire,' she said. 'It's been a long day and I'd rather hear about your books and writing projects.'

The rest of the evening passed in warm if subdued discussion on publishing, novel writing, grants, editors and the threat of e-books. The tension faded but Elizabeth could not dismiss the worry that, in addition to the problems with Vision, there might be copyright violations. And always there was Michael Robinson at the centre of the labyrinth.

****

'Thanks for the lift. Come in and have a nightcap.'

Jean had suggested they speak after the dinner because she was returning to Canberra the following day. Their last conversation had been in Glasgow in 2002 a few weeks before Jean left the Library. They met first when Elizabeth was studying for her law/arts honours degree at the University of WA. Jean worked in the Battye Library and helped Elizabeth find her way around the documentary heritage collections. She was ten years older than Elizabeth and had migrated alone from Aberdeen. She settled more easily than Elizabeth into 1960s Australia, living first in Melbourne then completing her postgraduate literature studies at the University of Western Australia. Elizabeth suspected it had been Jean's fervent belief in the importance of books and reading that had taken her into libraries. It was to be the same fervour that made her clash with the proponents of the Institute.

'So, how have you enjoyed your first four months?' Jean asked, as they settled into armchairs with glasses of the cognac purchased at the vineyard.

'It's been exciting, exhausting and often puzzling,' said Elizabeth. 'But I'm glad I accepted the job. Days like today make it all worthwhile, even with the heated conversations over dinner.'

Jean snorted. 'Your board members would tell you books have nothing to do with the Institute. And what's more, being here has nothing to do with being MD.'

'Books will always be central in my life but tell me about your job. I'm delighted you're our man in Havana, so to speak. Or should I say friend at court? Less sexist, anyway.'

'It's great. I'm amazed at how much I love it. Before I accepted I promised myself I would never let the bureaucracy get to me again and so whenever they give me Sir Humphrey-speak I ask them to translate or pretend I haven't heard them. It's a political appointment and no one pretends I'm a public servant. Much less muddy than the waters you're swimming in.'

Elizabeth had never seen Jean as a party apparatchik. 'How did you come to be asked?'

'Well, it's pretty complicated. You know we got a fair bit of Commonwealth money for the _Remembering_ project I mentioned earlier?'

'Yes, I've had some interesting briefings on that. Together with _Valkyrie_ it's getting a lot of my staff's attention.'

'Well, that's the reason, at least one of them, why I wanted to have a chat.' Jean paused to sip her cognac. 'The funding was extensive, one of the largest grants given by the Feds. It was a great coup, maybe the greatest moment of my tenure as State Librarian. If only I'd known.'

Jean sighed and sank into the chair. Elizabeth waited for her to continue although she suspected she would not like the result.

Jean removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. 'Sorry. I can't believe I still get annoyed about this but I'm not free to leave it alone because my minister is accountable for the fund. You'd be amazed at how many projects are still extant. _Remembering_ 's funding was $200,000 a year for five years. Each year's grant is supposed to be made after acceptable reports have been received for the previous year. We haven't had a report on _Remembering_ since the end of year two. Technically no money should have been handed over last year and now Robinson wants this year's money.'

'Why were the grants handed over if the conditions weren't met?'

'Politics. What else? The minister chairs the grants committee against all advice. Because the Commonwealth is an Institute partner the minister believed we were giving money to ourselves and accountability issues were irrelevant.'

Elizabeth decided to keep her counsel about that level of incompetence. 'The Institute board would still need to show some output for the money. Wouldn't the auditors pick this up?'

Jean shook her head. 'You'd think so, but it gets worse. I'm sorry to burden you but this is the reason for my visit. My job doesn't require me to attend writers' festivals. The minister asked me to speak to you personally and when I got the usual invitation to the festival, I had the perfect cover. Sorry about the cloak and dagger language but when a minister thinks he's facing serious embarrassment we all become paranoid. He doesn't want the board or your senior staff to know that we've been in contact with you.'

'Jean, what's so problematic about a digital archive project that needs such subterfuge?'

'It's not the project so much as the process. Like all government ministers, my minister doesn't want to look like an idiot. Apart from the fact that he shouldn't be chairing the committee, he should have insisted on proper disposition of all obligations and a new contract with the Institute. The existing contract is still with the State Library but that is no longer a legal entity. This will cause embarrassment, but not his resignation. However, we've had letters from WA writers complaining about their treatment and suggesting there are copyright violations and collections being damaged.'

'The writers at my table were pretty het up about it.'

'Oh well, it's not surprising they would pounce on you. We must try to keep this from becoming too public. Violation of intellectual property and contraventions of the copyright law added to the carry-on about reducing import restrictions on books will not be good for us.'

'I think they just took the opportunity to chew my ear about it. I said I would look into it. Surely we can agree to consult with them and produce updated reports accounting for the money?'

Jean gulped the last of her cognac and stood to refill her glass. 'Sorry, Elizabeth, but there's more. We understand that you have a commercial partner called SysWA. Given they've been taken over by Vision what is the current relationship?'

'Why would you be interested in that?'

'We're not interested in SysWA but Vision Industries International has tendered for federal government surveillance contracts. They've been doing a lot of lobbying, bragging about their close relationship with the Institute.'

'Well, I know Martin Cheval and I've spoken to him about the SysWA acquisition. There are a few anomalies but I'm sure I can fix them.'

'What kind of anomalies?'

Elizabeth hesitated to explain the problems. After all, she was yet to decipher Canberra's attitudes to the Institute. Her commercial background encouraged her to keep the Institute's business affairs to herself but she would need Jean's assistance to clean up the funding mess. 'There are a few disagreements about the contracts that Vision has inherited with the takeover.'

'Sounds a bit like a dog's breakfast and I bet I know which dog cooked it.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Michael Robinson. He's the contact person on the _Remembering_ debacle.'

Elizabeth thought she would do a bit of fishing. 'How much do you know about Michael Robinson and his activities outside _Remembering_?'

'He's a shit!' Jean shouted then shivered. 'Watch him. He's a bully. He's so far up himself he can see daylight.' She put the cognac glass on the table and clenched her fists. 'The next time I see him will be to dance on his grave.'

Elizabeth was shocked by Jean's uncharacteristic vehemence. 'Sorry, Jean, I know you'd rather forget about the Institute. Why not tell your minister I'm looking into it? He can get by for a few months with saying that.'

'Maybe so, but you watch Robinson wriggle his way out of all responsibility like the worm he is. He saw himself as top dog at the Institute and he'll snarl and bite you as soon as look at you. It'll all be done behind your back. When it comes to dealing with powerful people he's different. Charms the birds out of the trees.'

'Okay, so I have to watch out for a charming vicious dog that can morph into a worm that consumes birds while concocting his messy breakfast. Quite a mixture.' Elizabeth saw her teasing was not helping. 'Look, Jean, I've met my share of sexist and arrogant senior managers. I've already decided not to trust him but you don't have to trust people to work with them.'

Jean held her hands over her stomach and let out a deep breath. 'He's a thug and an intellectual snob. Oh, he's clever and he knows it. He hates women save those who worship his expensively suited backside. Let me tell you...' She stopped, waved her hand as if to swat a fly. 'Shit, if you're happy for me to tell the minister you'll give it your urgent attention who am I to argue with you?'

She stretched her back, hands on her hips. 'What a burden I've just landed on you in return for a lift and a glass of cognac.'

CHAPTER EIGHT

Elizabeth wished she had never mentioned the house. Over breakfast, Felicity asked her if she had spent much time in the southwest when she lived in Perth. Without thinking Elizabeth explained that she and Giovanni (she had reinvented John as Giovanni to keep him at a safe distance) had built a house near Augusta in the nineteen-eighties. Felicity insisted on the details.

'I've not been there since 1989. In any case it went to my husband in the divorce settlement.' Fleeing overseas, she wanted nothing from him and had no intention of ever returning.

'You should visit. Memory lane and all that,' said Felicity. 'We could drive you but we've arranged to look at some property with Beverley this morning.'

Felicity's curiosity was not to be denied. Roger and she had decided to stay another week in Margaret River. 'We were going to suggest that Beverley drive you back to Perth but it would be good for her to rest here with us. I think she's lonely. We thought you could take Roger's car and drive yourself back to Perth. We'll take Beverley's. You might as well visit the house on the way.'

Stunned again by the combination of Felicity's generosity and confident organizing of other people's lives, Elizabeth had to accept because she needed to be back in Perth the following day. If she were honest, underneath her apprehension was curiosity. The house had been her sanctuary when things became impossible with John. No, John was gone. Giovanni Federico was but an acquaintance.

She was nervous about taking the late model Mercedes sports sedan down the gravel track that served as both firebreak and path to the house. She had expected a sealed road leading to a cliff side full of houses like Eagle Bay or Yallingup, small surfing communities in the 'eighties that were now more like Perth beachside suburbs.

There was no expected development around their old block. Originally it had sported a dilapidated fisherman's shack, as had the other ten blocks in the settlement. At the time the local Council was reluctant to approve construction of a new house on the edge of a national park but there were no legal constraints. She and John had committed to a design sensitive to the fragile landscape but the incongruity of glass and steel amidst rundown timber and iron shacks had generated much community comment. It looked now as if the Council had managed to pull down the shacks and return the land to natural reserve.

Except for their house. There it stood, resplendent on its limestone outcrop. Turning its back on the land, with windows facing the ocean, it rested among the peppermint trees. The eucalyptus trees Elizabeth planted had grown beyond the height of the house. The steel and concrete structure had aged well. The wooden decking and limestone retaining walls at the back of the house had been well maintained. What screamed at Elizabeth were the walls. They had been plastered with a Tuscan ochre paint. In the 1980s the walls had been painted bright yellow and blue, matching the colours of the southern ocean and the bush wattles on a summer's day. Given Giovanni's rediscovery of his Italian roots, Elizabeth assumed he was responsible for this abomination. How would he like stainless steel balconies added to his beloved San Giminiano towers? Her garden, once resplendent with wattles, grevilleas and westringeas, now hosted a rampant purple bougainvillea and tattered rosebushes. Italian architectural colours with English and South African flowers. What emasculation waited within? She could not tell because the house was shuttered, closed in on itself, secure in its remote location. The side verandas and wooden decks were accessible only from inside.

Their young architect had infected Elizabeth with an interest in the new Australian architecture. John was away often in those days, covering yet another pointless war of liberation. Elizabeth resented then welcomed his lack of involvement. She remembered Emily's idealism. Emily Barratt. Elizabeth had teased her about her literary name, suggesting she should be a writer rather than an architect. Emily admitted to loving the Brontë novels and suggested they call the house Wuthering Heights. Let it belong to the land, she told Emily, let it belong to itself. It needs no name.

As she stood at the top of the limestone steps leading to the beach she remembered the week she moved in, taking time to unpack their few possessions. Later, as her legal career began to flourish, she relished purchasing new items for the house: blue and yellow cushions to match the outside walls, white to match the interior, tall brightly coloured glass containers of flowers and river stones. She bought several paintings with Emily's advice, the beginning of her abstract art collection. She had laughed aloud as she put it all together, perched alone on her hilltop. Pleased with John's delight when they visited together two months after she put her own stamp on the spaces, she told herself she had done it all for them both but she knew now it had always been for herself.

Blinding tears came from nowhere with such force that Elizabeth sank down on the top step. In the end the house had been a house of pain. Memories raced across her mind like scenes from a black and white film, staccato and blurred.

She had known exactly the moment she became pregnant, remembered John's excitement, their candlelit dinner on the deck. His laughter. The ocean's murmur of assent. The moon's quiet smile. John called their times together at the beach their paradise. He was so open about their passion, so Mediterranean in the face of her Scottish reserve. They had been like oil and water. Olive oil on the North Sea, she had joked.

In the end the betrayal demanded an irretrievable separation. The loss. The retreat to the beach house alone. John's ready acceptance of his mother's venom. How could he have believed she would have an abortion?

Elizabeth watched the sobs subside, distancing herself from the old pain in her abdomen, breathing into it. She gazed at the ocean. She watched wave after wave caress the sand on the beach below. Soothed at last, she stood and smoothed her clothes, foraging for a tissue in her pocket. Enough, no more, she whispered. It does no good to look back. Maybe coming to the house was not such a good idea after all.

She turned her face to the sun that shared its warmth in defiance of the black clouds hovering on the horizon. She might as well eat her picnic lunch on the beach. As she walked absent-mindedly around the house to the car to retrieve the food and drink prepared by Felicity, she walked into a wooden post, jarring her shoulder. The post carried a faded For Sale sign, overgrown with weeds.

It's an unwanted and lonely house, she thought. Only she knew how much had been lost here.

****

Elizabeth was startled from a reverie so deep she wondered if she had fallen asleep. After her visit to the house and a short walk along the beach, she had settled within the shelter of limestone rocks. The fish salad, raspberry pie and wine had stilled her racing mind, chasing away the memories, freeing her to enjoy the beauty in front of her.

The beach was empty save for seagulls' angry squawking. She waved her arms at them and they flew off leaving the stillness punctuated by gentle waves too boring for surfers. Facing the ocean, she recalled the dimly remembered comfort of pretending she was the only human between the edge of Australia and Antarctica. She let herself drift into images of laughing friends, the joy of loving and trusting another person in a timeless landscape.

The clear air, the palpable stillness and the sea's unexpected blue worked her memory. Mesmerised by sun on water, she saw she was not alone after all. A whale was lolling around not too far from shore. Its shape appeared and disappeared in a blaze of reflected light. Black one moment, silver next, white as it breached.

'Is that you, Elizabeth? What a pleasant surprise.'

Elizabeth jumped at the unexpected intruder. Where had she come from?

'I didn't mean to startle you,' the voice continued.

Elizabeth tried to focus on the shape blocking the sun.

'Do you remember me?' the woman asked. 'We met at the writers' festival.'

Elizabeth stood and looked into the concerned face of Valerie McConochie. 'Yes, yes, of course. I'm sorry to be so vague. I must have fallen asleep.'

'Well, it's getting cold. For you Scots and my Russian parents, this would be a heatwave but my old bones prefer the summer these days.'

'It has got a bit chilly,' Elizabeth agreed, noting the black clouds were getting closer. 'But how do you come to be on this beach? Do you live around here?'

Before Valerie could answer, a small white dog bounded up with a tennis ball in its mouth, shaking sand and water over both their legs, dropped the ball and gazed upwards.

'Hamish, mind your manners,' said Valerie. 'This tiny reprobate is my friend, housemate and exercise coach. Meet Hamish, the most spoilt and lovable wee dog outside Scotland. Probably anywhere, come to think of it. The world's worst watchdog and fussiest eater but we do love you, don't we, Hamish?'

Elizabeth watched the old woman as she threw the ball into the sea and the West Highland terrier went careening after it, stopping to chase a few seagulls then scurrying back to his mistress with the tennis ball.

'He's a lovely dog, right enough,' said Elizabeth. 'He's the smallest Westie I've ever seen.'

'Yes, he was the runt of the litter. They didn't expect him to survive but he's five years old now and still going strong. As you can see,' Valerie added as sandy paws pushed against her leg.

Valerie was dressed in the same style of Indian trouser and tunic of the night before, but this time made from purple cotton. A white cashmere shawl, so large it fell past her thighs, was wrapped around her shoulders. Beverley Farrington had explained how Valerie's parents had escaped Russia in 1917, pretending they were visiting relatives on the border. They escaped with jewellery sewn into their clothes and kept travelling till they reached Paris where Valerie was born.

'Would you like to have some afternoon tea and tell me how you come to be on my beach?' Valerie asked.

Elizabeth accepted without hesitation, drawn to this graceful woman whose regal bearing and energetic laughter belied her years. She could not believe Valerie was as old as the Russian Revolution.

Valerie pointed to the end of the bay. 'It's not far,' she said. They started to walk along the beach, Elizabeth noticing Valerie's slow pace and laboured breathing. 'The weatherboard cottage on the end of the cape is mine. It's been in my family since the 'thirties. Papa worked in the goldfields when we arrived but he promised my mother a house on the ocean. We came here for school holidays. Mama spent the last ten years her life here after Papa died. So when my Jock passed on, I came here too.'

'Just make yourself at home and I'll get the tea. Hamish will show you around.'

Valerie disappeared after waving Elizabeth to the front of the house. Hamish padded before her, circled the combined lounge/sitting/dining area, while gazing upwards with his black eyes, proud of having done his mistress's bidding. Elizabeth rewarded the terrier with a tickle behind his ears and he rolled on to his back. After the mandatory tummy rub he bounded through the open French doors onto a wide veranda that ran the length of the house and leapt onto a blanket-covered chair that was clearly his. He gazed at Elizabeth with his head on one side. She followed him and shivered as the threatening clouds loomed overhead. She had left her jacket in the car.

The veranda was furnished with armchairs, tables, books and flowers. Elizabeth remembered the comfort of an Australian north-facing balcony. She had spent many hours on her own in the Crespigny Bay house, at first reading then weeping. When she had felt at her most diminished the smallness of that balcony amid the peppermint trees suited her mood better than the wide deck facing the empty ocean.

Valerie's cottage was much larger than expected. They had entered through a small English style garden full of flowering herbs and exotics that looked incongruous against the Australian feel of the house. The aluminium roof and the weatherboard walls were painted the exact colour of the eucalypts that edged the garden. Inside, jarrah wood floors gleamed below walls painted in a shade lighter than the blue-green outer walls. Window frames, doors and rafters were all painted white.

Elizabeth wandered around the living areas where bookshelves lined the walls, revealing an interest in literature, history and spirituality. In one corner stood an easel with watercolour paints on an adjacent table. Elizabeth examined the work in progress.

'Ah ha, caught you!' Valerie carried the afternoon tea tray and set it on a low table.

'Sorry, I was admiring your attention to detail.'

'You're welcome to look. I've barely begun that one anyway. I'm having trouble concentrating these days. I may scrap it.'

On the easel was an A4 sheet of paper with a drawing of a banksia flower. A collection of photographs was pinned to the board and a branch from the banksia tree lay on the table beside the easel. The desiccated state of the leaves showed that Valerie had been working on the painting for some time. As with so many Australian plants, the huge domed flower and its serrated leaves were as attractive as those on the live tree. The artwork contained enough detail to satisfy a botanist yet it had an eclectic style that suggested the Flemish painters.

'Just returning to an old passion,' Valerie said. 'I'm more of a photographer but I don't get out and about much now so I returned to my painting. I try to be scientifically correct but I'm more interested in how the plant makes me feel than having my painting used for research. I couldn't paint that accurately anyway.'

To Elizabeth's eye the work looked true to life but it had a mysterious air as well, the strokes both contemporary and timeless. 'It's beautiful.' She pointed to six framed watercolours of Scottish flowers. 'Are all these yours?'

'No, I wish they were. Those were a gift from my husband Jock when we retired to the Grampians. They're by a Scottish botanical artist who taught me the basics and showed me her mountains. Those are her mountains over there but they're my photographs.'

Elizabeth walked to the end wall where the landscapes of her childhood generated a familiar homesickness. The black and white photographs contained neither people nor sheep. One Highland cow featured with scraggy hair concealing black eyes. In another, there was a proud stag. In another, an otter.

'These could have been taken yesterday or a hundred years ago,' said Elizabeth.

'Come, let's have our tea.' Valerie patted Elizabeth's arm. 'And some of this wonderful chocolate birthday cake that Beverley brought over the other day.'

The two women settled on the veranda with Hamish on his chair between them. Elizabeth tried to dispel her sensitivity as images flashed across her mind unbidden. A leaping salmon, a host of early snowdrops.

Valerie drew her back with her chatter on the writers' festival. 'Wasn't it a hoot when Jean read that bit of _Tam O'Shanter_? Jock and I always celebrated Burns night, no matter where we were in the world. I remember one particularly astonished group of Indian diplomats when we invited them to dinner. To be honest, I could never become truly Scottish because I can't stand haggis.'

'Me, neither, and I'm Scottish all the way back to William Wallace and beyond. I hate the stuff. I reckon if you like Rabbie Burns, bagpipes and the whisky then you're Scottish enough. Those photographs show me a soul in tune with the mountains.'

'I loved the mountains and the people. Just like Australians. No bulldust. Jock was a true blue Scot through and through. He wanted so much to retire to Scotland and his Highland home. I was never bothered where we lived but when he died, the Grampians were no longer my home. It was strange to create a space for one but here I am.'

Elizabeth wondered if the old woman had retreated into her own thoughts so she watched the ocean whose blue had turned grey under the blackening sky. Colour was being drained from the landscape as the wind started to ruffle tablecloth and books.

Elizabeth looked at her watch. It was 4pm. She should be setting off back to Perth but found she wanted to rest a while when Valerie suggested they move inside and close the doors.

Elizabeth ran her fingers through the fringe of the wide turquoise shawl covering the armchair. 'This is exquisite. Almost as beautiful as the pashmina you wore last night. Do you have Indian connections?'

'It depends what you mean by connections.' Valerie smiled as she clasped her hand in her lap. 'Jock and I lived in many countries, what with him being in the diplomatic service. Did I tell you that? Trouble with being my age is you tell the same story over and over again and to the same person.'

Elizabeth smiled, encouraging her to go on.

'When we were in India, I became ill. Not the usual upset tummy. This went on and on and I was getting weaker. Our housekeeper brought her local Indian doctor to see me. He asked me a few questions but I doubt he got any sense out of me and then he took my pulse in this strange way, like he was playing the piano on my forearm. He prescribed herbs and a strict diet. And I mean strict. Not just what to eat but how much, when, with what spices and herbs. Hot water to be sipped every half hour. Within a week I was vastly improved. Within months I felt better than I had ever felt. And I still follow those instructions, save for the odd piece of chocolate cake.'

Valerie's laughter woke Hamish who jumped onto her lap. She stroked him absentmindedly behind one ear. 'So I insisted on visiting the Indian doctor as a matter of course whenever I had any problems. Jock was dubious but he never made a fuss when I got a bee in my bonnet. The other Europeans were appalled.' She giggled at the recollection. 'What I found was a whole theory not just of medicine but of life. Ayurveda it was called. I learned to meditate, studied their medicine and became quite a convert. Took up yoga, even consulted their astrologers. Went a bit native, you know, eh what?' Valerie mimicked a perfect aristocratic English accent.

'Even to the point of dress, I notice.'

'Oh yes. I started wearing Indian silk and cotton tops and trousers when I was ill. Could never get the hang of saris. So much better for the climate. I couldn't stand the humidity so at home I wore them as house clothes. When we left India I bought up the local village supply. They are perfect for Australia's climate. Just put on a spenser and long johns underneath them in winter if it gets too cold. Wouldn't do in the Grampians, though. Now that's what I call cold.'

'My grandmother knitted Arran and Fair Isle jumpers for me until she died. Homespun wool, that's what you need for the cold.'

Valerie explained how she met the Indian women who made the clothes and the shawls. She was horrified at their working conditions. She arranged to buy direct from the women, insisting on paying three times what they asked. As she travelled around the world, women would want to know where she found such beautiful cloth.

'I used to tell them if they wanted a shawl, a sari or length of material I could obtain it for them. I stayed in touch with the villagers. We set up a proper business for the village women, a collective. I still send them orders for my Australian friends. Felicity has many dresses made from silk saris and she sends money to the women as well. It's the least I can do to repay the great spiritual gift India gave me.'

Elizabeth noticed other Indian touches in the room. A brass bowl, an incense burner, a picture of a white-bearded man with a golden bowl of white roses set before it.

'So, if there is anything you like, just place your order here. Valerie Inc at your service. But, by the way, I don't do pashminas. Absolutely horrendous practice. But I could get you beautiful cashmere shawls. Cheap! Cheap!'

They both laughed at Valerie's imitation of an Indian salesman.

'I'll need to be off before that rain comes, but it's been lovely to meet you again and to see your house.' Elizabeth rose from the armchair.

'Yes, I've enjoyed it, too, but you can't go until you tell me how you came to be on my beach.'

Elizabeth explained about the house as they walked to the door.

'That's the Morrison place?' Valerie asked. 'The one straight across the bay, all by itself on the point?'

'Yes. My ex-husband and I built it in the nineteen-eighties but I heard that he sold it soon after the divorce. I was curious to see how it had weathered the storms and owners.'

'Oh, I'm so pleased to have met you. My son was an architect and he loved that house. He and Emily Barratt were great friends. It was one of her first commissions, wasn't it? The Morrisons nearly wrecked it, painting it in that revolting colour. Italian puce, John called it. Thank goodness Emily was overseas and probably hasn't seen the house since.'

'So who owns it now?'

'The Morrisons still, well one of them. They divorced as well and have been trying to sell it for three years. They want a fortune for it but we're not as trendy as further up the coast.'

Was the house waiting for her, Elizabeth wondered. Where did that come from? Maybe she should remember Thomas Wolfe's advice. _You can't go home again_. The past is past and should be left undisturbed.

'I have the keys.' Valerie rummaged in a basket on her hall table. 'The agent refers people to me sometimes instead of coming from Augusta. Why don't you take them and have a look around? Leave them in the mailbox and I'll pick them up later. Hamish and I walk past there every day.'

Elizabeth accepted the keys. She had left her car parked next to the house so she had to return there anyway. It wouldn't hurt to look inside, would it?

### PART TWO

Iteration, like friction, is likely to generate heat instead of progress.

George Eliot

CHAPTER ONE

'It's time to draw the line. A good General knows when to move, when to stand still.' Roger Lui said. 'As Sun Tzu says, _knowing the pace and the time of the coming battle, we may concentrate from the greatest distances in order to fight_.'

Roger's frequent references to the ancient Chinese soldier's philosophy had prompted Elizabeth to read _The Art of War_. While it resonated with her more than Machiavelli's not-so-subtle recommendations on the pursuit of political power she recoiled from the machismo.

They were in the Matilda Bay Restaurant overlooking the Swan River. As Elizabeth consumed the last of her soup, Roger Lui bent to his briefcase and retrieved a silk-wrapped box. He handed it to Elizabeth with both hands, offering a slight bow in his chair. 'In your quest to be an even better General, allow me to present you with this gift.'

Elizabeth was aware of the Japanese couple at the next table staring at them and whispering behind their hands. She smiled to them as she removed the material to reveal a jarrah wooden box. The lid was inlaid with mother of pearl in the shape of crossed sheathed Chinese swords with a lotus flower in the space between them. Opening the box, Elizabeth found within a leather-bound book whose cover was embossed with the same motifs as those on the lid. It was a 1910 translation of _The Art of War_ by Lionel Giles.

'This is exquisite.' Elizabeth fingered the handmade paper of the title page with its inscription in a perfect calligraphic hand. _If virtue promises good fortune and tranquillity, certainly the progress towards virtue is a progress towards each of these things. Epictetus. With best wishes for your progress from Roger Lui._

'A quote from Epictetus?' she said. 'Well, this protects my East and West flanks. What about North and South?'

'Ah, well, you must read Master Sun for advice. He would tell you to know yourself as well as others but allies are always useful.'

The arrival of the waiter interrupted them. Elizabeth found it hard to believe she had been in the job for almost six months. Some days she did feel surrounded by allies. Roger and Felicity, Cass, Penelope and Beverley had introduced her to those they deemed powerful and useful but, if she were honest, she longed to be less on show. While Josephine, George and Anne continued their energetic support, she was less sure of others. It was time to test her doubts. That was what she wanted to discuss with Roger.

'By the way, lunch is on me,' he said. 'Not the taxpayer. I thought it would be nice to have our monthly meeting outside the office. Of course, it will do my reputation no harm being seen out with a pretty girl.'

Elizabeth reminded herself to accept Roger's old-style compliments with grace rather than the hackles of latent feminism. Pretty girl! That had never been a frequent compliment even in her youth. She wondered sometimes if Roger was aware of the unacceptability of some of his language yet it was clear from the respect he showed her and the way in which he listened to her advice that he held her in high esteem. In his world Sun Tzu would be given only to an equal.

'I suspect my reputation will gain more,' Elizabeth said as she re-wrapped the box, 'being seen with one of Australia's most influential men at his favourite watering hole.'

'Well, we're both satisfied then.' Roger nodded and lifted his wine glass in a toast to her then to the river before them. 'I never tire of this place. There are fewer people here today than usual. With all their PDAs and mobile phones, I wonder who takes time to lunch these days.'

The surprising warm winter weather had given way to cold spring rain that streamed across the river towards the city. The yachts in the marina next to the restaurant tugged at their moorings. Heavy and decisive, the shower passed as quickly as it came, unlike Scottish mist that could take a week to sprinkle as much moisture as a five-minute Perth deluge.

Roger Lui consumed his fish in silent appreciation. Elizabeth had found his single-mindedness disconcerting at first. She could do three or four things at once: eat, read, listen to the radio and think about her day. As she ate she wondered yet again at the prescience that drove the Luis to leave Hong Kong and transfer their businesses to Perth long before the Chinese took over. While Elizabeth regarded him as both a gentleman and a gentle man she suspected the price of disloyalty would be high.

Roger set his knife and fork parallel on his plate and wiped his mouth with his napkin. 'Delicious, as usual.' He gazed through the windows as a frown settled above half-closed eyes. 'I had a meeting with Jeremy Hayes yesterday. He tells me he needs to go to Canberra with what he calls a big win. He's going to some Ministerial meeting. I fail to remember the longwinded names they give these things.'

Elizabeth explained about the National Information Infrastructure Council and her attempts to get enough information from her staff to brief Roger Lui before they met with the minister.

'It's quite a challenge,' he said, 'trying to get information from bureaucrats, is it not? Have you tried other sources?'

'Yes, I have. It was a good excuse to introduce myself to my interstate counterparts. It's not easy to find the people who advise ministers on information policy in the other states. They're in different departments. Education, information technology, even a state library. So many idiosyncratic definitions of the word information that it can't find a home.'

Elizabeth did not recount Michael Robinson's continued lack of cooperation. She had sent Barbara to Robinson's office to retrieve the files, but they were so lacking in any useful information that Elizabeth wondered about the point of the meetings. 'The agenda for the next meeting is so bland,' she said. 'Mountains of papers for noting but few recommendations for action. Western Australia has made no meaningful contribution to the last three annual Ministerial Councils and not much more at the officers' meetings that are held three times a year.'

Roger smiled like an indulgent parent. 'Of course it's all for noting. It's a Ministerial Council. Public servants don't want their masters discussing anything that might lead to work for them or, heaven forbid, a national outcome. It will be easier for us to become a republic than to end competition between the states. It is an interesting animal, this federation of ours.'

Elizabeth ordered coffee as the waitress cleared their plates but refused the urging to have dessert.

Roger retrieved a small leather case from his inside jacket pocket and removed a set of small cards. The top one was covered with Chinese characters. 'Let's talk about the _Remembering_ project, shall we? I've read your note on the SysWA/Vision Industries negotiations and I agree with you there are a lot of uncertainties. I am confused about the relationship between _Remembering_ and _Valkyrie_ and I doubt the board will follow it.'

'It's labyrinthine. I thought it was just me being new to it all and things would become clearer as I spoke to different people but there are as many opinions of who owns what as there are players.'

'It's good you know Martin Cheval so well.'

'He has been taking my calls.' Elizabeth did not want to explain her complicated relationship with Cheval. 'He says he's happy to close off any contracts but I don't think the former SysWA executives have got that message.'

'So, what's our next step?'

'I feel confident Cheval will draw a line under the existing arrangements. He says he will instruct Jules Vupin to do that. I'd prefer Martin did it himself but I understand why he'd want his regional chief executive to do it. I've asked Vupin to the Think Tank but I don't know if he'll come.'

'Good. Best to look an adversary in the eye. Do we know he is an adversary?'

'I'm not sure yet.'

'If all goes well, what then?'

'End _Remembering_. End it quickly and publicly. It's run out of steam. It's divisive, it uses old technology and it's been stumbling on for too long.'

'Well, Dr Wallace, please don't spare the horses. You said in your note that there are funding issues that are going to come up again at the Ministerial Council?'

Elizabeth paused while coffee was served. She had a new idea but she needed to lay some groundwork. Clearing out the old clutter had to be her first priority. She had some sense of the terrain and was ready to fire her first shots but she needed to test how far Roger Lui would support her. She suspected he wanted boldness from his general.

' _Remembering_ has been funded primarily by the national government since 2001,' Elizabeth said. 'The problem is the Commonwealth didn't release this year's funds and have said they won't till they get written reports for the last two years.'

'The board hasn't been told that. That's been my objections to Robinson. Putting to one side his arrogance, I've always been left with a sense of information being held back.' He looked at her over his coffee cup. 'But do go on. Are you going to tell me you've got Michael Robinson to write the reports?'

'No, I can't tell you that but I've decided I'm going to bypass him altogether.' Elizabeth consulted her notes. 'I've spoken to Jean Renfrew in the federal minister's office and I believe they will agree to closing _Remembering_ and allocate the remaining funds to the board for a new project.'

She explained how she had asked Mario Fiori for a written account of _Remembering_ 's digital archives so that she could assess its future funding needs. As Mario spent his entire existence worrying about his budget, the report came quickly. He was paranoid about providing it to her given Michael Robinson's status as project director so Elizabeth told him he should give Robinson a copy. Clearly, Michael Robinson posed a more terrifying authority than she, but she had no desire to intimidate her staff.

'From what I have been able to glean, the merging of the libraries, archives and museums into the Institute left a lot of bitterness. As you know, _Remembering_ predates the merger while _Valkyrie_ is an Institute project. These projects are maintaining the old loyalties and fuelling deep divisions.' Elizabeth shook her head. 'We'll never design a shared direction as long as we have this baggage. The _Remembering_ team pressure me for more funding. The _Valkyrie_ team see _Remembering_ as old hat. The _Remembering_ team believes _Valkyrie_ needs their data to look good and they're squabbling over whose retrieval software is best. I want to end both of them and create a new project. Build a coherent team and make any structural changes needed to achieve that. There's too many chiefs and warring fiefdoms.'

'Oh, is that all?' Roger said, raising his eyebrows. 'Are you doing this immediately or sooner?'

'I've learned the hard way that immediately can be disastrous but so can later. I think a three to four month timeframe would work. I've been here long enough to know where some of the bodies are buried.'

'It's the live ones we need to worry about.' Roger nodded for her to continue.

'Let me be frank with you, Mr Chairman. The Institute staff view the board as a hindrance. The clever ones are frustrated. If I don't move quickly, we may lose them. The board is almost irrelevant which borders on the illegal. Our governance structure maybe similar to that of a public company but you wouldn't think so in practice.'

'I agree. I've been bothered for some time about the board's position. The papers presented are too much like what you've found with the national meetings. It's what my son calls a snow job. Until I was able to get your appointment under way, I'd been wondering if I was wasting my time. Private sector boards would never stand for the kind of information we get or don't get, as I'm sure you know.'

Elizabeth realised he would support her but she could feel a tightening in her neck muscles. Moving too quickly against people who were better connected than she was to enter unknown territory but doing nothing was no longer an option.

'Let's take this one step at a time then,' Roger said. 'I'll just ring the office and let them know where I'll be this afternoon. Why don't we continue our discussions at my home? It's more private and I think we need a whiteboard for all this plotting.'

****

Three hours later, they had mapped their plan of action. They had analysed potential adversaries, agreed on some defensive strategies and plotted a way through the minefield of bureaucratic, political and financial obstructions. Cocooned in Roger's study, Elizabeth pondered the incongruity of filling an electronic whiteboard with schemes for a modern organisation in a Dickensian space. The smart board used the latest technology but was hidden behind bookshelves.

The wintry weather had closed in and Roger drew the drapes. He turned on the green lamps ensconced in the brass fittings on both sides of the fireplace. From the mantelpiece a small statue of Confucius looked down, hands hidden in his sleeves. He donned a velvet smoking jacket and selected a pipe from the collection at the side of his armchair. 'This is good, Elizabeth, but we've talked enough for today. I'll have William take you home. I'd like to think some more about all this. You go ahead with what we've discussed and I'll handle the board while you and Jeremy are in Canberra.'

Elizabeth eased herself to her feet, her back locked from sitting on the edge of the chesterfield. The board contained a rich picture of relevant organisations, people and critical paths as well as Roger's colourful hieroglyphics. Elizabeth had made her own notes in her Moleksine notebook. While she provided the words Roger provided the pictures. Their combined effort would be waiting for her on her laptop as Roger had emailed the screens to her.

Elizabeth flicked through her pages. 'The concern I have is how Michael Robinson will react to all this and just how much support he has on the board. I don't understand his combination of non-involvement and blatant opposition nor do I know who his allies are. He's been in Europe for a month on a family holiday but goodness knows who he's been speaking to.'

'Well, that's enough worrying to be going on with.' Roger stood and Elizabeth had an impression of being dismissed.

'It's as if he's challenging me to take him on because he knows he'll win.'

'He probably is, and the sooner you restructure those projects the better. I'll flag this with the board as we've agreed. That should flush out any support for Robinson. I think I know who they are. But we must be subtle. As Master Sun says, _Whoever is first in the field and awaits the coming of the enemy will be fresh for the fight_.'

That's all very well, thought Elizabeth, but she had been summoning Michael Robinson for five months and he was not answering her call.

****

Josephine Baxter and Anne Oldham were coming to the end of their Valkyrie presentation for the October board meeting. Full of sound and movement, explaining concepts while offering search pathways for varying skill levels, it was everything Elizabeth had hoped for. The images from the Remembering archive gave it an Australian feel.

They were in Anne's office and Elizabeth quizzed them with questions that might be asked by board members. 'So, what do we say when Elliot Prince asks why Remembering data is being used here? We told the board that Valkyrie was a pilot project. What if Ngaire French adds that the authors are up in arms?'

Anne spoke first. 'Let me handle this one. There is no reason not to use the Remembering archive. Valkyrie and Remembering are both covered by crown copyright. The ownership of the collections was transferred to the Institute in the new legislation. True, we called the first phase of Valkyrie a pilot so we could get the collections people to move an inch.'

'Perhaps offer less criticism of your colleagues,' Elizabeth said. 'Tell me why Michael Robinson is against the data being used to demonstrate Valkyrie's power.'

Josephine and Anne glanced at each other but it was Josephine who spoke. 'Have you asked Michael?'

'Yes, but I am asking for your opinion. I won't take Valkyrie forward if there's no team support for it.'

'Well, we might as well dump it right now,' Anne said, 'because he's never going to support it. And, since you mention it, there's never been executive support for it. Mario always caves in to Michael.'

Elizabeth recognised the familiar pattern of Josephine's restraint in the face of Anne's volatility but she wanted specifics from them. 'What if Dr Robinson is correct? Remembering is an intact project and maybe Valkyrie could use data from other archives?'

Anne bit her bottom lip and looked at Josephine as if to say, you started this. Josephine sighed and looked to Elizabeth, appearing to consider her words. 'I've promoted this in Canberra as an Australian first. It must look Australian and sound Australian. If we don't use the Remembering data then Valkyrie has no national flavour. There's no point in showing the multilingual capacities by searching in French and pulling up an image of the Eiffel Tower. You can do that on a French web site.'

Rubbing her forehead and gazing at her laptop, Anne rushed her words. 'Can we call a spade a spade here? This argument is not about the data. It's about Michael's relationship with SysWA. He and his mate Gordon Burns just won't give up, no matter what the Vision people say.'

'Trouble is, we can't prove that,' Josephine said, 'and we can't open up that issue at board level.'

'Well, I think it's time we shared more than our suspicions with the boss, don't you?'

'You can speak confidentially,' Elizabeth said. 'I have my suspicions that Jules Vupin in Singapore is influenced more by Gordon Burns than by a CEO in Paris.'

'I think you've got a point there,' Anne said. 'There are too many secrets around here and it's complicated.' She sighed, as if she were tired of explaining the story.

'Let's stick to what we think we know,' Josephine said, counting on her fingers. 'Gordon Burns and Michael are close. Burns has probably told Vision that SysWA has proprietary rights to the Valkyrie work. Not that Michael's interested in Valkyrie but if SysWA had it they could kill it off and run with the Remembering system.'

Elizabeth was tired of it as well but each time they discussed it

she gleaned new information. 'You mentioned that you thought Elliot Prince had some part to play.'

'That's where it gets fuzzy,' Anne said. 'SysWA was a family company. I've been told that Prince is a good personal friend of the former CEO who persuaded him to invest in SysWA. Prince probably made a nice return when SysWA was sold to Vision.'

'Wait a minute,' Elizabeth said. 'Are you sure about that? Wouldn't he have to declare it as a potential conflict of interest to the board?'

'Yes, he would have,' Josephine said, 'and no, we're not sure because it's a private company. I have a few connections, though, and I trust their analyses.'

'What worries me,' said Anne, 'is that Prince might have given SysWA the impression when he was Acting Chairman that they could use the digital material to produce CDs for the education market. Mario let slip that Michael gave them access to the Remembering data to prove the concept.'

Josephine continued. 'In some ways, Prince and Robinson were doing what government expected. Develop new partnerships with the private sector, they say. Encourage research and development. Be innovative. Develop new sources of income. The problem is, someone gave SysWA the impression they had a deal if they proved the CD concept and I suspect they're expecting to go ahead with their own product line using our data.'

'Michael told me last year that SysWA had the Remembering archive on their servers,' Anne added. 'What if they still have it?'

Elizabeth stood and poured herself coffee, giving in to the temptation of the chocolate biscuits. Anne and Josephine rose and helped themselves to coffee as well. Elizabeth wondered how best to deal with their frustrations and their resentment of Robinson.

'There's nothing in the files,' Josephine said, leaning on the sideboard. 'I can find no contracts that show there was any agreement to share further development. That doesn't mean there isn't a file somewhere waiting to ambush us.'

'Even if the board hasn't approved a contract that doesn't mean there isn't an implied contract,' Elizabeth said.

Michael Robinson's reticence to engage with Elizabeth could mean anything, she thought, as they returned to the table. His agenda could be covering up poor management or deliberate fraud.

'Let's take this one issue at a time,' Elizabeth said. 'Firstly, who is the project manager for Valkyrie? Who signs off the specifications and approves external payments?'

'I do,' said Anne.

'Good. So at any time did you agree to amendments or addenda to the SysWA contract to include Valkyrie?'

'No, but–'

'But what?'

Anne pulled at her fingers and sighed. 'Although I'm in charge of all the Institute systems work, when Michael became acting MD he changed the monthly IT meetings and took over the communications with the company. He shut me out.'

'Are there written records of those meetings?' Elizabeth hoped the paperwork would be an improvement on the Ministerial Council papers.

'Sometimes it's what isn't in the minutes that's the worry,' said Anne.

'Point taken,' said Elizabeth. 'Is it possible there are any written records that could be used to argue that SysWA had an interest in Valkyrie or a commitment from us to let them produce CDs from the Remembering data?'

'I've looked everywhere,' said Josephine. 'Any deals about either project beyond the original contract are definitely not recorded in our system. Of course, verbal agreements are another thing but how anyone can argue they have verbal agreements with government is beyond me.'

'I don't think we need to worry about legal arguments with Vision,' Elizabeth said. 'I have spoken several times with Martin Cheval.'

'Several times? Really?' Anne's astonished look made Elizabeth think she had been conversing with God.

'Yes, I asked him if he would put his assurances to me in writing. He has confirmed that if we wish to terminate our arrangements with SysWA then in the absence of any contracts to the contrary he will agree. He has asked Jules Vupin to draw up the paperwork.'

'That's great,' said Anne, looking brighter than before.

Josephine was less joyful. 'That implies that if there is a contract then Cheval would change his mind.'

'I have a bit more faith in him,' said Elizabeth. 'He's of the old school where his word is his bond.'

Josephine's raised eyebrow suggested she disagreed but Elizabeth pressed on. She needed their assistance at the upcoming board meeting where Roger would explain their decisions. 'On another tack, let me ask you a question. Would you be happy to close off both Valkyrie and Remembering?'

'But what about phase two? International launches? All the things we spoke of?' Anne's voice had the wail of a wounded animal. 'We can't just kill it off. What would our flagship project be then?'

Josephine was calmer. She tilted her head. 'Do you mean close off the projects or close off the work?'

'What's the difference?' Anne groaned.

'A lot,' said Elizabeth. 'First we close down the projects and stop using these names. They're generating too many problems. There's too many egos, confusion over roles and, quite frankly, Remembering isn't a dynamic name for a forward-looking agency. And all I'm getting with Valkyrie is a picture of wraiths and skulls.'

'I'm rather fond of our avatar.' Anne's Yorkshire accent strengthened with her disappointment.

Elizabeth persisted. 'It may make a lot of sense in Europe but it's also the name of a Nazi strategy. Now they've made a film on it, it just doesn't help us. All that death and destruction. Do we want to be leading people into the underworld or into the light of knowledge?'

'But what would we do next?' Anne asked, still sounding unsure.

Elizabeth needed to talk to Jean to shore up Commonwealth government support before she shared her ideas. 'Why don't you two put your heads together on that? Be as outrageous as you can. Think big.'

The two directors looked at each other, Josephine's upright posture contrasting with Anne's slumped shoulders.

'In the meantime, Josephine,' Elizabeth added, 'please put together a report for me on how we finish these projects. Tell me what contractual or funding arrangements we need to wind up. I want to renegotiate the Commonwealth funding.'

Elizabeth stood and thanked them for their frankness. 'It's a pity it's taken so many weeks to deal with this, but I understand why. Please keep this conversation to yourselves at the moment. Make sure your Valkyrie presentation to the board knocks their socks off.'

Josephine looked at Anne's crestfallen face.

'Don't worry about Valkyrie, Anne,' Elizabeth said. 'Try to think of the next phase. If you could take Remembering and Valkyrie further what would your dream be?'

'Thank you, Elizabeth, for a lovely evening, and an exhilarating two days. I look forward to continuing our work. I miss our conversations. Do come to Europe soon.'

Elizabeth extended her hand to Professor James Jefferson but he insisted on embracing her. 'The pleasure has been all mine,' she said. 'It's been a privilege to have such a distinguished group in our Institute. You must come again.'

As convenor of the Global Information Networks Think Tank, Jefferson had been a resounding success. An American, he had lived in Edinburgh for twenty years while consulting and lecturing on future scenarios all over the world. 'Do you realise it's been fifteen years tomorrow since you published my first book? I'm delighted we can continue our working relationship even if you are in the antipodes. I miss your friendly face at Next Generation Publishing. Lynda Muir doesn't display the same interest in my work.'

Eleven publishers had rejected Jefferson's first book on the application of complexity theory to organisational futures before Elizabeth read it. Each time she met Jefferson she remembered the rollercoaster ride of launching her ideas publishing house. Then she had swung between grief for what she had left in Australia and sheer terror at what she had undertaken, between gratitude for Fionn's unconditional support and guilt over her failed marriage. Jefferson had stilled her anxieties by not only providing manuscripts that brought the right mix of controversy and scholarship but also becoming a close friend. He was a consummate public speaker as he predicted the waves of concern over globalisation, genetic engineering and climate change's impact on the third world. Later his sixth book helped her launch the IDEAS!!! imprint and he became the backbone of her company's BiggerIdeas website where he led discussions on the need for new ways of thinking about what he called the West's messes. Since returning to Australia Elizabeth had been disappointed by the paucity of public discussion on these topics so she had invited Jefferson to Perth in the hope he would stimulate support for similar ventures at the Institute.

'Lynda's a great businesswoman and Next Generation Publishing is close to her heart. She's just busy.' Elizabeth had not told him that the IDEAS!!! imprint would be unlikely to survive under the new regime.

Other guests came to say their farewells. The Premier, Giles Drake, had left earlier, expressing great satisfaction with the event. As well he should, thought Elizabeth. All he had to do was read the opening and closing speeches written for him. She had been bemused by Drake's demeanour that exuded self-confidence despite rumours he may not be Premier much longer, so bad were the opinion polls.

On the other hand, Jeremy Hayes did not share his Premier's delight. He contained himself behind a fixed smile while the Premier spoke. He had attended as much of the two days as parliamentary sittings allowed and engaged with the speakers, often making cogent observations. The Think Tank had focused on how developed countries could be more creative in using their knowledge for the betterment of themselves as well as less fortunate regions. There had been 500,000 hits on the concurrent interactive web site and Elizabeth had received a dozen calls from international media.

'Congratulations, Elizabeth on a stunning success.' Josephine Baxter grinned from ear to ear. 'We've highlighted more global issues about the importance of knowledge in two days than Australia has discussed in the last year. I think we've generated at least fifteen research projects with partners in five countries. Pity we couldn't have had the Prime Minister open it.'

'We'll get the Prime Minister next year,' Elizabeth said.

'Next year?' said George, offering them both a glass of champagne. 'We're doing all this again?'

Elizabeth sipped her drink. 'Why not? And next year let's have it in Melbourne. And Paris the year after.'

'And New York the year after that,' Josephine said. 'You'll love all that PR work, George, although I'm in charge of international affairs so maybe I'd better do it. Forget Melbourne, let's do Singapore.'

Elizabeth let herself bask in the banter of her senior staff. Even Mario had exhibited a restrained excitement in the midst of his nervousness when she asked him to step in to chair Robinson's session.

'Pity Michael missed all of this,' said Josephine. 'Shame about his sudden illness.' She exchanged doubting looks with George. 'It must have come on suddenly as I spoke to him around six last night. Still, his loss was Mario's gain. These two days have convinced him that if no one knows his heritage collections exist then all the ideas are lost. Who knows what wisdom is locked in those papers?'

'Yes, too many ideas are being ignored because they're not on the Net,' Elizabeth said. 'Wasn't the head of the British Library manuscripts section magnificent when he spoke of the dangers of believing the past is a dead heart?'

'And did you notice how we started to talk about technology as a tool for social good but we need governments to pay attention?' Josephine asked. 'I've been saying for years that policy settings matter. All the speakers on the second day picked up and ran with that theme, even the corporates.'

'Yes, fabulous,' said George, 'and how about our chairman? His speech on the need for nations to translate their significant documents into global languages to promote international understanding was really moving. Even if we did have to listen to Sun Tzu's wisdom again.'

'Did I hear my name taken in vain?' Roger Lui came up behind Elizabeth.

'Not in vain, sir,' George said. 'In admiration. We knew you were interested in our work but we we've never heard you speak so, so–'

'Passionately?' Roger Lui laughed. 'These two days have given me a lot to think about. You've done us all proud, Dr Wallace. I doubt anyone else could have gathered such a distinguished crowd.'

'Andresen was magnificent, wasn't he?' Josephine said. 'I loved his argument that sustainability in the developed world is more dependent on our citizens' creativity than on technology. I had never thought of Africa as a source of new ideas and ancient wisdom. We owe Cass Lawson a great deal for getting him here.'

'Yes, we do. Cass has been a great supporter,' said Elizabeth. 'She's taking Andresen to the airport as we speak. He's agreed to come back and spend a month with us to develop our ideas further.'

'So we've got the northern hemisphere covered with Jefferson and the southern with Andresen,' said Josephine. 'The way he used the ancient stories about the Nile basin as a metaphor for our current ecological problems was marvellous. I thought half the audience was going to leave when he said the solutions had nothing to do with science or economics and more to do with our so-called new thinking.'

'Well, you must all be tired,' said Roger. 'Congratulations again. I'm looking forward to bragging about this at the next board meeting, particularly to Elliott Prince. Pity he couldn't be here.' As he turned, Elizabeth was astonished to see him wink at her.

'Prince might have the same bug as Michael,' said George. 'Probably in a place where the sun don't shine.'

Josephine asked Elizabeth to join them for a meal at the jetty restaurant near the Institute.

'Thanks for asking, but I can't. Cass is coming back here after she drops Andresen. How about inviting Mario?'

George and Josephine looked less than eager but said their farewells and walked towards Mario who was supervising the removal of his treasures. Elizabeth sensed that with some attention Mario would commit to the team. He was not someone whose opposition would be dangerous. Unlike the ever absent Dr Michael Robinson. She had to admit to a grudging admiration for the way he had avoided her, exhibiting great skill at presenting incontestable excuses. He had managed to book conference attendance, a month long overseas holiday and extensive visits around the state at times that coincided with executive meetings. She had given him long enough to get over his disappointment and while she was working around his absences, she knew her credibility with the staff was suffering. She suspected the majority of them wanted her to deal with him. She would risk no longer looking like his puppet.

The conference room was empty now. Outside the streets glistened in the heavy rain. The slow-moving peak hour traffic on the freeway looked like a shimmering snake at the edge of the river whose surface churned under Perth's notorious southerly winds. There was no sign of the magnificent spring days that had so delighted their international visitors. Elizabeth did not mind winter's return. Summer's heat would come soon enough.

She returned to her place at the conference table and gathered her papers. She had created the idea of the Think Tank in her first few weeks at the Institute when it was clear they needed more public engagement. Vague notions about being 'world-class' and gaining a 'global presence' abounded in the Institute's literature but there was no substance. The failure of the bureaucrats to manage the creation of the Institute when they had a clean slate made her job all the more difficult. If she had been aware there was so much baggage and warring agendas, would she have accepted the position?

The Vision/SysWA difficulties had not been resolved. Jules Vupin had not attended the Think Tank but at least he had called to apologise. She had not mentioned paperwork as he said he would be in Perth in three weeks and would meet with her then.

Well, we have a few runs on the board now, she thought, as their sports-mad minister would say. We've won the test match, if not the whole series. Next stop the World Cup.

Careful, Elizabeth, she said to herself. Don't start believing your own propaganda. But it felt good. She had shown her staff and public sector colleagues that distinguished academics, thinkers and decision-makers took the Institute seriously. For the first time since she had arrived she had given her staff something to be proud of, something new to work on together.

She had inspired most of her staff but Michael Robinson's public absence was making their dysfunctional relationship too obvious. He was going to be a hard nut to crack but you can't crack a nut if you can't find it. Time she went looking.

****

Elizabeth turned on the lights in the penthouse kitchen but left the rest of the apartment in darkness. She stood before the windows with their panoramic view of the river and Kings Park, hidden behind driving rain save for the floodlit war memorial floating above the city. The large southern panes of glass trembled in the wind. She shivered at the rattling sounds and knelt to turn on the electric fire that astonished her each time, so deceptive were the glowing logs.

The uncluttered, soft pastel shades with light-coloured timbers, stainless steel fittings and coloured touches in fabrics and artworks folded around her again. Each time she was reminded of her London flat, much smaller than the penthouse but much loved. The difference was that each time she opened the door and saw the familiar furniture she had to suppress a pang of loneliness she had not felt in years. She would then remind herself that living in the apartment was a temporary arrangement even if her boxes had arrived several weeks earlier and gone into storage.

When in London, she would organise weekly dinner parties, experimenting with recipes from her most recent cookery book purchase. She had been invited to so many meals to welcome her to Perth there had been no time to plan her own.

Barbara kept the refrigerator well stocked with leftovers from the frequent lunches or dinners for national and international visitors. Josephine had commented on the unusual number from Canberra. Elizabeth wondered whether they were checking up on her but she welcomed the visits even if most implied that the long trip they made from Canberra to Perth was evidence of their largesse.

The security phone rang. It was Jock saying Cass had arrived. Elizabeth finished making the martinis and stood by the lift.

'God, what a night!' Cass stepped into the apartment. 'The traffic's so slow we almost missed his plane.'

Handing her friend a glass, Elizabeth ushered Cass into the lounge, pressing the electric switch to draw the drapes. 'I don't know why you insisted on taking Andresen to the airport on such a filthy night. The government car was waiting.'

Elizabeth lit the tea candles on the coffee table as Cass sank into the white leather sofa. 'Willie is such an old friend I couldn't just pack him off on his own. Last time I was in Strasbourg at the worst environmental law conference ever he looked after me like I was the Queen. Gorgeous man. Unfortunately he has an equally gorgeous wife whom he adores.'

'And he's twenty years older than you,' Elizabeth laughed. 'What would Victor have to say about that?'

'Oh, I was thinking of him more for you, rather than me. He looks virile enough, don't you think?'

'You're incorrigible. Now, before gossip and post-mortems, food. I never get a chance to eat anything at these functions. How about seafood pasta, followed by crème brulée? The pasta I'll cook, the brulée is left over from last night's dinner.'

'Sounds fabulous, but it's still early.' Cass kicked off her shoes and stretched her legs along the couch. 'This martini is perfect, Perse. Manna from heaven.'

'Oh, well, that's Fionn's doing. She couldn't boil an egg but she prided herself on making cocktails. Called it her version of foreplay. Claimed it worked every time.'

'Dr Wallace, you're not after my body after all these years?'

Elizabeth was grateful for the ease with which she and Cass had renewed their friendship. Cass and Penelope had been two constants in her life since university days. Penelope had slipped into her life to rescue a forlorn teenager in ways her mother could not. Years later guilt had consumed Elizabeth as she wondered how her mother had felt, alone in a new country not of her choosing, her only daughter bitter and angry about her transportation and preferring to spend time with people of a different class. Penelope and Cass came from a long line of grazier stock, far removed from poor Scottish fisher folk but Cass always played down her wealth, dressing in her student days in op shop clothes that appalled the fastidious Penelope.

'Penny for them.' Cass broke their comfortable silence.

'I was just thinking about how great your mother looks. It's hard to believe she's eighty years old. More like eighty years young.'

'Speaking of Penelope, she wants me to insist that you come live with her. She rattles around in that huge house. You could have the whole guest wing to yourself.'

'Cass, not again. I'm happy enough here.'

'That's what I told her, but she's got a point. Beautiful as this is, it's not yours. What if you fall out with the powers that be? You could end up with no job and no home.'

'Oh, thank you so much. After two fantastic world-beating days, you've got me the sack?'

Cass was not to be deterred. 'Just being realistic. It may be unlikely at the moment, but these bastards will dump you toute suite the minute you look less than perfect. You only have to look at the to-ing and fro-ing on salinity funding to see their hypocrisy. They've known about the problem since the 1890s. Now we've got the same argy-bargy about climate change.'

'Okay, time for dinner, I think. Put the soapbox away and set the table. I'll start the pasta.' Elizabeth pulled Cass to her feet.

'All right, but I demand the rest of that martini. I'll tell the motherly one you'll come stay with her the minute you get the sack. Agreed?'

Elizabeth threw a cushion at Cass and walked into the stainless steel and black marble kitchen. They chatted about Cass and Penelope's holiday travel plans that included yet another trip to Venice.

'Speaking of Italia, have you seen the magnificent Giovanni since Roger's party?' asked Cass.

'Not much to speak of,' Elizabeth felt herself close down. 'He's doing some work for Jeremy Hayes so he'll be hard to avoid. He appears to want a civilised relationship. I'll go along with that for the moment. I don't want to rake over old coals.'

'Speaking of rakes, didn't you say the inestimable Dr Robinson was sick?'

'Supposedly, but who knows? He has a long list of imaginative excuses.'

'He didn't look too sick to me. When I was dropping Willie at the airport, Robinson was in the car in front helping someone with his bags.'

'Are you sure it was him?'

'Yes. You can't mistake the height of him and that blonde hair. I didn't know the bloke he was with.'

'What did he look like?'

'Short guy, well-dressed, a bit overweight, dark hair. And a bow tie. Who wears those these days?'

Gordon Burns, Elizabeth thought. She didn't want to get into it with Cass. 'Never mind them. Let's not have Robinson spoil our evening.'

They carried their meal to the dining table and Elizabeth retrieved linen serviettes from the sideboard.

'Perse, you are so civilised. Too many years in England.' Cass poked Elizabeth's shoulder. 'Like with John. I would have had John's balls on toast for what he did. You gave him all of you and what did you get back? I hate him still for what he did to you.'

Elizabeth nodded at her friend's perennial loyalty, gesturing to her to sit down.

'Never mind. I've got something back that I left with him. Something he never wanted and that broke my heart to leave.'

'So? You have my undivided attention.'

'I've bought the beach house.' Elizabeth handed Cass the salad. 'It's a bit rundown but nothing some paint and love won't fix.'

Cass's smile faded. She held the salad forks in the air and stared at Elizabeth. 'Are you kidding me? I know you loved that house but it's got so many memories. You locked yourself up there after the....' This was the topic they never discussed.

'It was always mine more than John's. And I carry the loss with me everywhere. In any case, John Fredericks is no more and Giovanni Federico isn't interested.'

'I'm not sure I believe all this easy dismissal. Doth the defendant protest too little, my lord?'

'No. Giovanni's like an alien. It's as if John Fredericks has disappeared. The house feels good. I saw it in July. It's been for sale for twelve months. The real estate agent says it's priced too high. I suspect the owners know it was Emily Barratt's first commission. Her work costs a fortune now. Mind you, they didn't respect Emily's vision. It's been painted this vile Tuscan ochre.' Elizabeth grimaced.

'Better not let Giovanni and _La Bella Gabriella_ see it. They'd feel right at home. So you've done this? Bought it?'

'Move in first weekend in December. Turns out Emily's brother and his wife run a building and landscape company and have agreed to restore it. I've kept all the photos we took when building it so it should be straightforward. Painting inside and out, checking the wiring, that sort of thing and of course, air-conditioning. I don't think I could cope with Australian summers now.'

'What do you mean _now_? Never mind. Celtic pallor's the in-thing this year.'

Elizabeth remembered her embarrassment at her white skin and her panic attacks at swimming lessons. Hiding in a darkened room, her sole companion pounding headaches gifted by an unforgiving sun.

'The garden needs work,' Elizabeth said. 'You know what a black thumb I have. It's full of roses and bougainvilleas. Can you believe it? I told Julie Barratt to rip it all out, fix the soil and replant but she's persuaded me to keep the bougainvillea.'

She did not share with Cass the tiny hope that, in that place that still needed healing, she had watched a powerful hope take root, a hope for connection, for belonging.

'I'm planning on getting away from here for two or three weeks over Christmas, once I sort out who to leave in charge. And it won't be the eminent Dr Michael Robinson.'

'Well the snake is showing his true nature by lying to you. Dare I say I told you so?'

Elizabeth stood, gathering the dishes. 'No, you may not. I haven't given up on him yet. It's understandable he would be disappointed not getting the job.'

'Disappointment is not the right word, Perse. I know you believe you can build people's trust but that works only if both sides agree the battles aren't worth it. He wants you gone.'

Elizabeth set a tray with the crème brulee, a bottle of Armagnac and chocolates. 'Maybe so, but I've given him some deadlines and if he doesn't meet them he and I will have a showdown.'

Cass waved her arm as if swatting at a mosquito. 'Just get rid of him. Roger Lui should have done that before you came. Did I tell you Penelope is on some board or other with Elliot Prince? She was horrified the way he went on publicly about your appointment. He told anyone who would listen that Michael Robinson should have been appointed, not some foreigner.'

'Yes, you have. Several times.'

They moved to the couches in front of the fire. Cass tucked her feet under her and rubbed her brow. 'Prince treats Penelope like she's some little old lady. She's better connected than he'll ever be. Don't trust him, no matter how tempted you are.'

'Okay, okay.' Elizabeth savoured a mouthful of the brulée. 'I think the last two days might have weakened the Black Prince and the invisible Dr Robinson, don't you? Tactical error, staying away. No matter what the excuse, it just looks petulant. I doubt they realised the significance of the Think Tank and, to be honest, even I didn't think we'd get as far as we did. Andresen and Jefferson wanting to have an ongoing dialogue is brilliant.'

Cass popped a chocolate in her mouth, feigning resignation while refusing Elizabeth's offer of the liqueur. 'Yes, it is, and deliberate change of subject noted.' She yawned. 'It's time I went. I've got so much work to do if I'm to clear my desk before we leave for Penelope's beloved Venice.' She picked up her bag and coat and started to the door. She swung around, pointing her finger. 'Hey, why don't you come with us?'

'I'm tempted, but I haven't been here long enough to take time off.' She narrowed her eyes and pretended to be examining her companion with a magnifying glass. 'But, Dr Watson, does not the evidence demand I remain at my post to foil these dastardly deeds being plotted before my very eyes?'

'Correct, Mister Holmes. Spot-on. Can't be too careful.' As Cass stepped into the lift, she turned to Elizabeth. 'Oh, before I forget, Willie wants you to contact him about going to Paris next year. He's convening some huge shindig and said he wants you as a keynote speaker. Well done, smarty pants!'

CHAPTER TWO

'I think that went well, Elizabeth. Much better than I hoped. Let's have a drink to celebrate.'

Jeremy Hayes signalled to a waiter. They were in the lounge bar of Canberra's Hyatt Hotel. The minister had invited Elizabeth to a post-mortem on the National Information Infrastructure Council meeting before his dinner engagement. The two-day meeting had both irritated and exhausted her. Irritated by the morass of trivia presented to nine state, territory and commonwealth ministers because she had hoped for high-level policy discussion in spite of the poor quality of the agenda. Exhausted by the continual espousal of commitments to collaborate while for each issue at least two participants provided smokescreens that blocked any accommodation.

'Finally, we got a major proposal from the Institute through the Council.' Hayes consumed his whisky with a gleeful smack of his lips.

Elizabeth breathed in the aroma of the Glenfiddich. She thought of heather, mist and barley. When her grandmother introduced Elizabeth to the whisky habit, much to her mother's disgust, she would not have imagined drinking the finest. 'Ye dinnae drink whisky, lass,' Grandma would say. 'You absorb it. Ye take sips so tiny they melt into your soul.' Whisky was Elizabeth's thinking drink, a salve best savoured in solitude but she was pleased to discover in Hayes a fellow connoisseur. She examined the other occupants of the lobby through the liquid's golden light.

'Good whisky, isn't it?' Hayes held his glass before him. 'So good you've not heard a word I've said. Are you lost on some Highland crag?'

Elizabeth laughed. 'Yes, on a purple slope overlooking a black loch but not lost.' She sipped her drink and reminded herself she was with a politician yet she was drawn to this man with his shifting passions. His enthusiasm for the Institute could transform in an instant into a diatribe about incompetence. No matter how charming he might be, Hayes's political radar was always on. He scanned each passerby from his couch facing the entrance.

'Even so, I have heard every word,' she said. 'I'm glad you're pleased. It's taken some effort to get to this point and there are still a few loose threads but with the chairman's support I think we'll move forward now.'

'You and Roger have hit it off, then.'

'Yes, he's an impressive man. He and Felicity have been most generous. I've never been to so many dinner parties.'

'He has a big heart, Roger does. I was a bit wary of asking him to be chairman, given we're such close friends. He donated loads of money to both the Library and the Museum before the amalgamation and I didn't want people to get the idea I was rewarding him. I spoke to Felicity first, as it happens, and she encouraged me. She wanted Roger to hand over his businesses to their son. She thought some new interests would help.'

They exchanged knowing smiles. Felicity Preston Lui was a force to be reckoned with when protecting her husband. Watching their devotion, Elizabeth could almost believe again in marriage. Almost.

Elizabeth and Hayes had sat together on the flight from Perth. She had been unable to brief him before then but need not have worried. His desire to have the Remembering project made him welcome her suggestions. He became excited at her proposal to launch Valkyrie while they produced something new.

'I think we make a good team, Elizabeth.' Hayes drained his glass and hailed the barman for another. 'I enjoyed announcing the end of Remembering and the agreement reached with the federal minister. Collins gets as hard a time from the eastern states as we do. Those Victorian and New South Wales blokes keep forgetting the Institute might be located in Perth but it's a national body.'

'Why does this eastern states mentality persist?' Elizabeth shook her head to the waiter's offer of another drink. 'I can probably answer that question myself. The trip took so long. We could have flown from London to Athens and back in the time it took from Perth to Canberra. Hearing the discussions today about why Perth is too far to have the next meeting amazed me. Anyone would think it's ten thousand miles from Sydney to Perth and one hundred miles from Perth to Sydney.'

'Our colleagues hop on and off planes like buses in the Koala Triangle. That's between Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane and Canberra. Anything outside that is a foreign country.' He laughed and slapped his thigh. 'They had to agree in the end for the next meeting to be in Perth. You told them. I enjoyed that. What a formidable force you are, Dr Wallace. Remind me never to cross you.'

She had to admit that her presentation on Valkyrie engaged the ministers. Anne Oldham's multimedia showcase demonstrated both the power of the software and the beauty of Australia in film and sound taken from the Remembering archive. It was a clever combination of gee-whizzery and patriotic sentimentalism. Every politician in the room could see themselves basking in the glory when Elizabeth suggested state launches with local content.

The minister chuckled. 'When that old fart Brian Pollock from New South Wales suggested the national launch be in Sydney, I wanted to wring his neck, but you handled it with such aplomb. Ever thought of being a politician?'

'I must admit I was taken aback. There we were, showcasing the Institute's work done in Perth by a national organisation set up to take Australian know-how to the world, and he says it should be launched in Sydney. I suppose I was a bit abrupt, but that's the equivalent of suggesting the Scottish Parliament be opened in London because the Queen thinks Edinburgh is a bit of a bore.'

'Goodness, gracious me.' Hayes attempted a Scottish lilt. 'I must say we all appreciate your support, Minister, and we would be delighted to have your assistance with a Sydney launch. I do hope you'll be able to come to Perth for the national launch.' He popped cashews into his mouth. 'Bloody marvelous, I thought. A performance worthy of our esteemed Prime Minister himself. He never answers any questions either, other than the ones he asks himself.'

Elizabeth ignored Hayes's partisan asides. Pretend as he did to relish the games he had to play, he had not concealed his anger at the meeting. It was easy to be amused when your opponents skulked off, tails limp with humiliation. She let him bask in his perceptions of success, hoping she would not have to reveal the obstacles she was encountering with Vision Industries. Roger had insisted they keep those to themselves.

Hayes downed the rest of his second whisky. 'So now you've got the Commonwealth agreement to close _Remembering_ and the remaining $250,000 allocated to a new project, what's the next step? Are you sure Roger will swing the board on this? And what about Michael Robinson? I expect the eminent Doctor will have a tiny tantrum over this. I don't want any publicity over internal ructions.'

Elizabeth was relieved to see the minister's driver walk towards them. Sometimes Jeremy Hayes did not understand, or perhaps ignored, the line between his political interest and the public good.

****

'This seat taken?'

A familiar voice interrupted Elizabeth's breakfast reading. With The Weekend Australian newspaper spread in front of her, a relaxed breakfast and the elegant murmur of the Hyatt's dining-room she had all the ingredients for a peaceful morning alone before meeting Jean Renfrew for lunch. Her sleep had been disturbed by reruns of the Council meeting and her conversation with Hayes, not to mention the Glenfiddich. She had completed her sole work task for the day, a telephone check-in with Barbara. There was nothing needing her attention but Barbara had mentioned a strange young man who demanded to speak to the 'head honcho.'

She dragged her consciousness from scanning the book reviews. Jean had suggested a visit to Canberra's bookshops so she made notes on several possibilities. Not that she would have much time to read them given the arrival of the latest parcel of Next Generation titles. Lynda Muir's welcome selections piled up by Elizabeth's bed. She read more reviews than books and was conscious of a burgeoning resentment.

'Lizzie, are you in the land of the living?' the voice continued. 'You always were in a world of your own when you're reading.'

Elizabeth's stomach lurched, nausea gripping her. Lizzie. Before she looked up, she knew who it was. Giovanni, the once-was Johnny. How many times did she have to tell him she hated that name?

'What are you doing here?'

He stepped back, removing his hand from the chair he was halfway into occupying. 'Got a hangover, have we? Maybe I should go elsewhere?'

Yes, she thought, go away, but her politeness kicked in. 'No, no, sit down. I've finished anyway.' She had vowed to herself she would be civil to her ex-husband and deny him the satisfaction of seeing how much he was able still to disturb.

He sat down and beckoned to the coffee waiter. He was dressed in jeans and a white shirt whose lack of wrinkles Elizabeth noticed. The John she remembered always looked as if he had slept in his clothes.

'So why are you here, then?' she asked.

'Jeremy Hayes and I are going to Sydney this afternoon for the launch of the latest curriculum development products. Western Australia has become famous internationally for our online interactive resources. We produce them in several languages, you know.' He added milk to his coffee and selected a muffin from the basket. How did your Council meeting go? I haven't seen Jeremy this morning.'

'Why are you in Canberra if your meeting with Hayes is in Sydney?'

'Oh, I've been here since Wednesday. The National Library is having an exhibition of my photographs of the Afghan conflict and the Kashmir war. I've been going through them with the curator. They're putting together a DVD to accompany the exhibition and wanted an interview recorded with extra background material.'

'You must be thrilled to have that kind of recognition.' No matter how their relationship ended, Elizabeth could still acknowledge his talent.

'I've had several exhibitions. They help sell the books, although it's making me feel a bit old with the Library calling this exhibition a retrospective. Doesn't make any money, though, so the PR work for Hayes comes in handy.' He tore a croissant to pieces. 'It was pure coincidence that I'm here at the same time as Jeremy. Was he pleased with the Council meeting? He's been a bit toey about all that Remembering business. I did warn you about that.'

Warn. Her ex-husband had always been warning her about something. Picking her up before she fell down except when she tumbled into the abyss.

'It's a piece of good luck we're here at the same time,' he continued, oblivious to her silence. 'I'm supposed to have a chat with you. Jeremy wants me to handle the Valkyrie launch.'

Elizabeth took a brioche she did not need and sliced it with her hand clenched around the knife, willing herself to still a sudden fury. Surely Hayes had asked for no such thing? 'When did you speak to him last about it and what did he want you to handle exactly?'

'I've been away for a month so early September. Round about the time we finalised the campaign for WA Curriculum Online. He was anxious about Valkyrie. He said he wanted to make a public statement but wasn't sure it would ever be finished. Danger of it turning into a white elephant, he said. Bit of a tough one to inherit, Lizzie.'

She leaned towards him and spoke in a whisper. 'If you call me Lizzie again, this conversation is over.'

'Okay, I know that tone. Keep your shirt on. Old habits.'

Elizabeth scowled at him. 'If there is no John Fredericks then there's no John and Lizzie. They're long gone.' She stood. 'And so is Elizabeth.'

'Don't leave. Stay, have some more coffee and tell me what you think about Valkyrie. It looks like we'll have to work together. Please, Dr Wallace.' He smiled at her, his still handsome looks exuding that familiar charm.

Elizabeth hesitated. Why would Hayes think she would need help? He had an ever-changing coterie of advisers all of whom were devoted to his relentless self-promotion. Why choose Giovanni whose skills lay more in photography? And charm, of course, buckets of charm.

'I suspect things have changed since you spoke to the minister,' she said, resuming her seat. 'We'll be launching _Valkyrie_ in Perth to coincide with the December Institute board meeting. The minister said he's happy with the launch plan I proposed. Your involvement won't be necessary.' If Giovanni was close to Hayes perhaps she had better not alienate him but she would brook no interference. 'George Eton might want some help with the interstate launches.'

'Well, that was quite a speech, _Elizabeth_. If you don't want me involved, I'll tell Jeremy you've got it under control, but figure this. You could do with a few connections other than the Roger and Felicity mutual admiration society. You've not been back all that long. Perth's social and political connections are a maze that I can help you navigate. You need me.'

She looked at him, her fingers shredding the remains of her brioche. He sounded genuine and what he said made some sense. Except for the part about needing him. She would never need him again. When she had needed him most he had abandoned her. She had retreated to the beach house to mourn their loss alone. If he had mourned at all, she had never seen it.

Trying to keep her tone indifferent, she dismissed the memory and asked him why he bothered with the PR work. 'Doesn't it interfere with the photography and the books? And your new family, of course? Especially at your age?'

'No, it all works out.' He might be oblivious to her sarcasm but Elizabeth hated herself for resorting to it.

'I can take off to do the photos and books whenever I like. Helping Jeremy is something I do if I'm around. He's wary of public servants, you know, and doesn't trust them to look after his best interests.' He held up a palm in defence. 'Before you tell me your staff are among the most dedicated you've worked with, and I believe you, it's just the way ministers are. I'm sure he'll trust you.' He paused. 'In time.'

This was so typical of the John she remembered, the Italian charm veiling the Aussie bloke's patronising.

'Trust? Trust is something you expect from your closest friends and family but we know better than that, don't we? Do you have some reason to assume Hayes doesn't trust my judgment? Or are you providing me with some more unsolicited advice?'

'Look, Elizabeth, there's no need to worry about it,' He extended his hand as if to touch her then pulled back as she moved her hands to her lap. 'Jeremy admires you so there's no need to feel insecure.'

'I am not insecure.' Her voice was louder than she intended. 'And I will not discuss my working relationships as if they're personal. The minister and I have an excellent professional relationship and I don't need you telling me how to live my life. You gave up that privilege years ago.' She was gripping the serviette on her lap so tightly her nails dug into her palms. 'If you want us to get along, I suggest you pretend we have no history because I'm not interested in reliving your need to control my life.'

He was staring at her, astonished. Good she thought, at last he's got the message.

He remained in his seat. 'Elizabeth, I am trying to be helpful. We're all on the same side here.' He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. 'Look, you know I'm hopeless with words. I'd much rather take a photograph. That's why I produce the pictures for the PR work and Jeremy does the words. Or you do the words, I don't mind. You're running a significant organisation. You're a powerful public sector CEO. You don't need to be so sensitive. I'm no threat to you. I never have been.'

Elizabeth's intention to be calm and reasonable dissolved. 'You never have been? What would you know about threats? You've never been afraid of anything or anyone. Except other people's feelings, of course. You expect me to believe you've become the archetypal sensitive new age guy after all these years?'

Elizabeth's raised voice was drawing the attention of others in the dining room.

'Look, can we start again?' Giovanni said. 'I am not trying to intrude on your patch. I can see you don't want me to help with the launch. I'll back off, but at least let's be civil. Okay? It's your baby.'

Elizabeth swallowed the regurgitated taste of bacon and eggs. How could he talk about her baby? She could feel a scream start deep inside her head. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathed into her churning stomach then spoke in a voice just above a whisper. 'You can go to hell. Keep your names and your games for other people. Just fuck off!'

She relished the shock on his face. She had never sworn at him. He had never stayed in the room long enough to hear her cries for help. She had taken years to learn to express her anger but this was not the place to say more. She recognised several people at other tables who had been at the meeting the day before.

'Look, John. Giovanni. This is not going to work. There's too much history between us. I thought I could do this but I can't. I suggest you write to me about how you see your role and I'll have George deal with you. The past is the past and I'm not going there again.'

'What's the past got to do with it? Why can't we work together?'

Elizabeth folded her serviette with slow precision, picked up her bag and newspaper and walked from the dining room with more self-control than she thought possible.

****

Jean Renfrew suggested a walk around Lake Burley Griffin after their lunch at the National Gallery. Although the John/Giovanni-induced fury had abated after an ordinary lunch, a better wine and Jean's good humour, Elizabeth locked away once more the old sadness. Perhaps the afternoon's crisp air and clear sky would help.

She had been livid still when she arrived at the Gallery, unable to settle her racing mind as she willed herself to concentrate on the paintings. She was distressed not only by the intensity of her anger but the familiarity of emotions she thought she had long ago put behind her. When she stood before a Chinese porcelain bowl she trembled so much she thought the vibrations would shatter it into a thousand pieces.

Jean saw her distress and encouraged her to talk about it.

'Och, he's a bastard,' Jean said as Elizabeth finished. 'Dinna fash yersel', lassie.' She laughed but this, Elizabeth's grandmother's favourite response to any worries, brought tears. Jean ignored them and spoke of her cocker spaniel's refusal to cooperate at puppy training until Elizabeth regained her equilibrium.

As they walked along the edge of Lake Burley Griffin the tightness around her skull, pressing on her eyeballs, eased in Jean's soothing company. They chose a bench seat on a sheltered jetty near the National Library and watched the cloudless sky mirrored in the water's glassy surface.

'Why didn't you go after the National Library job?' Elizabeth asked.

Jean looked back at the building and took some time to answer. 'I invent a different reason each time someone asks me. After the WA job, I didn't see the point. It can be a fairly thankless task. New South Wales and Victoria try to convince us that their collection is the national collection and the academics complain about the lack of attention they get. Some days I would love the chance. It's a beautiful building and the staff are so dedicated. I had lots of ideas about international connections.' She pulled her coat tighter against the cold. 'There's no chance now and what I'm doing is exciting. I don't have hundreds of staff or loads of so-called stakeholders. Good word, isn't it? Lots of people treating you like a vampire.'

As they laughed together, Elizabeth pondered their relationship. She had not seen Jean as a friend but each time they had met over the years they slipped into an easy companionship.

'The great thing about my current job,' Jean said, 'is I have one person to please. It's not a quiet life, but it's invisible. It's a nice change after the public brouhaha over my leaving the west. I don't want to be in that kind of spotlight again.'

'Why did you leave? I understand the merger was a disaster but you'd handled bothersome bureaucrats before.'

Jean lit a cigarette and blew the smoke away from Elizabeth. 'I'm not sure any of it matters now and I feel so embarrassed about it. Such an idiot. An old fool. There's nobody like it, they say. Especially an old female fool.'

'Jean, you're the least foolish person I know. You're a veritable pillar of Scottish intelligence. There's a hint of Celtic witchery but never foolishness.'

Jean slumped into herself and turned away. Elizabeth touched Jean's shoulder. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so flippant. Just tell me to mind my own business.'

'No, there's no point in keeping it from you.' Jean wiped the tear that slipped down her cheek. She stubbed her cigarette underfoot and pushed her hands deep into her pockets. 'I think you should know what you're up against. It's just so embarrassing.'

The colour had left Jean's face and Elizabeth wondered whether she was ill. She gave her time to recover her composure.

'There's no easy way to say this,' Jean sniffed. 'There were betrayals, yes, and more, but I could have stayed and fought their stupid merger and the Institute taking over the Library, even make a bid to be MD, but Michael Robinson's betrayal was too hard to take.' She took a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose. 'You see, we had an affair. I thought he loved me.'

Elizabeth bit her lip, commanding herself to keep her face expressionless. She could not imagine Jean being close to Robinson who had shown a predilection for young blondes at Institute social functions, whenever he deigned to grace them with his presence.

'Don't say anything,' Jean said. 'I know you find it unbelievable. I can hardly believe it myself. He was using me. He told me so. Laughed straight in my face in the end. I should have seen it earlier. He prefers women he can mould. His new wife is barely out of adolescence.'

'Oh Jean, I'm so sorry. Several people have been telling me the man is a bastard but never with any specifics.'

'Yes, he is. A total bastard.' Jean's trembling hands lit another cigarette. 'I feel terrible I didn't warn you before you took the job but I've been so ashamed. He said he would let it be known what a hag I am and how useless I was in bed. It was all because he saw me as competition for the MD job. I decided not to apply and leave Perth. I even thought about going back to Scotland. I heard that the federal minister wanted an arts and communications adviser. I've known Collins for years so I rang and asked him for the job. He said, when can you start?'

Jean closed in on herself, shivering at the end of the bench in the cold wind that kept Canberra's struggling spring at bay.

Elizabeth put her hand on Jean's shoulder. 'Well, he can deal with a Wallace now and I'm not interested in any more male companions. Put it behind you. Better still, tell a few people about it, how hopeless he was in bed and how bored you were. Say you're happy with your three twenty-five year old lovers at the moment, thank you. Between them and your Greek millionaire, you're worn out.'

Jean made a guttural sound somewhere between a sob and a snort. 'Oh yes, and my rich toy boy in Hong Kong is getting jealous.'

'That's more like it. Thanks for telling me. Now let's get out of this wind. All we need is a bit of Scotch mist and we'd think we were in whisky country. Speaking of which, where can we get a drink around here?'

****

Settled into Jean's comfortable sofa before a roaring fire, Elizabeth became drowsy. Her plane was leaving in two hours and she was not looking forward to the long trip home. Home. She had shared with Jean her excitement at buying the house down south, explaining to her, as she had to Cass, that she wanted this house more than anything she had desired for a long time.

Jean had recovered her good humour and Elizabeth tried to push the confession to the back of her mind. Michael Robinson held no attraction for her but she had seen him work his charm. There was no doubt he was a handsome man who presented an elegant and intelligent figure, even if he did fit the God's gift to women stereotype. Jean must have been lonely and vulnerable, her beloved library being carved up around her. Robinson, Elizabeth reflected, must be a canny operator to have manipulated Jean that way because she was no fool.

'It's agreed, then? You'll come to Perth for the launch in December? And maybe come over in the New Year when I get settled into the beach house? I'm hoping to spend a fair bit of time there over summer.'

'Yes to December, and maybe to the New Year. Parliament has a long recess but my minister is a workaholic so I suspect we'll be back at it in early January.'

Sitting on the edge of her sofa, Jean's professional face was again intact. 'Are you sure you'll be able to kill off Remembering and deal with Robinson?'

Elizabeth waved her arm as if it held a magic wand. 'It's done. Roger's announced to the board that you and I and Minister Hayes have agreed to close off Remembering and use the last $250,000 for a new project. I guess I'll see the fallout when I get back to the office on Monday.'

'So what are you going to call this new project? I have to start drafting the joint announcement.'

Elizabeth put her whisky glass on the coffee table, all tiredness gone. 'I've thought a lot about this. How about LOCAL? Learning Online Communities Australia Limited. If we get the business model right we can generate income while still keeping the intellectual property in government.'

'Good name, but you might want to think about keeping the last L to yourself. Governments in Australia have been a bit too enthusiastic about selling off the silver in the last ten years. Public-private partnerships are a bit on the nose.'

'I wasn't thinking of selling it off, just that we must protect the IP. The Institute is supposed to be an independent statutory authority but it gets treated as if it's a government department. We need to protect our products. That's part of the carry-on over Remembering.'

Elizabeth was confident she could persuade both the board and the minister to support her ideas but Jean had hoisted a warning flag.

'Don't let me put you off,' said Jean. 'Just keep any commercialisation ideas to yourself for the time being. Keep it out of our submission to the Ministerial Council.' Jean stood and gathered Elizabeth's coat and briefcase. 'Speaking of the submission, we need to get this to all the ministers out of session. As it's Commonwealth money they'll complain about not getting a share then approve it since we've already agreed to its use. What angle do you think you might take?'

'The Valkyrie software is a brilliant platform and the digital archive is great but I think LOCAL is about taking the nation's stories to the community and beyond. I'll send you some notes.'

'Good. If we can stop this being wrecked by federal/state politics, we might just have a world first on our hands. Anyway, it's time I got you to the airport or you'll never get home.'

_Home_. That word again. Elizabeth's first thought was of the Glasgow house, of she and Fionn planning their next moves before a roaring fire. Then she remembered the tiny cottage in the mountains where she and her grandmother would linger long into the night, Elizabeth entranced by the old tales. No, she was not going home. She was returning to a modern apartment in a city where a roaring fire was rarely needed but waiting for her on a Southwest Australian beach was a place she might manage one day to think of as home.

CHAPTER THREE

The unfamiliar light beyond her eyelids beckoned but Elizabeth lingered in that strange landscape between dreaming and waking. Her dream had summoned an improbable moment of harmony with her brother George. On an imagined Christmas morning when he could have been no more than one year old, she woke early, anticipation over presents competing with George's voice. Most mornings he would lie in his cot, chattering away to his favourite bear until their mother stirred. In real life Elizabeth viewed her tiny brother with either disdain or grudging tolerance since his birth disrupted her six years old life. In her dream she was drawn to him. There was something she needed to share.

Fresh snow had crept across the village during the night and she wanted to show George his first white landscape as if it were her own Christmas gift. She picked him up from his cot and walked outside, both still in their nightclothes. Strange how they were beside their grandmother's favourite loch, miles from their home. Although the loch side was covered with snow her warm feet left no footprints. George squirmed to be put down. She let him totter along before her, watching him wobble towards several white swans that bent their necks to be stroked. The blue-grey sky and the white mountains turned to gold as the sun rose. Grandma appeared and guided Elizabeth to a gazebo covered with white roses, leaving George in the care of the swans. In the morning light the roses glowed yellow, their perfume unearthing a bittersweet sadness. Elizabeth struggled to remain in her dream because she had an urgent question for her grandmother. The light behind her eyelids increased in intensity, pulling her to full consciousness and the question remained unasked then forgotten.

The early morning Australian sun bathed the house, streaming through the east facing skylights and bouncing off the pine ceilings and floors. Her unfinished dream gave way to confusion as she struggled to make sense of where she was. The french doors on her left led to the north balcony beyond which several rosellas were holding court, flashing their yellow and red breasts in the peppermint trees. The lower part of the house stretched on her right, already bright with the light from the tall windows in the bedroom. She had placed her furniture in different locations to that when she and John lived there. The bed-head on the north side, not the east; a painting of wattle branches on the wall where once hung a mirror.

This had been her second night in the Crespigny Bay house but the first in her new bed, a queen-sized futon with a sunflower yellow and blue quilt cover. She stretched her back and brought herself back into the room. She had no need to compromise on the furniture this time. Her new Eames chair and footstool stood where she could read while facing down into the ground floor garden and the ocean's edge. John had hated modern furniture and they had argued over his preference for Australian antiques that Elizabeth thought was junk. On the balcony next to the bedroom stood a single wicker chaise longue and a small table. Facing the national park at the back of the house the small space had always been her retreat.

Time to get out of bed if John was going to be there with her. She reached for the blue and yellow kimono-style robe she had purchased on a whim. She dismissed both John and Giovanni from her mind and redirected her thoughts to breakfast.

She took her coffee and croissants onto the deck facing the Indian Ocean. The timber floor extended from inside the house across the sheltered deck to a low limestone wall at the edge of the cliff. She set her food on the glass and stainless steel table and gazed at the scene before her.

Sunlight from behind the house streamed across an ocean ruffled by a slight breeze. Lazy waves lapped the shore twenty feet below. She remembered again a young woman's shock at the huge sky and endless ocean, such a contrast to Scottish spaces.

In recent years, much as she adored London it had become so closed in, the eye blocked by buildings, traffic or the sheer pressure of too many people's bodies. After the bombings she never used the Underground but her business interests meant she had to visit often but she escaped often to the Cairngorms. She could breathe in the mountains with their unfettered skies. The home of eagles. Her grandmother's home. The one place where she felt connected to the land. No matter how much she travelled, from the Alps to the Himalayas, nothing affected her as deeply as those Highland glens although the Himalayas came close.

She wondered how her grandmother, that fierce clanswoman, would have responded to this antipodean light and warmth. I wish I could have shared this with you, Grandma, she thought. When her family had migrated in 1969, she would speak in her head to her grandmother all the time, longing to escape the misery that was Australia. Strange how thoughts of her grandmother had dominated her return to Crespigny Bay.

Elizabeth had never belonged in Australia, not in the way she belonged in Scotland. Yet here she was again, this time a willing migrant. She had no expectation of understanding the ancient land on which the house stood but she hoped she would find some sense of belonging. She offered a silent prayer of thanks for it all then laughed out loud. Who was she thanking, atheist that she was?

'Well, thanks to you Emily,' she spoke to the sky, lifting her coffee cup in a toast to a young architect's dream and settled into the stainless steel and jarrah rocking chair she had purchased from a local furniture maker.

Elizabeth had spent the first night without furniture after escaping Perth, determined to leave the fourteen-hour workdays behind. She brought a sleeping bag, blankets, clothes and food as well as books. Around 4am she rolled up the sleeping bag as a cushion for her back and spent a few hours reading and thinking then gave in to the sounds and shapes of the house, reclaiming its spirit. Emily Barratt had told her of a famous architect's insistence that owners visit their new house many times before occupying it. Elizabeth embraced the empty house, cleansed the old memories and imagined where her new furniture and other possessions would rest. She had expected some pain, but dawn washed it away with the murmur of the waves. The house was the same yet different. Now it was hers alone; no longer a young couple's dream but a middle-aged woman's oasis, perhaps even what Emily had called in her welcoming letter 'a resting place for a wandering soul.'

As Elizabeth stepped from the deck into the house she paused, admiring again the soaring ceilings and the light-filled spaces. The clutter of boxes to be emptied, most of which she had not seen for nine months, waited her rediscovery. The new sofas and dining chairs, the bookcases and coffee table looked already at home. On the glass-topped dining table stood a bowl of white roses, a welcoming gift from Valerie with a note inviting Elizabeth to dinner that evening. The morning sun had turned the petals into gold. In the vague memory of her dream she thought, perhaps grandma would have loved this place after all.

****

The sun was slipping into the horizon as Elizabeth arrived at Valerie's house. There had been bushfires inland, harbinger of a long dry summer, and the sunset, obscured by the haze, was a kaleidoscope of pinks and reds. How strange that such beauty should result from a scorched land, Elizabeth's mind's eye seeing dead sheep and scarred eucalypts. No matter how many times she heard the argument that this was a natural event, that some plants needed fire to germinate, she could not accept the notion of benevolent blazes sweeping away livelihoods and homes, all for the sake of the infrequent flowering of a rare orchid. Cass said this was the land's vengeance for the white man's rape of it. Gaia would not be thwarted.

Elizabeth paused at the edge of Valerie's garden to watch the sun's last glow fade to grey. Nothing in her northern land compared to the sky before her but she thought the Aurora Borealis more generous. As a child she believed the colours were angels dancing before black curtains like the ballerinas she idolised. The Australian sun was the domain of Apollo in his fiery chariot. The dominant memory of her early years as a migrant was how each summer was hotter than the last. You'll get used to it, new friends said, but she never did. She and George had gone to the beach in their first July and suffered sunstroke, much to the amusement of their classmates. Pommy wimps, they said. March will kill you.

Elizabeth's day had sped past, full of delight as she rediscovered her treasures and decided where to position them. She had left her London flat furnished and told Lynda Muir she could use it, packing a few books, favourite paintings and glassware, linen and ceramics. Lynda told her the packing resembled preparations more for a long stay than a permanent move. Elizabeth said the MD job was a new beginning so it required new furniture, both mental and physical. Later, she decided she could not live without her Mies daybed and the two Bareclona chairs. She hated to part with the Macintosh dining chairs but they were too fragile to travel from their rightful home in Glasgow as was the original Eames chair she had inherited from Fionn.

****

The food reflected Valerie's international life: a crayfish bisque, a light vegetarian curry and a strawberry bavarois presented on Wedgewood china. They drank Western Australian wine from the Farrington vineyards in Waterford Crystal. Afterwards they settled before an open fire, Hamish fighting sleep at his mistress's feet. Each time the women laughed he lifted his head, ready to join in the excitement, then resettled when conversation quietened. Elizabeth felt as sleepy as the little dog in the hot room, in spite of which Valerie wore a cashmere shawl around her shoulders and another across her knees.

'This muscat is delightful,' Elizabeth said. 'Is this a Farrington production, too?'

'No, but Beverley wishes it was,' said Valerie. 'It's made by an old friend whose family has been making wine in the Swan Valley since the 19th century. There are only one or two wine makers who make this style. I had it shipped wherever we were posted. Many a hostess from Bombay to Boston received a bottle and now it is a gift to you. I have one for you as a housewarming present.'

The rich sweetness of the liqueur was a perfect accompaniment to the Brazilian coffee and the bitterness of the dark chocolate. Valerie did not live a deprived life in her remote retreat, Elizabeth observed. How small the world was for those with wealth to enjoy it.

'Some more nectar of the gods?' Valerie offered the Venetian glass decanter to Elizabeth.

'No, thank you. I've consumed far more alcohol tonight than I normally would in a week. This stuff packs more punch than whisky. I'll get lost walking back to the house if I'm not careful.'

'Oh, you can't miss it. It's all lit up and is the house you can see straight ahead.' Valerie poured herself another. 'All I have to do is take my old legs to bed. Or sleep here. Hamish and I are often to be found nodding off in our respective fireside chairs. You are honoured that he's allowed you to remain where you are all evening. He's taken quite a shine to you.'

'And I to him. He's a bonnie chap.' Hamish sat up in his most appealing doggy pose, knowing he was the centre of attention.

'Are you a whisky drinker then?' Valerie asked.

'Of course,' Elizabeth laughed. 'Schooled to appreciate whisky as a sacred drink, a drink to be studied, adored and respected at all times. My Aunt collected it the way the French collect wine and could explain the origins and characteristics of most blends of Glen-whatsit.'

'Just like my Jock. He loved his whisky but I never saw him drunk. He tried to teach our son to love the drink but Ioann was an Aussie through and through. It made him sick. A one whisky screamer and a two whisky streamer, he called himself. Such a charming turn of phrase.'

Valerie sighed and stared into the fire. Elizabeth had noticed her new friend's frequent retreats into herself when speaking of her son or husband. The silence settled over them, disturbed only by the splutter of the dying fire and the sounds of the waves beyond the windows. The gentle easterly wind heralded the beginning of the summer pattern. In another month the wind would howl across the land whipping up the seas during the night; the stronger the wind the hotter the next day. Tonight's wind had a welcome softness. Tomorrow would be another perfect day.

'I'd better be going,' Elizabeth said. 'It would be dreadful to buy a new house and not sleep in it on my third night because I was too drunk to find it.'

'Ioann loved this muscat,' Valerie said, not hearing Elizabeth. 'At the end he could hardly keep anything in his stomach. After the nurse settled him for the night, I would sit with him. He would have a sip or two and I would read to him. I think I was reading for myself. There was not much else I could do as I watched him die.'

Elizabeth wondered whether to interrupt Valerie's memories. Had she forgotten she was not alone?

'Being an architect, he loved _The Fountainhead_ ,' Valerie said as if there had been no pause. 'Do you know Ayn Rand? I don't know how many times we watched the film with Gary Cooper.' She picked up a photo frame from the side table and held it on her knee. 'Ioann died ten years ago on the tenth of January. Our last Christmas together was beautiful. I will always be grateful for that but I hated God for a while because Ioann suddenly rallied. I knew it was hopeless but somehow, Christmas with the new year coming, why would God bless the new year if there was no hope?' She gazed at Elizabeth, or rather through her, for a moment. 'Goodness, listen to me prattling on, like some demented old woman. You must be needing to get away to your bed.'

'No, no. I've got my second wind. Tell me some more about Ioann if you'd like to.' She did not want to leave Valerie alone in her melancholy.

'Ioann was a late gift for us. We wanted children but it just never happened. Our life was full and interesting so we grew to accept it. No dashing off to IVF clinics in those days. When I was forty we were posted to Hong Kong and I found out I was pregnant. A friend said it was because the house we lived in had good feng shui for fertility. So there we were, reassessing our whole lives.'

Valerie stood with some difficulty and retrieved a photograph from the top of the piano and handed it to Elizabeth. A dark-haired young man in a tuxedo flanked by two proud parents smiled at the camera as he held an award, 'That's the last photo of the three of us. He won a major architecture prize in New York.'

Valerie sat on the sofa next to Elizabeth. 'I was so ill when I was pregnant but I didn't mind. Anything to have our miracle. I came home to Perth to have Ioann. Thirty-five hours of labour and several blood transfusions were all forgotten when we saw him. He was an image of Jock from the start. Two peas in a pod they were, as if my genes had nothing to do with it. But he had my personality and we were inseparable. Jock used to say Ioann and I could read each other's minds and he couldn't find the alphabet. He could speak five languages and still he said that.'

Valerie's laugh ended with a catch in her throat and then a cough. Hamish woke with a whine, stood on his hind legs to lick his mistress's hand. Valerie ruffled the fur behind his ears. 'There, there, my wee man, it's fine. Go back to sleep,' then to Elizabeth, 'he's an intuitive dog. Sometimes I think he's Jock come back to keep an eye on me.'

'Did you and Jock always have dogs?' Elizabeth asked, the talk of difficult birth and death a stone on her chest.

'Not till we settled in retirement.' Valerie invited Hamish onto her lap. He needed no encouragement and settled with his head resting on her chest, eyes still vigilant. 'This monster is Hamish the third. Jock never met you, did he, poppet?'

Elizabeth was thinking she could go but Valerie spoke again. 'We bought Hamish the first when we retired to the Grampians. We had a house in the mountains and a flat in Aberdeen on the oceanfront. Ten years we had together with Hamish the first. Hamish the second was so much Jock's dog from the beginning. The one time he wanted my attention was when he came barking to fetch me when Jock collapsed with a heart attack when they were out walking. We got Jock into the house and the doctor came but he lasted just four hours at home. Hamish wouldn't be comforted. He wandered off and got caught in a trap. I buried him next to Jock.'

Valerie hugged the little dog, his head next to her ear. 'This monkey is my Australian Hamish. We're all that is left of the McConochies.' She smiled as Hamish licked her face. 'Forgive an old woman her memories. Now I insist you go. You look half asleep.'

****

Elizabeth stood at the foot of the steps leading up to her house from the beach. The walk along the beach had taken less than 15 minutes but her body refused to go further. She blamed the unusual physical labour of unpacking and her indulgence in Valerie's food and vintage Muscat. She did not want to go to bed, knowing sleep would not come to her racing mind. Memories were circling.

The wind had freshened, the waves purposeful in their dragging at the shore. She pulled her jacket around her body, hugging herself and sank onto the lowest step, feeling the limestone that retained some of the day's warmth.

The lights had gone out in Valerie's house and Elizabeth had the beach to herself. The village streetlights, sea and stars merged into a single presence. It might be a cliché to think the stars twinkled like diamonds but how else to describe them?

She had seen a cloud of diamonds once, scattered across black velvet. She and John had visited a jewel merchant in Amsterdam on their first trip to Europe. He joked that one day he would give her such diamonds. One day, when he made his first million. Elizabeth had refused both engagement and wedding rings. In those determined feminist days she told him she would wear no badge of ownership unless he would. And he would not. She had noticed that he wore one for Gabriella, a silver circle with a single diamond. Now, she had a carpet of diamonds before her and Amsterdam was another lifetime. She let the memory drift into the hush of the waves on the sand.

She had more money than John could have imagined and she had inherited a glorious collection of silver jewelry from Fionn. In recent years Alex had started buying her silver pieces for birthdays and Christmas. She thought of the bracelet he presented to her at their last dinner before she left for Perth. The exquisite circle of silver was a Georg Jensen design, a limited edition piece. She had not worn it because she thought it would be a betrayal of its intention. Circles were not supposed to be broken but her life was circumscribed by incomplete circles lived in alternate hemispheres. At least this time, unlike her family's migration in the 1960s, the decision to leave Scotland had been hers. It was not a decision Alex accepted. He had organised a 50th birthday dinner for her a month before she told him she was leaving. He had brought family and friends together for a reunion in their childhood village. She had been astonished to find Australian friends in the group, including Penelope and Cass. His birthday gift had been a week in a remote cottage in the Orkneys. He had refused to believe that she would leave after spending that time with him.

She had tried to explain to him her decision to accept the MD job was influenced by his announcement he had offered himself for selection as a candidate for the Scottish Parliament. They had not spoken since.

Staring at the moon, she imagined a northern shingle beach but the soft breeze with its whispers of summer and scents of eucalypts told her she was in a foreign land. What looked the same was different underneath. Perth was not the same city she had left. She was different. To return as a successful CEO was a long way from the distraught woman in her thirties who escaped a marriage to a man she no longer understood.

Always there is an undercurrent, an underworld. She must have been ten years old when she had investigated the meaning of her middle name. In grammar school she was a favourite of her Latin teacher. 'Persephone. Now there's a name to make the Gods weep,' said Mr McAllister. 'Do you know the great heritage of your nomenclature?' She had looked up nomenclature in the dictionary then looked up Persephone in her encyclopaedia. She puzzled over her mother's choice of such a name. Being called Elizabeth was embarrassing enough. For a Wallace with MacDonald and Campbell blood to be named after the Sassenach Queen who beheaded the heroic Queen of the Scots was a source of family ire, especially for her grandmother, but having a silly Greek name as well was just 'plain daft.' What was her son thinking of letting his wife name a wee bairn with such a high falutin' name that would shame the great Wallace himself?

Elizabeth remembered reading of Persephone's two worlds, forced to leave her mother bereft for half the year, a mother who, racked with pain and sorrow, ignored her duties. Why had Elizabeth's mother, Mary, herself with the noblest name of all, given her daughter this ancient name? Had the name been the reason or the predictor of Elizabeth's conflicts? Always a piece of her heart left elsewhere. Or had her mother known that this daughter was half lost to her from the beginning as her mother-in-law claimed the child and initiated the young girl into the old stories and the old ways? The adult Elizabeth would understand too well Demeter's pain at the loss of her child. She remembered that look in her mother's eyes as she watched her daughter rush to Grandma's house at the edge of the fishing village, or to the MacDonald family cottage near the magical Highland loch.

Mary Campbell Wallace and Heather McDonald Wallace battled for the young Elizabeth's love. She could see that now, their women's weapons of emotional blackmail dividing not only her loyalties but also her father's. Elizabeth's quiet and fearful mother never stood a chance. She gave up the ground to her mother-in-law and chose to reconcile with her Glasgow family that introduced Elizabeth to the cosmopolitan, sophisticated circles of the Campbell dynasty.

Machiavelli and Sun Tzu would have admired Fionnhuala Madeleine Campbell, Elizabeth thought, gazing at the stars. It was to Fionn she owed so much as did her mother who blossomed when they visited Glasgow. Fionn would insist on new clothes for both sister and niece then take them to the theatre, the ballet and fine restaurants. Wherever they went, men would come up to Fionn and shake her hand, kiss her cheek or light her cigarette, discussing some business venture or philanthropic social event.

As she grew older, Elizabeth discerned her mother's two worlds, one ruled by the benevolent Queen Fionn who encouraged laughter, dance and fun; the other presided over by the clan matriarch Heather who stole her child, dominated her husband and treated her as if she were responsible not only for the Glencoe massacre but also the exile of Bonnie Prince Charlie and the death of Queen Mary of Scots.

Staring now at Valerie's house, Elizabeth regretted again her neglect of her mother. Had she called her daughter Persephone because on the bleak shores of the North Sea she felt like Demeter or was it a premonition of a future that was now on the other side of the world? Down Under.

In the end, it had been her father who chose Australia as their new world. Whether out of a fatigue born of family wars compounding his Second World War injuries or some latent spark of adventure, Elizabeth never knew. In her fury she made no attempt to understand her parents' decision. The early years in Australia were difficult. Each month she wrote to her grandmother and Fionn, complaining as only a teenager can about her father's refusal to support her going to university. Fionn sent her generous sums of money on the condition that Elizabeth not tell her mother. Elizabeth told her parents she had won a scholarship and settled into residential college with her new friend Cass Lawson.

The last of the village streetlights dimmed and she shivered at the sudden drop in temperature. She walked up the steps and sat on a chair on the deck. She and John had spent many evenings on the empty block, planning their dream house at the edge of the cliff. She remembered the precise moment she dived into her love of John Fredericks. His dark Italian looks suggested mystery and passion while his Australian sense of fun in sun, surf and barbecues drew her into a group of young radicals who played hard, drank harder and debated through the night the parlous state of Australian politics and the abomination of the Vietnam War.

John again, Elizabeth thought. She stood and brushed the sand from her clothes and turned to unlock the door. There had been so many good times in this house. Friends lined up in sleeping bags before the fire after the day's surfing, no matter what the weather. Elizabeth loved the sea but could not swim and had no desire to learn. John and his mates would disappear to the beach and she would tidy the house, cook the next meal then lounge on the deck and read, content in her own company.

They were all John's mates. In the beginning she thought she had been accepted into this group of beautiful people who had known each other since childhood. After the divorce, she heard from none of them. Faithful Cass had stood by her, admitting that she had been horrified her intelligent, feminist friend could fall in love with such a macho misogynist.

'The incredible funk', she called him.

CHAPTER FOUR

'Ladies and gentlemen, if I could I have your attention please.' Elizabeth waited for staff to shepherd guests to their tables. The festive mood prevailed as people were refusing to settle for her welcoming speech. She stood on the stage at the Convention Centre. Before her were more than three hundred lunch guests. She had not expected so many invitations to be accepted. This was her first significant event as MD. Cass had said they would all turn up to check her out. Elizabeth suspected it had more to do with Martin Cheval who had flown into Perth in his private jet. She had organised for him to give a speech the day before and combined tickets to that event with the Institute lunch.

Elizabeth could not shake the impression that everyone knew each other. Groups of people were standing near their tables, engaged in intense conversation. She had met many of them either because of her position as MD or through the determined efforts of Roger and Felicity, Beverley or Penelope. Had she acquired the right network in what people told her was a small town while in reality Perth was twice the size of Glasgow.

'Ladies and gentlemen, may we begin the formalities,' she tried again, this time the room quietening. She looked over the sea of male business suits with islands of colour from the few women in the room. 'To the Honourable Jeremy Hayes, Minister for Education and Information Services; Mr Roger Lui, Chairman of the Board of the International Institute for Information Services and Research; Mr Elliott Prince, Deputy Chairman; board members; Monsieur Martin Cheval, CEO of Vision Industries International; Dr Jean Renfrew representing the Prime Minister and the Minister for Information, Communications, Arts and Education; distinguished guests; and executive staff of the Institute, a warm welcome today to the launch of _Valkyrie.'_

An image rose behind her on the large screens. The female figure with a shield and sword pointed to a mountain of books. A lightning bolt exploded from her sword, there was a clap of thunder and the books moved, first into neat rows, then circles then fluttering open pages dissolved into numbers and alphabet, pictures and symbols, rearranging themselves into fractal patterns. Elizabeth had changed many things about _Valkyrie_ but she had not yet insisted on changing their avatar.

She spoke without referring to her notes. She had been so anxious about her speech that she had been revising it still at 3am that morning. She knew what she needed to say after the fiery board meeting. 'This is a significant day for the Institute,' she began. 'The chairman and minister will explain this after we have the main course. It has been eight months since I arrived back in Perth. I feel fortunate to lead a new organisation, to be its first Managing Director.'

A filthy look from Michael Robinson showed what he thought about that. Elizabeth held his gaze till he looked away.

'The vision that created a national information-focused organisation in Perth began with our energetic minister, the Honourable Jeremy Hayes, and I know he believes the Institute is proving to be a worthwhile investment.'

Hayes beamed at Elizabeth, nodding his head. She smiled at him, knowing some would see it as grovelling but she had developed a genuine admiration for the driven and unpredictable man.

'In our chairman, Mr Roger Lui, we have a successful businessman who has devoted his not inconsiderable personal and company resources to connect the Institute internationally, especially in Asia. I would like to acknowledge the value of Roger's guidance in introducing and explaining to me the intricacies of Perth and Australia's corporate relationships with government. I'm still working on that education.'

Laughter scattered around the room, but not from Elliot Prince or Michael Robinson who sat side-by-side, stony-faced. Yes, Elizabeth thought, well might they ponder her words. Little did they know that the corporate relationships they had cooked up were about to boil over. She dismissed her anxiety over Gordon Burns's smile at something Prince said.

'I am most impressed with the support for the Institute but I am also aware of the criticisms. That we have been spread too thin across too many projects. Perhaps we have suffered from too many resources and too many enthusiasms as we chased each exciting technology. Now we need to think globally and long-term and develop strong national alliances so we can justify the faith of Australia's governments.'

Elizabeth paused, her audience attentive. She could see many encouraging faces but there were a few scowls. Prince and Robinson she expected but the glowering faces of Mario Fiori and Jackie Olson surprised her. She thought Mario had by now accepted her decisions. Jackie Olson, with her small business background, had used her board membership as a platform to demand government be more entrepreneurial. Why would she be uneasy?

'Today the minister will launch a new product, celebrate an old one and explain our next phase in making possible our goal of improving access to the world's information for our citizens.' Elizabeth invited her guests to enjoy lunch, confident that even Elliot Prince would offer his support when he heard the minister's announcement.

****

'Well, Elizabeth Wallace, what a star. I'm flattered to be put next to the chief.'

Lynda Muir had flown to Perth after attending a conference on academic publishing in Singapore. 'It's what my granddaughter would call a big gig.'

'It certainly is,' said Ngaire French, on Lynda's left, 'and as Al Jolson says, you ain't seen nothing yet.'

Elizabeth had expected Ngaire and Lynda would get along, given their publishing connections. As Ngaire attempted to persuade Lynda that electronic publishing was doomsday for the book, Elizabeth turned her attention to Martin Cheval. She had not discussed with him her meeting with Jules Vupin and Gordon Burns nor has she been able to decipher who was making decisions in Vision on the Institute contracts.

'I can see you have a good relationship with the governments of Australia,' Cheval said, his French accent caressing his words. 'I see Madame Renfrew and Jules are deep in conversation. I think we will be able to build on the SysWA connections in government.'

'I'm grateful to Jules for his assistance in resolving what was becoming a messy situation. I'm sure the new arrangement will be satisfactory.' She was not sure at all but what else could she say?

Geoff Ames was next to Cheval. Ames had announced he was expanding his high-tech consultancy to China. 'We have a thriving software sector here and I for one am hoping our companies will take advantage of having Vision in Perth.'

As Ames and Cheval discussed a Perth company's data warehousing breakthrough, Elizabeth watched and listened. She had yet to make up her mind about Ames. As a board member he appeared oblivious to conflict of interest issues. He had been an ardent supporter of the vague arrangements with SysWA then shifted his ground when Elizabeth explained the absence of formal agreements meant the Crown's copyright would be under threat were SysWA to gain possession of the Institute's data. Ngaire had told Elizabeth that Ames had been a consultant to SysWA and may well have been linked to Robinson and Prince's deal-making. Now Ames was working hard to add Martin Cheval to his network and Cheval was responding.

At the board meeting that morning, Elizabeth had outlined her plans for the launch as well as the hurdles she had negotiated to extricate the Institute, and by implication board members, from potential legal action. Roger Lui had insisted on a closed meeting. Only Barbara Smith, as minutes secretary, was present from the Institute's executive team in spite of Prince's objections. The chairman sought board members' agreement that proceedings would be strictly confidential.

Elizabeth had reported on her negotiations with Jules Vupin, Gordon Burns and Martin Cheval. Burns insisted Vision Industries, by buying SysWA, had the rights to the Remembering archive to on-sell in their products and had produced correspondence to that effect with Michael Robinson when he was acting MD. Elizabeth's staff had found no such records in the Institute files. Things were complicated by Elliott Prince's period as acting chairman when the minutes of board meetings were sparse. She had chosen her words with care. Roger wanted to force Prince to resign and for Elizabeth to sack Robinson but legal advice warned that could get messy as the two men could argue they were operating within their authority.

Elizabeth explained her approach to the board. 'The Remembering archive is a wonderful resource. The board is the custodian of the state collections but they are covered by Crown copyright. The board cannot sign away this copyright. We need to resolve the impression held by SysWA that it can access the Remembering digital collection for profit. Access to Remembering was only ever for testing purposes and they cannot disprove that. We must insist on them deleting any Institute data that may be in their possession.'

Elliott Prince interrupted. 'Through you, Mr Chairman, and with respect, Dr Wallace, these arrangements occurred before your appointment and I fail to see how you can speak with any authority on SysWA's view of the situation.' He tapped the top of his pen on the table.

Roger Lui indicated to Elizabeth to continue.

'Let me explain how I have resolved this without going over past history of which, as you say, I am unfamiliar. I have had several discussions with Mr Vupin, Vision's Australasian manager as well as Gordon Burns, who was deputy CEO of SysWA. At first Mr Burns insisted that the SysWA agreements were transferred automatically to Vision. Vision's CEO and owner is Monsieur Martin Cheval who I have known for many years. Monsieur Cheval's intentions do not match those of SysWA's former staff. He has no desire to expand SysWA's CD-ROM business. Vision's future is in high performance computing and internet services for corporations and governments with security problems. He told me he has no intention of engaging in legal arguments with the Western Australian government. As of this morning, there are no contractual relationships with Vision.'

'So how do you expect us to get our CD-ROM products produced, Dr Wallace?' Prince scoffed. 'We had a good deal with SysWA. I wonder if you understand the ramifications of what you have done.'

Roger cut him off. 'Elliott, the point being made to us is that they are not our products. Someone has given SysWA the impression they could have access to our collections to do with what they wish. Not to mention the lack of discussion with the board about whether we wanted the collections made available in this way.' Roger spoke in his usual deliberate tone as board members watched the altercation. He tilted his shoulder towards Barbara. 'What I say next is not for minuting. Elliott, I think you should be grateful to Dr Wallace that she has avoided a legal battle that would have embarrassed the Board and, into the bargain, she has maintained an amicable relationship with Vision's CEO. Monsieur Cheval is joining us for lunch. He toured the Institute with me yesterday and some new possibilities may come from this.'

Prince continued as if Roger had not spoken. 'This Board is entitled to hear from Dr Robinson on the implied criticisms that have been made in his absence. And what's more, I want my objections to his not appearing here to be recorded. I have grave concerns about the future of the Institute if senior staff are to be gagged like this.'

Roger handled the objections by ignoring them just as Prince had ignored him. The two men continued in this parallel vein for some time.

'Mr Chairman, this has gone on long enough.' Prince's voice was becoming shrill. 'I demand an explanation as to why Dr Robinson's advice has been ignored. How will long-term plans for Remembering be affected? We have an impasse in our executive team. I wonder if our new Managing Director realises what damage she is doing. A lack of vision and a dysfunctional senior team is hardly something to be admired.'

Roger leaned back, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. He surveyed board members, giving others time to speak but no one did. 'Dr Wallace will now present that vision to us, Elliott, for our consideration. And, if I may comment on one of your earlier remarks, the reason no senior staff members are here today is that I wanted us to clear the air. It is essential that this board agrees on the way forward. It is up to Dr Wallace to build a cohesive executive team. I want no board interference in that process. I want our CEO to feel free to take whatever operational decisions are necessary to implement our strategies.'

By the end of the meeting board members were asking questions and engaging with Elizabeth's plans. Elliott Prince did not participate but he kept his eyes focused on Elizabeth, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. Keeping his powder dry for another day, she suspected. Clearly, he had no intention of resigning.

****

'Thank you, Roger, for that generous introduction. It's an enormous pleasure to be here today and to be able to make several magnificent announcements before such a distinguished group of local, national and international guests.'

Jeremy Hayes commanded the attention of the room. He looked every inch the former basketball champion, his tall frame enhanced by his elegant suit. His voice required no amplification but as he had to stoop to reach the microphone he gave the impression he was shouting. At breakfast before the board meeting, Elizabeth had briefed her senior staff on the minister's announcement. As usual, Michael Robinson found a legitimate-sounding reason to absent himself. Elizabeth wondered if he had been with Elliott Prince. The inseparable twosome sat in her line of sight so she would be able to watch their reaction.

'The Remembering project has won several national awards for digitising heritage collections,' Hayes said, 'and I want to acknowledge the great efforts of staff at the State Library and Museum for their exemplary cooperation in creating this electronic archive for the nation.' Hayes surveyed the room, basking in the attention. 'There is no point in my pretending that I expected any great collaboration between these institutions as there was considerable public disquiet when the Institute absorbed them. This was never my intention. I believe cultural institutions should be at arms length from government. I'm pleased that Dr Wallace agrees with me on this.'

Muffled laughter from the audience. 'As if she had a choice,' someone said.

Elizabeth hoped she looked noncommittal. It was a mask she needed often because in reality she was seething. The future of the cultural institutions was still a hot topic with what Cass called the twitterati and she did not mean the latest electronic chatterers. Re-establishing the cultural institutions' independence was called for with annoying regularity. While Hayes saw them as encumbrances foisted on him by an interfering bureaucracy, the Premier viewed the mergers as part of his productivity agenda, calling it an efficiency dividend. Previous governments had halved the number of departments then reduced them again to thirteen, abolishing over one hundred statutory authorities in the process. Elizabeth had enough on her plate without having to deal with interest groups that wanted to break up the Institute even if she agreed with them in principle.

'So back to Remembering,' Hayes said. 'As you know, this project has been around for a few years and I would like to acknowledge Dr Jean Renfrew, the former State Librarian who started it all in the 1990s and who is now chief policy adviser to the federal Minister for Information, Communications, Arts and Education. Jean received one million dollars funding from the federal government to create a digital archive. In these days of globalising and privatising it is a credit to Jean's vision that so much of Australia's story has been preserved in these new media. I ask Dr Renfrew to assist me in making a presentation.'

There was warm applause and some cheering as Jean walked to the podium. She was dressed in her usual black trousers and jacket but had tied a red scarf around her shoulders. Elizabeth thought that much as Jean's mind explored leading edge ideas, her fashion sense did not.

'Dr Renfrew has agreed to present two achievement awards,' Hayes said. 'I congratulate you, Roger, for this initiative. We live in an electronic age but nothing happens without people. Would Dr Michael Robinson and Mr Mario Fiori join us on the stage?'

There was a shuffling of tables and chairs, mumbling from the two men as they walked to the front of the auditorium. They stood next to the minister. Robinson's tall frame was contained in a black suit, black shirt and silver tie. His creaseless elegance contrasted with Mario Fiori who hunched over, tie askew, still holding his serviette which he hastened to put behind him.

'It gives me great pleasure to acknowledge the achievement of these two gentlemen,' Hayes continued. 'Michael Robinson acted as State Librarian then for a short time as Managing Director of the new Institute. He inherited the Remembering project when Jean left and saw it to its completion.'

Elizabeth noticed a slight upward twitch at the side of Robinson's mouth. So far as he was concerned, Remembering was not complete but she hoped he would find some good grace to accept the end of it.

'Mario Fiori is one of life's quiet achievers,' Hayes said. 'He was with the State Library for thirty-five years before the merger. What he doesn't know about the documentary heritage of the state is not worth knowing. He embraced the computer age then the Internet and multimedia with great enthusiasm and is living proof you can teach an old dog new tricks.'

Mario flushed crimson at the laughter.

'Mario will forgive me the old tag as we are the same age. He knows I fought computers tooth and nail although I'm a bit of techno-junkie now. To Michael and Mario, our grateful thanks for a job well done. I'd like to ask Jean to make the presentations and say a few words.'

As the room burst into generous applause, Elizabeth pondered the wisdom of bringing Jean back to the Institute. Jean had told her she felt guilty leaving Mario to Robinson's tender mercies. Perhaps her return and the recognition would heal some wounds.

'Thank you, Minister. It's a great pleasure to be here,' Jean said. 'I bring you good wishes from the Honourable Joseph Collins who asked me to pass on his congratulations for the completion of the Remembering archive and for the development of Valkyrie. I'm pleased to present these awards and to thank you for the recognition of what has become a much admired service for both historians and schoolchildren.'

Jean turned to Robinson and Fiori, handing each a framed certificate and a bottle of champagne then posing for photographs with the minister. Mario looked like the proverbial cat that got the cream while Robinson looked as if he was swallowing razor blades. While Mario embraced Jean with an uncharacteristic enthusiasm, Robinson's outstretched hand slipped past her fingers in a hasty handshake.

Jeremy Hayes proceeded to launch Valkyrie. While Anne Oldham gave an online demonstration of the power of the software Elizabeth watched the audience's rapt attention. No wonder Gordon Burns wanted control. Elizabeth suspected he would know that the current power was a fraction of its potential. She had taken great care with Hayes's speech. While a close relationship with Vision Industries might be a good idea, perhaps as a sponsor, she had no intention of handing over Valkyrie.

As Anne completed her presentation, the minister continued. 'In the interests of developing a global focus the name _Valkyrie_ will be used from now on to describe the functional software. I know some people would like to see me carried off to hell in a handcart but I'm not dancing off with any Odin's handmaidens just yet.'

Hayes pressed the remote. The Valkyrie image dissolved and the screen filled with oscillating question marks. 'It gives me great pleasure to announce that _Remembering_ and _Valkyrie_ will form the foundation of a new state-of-the-art project that is the vision of our Managing Director. It will place Australia at the forefront of developing information skills capacities in less privileged countries as it will have multilingual interfaces. While there are some more negotiations, I can tell you the federal government has agreed to invest $250,000 in the new project and I am delighted to announce that our state government will provide another $250,000 this year, $500,000 next year and one million dollars the year after.'

The room erupted in applause. Hayes waved his arms for silence. 'Without _Remembering_ and _Valkyrie_ we would not be able to move forward in this way. Thank you again to Michael Robinson and Mario Fiori, and to Anne Oldham and her team. Special congratulations to Dr Wallace for bringing it all together in ways that I know will put the Institute on the international footing that was my hope from the beginning.'

The chairman thanked the minister, inviting guests to stay and mingle over their coffee. The room buzzed with enthusiasm. Elizabeth felt Michael Robinson's dark glare. 'However, before you do so,' the chairman shouted above the noise,' Monsieur Martin Cheval has asked if he might say a few words.'

Elizabeth was halfway out of her chair to close the proceedings as Martin Cheval walked towards the podium. She sat down again, controlling her shock. What was going on? This was not in the script.

'Monsieur Chairman, Minister, Docteur Wallace, ladies and gentlemen, if I may keep you a little longer, I would like to add my felicitations on the completion of _Remembering_ and the launch of _Valkyrie_ and its mysterious successor. Now that Vision Industries International has absorbed SysWA into our family of companies I expect to visit Singapore and Perth often.'

Elliot Prince whispered in Michael Robinson's ear and smirked at Elizabeth. Did they suspect she was at a loss?

'Dr Wallace and I have had fruitful negotiations and I am looking forward to a long relationship with the Institute. Australia's government commitments to developing a sophisticated knowledge economy augurs well for companies like ours. I understand there is a desire to produce CDs from the digital archives. I would like to offer what help we can to make sure they are provided free of charge to every school and library in Australia.'

Cheering drowned out Cheval's next words. Elizabeth forced herself to join in the applause. What did he think he was doing?

'What's he playing at, Elizabeth?' Jean hissed. 'I thought you'd made quite clear to them this is the end of it.'

'I thought I had,' Elizabeth whispered, smiling as if Jean had congratulated her.

Cheval spoke again. 'In addition I offer Vision's resources to market this globally. We will fund the production of 200,000 discs and distribute them through our company offices worldwide as gifts to the citizens with whom we work.'

Elizabeth seethed. She could not have been blunter when she told Cheval that any further involvement must be subject to public tender. Gordon Burns had to be behind this. She was sure Roger Lui would be as astounded as she. Generous as the offer was, it encumbered her with messy obligations.

'Furthermore,' Cheval continued, 'while much philanthropy helps medical research I think it is time we spent more on technology for the world's underprivileged children. As a symbol of Vision's entry into the Australian marketplace I propose a fund be created under the control of the Institute board. I will commit two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to begin and the same again when the fund reaches one million dollars.'

Guests rose, clapping and cheering. Elliot Prince led the applause, moving from his seat to the stage and shook Cheval's hand. Several board members, including Jackie Olson, followed him. Roger Lui returned to his table without calling the room to order. No one noticed he had not thanked Cheval.

****

'Congratulations, Minister. Excellent speech and I'm sure you must be pleased with Martin Cheval's announcement.' Elliott Prince barred Hayes's path as the minister and Elizabeth moved away from the press pack. Michael Robinson hovered as always at Prince's shoulder.

'Of course, Elliott,' Hayes responded, shaking Prince's outstretched hand. 'Delighted to have the private sector help. Partnerships are what we need, or so they tell us.'

'I couldn't agree more. That's why I suggested to Martin he make the announcement today. Nothing like a bit of old-fashioned entrepreneurial spirit to move things along. I'm sure the chairman will see the wisdom of this in time. We do need to show some leadership.' Prince stood his ground, smiling as if there were no criticism in his words. 'The funding is inadequate anyway.'

Elizabeth watched Hayes ignore the unfair barb. She knew how ferocious he had been when they met with the Budget Committee. He had done his best but the Premier's determination to keep the state's finances in the black meant all agencies had to reduce expenditure. 'I'm sure Roger will do what is best for the Institute,' Hayes said. 'We all aim to serve the greater good, do we not? Well, I must be off. Thanks, Elizabeth. I leave you to deal with the press's detailed questions about our announcements.'

Hayes had to walk around Prince and Robinson to bid farewell to Roger Lui and other guests on his way to the exit, pausing to shake a hand here, exchange a few words there. Elizabeth was left standing with Elliott Prince and Michael Robinson barring her way.

' And you, Dr Wallace,' Prince asked, 'are you taken aback by Cheval's announcement?'

Elizabeth had no intention of admitting her confusion. 'Martin and I are pleased we resolved the misunderstandings over the Remembering data. That could have been messy but these things can happen when inexperienced bureaucrats try to negotiate with the corporate sector, don't you agree?'

'I'm sure Jeremy Hayes will be looking forward to the launch of the fund. Right now we're all ready for a Christmas break.'

Out of patience, Elizabeth longed to escape but Prince was the Deputy chairman so with exemplary self-control she changed the subject. 'Are you going away for Christmas, Elliott?'

'Of course. We're staying with my wife's family in Sydney. Always lovely to be there for the New Year's Eve celebrations. Fabulous fireworks and watching them from the in-laws fifty-footer on the harbour is not to be missed.'

While Prince was happy to exchange social pleasantries, keeping his shots for another battle, Michael Robinson would not play the game. 'Surely you agree that the CD production offer is a generous one? It was always part of my plan, you know. All it needed was for Elliott to explain that to Cheval.'

He was clever, Elizabeth thought, backing her into a corner in front of Prince when she had no idea of the conversations between Prince and Cheval nor why Martin would have kept them from her.

'It's one thing to close the project by stopping using its name,' Robinson sneered, 'but we hadn't finished and this should mean we can complete the work. Fix up the rubbish in Valkyrie. I agree it's a stupid name. We'd better come up with a new one for the CDs.'

Before Elizabeth could respond, Robinson pressed on. 'The partnership with SysWA has been a great opportunity and now, thanks to Elliott, we can continue to work with Vision people. They're the same SysWA people. Great blokes, you know. Business as usual, I'd say.'

Elizabeth gritted her teeth and looked past Robinson's ear at Gordon Burns who was walking towards them. 'This is neither the time nor the place to go into arrangements I have already negotiated with Martin Cheval and Jules Vupin. I suggest we rejoin our guests. I'm sure our Deputy Chairman would not want us to be talking shop among ourselves.'

It took all her self-control to smile at both men. She extended her hand towards Prince. 'If I do not see you before Christmas, may I wish you and your family the compliments of the season?'

She headed towards Martin Cheval who was surrounded by the press. She had better retrieve him before he made any more unsolicited offers. What was it about this job that each time she believed she had an agreement on an issue, even a memorandum of understanding such as Roger Lui and Cheval signed that morning, in no time at all it unravelled?

Strange how Michael Robinson was the thread picker each time.

CHAPTER FIVE

'I can't see why you want to sell the shares. Surely if you've declared them then that deals with any conflict of interest? With the new electronic publishing deals they could go through the roof.'

Lynda Muir had been trying to convince Elizabeth for three days to retain her ten per cent share in Next Generation Publishing. Elizabeth knew her old friend meant well but she suspected Lynda saw the sale as a rejection of her Scottish life, proof of a decision never to return.

'You need to see this from my perspective.' Elizabeth tried to be patient. 'I'm not saying I'll see out my days in Australia, but I've got a five year contract and I intend to fulfil that. It's a public sector job and it's just not right that I should have a private investment like this, particularly one that is in a similar field. Can you see how exposed it leaves me?'

'Yes, I suppose so but you'll be better off if you hang on a bit. Couldn't you put them in a blind trust or something?'

'No, I can't. I appreciate your advice but look, you inveterate Scot,' Elizabeth said, giving Lynda an affectionate push, 'I got an obscene amount of money from the float. I don't need to hang onto another ten per cent. Why don't you buy them?'

'I can't afford to do that.'

'Well, let me give them to you. Why didn't I think of that before?'

'No, I don't want them. That would give me a serious problem. I wouldn't want to be accused of making decisions for my own benefit. No, the salary you negotiated for me is more than enough.'

Lynda sighed and looked into the fire. They were lazing on the floor of Elizabeth's Crespigny Bay house, sipping cognac after a lazy meal of local yabbies and cheeses. Elizabeth wanted to reassure her friend that nothing needed to change. They would see each other the following July as Elizabeth had planned an extended European trip while she attended the Paris conference organised by Willie Andresen.

Lynda had been dubious about succeeding Elizabeth as CEO of Next Generation Publishing. Behind Lynda's humourous stories Elizabeth suspected she was lonely and isolated. While Elizabeth had been fortunate in having Fionn and Lynda as trusted colleagues Lynda had no such support. As she recounted the treachery of a deputy who she had dismissed, Elizabeth found parallels in her own life. It would have been easier for Lynda to sack her nemesis, Elizabeth thought, than it was to deal with Robinson. She had discovered that public sector human resources policies were written to protect permanent employment. She could see no way to be rid of him.

A sudden gust of wind battered torrential rain on the aluminium roof. Lynda's body jerked and she spilt her drink. Wiping the drops that fell on her dress, she looked at the ceiling. 'Good lord, what the hell is that? Hailstones?'

'No, just rain.'

'How can you live with that racket all winter? It's like a machine gun! Or more like those Australian tap dancers. Have you got a couple of _bootmen_ up there?'

'I wish,' yelled Elizabeth. 'I love it. It feels elemental, like being in the rain but not getting wet.'

'It feels as if the house is going to shake itself to pieces. You're crazy, Elizabeth Wallace. You've gone troppo although I must say this so-called summer of yours isn't much better than ours.'

The storm passed as quickly as it had come. An unexpected cold snap had sent Elizabeth foraging in her wardrobe for sweaters and socks. Lynda had packed summer clothes in expectation of a warm Australian holiday.

'Let's do Christmas presents now,' Elizabeth said. 'I know you've got something for me and I've got a few for you.'

'I should have known I could keep no secrets from you, especially in your own house.' Lynda left the couch to fetch her gifts.

Elizabeth opened the doors to the deck and stepped out. Breathing the fresh cool air she listened to the water drip from the trees and the eaves of the house, the waves impatient on the sand below. In a vague attempt to recreate childhood Christmases she had lit the fire but the house had become too hot.

Elizabeth understood Lynda's sadness. Their relationship had changed. At age twelve, she had met Lynda in Glasgow. Next door to Fionn was a child with golden curls and a delicate constitution that required Elizabeth to temper her boisterousness. Each summer they had explored the nearby woodlands then lain beneath sun-dappled trees enthusing over their latest reading adventures. Boys took a distant second place. Lynda stayed in Glasgow and built a career with a small Edinburgh publisher. When, at sixteen, Elizabeth left for Australia they vowed to stay close. When Elizabeth fled John's indifference, Lynda was true to her words and their renewed friendship was a salve for Elizabeth's shattered heart. They picked up each time where they left off but the current separation was unsettling them more than any other.

These few days had been wonderful, Elizabeth thought. She had been so busy with the new job and made to feel so welcome. Becoming embroiled in what she called the Robinson wars meant she had not noticed Lynda's absence. These days together, exploring galleries and vineyards, talking over long lunches in local restaurants and into the wee hours of the morning had made Elizabeth realise that, apart from Cass, she had no one in Australia who shared her memories or, dismissing John/Giovanni from her mind, no one with whom she wished to. Now they must say goodbye again. She looked out to the black night, to an ocean and beach colourless under the heavy cloud. She shivered, more from impending loneliness than from the cold air.

'What are you doing out there? It's wet,' Lynda shouted from inside.

'Call yourself a Scot.' Elizabeth stepped inside but left the doors open. 'You should be out there in a T-shirt and shorts.'

She made a fresh pot of coffee, set out some chocolates, brie and fruit and retrieved her gifts for Lynda from their hiding place in the pantry. She moved to her sideboard and poured two tumblers of Glenfiddich. Handing one to Lynda, she stood before the fireplace.

'Now, unaccustomed as I am to public speaking–'

'That'll be the day.'

'No further interruptions from the gallery, if you please. A warm thank you to our visitor from the old country for her company, charm and friendship. May your future be paved with success, may the road rise up to meet you but not slap you in the face. May your problems always be small ones but have no legs and as we will not be together on Hogmanay, lang may your lum reek.'

Elizabeth clinked her glass against Lynda's then dropped to the rug and hugged her friend. Lynda giggled as, like the children they once were, they sat on the floor surrounded by their gifts, opening one at a time and exclaiming their delight.

'Oh, Elizabeth, you shouldn't have.' Lynda tied a yellow and green scarf round her neck. 'When did Hermès have a shop in southwest Australia?'

I bought it for you in Singapore. I knew you would love to add the latest one to your collection. I expected to post it but it's wonderful to give it to you in person.'

When they were thirteen Elizabeth ran through the woods behind Fionn's house with Lynda trying to keep up with her. Lynda had tripped, cutting the side of her head and neck. Elizabeth carried her home, terrified by the blood loss. Lynda was unconscious when rushed to hospital, her recovery slow because she developed an infection. She had a long scar on her neck that she always covered with a scarf. Most people saw this as her signature fashion statement but Elizabeth knew better.

Elizabeth counted ten books in one of the two boxes before her. 'Where did you find these first edition Doris Lessings? You couldn't have carried them in hand luggage.'

'Your assistant is a genius. I had them shipped to her weeks ago. When I knew I was coming I asked Barbara to hold them for me. She put them in the wine cartons to fool you. Clever, eh?' Lynda smacked her thigh with delight.

Tears blurred Elizabeth's vision as she emptied the boxes. They contained a complete set of Doris Lessing's novels. What an enormous effort this would have taken, not to mention the cost. Several of them were signed by the author.

Elizabeth had been collecting first editions of twentieth century British women novelists for years. Alex and Lynda went to great lengths for Christmas and birthdays to find additions to the collection that sat still in its custom-made glass bookcases in her Glasgow house. She was not ready to move the collection from its home.

They spent the next half hour poring over jewellery, glassware and pottery bought during their drives around the region. They laughed as each piece was unwrapped. Each had pretended they were buying pieces for themselves.

'What a pair of transparent schemers we are,' Lynda said. 'Just as well we have the same taste.'

'Well, if we didn't, we could just exchange back and we'd be where we started.'

The two women embraced, jewel-coloured gifts creating their own Aladdin's Cave.

'I've missed you so much,' Lynda said. 'The job's great but no one laughs at my appalling jokes the way you do. It's been wonderful to spend these few days with you and much as I hate to say this, you do look fabulous. And the way you have your inestimable minister and your deliciously inscrutable oriental chairman eating out of your hand was a sight to behold.'

'I've been fortunate. Hayes and Lui appear pretty straight, unlike a few others I could mention. I'm sorry you didn't meet Roger's wife Felicity. You'd like her.'

'It's good you've made some new friends.'

'I suspect most of the time it's more to do with my position than my personality. I'm told a female CEO is still a curiosity in Perth. I get complimented for my appointment as a woman, whatever that means.'

'Really? What's that go to do with anything?'

Lynda spread brie on a slice of pear and popped it into her mouth. She nodded her approval. The Margaret River region's food had become Lynda's obsession. 'It was lovely to meet your Valerie. She thinks the world of you.'

'She has loads of friends without taking me on.'

'Oh, she's taken you on, all right. I'd say she's adopted you, like a fairy godmother. And I think she's got past the famous Wallace defences.'

Elizabeth picked up the wrappings and coffee things. She could feel one of what she called Lynda's 'JungFreuds' coming on, a term they coined when Lynda had a nightmare job editing an esoteric book on modern psychiatry.

When Elizabeth returned with chamomile tea Lynda took a small object from her handbag. 'I have another gift for you but I don't want you to be upset.' She handed a silver wrapped box to Elizabeth. 'It's from Alex. I told him he had to leave it to me to judge whether to give it to you. Don't bite my head off but I think you're missing him. Not that you would ever admit it.'

'Oh, Lynda, no.' Elizabeth recognised the wrapping paper and ribbon. She did not want to open it but did not want to appear ungracious. She removed the paper and stared at the blue velvet box with its silver edging. 'This is the same box that he gave me on our last night.' She opened the box and there it was, a silver bracelet identical to the one he had already given her.

As she gazed at it she tried to identify her emotions. Pleasure and surprise, delight and fear. Anger that he would not leave her alone? Gratitude that he had not?

'He said you would know what it means,' Lynda said. 'Are you okay with this?'

Elizabeth did not answer. Okay with this? She didn't know because she was not sure what 'this' was. Why another bracelet the same as the first? Polished to a mirror shine, a simple curved loop like an unfolded infinity symbol. The lights from the candles glinted on its unblemished surface. There was a note with it. She did not want to read it.

'Fine, I'm fine. I don't know what he means but let's not get into that.' Elizabeth silently begged Lynda not to touch wounds that she knew were in part self-inflicted. 'I'll read this later. This is our last night together. Let's not have a third person here. Tell me some more about your Scottish Christmas plans. You know how much I'll miss those.'

Elizabeth knew her fearless friend could pursue any dragon to its lair, always with a determination born of quiet love. But there were places she would not go without an invitation and one of those places was the inner cave of Elizabeth's heart.

'Come home with me,' Lynda said. 'Just pack a bag, book a ticket and come with me tomorrow. A family Christmas, a raging Hogmanay and you'll be back in a week or so.'

For a moment, Elizabeth wavered but she had decided she would not return for a year. She must make the break and commit to her new life. If she were honest, she could not face Alex. She was still furious with him for cancelling their plans to pursue his political career but a part of her blamed herself for a childish pique at being thwarted.

'It's tempting,' she said, 'but I've had a full-on nine months and I'm so looking forward to two weeks of peace. The job gobbles up my days. I'm going to make some changes next year, not the least of which is coming here for six days a month minimum.'

'I can't believe you'll spend Christmas alone but I must say if you have to, what better place? Space, sea, beach, great wine and food. It's a slice of heaven. Enjoy it, my dear friend, but remember us and,' raising her cup in a toast, with tears in her eyes. 'Haste ye back, bonnie lass.'

****

Elizabeth replaced the telephone and stood gazing into space, her fingers resting on the handset. Her conversation with Cass had disoriented her. Save for spending some time on Boxing Day with Valerie and Beverley, Elizabeth had enjoyed her own uninterrupted company.

For five days her watch had remained on her bedside table. She let go of the woman whose to do lists and project timelines, tight schedules and fourteen hour days had become legendary at the Institute. For the first time in years she slept, walked and read when she felt like it. Even her chronic insomnia gave way to stretches of sleep. She strolled along the beach alone in the moonlight, dozed in the middle of the day and breakfasted at five in the afternoon.

The Institute work she had intended to complete progressed from briefcase to fireside table where it lay ignored. The detailed submission for the LOCAL Project had to be finalised by mid January for the Ministerial Council's Steering Committee yet she preferred to read novels recommended by Felicity and Ngaire. She had finished Alex Miller's _Conditions of Faith_ , begun both Dorothy Hewitt's _The Toucher_ and Stephanie Dowrick's _A Taste of Salt_. Elizabeth had been seeking for some time stories of middle-aged women who were asking questions about self rather than interminable angst over thirty-something love and so rejection. She had also brought with her Hermione Lee's biography of Virginia Woolf and Peter J. Conradi's biography of Iris Murdoch.

On Christmas Eve, while shopping in the local store for bread and milk and rejecting newspapers, she was drawn to a selection of handmade notebooks. They contained blank sheets of paper, spiral-bound between boards with local wildflowers captured in an acrylic suspension. She bought the one covered with blue leschenaultia, leaving it on the dining table as she put away the groceries.

On Christmas Day she lingered at the table after her meal of grilled dhufish with a pear and rocket salad, sipping her favourite wine from Brookland Valley. She imagined she could taste in the sauvignon blanc the colours of the summer sunset and the sounds of the sea. She lit a scented candle and drew the notebook towards her, unscrewed the top of her fountain pen and began to write. She wrote of the house, her plans for it, Lynda's visit, Lynda's gifts then Alex. Yes, Alex. There he was on the page. She watched herself write about Christmases past as if they had happened to someone else. Her mother's failed attempts at harmony when the clan gathered at Grandma Wallace's house. She wrote, too, of Alex's child-like love of all the trimmings and how he insisted on a tree at both his and Elizabeth's houses with two sets of presents beneath.

She wrote till it was dark and candle spluttered its last gleam. She looked up, dazed. Where had all this come from? She was conscious of having opened a door but she did not want to read what she had written. She was a publisher, not a writer.

'Silly thing, who do you think you are?' she said aloud to herself. 'Virginia Woolf exploring the meaning of life? Look where that got her.' She closed the notebook and had not written there again.

Now, three days after Christmas, Cass had called to say that she and her mother would arrive around three. 'The redoubtable Penelope is in full flight,' she said. 'You know what the great one's like when she's on a mission. Put on the coffee and get ready for inspection.'

Elizabeth groaned. Penelope's mothering had often been welcome but Penelope on a mission was code for a serious conversation.

'She's worried about you hiding yourself away and not joining us for Christmas,' Cass said. 'She doesn't believe you could be happy in that house. I've told her you're well adjusted and even sane but she's determined to see for herself. Like I said, she's on a mission. See you in an hour.'

Elizabeth wondered how Penelope and Cass knew of her solitary Christmas. She had deflected several invitations by hinting others had been accepted. Her evening with Lynda had been her real Christmas. Saying goodbye at the airport was harder than she expected. She was glad of the few hectic days in the office before returning south. She had met with Roger Lui as well her executive staff on the fallout from Cheval's speech at the _Valkyrie_ launch. Roger was less annoyed than she anticipated, much less annoyed than she was.

'I'm not running the board according to Prince's, Robinson's or Martin Cheval's agenda,' Lui had said. 'Hayes should have known better than to let Cheval speak but he tells me the charming Frenchman gave him the impression it was fine with you. While I believe Cheval manipulated the situation I suspect he had help from Elliott Prince.'

Roger's quiet tone suggested he was enjoying the cut and thrust of board politics. 'Prince and I are going to have a reckoning. I am ready for that but I'm biding my time. I will have to leave you to deal with Robinson. If you suspect he is stepping beyond his brief then do what you think is appropriate. Whatever you decide, I will back you.'

They had talked at some length about their suspicions and potential strategies. Was there a Prince/Robinson/Burns alliance offering Cheval Institute resources? Had Cheval been deceived or did he have his own game?

Elizabeth continued to be impressed by Roger's considered approach even if it was accompanied by the redoubtable Sun Tzu. _Hence, in the wise leader's plans, considerations of advantage and disadvantage will be blended together._

The crunch of car tyres on gravel interrupted her reverie. Time for companions other than Sun Tzu. Elizabeth looked at her watch. 3pm on the dot, as you would expect from an inspector-general. Perhaps she should lend her copy of _The Art of War_ to Penelope.

An hour later, the coffee was brewed and a huge platter of cheeses, homemade scones, jam and cream was arranged on the table on the deck, courtesy of Penelope and Cass. Elizabeth had shown her friends through the house. Their delight at the furniture, artworks and fabrics pleased her. On their tour, they paused at each window to enjoy a different view. As she watched Penelope pour coffee and hand out food she imagined the house as a home. What else is a home but a salve for restoration of the self in the company of friends?

Penelope had not visited the house when Elizabeth and John owned it. She had not approved of John but, once married, Penelope did not criticise him again. It was as if he did not exist.

'Well, I don't normally approve of these modern architectural monstrosities, but this is marvellous,' Penelope said. 'I think even I could live here.'

Cass screeched with laughter. 'Was that a compliment? Perse, take it as such, coming from the federation-style aficionado.'

'Honestly, Cassiopeia, you're always misquoting me,' Penelope tutted. 'I think it's perfect. Modern, elegant and sophisticated. Just like Elizabeth.'

Penelope smiled at the two younger women. Her grey hair was cut into a bob that surrounded her face with a soft glow. She was dressed in her familiar tailored slacks and silk blouse, the timeless look of Audrey Hepburn. Penelope would deem it an insult to be called a follower of fashion.

'Now, Elizabeth, we've seen over your house and you look relaxed and happy, but I want an honest answer,' Penelope tapped her finger on the table. 'Did you really spend Christmas here alone?'

'Yes, I did.'

'But that's outrageous. I'm so cross with Cassiopeia for not insisting you come to us. It's just too awful.'

'It was my choice and Cass did invite me. So did Roger and Felicity, but I didn't want to be an add-on to anyone's family and before you say I wouldn't be, I preferred to be alone. Let's not go over it. I had an early Christmas with Lynda Muir and a super lunch with some of the Institute's senior staff and, in any case, how did you find out?' Elizabeth knew she had given too much information as always.

'Oh, that's easy,' quipped Penelope, with a dismissive swipe of her hand. 'Felicity mentioned it yesterday.'

Elizabeth smiled. What a network these women had. Was there anyone Penelope Lawson did not have on her intelligence web? 'How did Felicity know?'

'Felicity and Beverley had lunch together,' Penelope said. 'I don't understand that relationship. Beverley Farrington is decidedly odd.'

'You're just annoyed because she's supporting the other side and won't help you with your political plotting,' Cass said.

Penelope screwed up her nose as if she smelled something bad. 'The current lot are hanging on by the skin of their teeth. They're too frightened to make any decisions. Jeremy Hayes is the only one I've got any time for. How do you find him, Elizabeth?'

'Well, he's intelligent, has a grand vision and appears to like me. What more could a girl ask for?'

You could ask for a few more like him. I can't make up my mind whether this lot or our lot should run the show in two years. I'm getting too old for this preselecting and fundraising caper and I'm not sure I've got that much to say anymore.'

'Well, principessa, Machiavelli would be proud.' Cass laughed. 'Would you believe there are four MPs including two ministers as well as the Leader of the Opposition coming to Penelope Lawson's famous New Year's Eve Party? No, nothing much to say any more.'

'That reminds me,' said Penelope. 'You must come, Elizabeth. You don't want to spend New Year's Eve alone. Not a Scot?'

'No, definitely not. I'm going to the Luis. Beverley asked me if I would take Valerie. They are good friends with the Luis because of the Karri Writers' Festival.'

'Speaking of the Luis, what's Roger doing about Elliott Prince, the blackguard that he is?' asked Penelope.

'Roger a blackguard?' Elizabeth winked at Cass.

'No, the Black Prince,' said Penelope. 'He won't be happy till he's chairman of the board. He hates Roger, you know. Don't know why Roger lets him stay.'

Elizabeth did not want to discuss the board or the Institute but experience told her Penelope would not be thwarted. Half an hour later she had told of Prince's ambitions, his business transactions that sailed so close to the wind they had earned him his nickname, and his multiple board directorships that generated a considerable income. It was his apparent failure to perceive conflicts of interest that intrigued Elizabeth the most. Penelope explained that Beverley Farrington had sacked him from her company's board because he had interfered in negotiations with another company on whose board he sat. 'The man has more faces than Eve and more hats than a hydra would need. Can't stand the man. Roger had better watch himself. And so should you.'

Cass rescued Elizabeth from further unsolicited advice by suggesting she show her around the garden and the beach. Penelope urged them to go, saying she could not manage the steps and would have a rest.

'Sorry about the inquisition and the pontifications on Roger et al,' Cass said as they walked along the water's edge. The mild warmth of the day was fading as the waves lapped the smooth sand. They had the beach to themselves save for a lone yacht on the horizon.

'That's okay, it's all useful information,' Elizabeth said, 'and it's good to have my opinions of Prince confirmed. I'm beginning to dislike him. I doubt I can persuade either him or Robinson to support me. Perhaps benign indifference is an option but I doubt it somehow.'

'Anyway, changing the subject, surely you didn't spend Christmas alone? No secret lover I should know about?' Cass poked her friend in the ribs.

'Oh, don't be ridiculous. Who's got the time or the inclination? Not interested. I think I like the celibate life. My house, my space, my pyjamas on the bed. Perfect.'

Cass put her hand on her heart. 'No fond desires for Alexander the Great? No languid dreams of love lost?'

Cass's probing always cut to the most sensitive parts. Elizabeth would not discuss Alex, even with Cass who never could leave things alone. Sometimes Elizabeth wondered if Cass was herself in love with Alex.

'I saw him in Paris,' Cass said, ignoring Elizabeth's silence. 'He was with the Scottish delegation. We skipped the conference dinner and ate at a restaurant on the Left Bank. It started to snow and the city looked exquisite. I do love Paris, no matter the weather.'

'Did you go to the Musée D'Orsay? I adore that museum.'

'Don't change the subject, Perse. I know you don't want to hear this but I'm going to say it anyway.' Cass stopped walking and faced her friend, putting her hands on Elizabeth's forearms. 'The man adores you. He asked about you all evening. What do you feel about the job? Are you happy? He asked me to wish you a Merry Christmas but I think what he wants is for you to contact him. Why have you cut yourself off so completely? If he wants a long distance relationship, why not?'

Elizabeth sighed and put her arm through Cass's, forcing her to continue walking. She gazed out to sea. She was still trying to fathom her response to Alex's note delivered by Lynda with his gift.

'My dearest Elizabeth,' he had written. 'I hope you are well and content with your decision. My thoughts are often with you and I miss our life together. Please have a Happy Christmas. I will toast you with the Glenfiddich on New Year's Eve. Have a drink for me. I've enclosed a small token of my affection. Love from Alex.'

Hardly a passionate outpouring of unrequited love, she thought, but that was his way. They had been together for so long that she had no expectations of things changing. Two years before on a much-anticipated yet regular holiday in Rome, she had found herself alone at the top of the Spanish Steps savouring the quintessence of the Italian evening. Alex had a headache and she insisted he rest. She would explore the Via Condotti shops and watch the crowds. A young couple stepped into one of the horse-drawn carriages. They had eyes only for each other, every limb touching some part of the other's body. A sense of loss descended on her. Something was missing. She knew now that was the beginning of the journey that brought her back to Australia. She could not explain the chasm of unfulfilled need that opened between her and Alex that day. She could not explain it to him because she could not explain it to herself. So, what to say to Cass?

'I can't say I believe that he is crazy about me. Oh, I'm not doubting he believes he is. I don't know whether I've changed for good or if we'll find our way back together. I do know that I want to be on my own for now and it's easier to do that here. We talked about a new life after I left Next Generation. We would refurbish the houses, travel, maybe start some business activity together. He was the one who betrayed that.'

Elizabeth heard the harshness in her voice.

'Hey, don't get upset about it,' Cass said. 'It's holiday time so let's pretend nothing exists but sea, sky, wine, chocolate and cheese.'

Elizabeth appreciated the change of subject but as usual Cass had to have the last word. 'And don't tell me you don't wish you could share it with Alex.'

****

'Lang may your lum reek,' Valerie said, 'and you should appreciate the lengths I have gone to in order to acquire this coal.' She stood on the backdoor mat, insisting Elizabeth stand inside the hallway while she performed the traditional Scottish New Year welcome.

'Thank you,' said Elizabeth. 'You're my first footer, so welcome.'

She ushered Valerie into the house, helping her manage the polished boards. Valerie leaned on a walking stick, favouring her left leg. This was her first visit to Elizabeth's house, a dinner invitation accompanied by an offer to pick her up and drive her home. Elizabeth had spent the day cooking, delighting in her intention to make the evening perfect.

'I thought we could have a pre-dinner drink on the deck if it's not too chilly,' Elizabeth said.

'Sounds perfect but you must show me your house first. I want to see you in your own spaces.'

Valerie insisted on struggling up the stairs, leaning on Elizabeth's arm as she explored each area, affirming all was as it should be. Her love of art demanded they pause before each painting. Elizabeth had purchased eight pieces from local galleries. While Valerie's home contained more traditional works her comments revealed a genuine appreciation of the abstract. When they returned downstairs Valerie dismissed Elizabeth's repeated concern about the cold and stepped onto the deck.

'Russian blood, remember?' Valerie had brought a pink cashmere shawl with her and she settled into one of the large, cushion-filled jarrah armchairs that had been delivered that day, another exciting find from the local timber gallery that made Elizabeth's rocking chair.

They spent a comfortable hour chatting over their wine with a cream cheese laced with basil on fresh bread. The evening light faded quickly into darkness, the earlier strong sea breeze now a whisper matching the sussuration of the waves below.

Not for the first time, Valerie voiced what Elizabeth had been thinking. 'Do you miss the gloaming? Although I grew up here, the sudden arrival of darkness still shocks. In Scotland Jock and I would sit for hours of a summer evening and watch the slow merging of day into night across the mountains.'

'Yes, it's so subtle.'

'Not that I don't enjoy this,' Valerie said, 'but there's something discomfiting in the abruptness of it. The gloaming is gentler. Australia is so intense. No nonsense, no equivocation. If it's going to be hot, it's like an oven. If wet, then it's like standing under a bucket.'

Valerie paused to breathe deeply and Elizabeth wondered if Beverley could be wrong about the seriousness of her illness.

'Perhaps that's why we Western Australians produce so many entrepreneurs,' Valerie said. 'All or nothing. Go with the rain today because tomorrow's likely to be a drought. Boom then bust, that's us, in weather and in business.'

Later, after enjoying their dinner, they lingered at the table. Elizabeth listened with fascination to Valerie's stories of embassy parties and hilarious expats' _faux pas_ when coming to terms with new cultures. She was a natural storyteller but her humour was always at her own expense.

'I've enjoyed our talks more than I can say,' Valerie said. 'I hope I haven't bored you too much with all my memories. You're such a good listener.'

'I've been delighted to listen to you. It's lovely to have you as a neighbour and we might become good friends.'

'Oh, we're already good friends.' Valerie rested her arthritic fingers on Elizabeth's hand. 'I'm grateful to the Divine Spirit for sending you to me. You've let me talk about Jock and Ioann in ways I don't to anyone else.'

Elizabeth put her other hand on top of Valerie's. She could feel a particular energy in the old woman. What was it? Serenity, yes, but there was something else, an expansiveness that belied her shrinking body.

'The gratitude is mine, Valerie, truly. Finding someone who appreciates my Scottish foibles, who can teach me about Western Australia's social history and likes my new house. What more could I ask for as a New Year's gift?'

Elizabeth became aware she was gripping Valerie's hand. She lost all restraint when with this old woman. She suggested they move inside for coffee and Drambuies.

As they settled into the sofas, Valerie lifted her left leg with both hands onto the ottoman. The swollen leg was bandaged from ankle to above the knee.

'Roger and Felicity's house in Margaret River is magnificent, isn't it?' Elizabeth asked. 'It's a mansion compared to this although Felicity calls it a cottage. I wonder why they built inland?'

'Roger owns an olive farm and a vineyard. He's made a commitment to the town so they built close. Anyway, with river views in Perth, I think they wanted green views down here. It's beautiful in winter when it rains although I've only been there once.'

'They were sorry you didn't come for New Year's Eve.'

'I doubt they would have missed me.' Valerie waved her hand. 'Beverley exaggerates my importance. They're her crowd. She has some notion I'm lonely in my house on the point. She runs around like the proverbial chook without its head. Can't sit still. Never could, even when we were in school. Frightened that if she stops her shadow will catch her. Well, our shadow catches us all eventually.'

Valerie asked Elizabeth to turn up the volume of the aria from Madame Butterfly sung by Anna Moffo. The CD was Elizabeth's Christmas gift from Valerie, together with a cashmere shawl of the deepest purple. Valerie closed her eyes as the music filled the house.

'Roger pushes himself as hard as Beverley,' Valerie said as the music faded. 'I don't understand it. He's a millionaire many times over so there's no need to keep wheeling and dealing. Especially with his heart.'

'What do you mean, especially with his heart?'

'He's already had one heart attack. Felicity's worried about him. That's why she brings him south as often as she can. He's agreed to stay here till the end of January but with emails and those electronic gadgets you all carry around it doesn't stop him.'

'We spoke at the New Year's party about the Institute and the upcoming battles we'll have. He's looking forward to it all.'

Valerie laughed. 'Of course he is. He's like his great Chinese warlord hero. He'll die in battle because his battlefield is the business world. Keeps quoting that mediaeval general. He'd be better off reading Patanjali.'

Beverley had told Elizabeth that Valerie's cancer was in remission but she would refuse treatment if it returned. Now she was telling Elizabeth that Roger Lui could go at any moment.

'Now don't look so worried,' Valerie said. 'Roger Lui is an old warhorse. He's a smart man with an over-anxious wife. Perhaps I shouldn't have told you, so don't let on. Let's drink to his health and long life.'

Elizabeth inserted a Bach CD into her player. Both women drifted into silence.

'Enough of death and illness,' Valerie said at the end of the first movement. 'You said you're returning to Perth tomorrow. What great things await you in the new year?'

Elizabeth was not sure she wanted to think about the Institute. 'There will be lots of challenges that I can't foresee but I've got a major project underway. I'm visiting Europe in July to give a paper on it so it has to work along with trying to build a coherent team and keeping the minister happy.'

'And is that difficult to do? Keeping Jeremy Hayes happy?'

'So far, no, it's not but then we haven't had a crisis yet apart from Martin Cheval's suggestion we set up a Foundation. You remember I told you about that? All because Hayes wanted to be seen on stage with the CEO of a multinational company. I doubt Hayes knows the mess that's been created.'

'Jock always said foreign ministers are put on this earth to create messes. A visit from one's minister always left six months of diplomatic mopping up.'

Valerie's eyes closed and Elizabeth let her mind drift to the sounds of the violin. Valerie was right about cleaning up after ministers. Roger was furious with Hayes for allowing Cheval the spotlight. Elizabeth had been disappointed that Roger would think she knew about Cheval's intention.

When Elizabeth spoke with Roger at his New Year's Eve Party he had been brimming with enthusiasm. She could not decide whether he was happy about transforming Cheval's idea into a superior one of his own or about besting Elliott Prince. Kind as Roger was to her, it was clear he did not like to be challenged.

Elizabeth persuaded Valerie it was time to go to bed and drove her home in the moonlight. As they sat in the car facing the ocean, Valerie made no effort to get out. 'You've talked a lot about what you're going to do in the new year,' she said, 'but do you realise all you spoke about tonight was your work? Even your overseas trip is to go to a conference. Not to have a romantic week on a Caribbean island.'

Elizabeth was becoming familiar with Valerie's bluntness. In some ways she was like Cass but Elizabeth responded with less defensiveness to Valerie. 'There's no time to do much else, what with the social functions and networking. That's why I've bought the house. To escape.'

'Escape to do what?' Valerie persisted. 'Who do you spend time with? Share your bed with? A beautiful young woman like you shouldn't be so alone.'

'Valerie, I'm 51 years old. I'm not a _beautiful young woman_ and I don't need someone to share my bed.'

'Yes, you do. And yes, you are. You look around thirty-five to me. Do you have a hobby or a dream? Do you paint, trek in the Himalayas, stuff animals? What about your photography?'

'If you insist, I'll answer you, you nosy thing, since I suppose I have to if I'm going to persuade you to rest.' Elizabeth squeezed Valerie's shoulder. 'Reading great novels in a house on the beach with a friendly, wise and witty neighbour is my hobby and my dream. What more could I ask for?'

'Well, I'll shut up for now but let me say this.' In the moonlight Elizabeth could see Valerie's intense gaze. 'Life's too short to spend in the service of the powerful. You have wings and are flying high but I have lived long enough to know most high flyers have an Icarus moment sooner or later.' She sighed. 'I see your commitment to do good things but you give your soul no space. I've known Jeremy Hayes and Roger Lui for years. They are charming, right enough, but they're self-centred and ruthless. Don't rely on them to be there if it doesn't suit them. You're worth more than the two of them put together. And don't you forget it, _young woman_.'

Valerie gathered up her skirts and walking stick. 'Now, help these old bones into the house and you can escape the inquisition.'

Fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth drove her new car along the track to her house. The Volkswagen Golf had been a pragmatic purchase. She had not owned a car for twenty years. Her aunt had retained a driver and never learned to drive and Elizabeth had not had the heart to dismiss him after Fionn's death. She had allowed herself the luxury of his services until he admitted to fading eyesight.

She closed the car door and leaned on the bonnet, letting the stillness of the bush embrace her. Valerie's mixture of persistent questioning tempered with deep affection reminded her of her grandmother and aunt. These few days had been healing although she could not specify what had needed mending. Most nights her short sleeps were deep and refreshing but a few nights brought dreams. Jumbled and indecipherable, they drained her. She had expected memories of John and their lost child to surface but either she had expunged John from her life or buried him so deep even in dreams he did not surface. What disturbed her most was a frequent dream. In it Alex held a baby in his arms. She could not see the baby's face as he offered her the blanketed bundle from which tiny hands reached. She could not hear what he said but the pain in his voice stabbed her. His eyes were full of tears. Each time she held her arms to take the baby the dream faded and she woke to touch her wet face.

She must return to work the next day ready to do battle with Robinson and Prince because she was certain now it was a battle. She had been naïve to assume Robinson would become part of her team. Her nine months' attempt had borne little fruit. He had declared unilateral war on an unknown enemy before she had begun. It was his problem, this need to be MD, and she had made his problem hers by playing on his terms.

No more. It was time for her to set the rules. He's got no more chances, she thought. He's got to go. Maybe she should have moved earlier but at least her staff could see she had tried to meet him halfway. She must remember he was dangerous. He had connections but who were they, apart from Prince? Who would oppose LOCAL apart from these two, and why? What of the relationship between Prince, the former SysWA executives and Martin Cheval?

Elizabeth's business acumen, honed by years of reading the minds of authors and their agents as well as multinational publishers and policy makers told her to take care. If it smells like a rodent and looks like a rodent, chances are it is a rodent, Fionn would say, and Robinson looked and sounded and smelled like a rat.

Well, she said to herself, he may as well leave my ship which I have no intention of sinking. In spite of Valerie's remonstrations about Lui and Hayes, she was confident they shared common goals for the Institute. Now it was time to strike, fast and clean, but she would not deceive herself. Finding her way through the murky corridors of Robinson's labyrinth would take more than a magic thread and a sword.

CHAPTER SIX

'The end of March is a tight deadline. Before Christmas I would have said it was impossible. Now, I'm fairly confident we can make it, provided we pull together.'

Josephine Baxter was speaking to the Institute executive team. Every member was there, save for Mario Fiori who had succumbed to a summer flu. Elizabeth had made clear to them in December that the LOCAL project was their first priority.

'As agreed, we have three national working groups chaired by myself, Anne and Michael,' Josephine said. 'I have contacted my counterparts in each state and we've had two video conferences and an online discussion. You've received my paper so I'm happy to answer questions but perhaps I've spoken long enough. Anne and Michael might like to report on their areas.'

'Thanks, that's a good idea,' Elizabeth said. 'I've spoken several times with Jean Renfrew and she's pleased with our progress. She thinks the final project report on _Remembering_ is less than satisfactory but she has recommended to her minister that it be accepted. The way is clear for us to access the $250,000, provided our project plan is approved by all the ministers in March.'

Elizabeth avoided eye contact with Michael Robinson. As expected, she had been unable to get any report from him. She had asked for it, he committed, missed the deadline and had taken three weeks leave because of his wife's illness. Elizabeth thought the man spent more time away from work than at it. She tried to sympathise with him but his apparent lack of concern for his wife when Anne asked about her made Elizabeth doubt the reasons for his absence. With Mario Fiori's assistance, assistance she was sure would result in some retaliation against him, she had forwarded the patched-together report to Jean before Christmas. 'Perhaps we can hear from Anne now.'

'Before doing that,' interrupted Robinson, 'how could a final report be produced without my approval? I might have been on leave but I was contactable.'

Well, thought Elizabeth, here we go again. 'I wanted the issue put to bed as soon as possible. You went on leave before completing the report and we would never disturb you when you had a family crisis. I explained at the December Executive meeting that the board delegated final approval to the chairman. I found what I could in the files, Jean sent me the Commonwealth material and I submitted it with Roger Lui's agreement.'

Anne glowered at Robinson who scowled in return.

'Now, can we move on, please,' Elizabeth said.

'Delighted to, boss,' said Anne. 'The infrastructure working group is going great guns. We've been working on national networking issues for two years so it's super to have a real project at last. We've produced a preliminary discussion paper on community access to consult with local government, education and industry. Our working group covers all those areas and I have a coordinator confirmed in all state governments.'

After more details from Anne, Elizabeth thanked her. She poured some water into her glass, readying herself for Robinson's contribution. She knew that asking him to lead the Content Working Group had been a risk. While he would not acknowledge her authority she hoped that offering him a national role would make him rethink his behaviour. His Group was not as crucial in the short term as the other two but she wanted a decent proposal. 'Michael, could you report on your area?'

'Well, with my being on leave, and not being briefed by Anne or Josephine, we have no agreed terms of reference. I can't approach my interstate colleagues without that.' His dismissive tone hung in the air. Josephine offered her usual impassive face but Anne's audible snort and frown conveyed her disgust. Always ready to explode, George Eton glowered at Robinson. Elizabeth shook her head to George and said nothing. Her colleagues took her lead. Robinson was forced to fill the silence.

'In any case, the content policies developed for _Remembering_ will do well enough. Call it what you will, all you're doing is rolling out _Remembering_ to individual communities. What else is there? Since we have national responsibility for these things, why the consultation? All we need to do is take the matter to the Ministerial Council Steering Committee and they'll take it forward. I spoke to the chairman today and told him the _Remembering_ guidelines are sufficient.' With his hands clasped on the table he surveyed his colleagues with what Elizabeth deemed blatant indifference.

She decided to behave as if he had delivered a perfect outcome. 'Thank you, everyone. We're doing well, then. On track.'

Anne and George stared at her with incredulous expressions. Josephine put her hand to her mouth to hide a smile.

'George, I would like you to meet with Josephine, Anne and Michael to put together a communications strategy,' Elizabeth said. 'Let's market this widely so work on enthusing staff, board members, ministers, the Opposition, professions, local government and so on.'

George nodded, writing his notes but Elizabeth noted the familiar chewing of his bottom lip, a sure sign of his fury.

'I'd like a better logo for LOCAL,' she said. 'No more Odin's handmaiden of the dead, please. I do like the avatar idea but we might need several.'

'Good idea,' George said. 'How about a surfer surfing the net?'

'Or a snowboarder for Europe?' Anne suggested.

'We could use a drop of water or a snowflake as a symbol of data then combine into waves and avalanches,' George said, his enthusiasm returning.

'Do some work and see what you can come up with,' Elizabeth said.

'Great, why not ask the Wiggles while you're at it?' Robinson looked to the ceiling.

'For god's sake, Michael, get a grip,' George muttered.

'Good idea, Michael,' Elizabeth said, ignoring George. 'We would want to engage the children, of course.' She stood and set her fingertips on the table, leaning forward. She looked at each member of her team in turn.

'Please understand the importance of this project to the future of the Institute. There are some who question why this organisation was created and would rather it were dismantled altogether or transferred to Canberra. The LOCAL Project will put us on the international map. Minister Hayes has spoken with his colleagues across the country and there is support but it comes with neither an open chequebook nor endless patience.'

She concentrated her gaze on Robinson. 'Make no mistake about my commitment either. I don't want half-hearted support. Let's either put our concerns on the table when we're together or, if any of you feel you can't do that, my door is always open.'

While Robinson returned Elizabeth's stare the others looked anywhere other than at the two of them. She knew she was making the others uncomfortable but they needed to know she meant what she said.

Barbara Smith, who had been taking the minutes, slipped from the room and returned with a large round of shortbread on a plate.

'Now, on a lighter note,' Elizabeth said, settling a smile over her irritation, 'may I invite you to join me in celebrating Robert Burns's birthday.'

Elizabeth broke the shortbread. 'May I share the Scottish bard's words?' Her accent intensified as she recited the familiar verses. She doubted her audience would understand but she thought Robinson would do well to pay them heed.

'Then let us chearfu' acquiesce;

Nor make our scanty pleasures less,

By pining at our state;

And, even should misfortunes come,

I here wha sit, hae met wi' some,

An's thankfu' for them yet.

They gie the wit of Age to Youth;

They let us ken oursel;

They make us see the naked truth,

The real guid and ill.

Tho' losses, and crosses,

Be lessons right severe,

There's wit there, ye'll get there,

Ye'll find nae other where.'

****

'Got a minute, boss?'

Anne Oldham stepped onto the balcony outside Elizabeth's office. Anne, Josephine and George had adopted the 'boss' epithet, saying it with what Elizabeth liked to think was a mixture of respect and affection.

'Yes, come and join me.' Elizabeth signalled to the chair next to her in the shade by the waterlily pond whose surface rippled from a row of gentle fountains. 'I'm enjoying this glorious morning and Barbara's best coffee before the board meeting. Help yourself to a cup and pull up a pew.'

As Anne retrieved a cup from the office Elizabeth gazed over the river's morning activity. Commuter ferries vied with the cruise boats and the Rottnest ferry for space at the jetties. The easterly wind was fading after howling all night. It was going to be a blistering day. While she was happy enough to venture out in the mornings and the evenings, she remained cocooned in the office or penthouse the rest of the time. For the previous six weeks she had concentrated on the LOCAL project, negotiating with board members, bureaucrats, lobby groups and professional associations. She had not visited her beach-house nor spoken with Valerie or Cass.

'So, at last, the big day,' Anne said. 'I just wanted to wish you all the best.'

'Thanks, Anne. I appreciate that but I don't foresee any difficulties. We've done our homework, the protocols and guidelines are ready and Canberra's happy. We should be fine.'

In Elizabeth's eyes, Anne had become the conscience of the team. Whatever the project, her commitment was to providing citizens of the world with better access to knowledge. The LOCAL project had become their shared passion. It was typical of Anne that she would seek out her boss to wish her well.

Elizabeth thought Anne looked exhausted. The dark circles under her eyes were testament to the long hours she had invested in LOCAL. Taking a deep breath, Anne gazed across the balcony to the river. 'Glorious, isn't it? You'd think there were no problems in the world, far less one that needs information access. Most of us have a life of such privilege in Perth that we forget how disadvantage isolates people. Hell, lots of people operate as if there is no disadvantage in Australia.'

'Excuse me, but there's a strange young man back here again wanting to see you, Elizabeth.' Barbara Smith stood in the doorway, her frown and pursed lips making clear her disapproval. 'It's Daniel Power and he says you told him, Anne, to come see Elizabeth.'

Anne put her coffee cup on the table and stood. 'Oh, goodness me, I forgot. I told him I'd make a time for him to speak with the boss but I haven't had a chance to do that.' She took two steps towards the door then turned back to Elizabeth. 'If you've got time now, it might be worth you hearing what he has to say.'

'Is this the same chap you mentioned when I was in Canberra, Barbara?'

'Yes, I put him on to Anne.'

'Would you mind speaking to him now?' Anne asked.

Elizabeth would have preferred to review her board papers again but she had learned to trust Anne's intuition and followed her into the office. Barbara's caution became understandable when the young man entered. His tall, skeletally frame dressed in black jeans and a T-shirt with the words Black Sabbath emblazoned across a skull, complemented his pierced ears and three eyebrow rings.

Anne ushered him to the table, pouring a coffee for him. 'Danny, this is Dr Wallace. I want you to tell her what you've told me.'

As Daniel gave Anne a nervous smile he held his coffee cup with trembling hands. This was no marauding goth, Elizabeth thought.

'My Uncle Jamie said I should speak to you,' he whispered, head bowed.

'That's Jock Stewart,' Anne said. 'Danny's been here for six months living with his uncle. Danny's a brilliant programmer. He worked on the _Valkyrie_ software and he's responsible for the avatar design.'

'Is that right? And you're from Glasgow? I've been living there for the last 20 years.'

'Aye, I know. Uncle Jamie told me. He said you were okay, even if you are a Campbell.'

Elizabeth had no time to explain the vagaries of clan history to Anne so she ignored her quizzical expression. 'What is it you want to tell me?'

'Like Anne says, I worked on your programs for a bit. About a month ago this fella approached me in the pub and offered me a job for $400 an hour. I know my work is dead brilliant but come on, I said, you're havering in your beer.'

Between the accent and the speed with which he spoke, Anne's frown deepened. 'Tell us about the SysWA connections. Dr Wallace doesn't have a lot of time.'

'Aye, well, I am. Turns out this guy was from SysWA and he says he wants me to do an avatar for their new marketing campaign. He said he'd seen my work so I assumed he was connected with you folk.'

'Danny came to me after he'd been working at SysWA for a couple of weeks,' Anne said. 'Here we have to agree to keep this between us because Danny's been a bit naughty.'

Daniel dropped his head and slurped his coffee.

Anne continued. 'Danny did what we might call a bit of exploring SysWA systems that he was not entitled to access. What he found was our _Valkyrie_ software, all of it, on a secure server.'

'Well, secure for some,' Daniel muttered.

'This confirms my suspicions,' Anne said. 'Gordon Burns is determined to keep Vision connected to the Institute. There has to be something about our software that he wants.'

Danny kept his head lowered but glanced up at Elizabeth with a shy smile. 'They'll no' get it to work, though.'

'How can you be sure?'

'Because they're missing an encrypted file they need to run it, and another file they need to change it. Those files are on a small drive in Anne's safe.'

'We think they've hired Danny to get those files,' Anne said.

'Have they approached you on that, Danny?'

'Not in so many words,' he said. 'I think they want me to design a system for them with the same programs but I'll not do it. I don't steal from my friends.' He looked at Anne with affection as she patted his arm.

'Danny's brought this to me with a suggestion he keeping working at SysWA to see what else he can find.'

'I can be your cyber spy.' His eyes lit up as his enthusiasm banished his shyness. 'Do you want me to delete the _Valkyrie_ software or just mess it up?'

Elizabeth stared at him. Did he understand what he was suggesting? Who had given SysWA copies of the _Valkyrie_ software? Burns had made such a fuss about _Remembering_ but was that just a smokescreen and it was _Valkyrie_ he was really after?'

'Danny, I can't tell you who to work for and we can't pay you $400 an hour but please don't do anything illegal on our account,' Elizabeth said. 'Or on anyone's account for that matter.'

'He could come back to work for us,' said Anne. 'We need new avatars.'

Danny looked less than impressed. 'You don't want me to sort out them crooks, then?'

****

'So, to sum up, ladies and gentlemen, the Learning Online Communities Australia project provides Australians with access to digital information. It will deliver to communities the tools and skills they need to develop and share knowledge as well as explore their place in the world.'

Elizabeth neared the end of her board presentation. She was standing at the end of the table with the multimedia screens behind her. The show had demonstrated how a community presence would work in Web 2.0 as well as social media and mobile technologies.

'This project will be at the centre of the Institute's activities for the next few years,' she continued. 'It will enhance our technology infrastructure through links with the new broadband network. It will establish long-term partnerships with educational institutions and local government to help improve information literacy and digital production skills. Last but not least, through collaborations with industry it will create products and services that will generate income.'

Elizabeth had agreed with Jean Renfrew and Roger Lui that she would not emphasise her ideas for commercialisation. The chairman suggested the community focus take precedence but Elizabeth believed that without income generation the project would take decades to achieve. Roger sympathised but explained the board was more community-focused than she might think. As she had come from the private sector, some members were expecting her to be driven by profit. No point in feeding such a limited view of your motives, he suggested. Mention it but don't emphasise it.

'Thank you, Dr Wallace, for an excellent presentation,' Roger Lui said. 'May I congratulate you on bringing together this grand vision in less than twelve months. I'd like now to turn this over to the board for comments and questions.'

'I have a comment and a question,' said Geoff Ames, whose high-tech consulting firm was flying high after listing on the stock exchange. Its share price had trebled in recent months. 'Mr. Chairman, I have been on this board for two years and, to be honest, until Dr Wallace joined us I was wondering what I was doing here. This LOCAL initiative is brilliant.' He beamed at Elizabeth. 'My question relates to collaboration. It's great that the Institute is based in Perth and we have this national responsibility, Dr Wallace, but how sure can we be that we have the Australia-wide support we need? After all, there's no love lost between the state and federal pollies.'

Elizabeth shared Ames's doubts but would not feed them. If they could get past the Information Ministers' Council meeting in two months' time they would have clear water for a while. 'The three steering groups I have mentioned will meet next week then the Standing Committee of the Council meets in the last week of March to put the agenda together for the Council meeting. I've worked closely with Jean Renfrew in the federal government as well as my interstate colleague. I'm confident the support is there.'

Observing Ames's glazed expression, she realised she sounded like a dyed in the wool bureaucrat.

Elliott Prince had made no contribution to the conversation. Elizabeth had expected a barrage of objections, fuelled by Michael Robinson's venom, but none came.

When they reached the end of the agenda, finally Prince spoke. 'Mr Chairman, I have waited patiently for some response to Martin Cheval's generous offer to fund a philanthropic foundation. Dr Wallace tells us often of the parlous state of our budget but takes no advantage of such an offer.'

'I'm glad you've brought that up, Elliott,' Roger Lui said. 'It's premature but I'm sure Beverley Farrington won't mind me reporting.'

'Beverley Farrington? What's that old busybody got to do with anything?'

'Mrs Farrington has agreed to be founding President of the Knowledge for Australia Foundation and Michael Cheval has agreed to support it as well. I have committed $200,000 as has Mrs Farrington. Other friends of ours have committed $2 million so that makes $3 million already. I will host a fundraising event at my home and you will all receive personal invitations.'

'Knowledge for Australia?' Prince spat the words. 'Where has this come from? Mr Chairman, you exceed your authority.'

'I think not,' Roger said. 'Dr Wallace is preparing a paper for the next board meeting. While the Foundation will be set up for the benefit of the Institute it will be independent. Now, is there anything else?'

Prince began to gather his papers, ignoring Roger's question. Elizabeth wondered at the games these two men played. Even when an observer could say Roger had won Prince acted as if victory was his.

****

'I'd like you to tell me why I should trust any information you give me, Michael.'

Elizabeth had sent Barbara to tell Robinson that she wanted to see him and that no excuse was acceptable. He was shown into the meeting room next to her office and they sat on opposite sides of the table. She offered him no refreshments and entertained no niceties. Despite the success of the board meeting Elizabeth's equilibrium had been disturbed by Daniel Power's information.

The way Robinson was working, or not working, was going to end, one way or another. She would take him to the precipice of his own demise without him realising it till he stood on the edge.

She began with a benign conversation on the Content Working Group meeting. At the Ministerial Council Standing Committee meeting she had discovered that the documentation provided to her by Robinson had not been distributed.

'Why did you give me papers to table at Standing Committee that the Group had not accepted?' she asked him.

'The Group met in Melbourne. We discussed the issues and I said I would write them up. As far as I'm concerned, they're okay.'

'But this is a national project and we have to be seen to have national support.' Was he deliberately provoking her?

'That's right, and we're the national leaders responsible for it so I demonstrated some leadership. What's the fuss?'

'Let's talk about your leadership, then. I've looked again at your documents. How long did you take to produce them?'

'As I said before, all we needed was to update the _Remembering_ standards. Add a few bits on the other topics.'

'And you did this? Personally? Including the new bits?'

'Oh yes, it didn't take much time. Mario helped a bit but he's limited.'

He showed no sign of discomfort. He sure can lie with style, Elizabeth thought. 'So, could you explain to me why they are so similar to the UK work? For example, these.' She put internet printouts in front of him.

For the first time he looked uneasy, leaning over and flicking them with one hand. 'Given there's nothing original in LOCAL, why reinvent the wheel?' He shrugged.

'But you haven't acknowledged them. Given you don't want to produce anything original, it's not surprising we haven't got any new ideas, is it?' Elizabeth kept her tone even. 'Does this mean the _Remembering_ work is simply a copy of work done elsewhere?'

Robinson leaned back in his chair, tilting it onto its back legs.

Elizabeth pretended to change the subject. 'Let's move on then to some issues that came up at Standing Committee. You may be interested to know that in spite of your view that LOCAL is not original the committee endorsed the project. We expect the Ministerial Council to approve funding.' She lowered her voice and took her time articulating her words. 'What I want to know is why the New South Wales representative argued that LOCAL had hardly any support in WA and that the private sector contractors we used were so unhappy with the way I've handled things they'll never do business with the Institute again?'

Robinson returned her stare. 'I have no idea but it's a fairly accurate analysis.'

This was the last thing Elizabeth expected. Why would he be so open? What was she missing? The information from Daniel Power and Anne Oldham hovered at the back of her mind. Had Robinson been responsible for giving SysWA the _Valkyrie_ software? It was not likely she could prove it if he had.

'LOCAL has been endorsed by the board,' she said. 'Minister Hayes tells me Cabinet is excited about it and he's confident of extra funding. Martin Cheval rang me yesterday to say Roger Lui's Knowledge for Australia Foundation has his total backing. Doesn't sound like the looming disaster of your predictions, does it?'

Robinson did not answer. He sat sideways to the table, his right leg over his left. He examined his polished shoe then looked to the ceiling. Elizabeth looked at her hands to still herself. She had taken time off that morning for a manicure and a walk along the river after another sleepless night churning over how she would handle Robinson, dreading the confrontation.

His studied nonchalance angered her and she dug her nails into her palms. 'As I said earlier, I think it's time you tell me why I should trust any information you give me? Better still, explain to me why you have attempted to sabotage my attempts at teambuilding and innovation in the last twelve months.'

Robinson stood. 'I don't have to sit here and be insulted. If you want to go ahead with the LOCAL Project, fine. I don't need your psychobabble.'

He stepped towards the door. Elizabeth did not move. 'If you're planning on leaving this room right now, it had better be to write your resignation.'

Robinson dropped his hand from the door knob, paused then turned, adjusted his tie at this throat and sat down.

'It's clear to me that you have difficulties with my leadership,' Elizabeth said. 'I think you're struggling to cope with all these changes. What do I need to do to accommodate your needs so we can work together?'

'I'm having no difficulties but I can tell you the staff aren't happy. There are a lot of poor communication practices going on. Favouritism, for example. Keeping directors out of board meetings. Ignoring the command structure. Things are a mess.'

'So you're saying this has become a difficult place to work?'

'Yes, it has. Change must be handled well. The Australian public sector is a unique beast.'

'And as I am a migrant and a former corporate executive there's no way I can appreciate these things, but you can?'

His sharp intake of breath made Elizabeth wonder if he understood he had gone too far. He stood on the precipice. She pushed him.

'Well, Michael, I can see how unhappy you are. You don't approve of my leadership. You think LOCAL is a waste of time and you believe you have the right to undermine the Institute at a national forum. I suggest you consider your position.'

'There's no need to take that tone.'

'I must also tell you that I have my suspicions about your relationship with SysWA and Gordon Burns.'

'What the hell are you implying?'

'I'm not implying anything but I believe I will have proof soon of some questionable practices.' She let that threat sink in. 'Let me tell you what I'm going to do. I believe I have enough evidence to remove you but you may be more interested in some other role elsewhere. Perhaps your friend Mr Burns could accommodate you. I doubt you will become part of my team any time soon. Given this strange practice of permanent employment it may be difficult to remove you from the public sector but make no mistake. I will do it.'

Robinson squinted at her, furious but uncowed. He stood and gripped the back of his chair. His body was tense but still. 'Go ahead. Don't think for a moment the board would back you. You don't have the numbers. I won't stand down and you can't sack me. You've got nothing in writing and in any case due process requires a series of warnings.'

He smirked as he buttoned his jacket. 'We can take this as a first warning, if you like. On both sides.'

His loathing was palpable. Any glimmer of hope Elizabeth had that she could persuade him to come on side died in his smouldering sneer. She stood and pushed her chair to the table. 'What I do have is proof of misuse of government contracts over the _Remembering_ project when you were acting MD. I've taken legal advice and there is a _prima facie_ case of severe incompetence, if not fraud. If you'd like me to make that issue public, I can do that.'

They stood on each side of the table, she cool as ice, he heating up by the minute.

'You're bluffing.' His face flushed red beneath his tan. 'There was nothing wrong with any of these projects. You're grasping at straws. I've had enough of this.'

He strode from the room, his back ramrod straight, and slammed the door so hard it bounced open. Elizabeth heard him spit over his shoulder what sounded like 'megalomaniac lesbian bitch.'

Barbara Smith had to step back against the door to avoid him. 'You've got him all worked up,' she said. 'What was all that about?'

'Checkmate, I think,' Elizabeth whispered.

****

'Excellent meeting, Elizabeth. Another triumph, even if I do say so myself.' Jeremy Hayes sipped his brandy. He and Elizabeth were on the flight back to Perth after attending the April Information Ministers Council meeting. 'I was beginning to wonder if the Institute would become the white elephant that the Opposition keeps harping on about. But we showed them, didn't we?'

Hayes had talked of nothing but his triumphant performance on the way to the airport, in the lounge and through dinner on the plane. For Elizabeth the meeting had been more competitive than cooperative but their recommendations had been accepted. She allowed herself to relax for the first time in weeks. 'I thought at one stage New South Wales wasn't going to come on board.'

'Oh, they're always the same.' Hayes sniffed his brandy. 'They don't like the Institute being based in Perth. That's why I pushed for an iconic building. Get those eastern states people to give up.'

Relieved that Hayes had taken the conflict in his stride, Elizabeth's anger dissipated but she recalled her despair when the New South Wales minister suggested he had reliable evidence that LOCAL was not much more than smoke and mirrors.

'Well, I must say I admired how you handled them all,' she said. 'It'll be exhausting if we have to prove the LOCAL concept again and again, especially to New South Wales.'

Hayes stretched his legs out across his footstool as the flight attendant removed their trays. 'Oh, forget about New South Wales. A lot of hot air. They've signed up to it now. It's a done deal. The best we can expect from them now is total disinterest. The worst is pointless carping from the sidelines.'

Elizabeth remained unconvinced. She had never worked with a group of ministers. With a single female minister at the Council meeting, a fact she noted with some disappointment, the men postured over each issue. Strangely, after all the huffing and puffing, they passed all the recommendations unchanged. Over drinks at the end of the day, the ministers indulged in much laughter and backslapping as they congratulated each other on an excellent day's work.

'We need to make some announcements,' Hayes said. 'A press conference in Perth but it must have national coverage. How soon can we do that?'

'We have a communications strategy ready to go. I'll send it to you tomorrow. We could go national with a press conference the day after then there's the business lunch you're speaking at.'

'That far away? I'd have preferred a media release today. Oh well, make sure we do a great press conference. We'll have the multimedia show and the works for the lunch?'

Elizabeth nodded. Hayes kept them busy with his insatiable need for attention. He had exhibited a boyish pride when invited to speak at a local corporate leaders lunch. She had told Anne to write two speeches. One if LOCAL was passed by the Ministerial Council; another if it was not. She had not been as confident as Hayes that it would be plain sailing. At last the good ship LOCAL was ready to leave the slips.

'This makes all my wheeling and dealing worth while,' said Hayes. 'Did you manage to get through to Roger?'

'No, just voicemail. I left a message.'

'Amazing bloke, Roger.' Hayes sounded sleepy as the flight attendant topped up his brandy yet again.

Elizabeth asked for tea. She had avoided alcohol since her last migraine. She did not want to tempt that dragon.

'Once I persuaded Roger to be chairman of the board I knew we'd succeed,' Hayes said. 'And once he found you, I was sure we would. You're an amazing woman, Dr Wallace.' He focused half-closed eyes on Elizabeth's face. Was he flirting with her?

'Roger's leadership and support have been invaluable,' Elizabeth said. 'He's guided me around obstacles when I might have thought I had to demolish them. He's surprisingly well connected given he and Felicity haven't been in Perth that long.'

'That's Roger's mysterious Chinese way. If you want to understand what makes him tick then read Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_.'

'I have. Roger gave me a beautiful copy as a gift.'

'Already? You _have_ been accepted into the Lui inner circle. I knew him five years before he gave me my copy. I _am_ impressed.' Hayes's smile faded. 'Did you know Roger's ill?'

'No, I didn't. How ill?'

'I'm not sure. Don't let on I've told you. Felicity will wring my neck.'

'I won't say anything.'

'He's had a virus and it's affected his heart. An irregularity they're not sure about. Felicity wants him to give up some of his activities. She asked me to help.'

'Not by giving up the Institute?' Elizabeth asked.

'He'll not do that but he's been talking for a while about having his son Simon take over all the company's functions.'

'Yes, I knew that was Felicity's agenda. It would be good for us if he had more time.' Elizabeth chastised herself for her selfishness. 'So long as he's well enough.'

'I'm sure he is. It would be a great blow to lose him and I mean a great personal blow. Who would I play golf and chess with?'

Elizabeth attempted a jovial laugh, trying to match Hayes's levity. Was this why Prince had been pursuing Roger so hard? 'If Roger were to step down as chairman, do you have a replacement in mind?'

'I don't, and I don't want to think about it. His current term goes till next year, so let's hope we don't need to deal with the issue.'

Elizabeth wondered whether to ask about Prince.

'I can tell you one thing, though,' said Hayes. 'It won't be that bastard Elliott Prince. He's a dirty player. Never know which side he's on. Roger doesn't criticise him but I can tell he'd prefer not to deal with him so I wouldn't insult Roger by having Prince take over. If I could find some way of getting rid of him I would.'

Well, that's a relief, Elizabeth thought. 'Let's hope Roger's happy to stay with us.'

'Roger's a good mate, and that's a difficult thing for a minister to have. You probably know I came to politics late in life. I thought bringing a lot of corporate experience and, hell, just some life experience, would be an advantage. The party wooed me long enough, gave me a safe seat then a ministry all pretty fast, but...' Hayes closed his eyes. Elizabeth wondered if he had fallen asleep. He looked tired, even sad, the deep lines at the edge of his mouth more pronounced under the cabin lights.

'It just becomes so damned lonely sometimes,' he continued, not opening his eyes. 'You get so you don't know who your friends are. Suddenly, business foes that tried to destroy my company invite me to dinner. Bureaucrats tell me what they think I want to hear. Yes, minister. No, Minister. Whatever you say, Minister. While all the time they drown me in briefing papers, get me to open or launch unimportant ideas they think would help their career, and then I find they've done nothing about what I think is important.'

Sounds a bit like my job, Elizabeth thought. She should lighten the atmosphere but sensed he had more to say. He sat up in his chair and turned sideways to face her.

'That's why I like Roger Lui and your good self, Elizabeth. You are your own people. People with ideas and determination. Don't let the bastards wear you down, if you'll pardon my French.'

'You're pardoned, and thank you for the compliment. Like my grandmother used to say, no need to call a spade a shovel but don't ever mistake it for a fork.'

Hayes laughed. 'That sounds great but what does it mean?'

'No idea, but she used to follow it with a lecture about good manners and keeping your eyes open to seeing the world as it is, not as you want it to be. Or fear it to be.'

'She sounds wonderful but she'd have made a terrible public servant, I think.'

The pilot's voice announced they were approaching Perth and the cabin became busy with landing preparations.

'Let me give you a piece of advice, Elizabeth, to add to your grandmother's. We go through the motions of pretending we live in a Westminster democracy but you'll find Cabinet ignores the parliament and most ministers do their Department's bidding. The power you need is somewhere between a select set of bureaucrats, advisers and big business combined with old money. Build connections to protect yourself. It's a small town in many ways but never underestimate its political sophistication.'

'You think I need protection?'

'You're in charge of an experiment and people are watching you. You're one of a handful of female CEOs and a newcomer to our city. You've been wined and dined and looked over. Just remember to pick your battles.'

As the attendant instructed them to fasten their seatbelts for landing Hayes laughed. 'Hell, between Roger and Sun Tzu, you've got enough troops.'

Elizabeth watched the lights of the Perth hills as the plane descended. She doubted Sun Tzu would admire her victory over Michael Robinson for it was neither clean nor decisive.

Five days after their confrontation he had asked for an appointment. He had to wait because Elizabeth and Anne were touring the state's regional development commissions to discuss LOCAL's infrastructure and community engagement. As they drove across the long distances they shared their stories. They were welcomed everywhere they went but agreed that their backgrounds meant they felt like aliens in the close-knit country towns.

Robinson had walked into her office, stood at the front of her desk and handed her a piece of paper. A momentary hope that it was his resignation was replaced by puzzlement. On letterhead of the Commonwealth Government's Department of Family and Community Services was an invitation to take up a policy directorship for two years.

'I intend to take this as a secondment,' he said. 'It's in both our interests that I take my talents where they will be appreciated. I'll be leaving next week.'

There was no sign of the anger of their previous meeting. His superior air was again intact, his tall frame towering above her. He refused Elizabeth's invitation to sit. She was delighted to see the back of him but she suspected there would be some hidden game. Why the Commonwealth government and would he be better kept close than let loose in Canberra? She needed to check whether the Commonwealth Department would have any influence on the Institute's funding.

She had told Robinson she would give him her answer in two weeks, making clear this had to remain between confidential and that if it didn't she would sack him. She preferred the sacking option but had been told it would be impossible in the face of a secondment offer. The idea he could be back in two years gave her no comfort.

'I'll go along with you for two weeks,' he had said, as if he were in charge, 'but make no mistake. You may have Lui and Hayes wrapped around your little finger but you have no idea who you're dealing with. You don't have much support in the Institute or in government and I do. I'm tempted to push you far enough to sack me just so we could send you off back to the poky insignificant country you came from.'

He had to be bluffing but he sounded so certain. Maybe he did have that kind of power but she would show him no weakness even as his palpable hatred unsettled her. 'If insulting my heritage is your best argument then we're done.' She walked to her door and opened it.

Robinson took his time leaving, buttoning his suit jacket and flicking invisible fluff from it. He approached Elizabeth and stood so close that she could smell his aftershave, a cloying feminine scent. 'Oh, we're a long way from being done.' He bent his head so his eyes were level with Elizabeth's. Unblinking, he stared at her. 'You have an idea who you're dealing with.'

He pointed his index finger at Elizabeth's chest. She thought for a moment he might push her.

'You're the one who'll be leaving,' he whispered. 'If it's the last thing I do, I'll see you gone.'

Elizabeth mustered all her self-control and, forcing a smile, matched his stare and whisper. 'Get out.'

CHAPTER SEVEN

Claude Dubois' launch glided through the calm waters of the river Seine. The day had been hot and uncomfortable as only Paris can be in summer but the cooler evening air was a welcome relief. The river was crowded with bâteaux mouches and smaller boats while on the promenades alongside the river Parisians and visitors alike avoided the oppressive discomfort waiting indoors.

Elizabeth sat at the dining table on the polished timber foredeck of Claude's pride and joy, the _Georges Sand,_ and smiled at her host. 'Claude, you have outshone yourself this time. Dining with you is always an adventure. The food was divine, and so literary. Are all your possessions named after famous French writers? The boat is one thing but a dessert called _Colette_?'

Claude Dubois stood with two glasses of armagnac on a tray and beckoned Elizabeth to the rear of the boat where two armchairs waited.

'No, the armagnac is simply that. I think you will like this. It comes from the family cellars. Speaking of family, Véronique regrets you cannot join us this summer.'

Claude and Véronique Dubois were among Elizabeth's oldest friends and nothing would have delighted her more than to spend time with them at their château in the Dordogne.

'Don't tempt me, Claude. It would be wonderful to escape but I can't. Not this trip. Too much happening to take a break from my new job although I suppose it's not all that new. I can't believe it's been fifteen months.'

The long summer evening was drifting into night and the buildings on either side of the river shone their reflections into the water. One grand public building after another demonstrated the glories of French government and history.

Elizabeth spoke fluent French and had adored French film, fashion, and food since the young Mademoiselle Jacqueline shared them with her in the first year of high school. Above all, it was Paris that fascinated her.

'There's nothing as beautiful as Paris from the river on a warm night, non?' Claude asked. 'But you have a beautiful river in Perth, Western Australia, they tell me?'

'Yes, we do, but it's different. Much wider and fewer public buildings near it. The scale is different. Sydney has many buildings crowding the water's edge. Perth people are still arguing over what to do. Our Institute building is close to the river but it has wide expanses of lawn and car parks on either side.'

'Tell me, why did you go there? So far away from your native land? I cannot bear to be away from home for long.'

'I know, Claude, but you are so French and your family is here. My family left home when I was sixteen so I'm not sure where my native land is anymore.'

'Nonsense, you are _Écossaise_ through and through. No question. I do not think you will stay long in Australia.'

'If I had accepted the chairmanship of that committee today I would have spent half my life in a plane. You were naughty nominating me for that.'

Elizabeth had presented a paper at the European Union Conference on the Information Society. She discussed the impact of the knowledge economy on citizens' access to information. Her description of the LOCAL project pique the interest of several senior policy advisers in the British and French governments. They wanted to explore her ideas to link global drivers with the policy settings of western governments. They agreed with her that access to education was a basic human right.

She felt at home with the conference attendees, colleagues from the publishing industry and government circles. She discovered many projects in EU countries similar to LOCAL but it was the cross-country collaboration that astonished her, so unlike the competition between the states in the Australian federation.

'I'm glad you decided to take on the chairing of the committee,' Elizabeth said. 'You'll do a much better job than I and not just because of your proximity to Brussels. Your recent work on digital books for Africa is wonderful.'

Claude Dubois was the Chairman and CEO of a family company that had made its name in the publishing of quality literature, history and philosophy. In recent years he had started a publishing-on-demand company for francophone writers around the world. He was a modest man but Elizabeth knew he was a frequent guest at the Elysée Palace.

'There's a long way to go,' he said. 'Literacy levels are so low. I'm pleased you agreed to be a member. We need your expertise and it gives you an excuse to visit us. Governments must protect their citizens' rights to access knowledge but I fear we may be too late already.'

'Yes, it's astonishing how these IT companies are reinventing themselves as content managers. Did you read in _Le Monde_ yesterday about a German company buying the rights to several Italian authors' manuscripts? What will happen to the world's libraries and archives collections if they have to compete with multinational corporations? We need a totally new approach.'

Claude nodded his agreement. This was a familiar conversation. Both had spent more than ten years trying to get policy makers to appreciate the dangers to their national heritage as services were outsourced and the private sector became the keeper of so much of the public record by stealth.

'That's why I am staggered that you would enter into any agreements with Martin Cheval,' Claude said as the towers of La Défense appeared.

'You've spoken to Martin about the Institute?'

Claude sipped his armagnac and frowned at the towers of Paris's business district. 'Cheval was at the Information Minister's party for le 14 juillet and he told me of his trip to Australia. He said he had finalised the purchase of a company that had special agreements with your Institute.'

Elizabeth set her brandy balloon on the table. 'We have no agreement for much at all and I've no intentions of entering into any special agreements. He suggested his company help fund the production of some CD-Roms. The only reason it's happening is because we had a relationship with the local software company he's taken over. He's persistent. I'll give him that.'

'And _charmant, n'est-çe pas?_ ' smiled Claude. 'All the ladies of Paris adore this rich, eligible bachelor.'

'Claude, this is business, but at the risk of spoiling a lovely evening with talk of such things, what else did Cheval say to you?'

Dubois explained Cheval's version of the billionaire's trip to Australia and his understanding that the Institute was looking to develop partnerships to develop content systems for Australia that could be exported.

'He convinced me there was a deal but I could not imagine you would let him have access rights to the documents of the people.'

'I didn't and won't,' Elizabeth said, 'but I can guess who gave him the impression we would. There are a few wires crossed. Maybe something got lost in translation.'

Was this what Robinson and the Black Prince thought they had stitched up? Martin Cheval was a shrewd operator but Elizabeth had always seen him as a reasonable man. Someone must have suggested the board would support a commercial relationship but it would not have been Roger Lui. Perhaps Claude had misunderstood Cheval's version of events.

At least Robinson was out of the picture for two years. The thought of him returning did not bear contemplation. Why hadn't she forced the issue and sacked him? Something had told her to go along with his plans. She was reasonably confident about the support of her senior managers. Only Mario Fiori was more afraid of Robinson than a follower. No, the real reason for her hesitation was Prince's antagonism. His support for Robinson unnerved her. She would have had to take a dismissal to the board and while she could be sure of Roger Lui's support she was less confident of the full board. Prince was an enigma to which she had not yet found the cipher.

While she was loath to develop a name for ruthlessness she knew the value of such a reputation in some quarters.

Claude pointed to the shore. 'Are you scowling at those monstrous buildings or is it Cheval who has upset you?'

'Neither. Another person much more offensive than your modern architecture. I shouldn't be spoiling our evening with thoughts of organisational politics. In any case, I've dealt with him.'

'Oh, I'm sure you have,' chuckled Dubois. 'We have negotiated many deals together, and you are _formidable_. Let us drink to your continued success in what the English quaintly call the corridors of power.'

'The WA corridors of power are clattering with the rush of feet trying to fit into the Premier's shoes.'

'Ah, the Cinderella complex, _non_?'

'More like what the Australians call desert boots than glass slippers. I doubt there will be any female candidates. Unlike your French government we have few women in those corridors.'

Elizabeth had checked in with Barbara that morning, expecting few dramas given the Robinson resolution. Barbara told her that the Premier, Giles Blakeson, had resigned because his only child had been diagnosed with cancer. Blakeson's wife had died three years before. Barbara said there was a great outpouring of sympathy for the popular Premier but the political fallout would be huge. She said she would send Elizabeth electronic copies of radio and newspaper coverage on the selection of Blakeson's successor. Barbara's husband Gerry said he would put his money on Jeremy Hayes who had the business credentials needed in the face of the state's financial problems.

Elizabeth dismissed her anxiety about losing Hayes as their minister, telling herself that in his role as Premier they might have less trouble with Emery. Dubois' boat drew into the Port de Grenelle. The crowds were still strong, the evening air still warm. Elizabeth was flying to London the next day and hoped the weather would be cooler.

Claude's chauffeur was waiting and they drove to her hotel in the comfortable silence of old friends. As they crossed the Pont de la Concorde Claude turned to Elizabeth. 'Let me warn you about Martin Cheval. I have observed him over the years. As a man, I am not open to his elegant charm that so overwhelms the ladies.' He put up his hand as Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest. 'I do not suggest you are susceptible but there are some things you may not know.'

Claude looked out the window at the Parisian streets, traffic still heavy on the Quai d'Orsay. 'You know that Cheval lost his wife and three children in a car accident in Germany eight years ago. For more than a year he would not leave his château in the Loire. His companies languished but survived, thanks to his loyal staff. When he went back to work he was a changed man. His hair was grey and his once athletic body thin. But it was not only his appearance we noticed. He became obsessed with business. He sold his houses in Paris and London, worked from his château and began buying up small telecommunications companies. He is a man obsessed, Elizabeth, and he is not in Australia for his health.'

This was not the man Elizabeth had met in Perth. At the dinner hosted by Beverley Farrington to launch the Knowledge for Australia Foundation he had been the soul of charm. Roger and Felicity were smitten as were Ngaire and Anne. Even the bloky Geoff Ames came under the spell of the affable Frenchman.

'He donated two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to our Foundation,' Elizabeth said. 'With a pledge of more.'

'He will have his reasons. Believe me when I say you must take care. Martin and I were once close. Our wives were good friends but he tried to take over my company.'

'How could he? You're a family company.'

'Yes, but we have many subsidiaries, including a few technology ones. Those were what he was after but he did not succeed.' Claude sighed. 'The trouble is, I don't know why he tried.' He shook his head as they pulled up in front of Elizabeth's hotel. 'Cheval has been buying a strange variety of companies in Scotland and Ireland as well as moving into Russia and Asia. If he's in Australia now, it has nothing to do with philanthropy. He gets close to governments and uses community development arguments to obtain concessions. Do your research to find out why he's interested in your Institute.'

****

A lazy afternoon lay ahead without demands or commitments. Armed with books, journal and a flask of coffee, Elizabeth settled into a deckchair near the lake in Kensington Gardens under the wide shade of an oak tree. Hundreds of Londoners and tourists had the same idea. Everywhere, spaces were occupied by families and lovers, energetic children watched by lethargic adults.

Lynda had joked that Elizabeth must have brought Australia's sun with her as London, unlike Paris, had been drenched with daily showers for weeks before her arrival. Elizabeth regretted she would be leaving in three days. There was a lightness of mood in those around her. This was London at its best.

Elizabeth's fingers tapped on the leather bound journal on her lap in time to music from a nearby group of young people. The journal was a birthday present from Lynda. Made of hand-made paper, its cover contained a fern leaf that reminded Elizabeth of the bracken around her grandmother's cottage.

Lynda had written on the first page: 'You've told me so much about your wise woman from the South and how she's suggested you seek wisdom inside yourself, so here's something from the Orkneys for your voyage.'

Lynda was flying back to Glasgow that afternoon so Elizabeth had the flat to herself. She might call some friends, she might shop, she might go to a show, but for the moment she preferred to be alone, catch her breath. The week since leaving Paris had been hectic. The meetings with UK officials in the telecommunications, information and cultural departments had gone well. They were open to her suggestions for partnering in the development of LOCAL. At the British Library she renewed old friendships. Dinner at the Athenaeum with the CEO and Chairman of the Library Council had capped off a stimulating day.

The meeting with the UK minister responsible for information and the arts cemented a commitment to work with the Australian government. They agreed to produce digital tools to assist developing countries take their cultural history to the world's networks. Just because we're at the other end of the world doesn't mean we can't be the best, she argued.

She held the latest addition to her fountain pen collection, a blue enamelled Montegrappa, and opened the journal, not to explore her inner self but to capture her ideas about approaching several British corporations that produced educational materials. She was sure Anne Oldham's simulation game on Australian colonial settlers would whet their interest.

She had spoken with Anne to tell her of the meetings but Anne wanted to speak of the new Premier. Mrs Catherine Goodman had been selected by her colleagues to lead the government. This was the second time in the state's history that a woman had been chosen but the circumstances were similar, Anne explained. 'None of the boys want the job except for Jeremy Hayes and not enough of the boys want him at the moment. They know they'll lose the next election. They're on the nose. They have a majority of one so the big guns are keeping their powder dry. Wheel in the woman again and expect her to fail.'

Elizabeth imagined Hayes's fury and was glad she had a few days before she met with him.

The hip hop dance music faded and the children's voices hushed. She wrote slowly before the pen dropped from her hand. She gave in to the lazy afternoon and to the fatigue generated by her late night attendance at the awards ceremony. She sank deeper into her deckchair, floating on the memory of the previous evening. It had been like old times, with laughing friends and colleagues from the publishing industry, the annual turnout of writers, publishers and academics.

Lynda had told her that Next Generation Publishing had won an award for its _Women of Ideas 2000_ series. She had insisted Elizabeth receive the accolades because it had been her project. She relived the moment when, all the awards having been presented and no sign of theirs, she looked at Lynda across the table and pointed her finger as much as to say, caught you out. Lynda opened her eyes wide and pointed her head at the stage.

The master of ceremonies introduced Claude Dubois as the president of the European Publishers Federation. Claude announced that she was to receive a special achievement award for her contribution to publishing. 'My dear colleague and friend, Elizabeth Wallace, is a most worthy recipient of this award which, as you know, we give only when appropriate, for contributions of a high standard over many years.'

Holding up her long skirt Elizabeth concentrated on mounting the steps with care in her high-heeled sandals, grateful she had submitted to Lynda's shopping expedition and visit to the hairdresser that afternoon. She stood next to Claude, embarrassed. In the glare of the floodlights she could not see the faces of the audience.

'Elizabeth Wallace founded Next Generation Publishing in 1992,' Claude said, 'as an adjunct to her family's already successful printing and stationery business in Glasgow. In 1996 she established the IDEAS!!! imprint to bring us authors who had leading edge, some said crazy, new concepts. Like electronic books, climate change and world peace. Now there's a crazy idea. Those were not times to be establishing new imprints with small publishers being swallowed up by conglomerates but Elizabeth Wallace was determined. She discovered new Scottish authors and gave them a platform. Her determination to seek and value those who we now call regional writers has seen her create a stable of authors and a backlist that is the envy of us all. Many of her writers helped prepared this tribute to her.'

Claude ushered Elizabeth to the side of the stage while a multimedia presentation appeared on the large screen. Videotaped statements by now world famous authors whose first novels she had published and clips from three films that had been made from their works appeared with a rolling foreground of book covers. Elizabeth's nervousness was replaced by astonishment. How had Lynda and Claude been able to keep this a secret?

Archibald McCrae, now a frail old man, her first novelist, came onto the stage in a wheelchair. Claude handed him the crystal award shaped like an open book. Archibald said a few words of praise and gratitude then, with a twinkle in his eye, he whispered into the microphone, his breathing laboured.

'Elizabeth Wallace's middle name is known to few. She might never speak again to this old bletherer but no other name could be more appropriate. Elizabeth's middle name is Persephone, a name handed down from the great minds of the ancient world. Perhaps this was why Elizabeth understood from the beginning that writers live in two worlds: the solitary life and the public life, the dark night of the soul and the glory of the light.' McCrae paused to catch his breath. Memories of Fionn's last gasping days flooded back to Elizabeth as tears came for the deep gratitude her aunt's unconditional encouragement.

'That's why we authors came to Next Generation Publishing and why we have stayed,' Archie said. 'Och well, to be honest, I came because no one else would publish my ravings. And I stayed because I fell in love with Elizabeth Persephone Wallace.'

As the applause began, Elizabeth knelt to embrace Archie's tiny frame, hiding her tears in his shoulder.

'I could say a penny for them, but if you're writing them down, they're bound to be worth at least a pound.'

Archie's Highland brogue blended with the accent of the Edinburgh in which he set his prize-winning crime novels but what was he saying? Elizabeth opened her eyes, disoriented by the shadow across her lap. She looked up, eyes half closed, to assess the man standing over her. Before he spoke again, she realised who he was. Six feet tall, broad shoulders, the familiar shape of him. It could only be Alex. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the glare of the sun behind him.

'You look as if you don't recognise me,' he said. 'Do you mind if I join you?' He was tentative, lacking his usual confidence.

Elizabeth's sleep-induced torpor and silence must have made her look ambivalent. She pushed herself out of the deck chair too quickly, the action making her dizzy. He reached out to steady her but she stepped back. He returned his hand to the deck chair leaning against his leg.

'Alex. I just didn't expect to see you. How did you know I was here? What brings you to London? Lynda. Did she arrange this?'

'So many questions. Can I set up my chair here and answer them, or am I to be sent away?'

'No, no. Please, sit. Sorry, I must have fallen asleep.' She leaned and kissed him on the cheek.

Alex set a small picnic basket in front of them. 'Lynda told me you'd be in the gardens but we all knew you'd be in London for the award. One of Glasgow's open secrets for the last few weeks. Congratulations, by the way. Lynda asked me to join you last night but I said I'd rather our first meeting after so long was more private. I called by the flat. Lynda said you'd escaped to the gardens. I wondered if you'd be in our favourite spot.'

He was right. She had chosen the same area where they had spent many a summer afternoon. Alex looked well but something about him had changed in the months since they parted. Still fit but perhaps sadder around his blue eyes. Always well-dressed, he wore tailored beige slacks, a blue handmade shirt and tan brogues, Alex's idea of casual London wear as befitted the successful lawyer/politican. No jeans and sneakers for him. Even walking in the mountains he always managed to look like a Ralph Lauren advertisement.

Elizabeth struggled to find the right words. Their last conversation had left so much unsaid. She had written to him once, to thank him for his Christmas gift. Her letter had been full of her successes and challenges at the Institute. She knew she had told him nothing of her personal journey, not even about the beach-house. She knew she should have mentioned she was visiting London but she worried he would interpret that as her desire to pick up where they left off. Now he was here she knew that was what she wanted.

'I have here high tea prepared by the inestimable M&S. A Member of Parliament cannot be seen to be living the high life.' Alex opened the basket and produced sandwiches and cream cakes encased in their plastic packaging. 'However, I do also happen to have a bottle of Western Australian sauvignon blanc that has been chilling nicely in my refrigerator. Will you join me?'

Alex's earlier tentativeness disappeared as he set up his feast, opened the wine and presented Elizabeth with a glass. She had paid him so little attention in recent months yet here he was, the same handsome, charming man who had been her best friend since she was six years old and her lover for ten years, offering her... Offering her what?

'To friendship.' Alex clinked his glass on hers, answering her unspoken question. 'Let's at least be friends, Elizabeth. I have missed you so much.'

'Yes, friends. Of course.'

Alex handed her an embroidered linen serviette and looked around at the people near them. 'This being elected to the Scottish Parliament's different to what I expected, what with wondering whether the media are skulking in the bushes waiting for a bit of scandal.'

Elizabeth bit into the smoked salmon sandwich. She must be careful with her words. His political choices had been part of the anger that precipitated her acceptance of the Australian job. 'So what do you think about your old firm's recent successes in Brussels?' she asked.

Alex took her lead and waxed lyrical about his former partners' prosecution of several war criminals. 'I'm glad to be out of all that. I'm home most of the time now. I rarely go to Hamburg or London. There's so much needing to be done for Scotland, you know. Lots of Scots have been returning since the new Parliament. The population is actually increasing, would you believe?'

Elizabeth let him tell her of his parliamentary life. It sounded as if he were making quite a name for himself.

'Goodness, I've been prattling on about my life.' He refilled their glasses and picked up a chocolate éclair. 'Now for the challenge of eating this disgustingly delicious thing without a subsequent trip to the drycleaners. Tell me about your new job. Do you miss mothering all your writers or do you have to mother politicians now?'

He sounded chirpy enough but Elizabeth felt defensive. She found herself wanting to impress him with what she had achieved at the Institute. 'So far the politicians I have met have been quite intelligent and my minister is supportive.' She licked cream from her fingers then stretched her legs and sank back into the chair, enjoying the wine's familiar bouquet. 'So is my chairman. He has a vineyard not far from Brookland Valley where this wine comes from. It's a beautiful place.'

'I'd like to see it if it looks as great as it tastes.'

Elizabeth knew Alex hated, even feared, travelling but was that a hint for an invitation?

'I've felt this week as if I have been away for years,' she said. 'London is so different to Western Australia. Australians speak English but in no time at all it feels like a foreign language. I thought things would be more familiar given I'd lived there before but it's changed so much.'

Elizabeth told him about the people at the Institute. In no time at all she was speaking of the writers she had discovered. She spoke of the Karri Group and her delight at the vibrant writing and publishing scene. She had persuaded the Institute Board to sponsor three British authors from Next Generation's list as Festival guests. 'I hosted a dinner for the authors and it was a glorious evening,' Elizabeth said. 'You should have heard the discussions between the British and Australian authors. They went at it hammer and tongs, debating the problems of the world, just like the dinners we used to have. You would have loved it.'

Elizabeth realised what she had said and busied herself with packing up the picnic basket. Her Festival dinner had been modelled on the monthly dinners they had hosted in London and Glasgow for her family of writers. _Their_ family, for Elizabeth and Alex shared a deep passion for the written word. They would sit in bed and read aloud to each other the latest manuscripts under Elizabeth's consideration.

If Alex sensed her discomfort, he gave no inkling of it. 'You would have loved Glasgow's new Writers' Week last month,' he said. 'Lynda was quite a star. She's following in your footsteps with great style.'

People around them were beginning to leave as the wind freshened. The sun disappeared behind a bank of low cloud that presaged the predictable summer shower. Elizabeth began to gather her belongings, in a quandary about her next move. Invite him back to the flat? And then what?

'Rain interrupting play, by the look of it.' Alex folded their chairs and picked up his picnic basket. He took a deep breath. 'Look, this might be a bit presumptuous, and you should feel free to refuse, but I've got tickets for the ballet tonight. It's the opening night of a new production of Giselle. Would you like to go?'

With a mixture of relief and apprehension, Elizabeth agreed, putting the question to the back of her mind. What would she want to do at the end of the performance?

CHAPTER EIGHT

The top of the Cairn Gorm mountain was shrouded in mist. The morning sun struggled through the clouds, tingeing their underbellies with a reluctant pink. Red sky in the morning, Elizabeth thought, more rain. The name Cairn Gorm meant blue mountain but her grandmother use the Gaelic name: Am Monadh Ruadh, the red mountains.

Loch Morlich's surface was unruffled. There would be scant chance of blue sky that day. No wind to chase the clouds over the high peaks. The sky's colours were reflected in the water's surface except where patches of blackness hinted at the loch's depths. On her first visit with her grandmother she thought the glen was ugly. Gouged from the mountains that rose steeply on all sides, with craggy slopes covered in grasses and heather, it lacked the life and movement she loved at the ocean's edge. Her grandmother had led her to a flat stone at the shore's edge where a mountain stream trickled into the loch. After spreading a blanket they laid out their thermos of tea and homemade griddle scones. With mittened hands grasping the enamel mug for warmth, they faced the loch. Elizabeth remembered how her taciturn grandmother would let her chatter about her eight years' old world.

'Hud yir wisht now, lassie,' she would say after a while. 'This is no place for prattling. Drink yir tea and look for the eagle.' Her grandmother was her most indulgent relative and would often demand detailed reports of Elizabeth's dramas at school and home. But not here. No, never here, Elizabeth thought. This place spoke a different language. The instruction to look for the eagle was a ruse to settle a child's hyperactivity, encouraging her to examine what appeared at first glance an empty landscape.

Elizabeth breathed in the memory and let a long-remembered peace descend. The sides of the mountains were mysterious in the cloud's shadows, their weather beaten outcrops glistening with moisture. Her soul was cocooned in this Scottish glen, so different to the endless Australian skies.

As she adjusted to the wilder landscape with its subtle colours she shed the cloak of strangeness and put on a plaid of comfort. Her grandmother had complained about the intrusion of hikers and tourists as they wandered farther and farther into the glen's quiet corners seeking the spirit of the old places. Heather McDonald's strength came from the glen. Her favourite spot was close to where the Abhainn Ruigh-eunachan flowed into the loch, still some distance from the walking trails.

'Here is a gift, _anam cara_. The land will speak to ye in your centre, but ye have to listen with your heart. Use your ears to show you the way. Hear the wind in the silver birches, the water on the rocks, the call of the eagle but listen to what's underneath. The land will whisper its secrets.'

Elizabeth sensed a movement at the end of the loch. The mist cleared for a moment and there was a stag, antlers at least three feet long, head alert, aware his protection had gone. He was five hundred feet away but he stared straight at her. She stared back, holding her body still, then, deciding there was no threat, he bent his head to drink. Was it Big Red of her childhood? Could stags live that long? The mist swirled around him again and he was gone. Elizabeth released her breath. Always a gift, just as Grandma said.

How had she been persuaded to come here after all these years, and with Alex? Had it been his idea or hers? They had gone to the ballet, relishing the beauty and energy of the dancers. The production was fresh and exciting yet remained true to the classical tradition they both preferred. They had supper at a favourite restaurant then walked to her flat through Knightsbridge streets freshened by the earlier rain. It was natural he would put his arm around her, natural she would invite him in for a nightcap neither of them needed. Natural that he would step into the hallway, help her with her coat, put his arms around her and kiss her with a gentle longing. Their emotions moved with increasing urgency and Elizabeth remembered her overwhelming need for him. She had guided Alex into her bedroom, the room becoming again their space.

Afterwards they had lain together, half undressed, gathering back into their separate selves. Alex stayed the night, of course. He reached for her in the early morning and they made love again, this time savouring each moment, rediscovering the delights of each other's bodies. Sex had always been enjoyable for them but this time it was coloured by the shadows of separation past and the separation to come. They fell asleep in each other's arms, Elizabeth dismissing her troubled thoughts. How would she say goodbye again?

Elizabeth shivered, wrapping the old paisley shawl she had found in the cottage around her shoulders. A gap in the clouds allowed the sun's rays to fan across the loch, turning the surface to silver. That'll waken up the monster, she thought, amused again at her childhood demands that her grandmother summon one. At ten years old, Elizabeth knew about Loch Ness and she was miffed that not every Scottish lake had its own denizen. Surely her grandmother's loch must have one?

'What am I doing here?' she said aloud to the black water.

****

A silver shape flashed in the corner of her eye. As she turned, the waters splashed and ripples spread out. A trout or pike; not a monster. The sun-speckled movement where the fish had disappeared attracted a swooping eagle. The huge bird, wings wide, talons outstretched, grappled below the surface and, beating its wings, ascended from the loch, a stunned silver fish weighing it down. The bird flew parallel to the water and, gathering strength, rose with breakfast for the family intact. Elizabeth feared it would crash into the trees but it accelerated to track an almost perpendicular course to its eyrie in the crags above.

Elizabeth commiserated with the fish as she heard her grandmother's voice again. 'It's nature's way. Cruel for some, good for others.'

'Grandma?' Elizabeth said aloud, but it was the fluttering silver birch leaves that answered.

Silver birches. How her grandmother loved those trees, telling often the story of her childhood's secret place.

'Your Great Gran and Pa moved to the estate as housekeeper and gardener,' she would begin. 'We had a wee but and ben at the far end of the home farm. It wasnae usual in those days for married folk to be in service and having a bairn was never allowed. But your grandpa had saved the laird's life when they were boys, hardly more than bairns they were, playing like silly animals down at the mill pond. After the Boer War, what with your grandpa's wounds, the laird insisted he stay and do what work he could.'

'Ah, it was a magic place, right enough,' she would recall, off in her own land of memory. 'Heaven on earth to a seven year old. The estate had needed minding for many a year and the adults were always too busy to be worrying about me. I was never a naughty child, nor a lonely one. Just too nosy for my own good. Mum was forever looking for me to help her with something but I roamed the glens far from her calling.'

Her grandmother would smile, sniffing again the scent of the heather. 'Each blade of grass, rowan berry, osprey and hedgehog were my friends. It was wild in winter and many a day I spent locked indoors, gazing at snowdrifts and icy winds. But the summers. Och, so short and sweet they were. I was like a wee wild animal myself, never in need of company.'

In later years she would stop to catch her breath.

'Go on, Grandma,' Elizabeth would beg, tugging at her sleeve to bring the old woman back.

'Aye, well, let me tell you, lassie, about one place in particular,' she said one day. She looked into her granddaughter's eyes. 'This is between you and me. Mind, now, no one else.'

Elizabeth remembered her excitement. Grandma had told her many stories but never had she sworn her to secrecy.

'One day,' the old woman continued. 'I wandered farther than usual. I must have walked for four hours. I knew Mum would be furious but I was never one to pay much attention to future worries. Something called me to the far end of this loch. Even now, I can't explain it. It was the bonniest day I remember afore or since. At the side of the loch there was a clump of silver birches. They were so tall, in full leaf and their trunks sparkled in the sunshine like the sun on the water. The wind in their leaves sounded like a crowd of chattering grand ladies, all dressed up for a ball at the big house.'

She whispered. 'I went to the edge of the trees. I felt a wee bit nervous for some reason but stepped into what felt like a circle. I kept going and there before me was a wondrous sight. I'll take ye there tomorrow if you're a good girl. You're old enough to understand.'

A cold wind blew away the sounds of Grandma's voice. Elizabeth felt as edgy as the swaying branches of the trees. She walked along the sandy beach to where the stag had been and stepped up the slope leading to the remains of crofters' cottages. While many of the cottages around the loch had been redeveloped as tourist accommodation these were too far from roads or hiker trails. She had not been here since her grandmother's death.

Here was part of the heritage of her family, the poorest of the highland folk. Her grandmother was a McDonald by birth but her mother was a McPherson in whose memory she always wore a white heather brooch. Stone footings showed where buildings once stood. One had a gable end with an empty window gazing at a landscape populated by black-faced sheep. Once there had been ten families struggling to survive in their turf-roofed cottages with dirt floors and peat fires, battling both the elements and the endless clan warfare that divided the nation. And always under control of the laird. Elizabeth the child imagined a romantic valley of the true McPhersons living close to the land. As an adult she perceived the miserable life spent in a glen where summer's glory was all too short. Many glens in the Highlands had the same tale to tell, traces left in ruined cottages overgrown with grass and heather. Ghosts walked the land as the old tales were hammered like nails into the memories of their descendents. Heather McDonald Wallace spoke of the loss as if it were her own, adding it to hatred of Campbells and the English. Elizabeth wondered how there was room left for the love she gave her grandchild.

A freshwater spring ran past the ruins and tumbled across the rocks to the loch below. In winter it rushed between ice-clad boulders but in summer it sang through fresh grass and bluebells. It was just such a day when last she visited.

The doctor at Aberdeen Hospital had greeted Elizabeth and asked to speak with her before she entered her grandmother's ward. 'She's hanging on. She's a determined old woman but there's nothing we can do for her. She says she's waiting for someone called Ann McCara but no one knows who she's talking about. Mostly she's speaking Gaelic which no one understands.'

Elizabeth explained with tears in her eyes. 'It's me she's waiting for. She means _anam cara_ , her soul friend.'

Returning to London from the Frankfurt Book Fair the day before she had opened her mail to find final divorce papers from Australia when Fionn called to say her grandmother was not expected to last the week.

She remembered that tiny mound under the blankets, an ethereal face and wrinkled thin arms. Elizabeth stared in disbelief at the shrunken woman. The stocky, robust body, the central figure of Elizabeth's childhood, had already gone. White hair, white skin, white sheets.

'Grandma, it's me. Elizabeth.' She placed her hand over the twisted knuckles intertwined as if already in her coffin. The old woman's eyelids fluttered. Opening them proved too much effort but she found her voice.

'Ah, _anam cara_ , I told them you were coming.' She sighed, drifting into sleep again. Elizabeth let her tears slip from her own closed eyes. Where had the years gone? From Australia she had sent regular letters to her grandmother who responded each month with tales of village life. In later years when as an old woman she returned to the family cottage in the mountains she wrote to Elizabeth of weather, seasonal celebrations, births and deaths, including stories about the old days that took up more and more of the letters. It was clear her grandmother was turning inwards. She started signing her letters 'Heather' rather than 'Your Grandma.' Then the letters had become fewer and shorter, her handwriting becoming less legible, her voice fading into the Gaelic.

In Elizabeth's mind this woman had remained the strong proud Scot appalled by her son's decision to emigrate. Now Heather Hope McDonald Wallace was dying, the last of her line. Her brothers were long gone before her. Two died on the Somme and one in North Africa, two world wars marking the disappearance of a family. Elizabeth felt guilty that she let their connection wither.

'I want you to take me home, bonnie lass,' whispered Heather, not asleep after all. Gathering her strength with a deep breath, she opened her eyes. 'I didnae want to come here, should've died in ma own bed.'

'Grandma, it's all right.'

'Mind what I say now. I'll be away soon.' She strained for breath. 'Promise ye'll take my ashes to the glen. You know where, the old place. I'll rest easy if I'm there. No holes in the ground, mind, just spread my ashes. Just you there, no one else. Do ye promise me, _anam cara_?'

Elizabeth clasped the bent fingers. She leaned over and kissed the papery skin of her cheek, already cold. 'Yes, Grandma, I promise. Rest easy. I promise.'

The old woman sighed again. 'Good girl, that's my lassie.' With a contented smile she looked straight into Elizabeth's eyes and they shared a silent moment.

'Go home, Heather McDonald.' She pressed the old hand. 'Go home to your glen.'

No one objected to their antipodean relative taking charge. Wallaces and McDonalds came from all over. Cousins and distant clan members came to the stream next to the cottages where Elizabeth now sat. She had pretended to empty the ashes into the gentle waters of the burn. No one knew they were watching dust from the cottage's ash pit disappear into the loch.

Later, alone, Elizabeth took the rowboat across to the other side of the loch and entered the copse of birches. She stood in the ancient stone circle, her grandmother's urn in her hands. There were a dozen boulders carved with long forgotten symbols. Elizabeth suspected many more people than she and her grandmother knew about the place but these ancient stones remained a young girl's magic secret. She had scattered Heather McDonald's remains below the stones' weather-worn messages and into the water of the loch.

Her grandmother never doubted where her home was and she insisted Elizabeth's home was in the same place. 'You may go across the ocean to the other side of the world but you'll never be able to ignore the pull of this place. It's in your blood like the skirl of the pipes and the cry of the eagle. They'll no' be denied, _anam cara_ , nae matter how far away ye go.'

****

A figure moved at the end of the path leading back to the village. It was Alex, come to find her. His tall frame was wrapped in the travel rug from the cottage. He wore brown slacks and loafers and sunglasses that were unnecessary in the weak sunshine.

By the time he reached her, his shoes would be soaked. Already he looked cold. Alex had ever been a city person. As a child he adored the exploits of Alexander the Great and William Wallace but as an adult he preferred the modern cut and thrust of law and politics to any notion of tramping across the Highlands clad only in a length of plaid, claymore ready for battle.

Dearest Alex, she thought. They had shared so much. Always there as her best friend when she arrived back in Glasgow after twenty years. So full of grief for a child lost, a husband lost. Fionn and Alex had surrounded her with unconditional love and space. Space to heal. Space to work at a new job when she felt ready. For a best friend to become a lover.

'And how's your grandmother feeling about you being here, then? Had a good chinwag?' Alex struggled up the last slope and stood, hands on hips, catching his breath and grinning at her. He looked fit but the slope was steep and he sounded wheezy. Too much of Scotland's famous drink the day before.

'I expected you to stay in bed. You're not dressed for here.' Elizabeth laughed at his bedraggled appearance, his black hair curling with the mist. 'Didn't you notice the wellies and jackets at the back door? Your shoes are ruined.'

'Don't laugh. You should see what it looks like from the inside. I brought your breakfast, you ungrateful wench.' He leaned and kissed her with an easy familiarity. He held up an old cloth bag that had belonged to her grandmother. _Arbroath Smokies_ was written on its side in faded red. 'In here I have coffee in an ancient thermos flask, croissants, homemade jam and bannocks as I assumed you would insist on them.'

'Alex, you're not going to eat croissants in the glen. Perhaps you should be in the European Parliament rather than the Scottish one.'

'Shut up, woman, and eat your bannocks. Mrs Fife in the baker's shop tells me they're the finest in the heelans.'

They set out the plastic sheet he had brought, laid the travel rug on top and set out their feast. Contrary to her earlier doubts, the clouds were shifting and the sun shone from a sky more blue than grey although the mountain tops kept their counsel. They ate their breakfast in silence, watching the shadows move across the glen, the ever-changing patterns of light on the water punctuated by feeding ducks. High above them three kestrels rode the spirals.

How can I live without this, Elizabeth wondered. Stop it, she scolded herself. There's no life for you here. There's barely enough life for anyone here. It belongs to deer and osprey, grouse and salmon. What would she do? Open a sweetie shop? Be a tourist guide?

She laughed out loud at the image of her behind a counter, clad in the floral pinafore her grandmother wore, meting out bags of sweets to snotty-nosed children. Just like she and her brother George and Alex used to do before going to the pictures.

Alex took off his sunglasses and looked at her. 'What's so funny?'

'I was remembering Mrs McAllister's sweetie shop in Stirling. Do you remember how we bought sweeties and George would take forever to choose his? She used to be so kind and you would get so impatient.'

'Oh, God, yes. That brother of yours. No wonder he became an accountant. You remember how he'd buy twenty coloured things. I used to wish he would buy a gobstopper and shut up.'

They chuckled together, at ease with their memories. Her tomboy friendship with Alex had grown into so much more over the years of Saturday afternoon matinees. Her mother's insistence that George be taken began to irritate both of them. They went to the pictures alone for the first time on the night before Elizabeth and her family were to take the train to London for the flight to Australia.

'Do you remember our last night? We went to Stonehaven on the bus?' Elizabeth asked.

Alex's blue eyes stared at the loch and he took some time to look at Elizabeth. He picked a piece of grass and chewed it. 'I remember it as one of the saddest evenings of my life. Finally your mother lets you be alone with me and it's your last night in Scotland. It fulfilled all my teenage dreams. That first kiss stirred up my teenage hormones and broke my heart at the same time.'

He looked so sad, Elizabeth looked away. They had never discussed that last night. It took a few years till she met John and Alex was relegated to a childhood memory. She wished she hadn't mentioned it.

'I've never told you this,' he said, still staring at the loch, as if speaking to himself. 'I knew that night, young as I was that I would love you all my life. I knew it so surely. Somehow I could deal with the loss because I knew I would find you again.'

He picked a primrose growing by the mossy stones next to him. He turned to her and held it under her chin the way they did with buttercups as a child. 'And I know that this parting will not be final as sure as this tiny yellow flower makes your chin glow, and as sure as next year another flower will follow.'

Elizabeth's tears slipped down her cheeks. Alex had never spoken like this to her. He was a charming sociable man but ran a mile whenever she tried to speak of deeper things. Now here he was, opening his soul. She did not know what to do with such a gift. Not here. Not now.

'You don't have to say anything,' he continued, picking daisies and weaving a chain. He touched the flowers gently with his large hands. 'I know you're going back to Australia on Tuesday. Just stay with me till then. Let me fly back to London with you.'

Elizabeth nodded to him, tears blocking her words. She reached to him and took his face in her hands and kissed him. He looped the daisy chain around her neck. 'Why didn't you say all this when I wanted you to come to Australia with me?' she asked. 'It might have made a difference.'

He took her hands from his face and held them. 'Let's walk around the glen. Pay our respects to the old folk.'

The sun began to bathe hill and glen with warmth. They stood facing each other.

'Answer my question, Alex, now you've started.'

'I didn't say it because I didn't know it or more to the point, I'd forgotten it. Tossing away the chance to be an MP. I should've told you about that earlier. I couldn't go with you. But you know the real reason?'

'No, what?'

'I couldn't face being dependent on you. I just will not be a kept man.'

Elizabeth wanted to laugh but knew that would be the worst reaction. She must tread carefully. Alex was as wealthy as she after years at the top of his legal profession.

'Let's walk now,' she said.

The path at the edge of the loch was well worn. Walkers passed daily after refreshing themselves on Mrs McAllister's "Highland Fare." From poor crofters to tourist servants in three generations, Elizabeth thought. She admired those who had stayed in the Highlands, proud custodians of an often inhospitable landscape but, on days like today, a land whose beauty could break your heart. No, a land that could mend your heart.

She put her arm through Alex's. 'Thank you for bringing me here. If I believed in a soul, I'd say it has done my soul good. Lately I've been thinking often of Grandma and the loch. I don't know whether I'm growing old or homesick.'

'Old, ha! Wallace women live forever. You're not even half way done.' Alex's voice echoed across. 'Old, old, old! Ha, Ha, Ha!' he shouted. Two startled grouse flew out of the bushes behind them.

Elizabeth squeezed Alex's arm. 'Do you remember when you broke your arm after being startled by the birds we disturbed while collecting eggs? Your mother was furious. She blamed me for leading you astray, and you didn't tell her you had climbed first and dared me to follow.'

'I was so humiliated that she thought I could be manipulated by a wee chit of a girl that I sulked for a week.'

'Alexander Wallace, that's the first time you've admitted to being a sulker.'

'Oh, it's a great skill,' he laughed. 'One at which I have become proficient. It's a necessary skill for an MP, don't you think?'

'How on earth do you figure that?'

They sat on a wooden bench under pine trees. A plaque explained the seat had been donated by the Highland Travellers Association. 'Well, it's your grandma's advice,' Alex said. 'Remember she said if you keep your mouth shut people think you're stupid but if you open it too often then they know you are.'

'I remember but it was me she was chastising. Vaccinated with a gramophone needle, she'd say. Blether, blether, blether.'

'Och, I've turned my sulking into splendid inscrutability. I can do the dour Scot to perfection. Works a treat with potential constituents since people want to talk to politicians, not listen to them.'

'Come on, have a competition,' he shouted as he selected flat stones at the water's edge and began skimming them across the water. 'First one to have five leaps has to buy lunch at the pub.'

The moment of closeness had passed and she realised she had not returned his honesty.

### PART THREE

And when a woman's will is as strong as the man's who wants to govern her, half her strength must be concealment. George Eliot

CHAPTER ONE

'Do play for us,' Penelope said. 'I've had the piano tuned.'

'No, I'm absolutely dreadful.'

Cass and her mother were pressing Elizabeth to demonstrate her recently revived piano skills.

'I should never have mentioned it,' Elizabeth groaned. 'Each time I visit Valerie she insists on me practising. She says she's happy to listen even to scales.'

'Even Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,' Cass pleaded.

Elizabeth walked towards the Lawsons' baby grand piano, seeing her reflection in the windows that framed the darkening river beyond. She glanced at her watch. 'It's seven o'clock,' she said. 'Could we watch the ABC News? Jeremy Hayes said the Premier was going to make an announcement on Joan Emery.'

Elizabeth and Cass moved into the kitchen with a reluctant Penelope behind them.

'We may as well cook dinner at the same time,' Cass said, 'although I'm not eating in front of Emery. She's enough to make anyone throw up.'

'Now that's no way to speak of our elected representatives.' Penelope's tone suggested she agreed with her daughter's sentiments if not her blunt language.

Footage of the Premier and Joan Emery walking into the press conference headed the bulletin. The voiceover explained the day's events. 'After two weeks of speculation, the Premier, Mrs Catherine Goodman, announced today that she has offered the new Independent, Mrs Joan Emery, a junior Cabinet post in her government.'

'What?' screeched Cass. 'Good Lord, has Goodman lost it? She's screwed, now.'

'Shush,' said Penelope.

'Mrs Emery won the seat of Joondalup in the by-election forced by the death of Mr Jerard Young who was the popular Minister for Health in the Goodman government. Mrs Emery stood on a platform of reducing imposts on business, especially in the high tech sector.'

The Premier stood at the lectern, unsmiling. Dressed in a grey business suit and white shirt, she exuded a cool presence. Mrs Emery conveyed the opposite impression, grinning ear to ear above her scarlet long-sleeved dress with a deep V-neck. Elizabeth thought the colourful makeup and cleavage more suited to a dinner party than a political party.

Cass pointed the knife she was using to slice celery at the television. 'How can Goodman do this? She's been Premier for all of five minutes and she gets into bed with that?'

Elizabeth leaned on the kitchen bench, wine glass in hand, trying to assess the implications of the news. The footage changed to live feed as the announcer spoke with the Premier. 'What made you decide to give in to Mrs Emery's demands?'

'We have not given into anyone's demands,' Catherine Goodman said. 'We have negotiated a mutually satisfactory arrangement. In essence we are in coalition. This is not without precedent in Australia.'

'Yes, Premier,' interrupted the announcer, 'but you have given Mrs Emery responsibility for information infrastructure. That was a major plank of your Party's policy at the last election. Your own review's interim report was not complimentary about WA's perfomance. Isn't this like handing over the keys of the blood bank to Dracula? After all, Mrs Emery heads up her own company in this sector. Isn't that a conflict of interest?'

Catherine Goodman offered a half smile to the camera. 'Mrs Emery will be a partner, as I said. She will be a junior minister assisting the minister who retains responsibility for such matters.'

'Oh, my Goodman,' Penelope said, 'Jeremy will not be a happy chappy about this, given his ambitions. Do you think he saw this coming, Elizabeth?'

'I've not seen much of him in the last two months,' Elizabeth said. 'He's cancelled most of our meetings. The government's been focussed on the by-election. He's quite the email communicator though and that's how I knew to watch the news.'

'I bet he never expected to be in this situation,' Cass muttered.

Elizabeth thought it best to keep to herself the minister's descriptions of Joan Emery on the telephone the day before. Hayes's comments on how Emery had won the Australian Technology Businesswoman of the Year award in 1999 left Elizabeth in no doubt that he believed the accolades might be deserved but the ways employed to achieve them were suspect. 'She's quite the networker,' he had sneered. 'Turns up everywhere, pretending she knows everyone. A legend in her own mind.'

She'll be well suited to being a minister, Elizabeth had thought, as Hayes could have been describing himself. He went on to fume about how the Emerys had destroyed his niece's fledgling business by undercutting her prices and maligning her to her customers, resulting in her severe depression.

Elizabeth had done her own research and discovered that Joan Emery and her husband had migrated from South Africa in the early 1990s and set up a small company focusing on blood analysis equipment. A partnership with a local university and an international medical technology company had seen their business expand into one of Australia's export successes.

Cass pointed the remote at the screen. 'I can't believe Goodman's done this,' she said as the screen went blank. 'She'll need eyes in the back of her head. I'd never have believed it of her. She should have had the guts to go to a full election. Now she's captive to whatever Emery wants.'

Penelope went behind the kitchen bench and began whipping eggs for an omelette. 'Let's eat. If we're going to hear again about the depths to which our democracy has sunk we might as well listen on a full stomach.'

Cass was not to be deterred. 'This is serious. Take my word for it.' She stabbed a celery stick into the hummus. 'No one like Emery should even be in government far less in Cabinet. You heard her pronouncements about smaller government and the glories of market capitalism at the Business Council breakfast last week. Elizabeth, help me here. Didn't you think they were reprehensible? Yet another simplistic economic rationalist.'

Elizabeth laid out the plates on the table in the cosy kitchen nook. The three of them never ate in Penelope's formal dining room. Half of Elizabeth's life when she was at university had been spent in the Lawsons' kitchen. It had been their retreat as well as their war room for Cass's environmental battles.

'I did notice you choking on your toast,' Elizabeth said, 'but, let's face it, you think the whole government's reprehensible so that means Emery must be friends with Genghis Khan.'

'Too right, if you pardon the pun.'

'But you saw how they lapped it up,' Elizabeth said. 'They loved her, especially the bits about government having no right to compete with the private sector.'

'And doesn't that make your skin crawl? To describe the public sector as inefficient and–what did she call it–dead weight?'

'Stop badgering Elizabeth and make yourself useful,' Penelope interrupted, handing cutlery to Cass. 'Elizabeth has to work with these people and now Joan Emery might stick her nose into the Institute's business. You could be more sympathetic.'

'Oh, hell, I suppose you're right. I just want Elizabeth to be realistic. I think she's wasting her talents working for these bastards.'

'Cass, enough,' Penelope said. 'Go fetch a bottle of red wine from the cellar. A Bin 389, I think.'

Cass kicked off her high heels and pattered barefoot across the floor towards the cellar stairs. Penelope smiled at Elizabeth. 'My daughter, the champion of the underdog.'

'Yes, and don't we love her for it,' Elizabeth chuckled. 'It's good to have all that energy and passion on my side, even if she does think my job's a waste of space.'

Penelope flipped the omelettes onto a warmed blue ceramic plate and picked up the basket of Turkish bread. 'Remember your Bismarck. Politics is the art of the possible. Catherine Goodman understands that and Jeremy Hayes doesn't. I wondered why he didn't resign when she became Premier. He'll have to stay now, no matter what. Can't be driven out by two women. I think he worries more about losing face than Roger Lui.'

'Was there any specific reason you said he won't be a happy chappy about Emery?'

'Yes, dish us the dirt,' Cass said, returning with the wine and foraging in a drawer for the corkscrew.

Penelope lit the candles on the table, insisting they eat. Elizabeth and Cass knew peaceful conversations were demanded at mealtimes.

'This is like old times,' Penelope said. 'It is wonderful to have you back in our lives, Elizabeth.' She spoke of her philanthropic activities, her latest visit to Italy and her ideas to revamp her garden then insisted on hearing about Elizabeth's Scottish visit and her plans for Crepisgny Bay.

Cass ate quickly, frowning at her own thoughts. Then she leaned back from her meal. 'Okay, Penelope, you were about to spill the beans on Hayes and the Emery Board.'

'You shouldn't call her that,' Penelope said. 'That was a nickname she acquired when she came here first. She might have mellowed.'

'Like blue cheese. Needs fungus to mature.'

Penelope rolled her eyes. Wiping her mouth with her linen napkin, she leaned back. 'Well, let me tell you what I know. Forewarned is forearmed. The Emerys brought a lot of money with them from South Africa. We wondered how they were allowed to do that. One of my closest friends suggested we invite Joan to an arts and business partners' morning tea when we were seeking sponsorship for the first Karri Festival.'

Elizabeth had been a guest speaker at one of Penelope's functions so she knew they were a must for local professional women who shared a passion for books.

'Where would Perth's female elite be without your patronage?' asked Cass.

'Goodness, your imagination runs away with you. It's a luncheon book club.'

Elizabeth and Cass exchanged indulgent smiles.

'Anyway, where was I? I invited Joan Emery to join us. I remember it was pouring with rain and our young writer was flustered because she was late. She read a beautiful piece about being lost in the Bungle Bungles and the Aboriginal people's ancient connection to the land.'

'Was that Fran Johnson?' Cass asked.

'Yes, that's right. It was amazing that a young non-indigenous person would suggest that we latecomers could have as meaningful a relationship with this land as Aboriginal people if we could give up the idea of owning it.'

Elizabeth had read Fran's first novel. 'It's a challenging idea,' she said, 'and speaking as someone who's bought a property on the coast, a bit disturbing. But it's an idea worth exploring. In Scotland, I always resented the idea that someone could own a loch or a glen but maybe I felt that way because I have never owned one.'

'Well, most people at the reading responded like you,' said Penelope. 'An idea worth thinking about, but Joan became aggressive. She asked Fran why a nation of immigrants should try to relate to such a foreign landscape, that she herself had been born in South Africa, as had her grandparents and parents. Her mental landscape was the veldt and the mountains and she would never replace it with the Australian landscape.'

'How did Fran respond?' asked Elizabeth.

'With grace and dignity but you could see that she was upset. Joan's question was not the problem so much as her tone. Fran tried to respond but Joan cut her off, arguing that if Fran was so keen on changing the world, why was she using old technology like the book. Get into the real world, she said. My guests were getting uncomfortable at that point so I served coffee and dessert earlier than usual. Joan didn't stay and I didn't invite her again.'

'Speaking of dessert, I'd love some of that lemon cheesecake in the fridge,' said Cass. 'Let me get it while you give Elizabeth some more of the good oil on the abrasive one.'

****

'The minister won't keep you waiting long. Can I get you a coffee or tea?'

Elizabeth refused the offer from Joan Emery's assistant as she waited for her first meeting with the Minister Assisting the Minister for Information Infrastructure Development. Whatever that means, she thought for the umpteenth time. In the two weeks since the Premier's shock negotiations that many called capitulation Elizabeth had been unable to gain a clear understanding of the newest minister's portfolio.

Emery's assistant had called Elizabeth's office a week before, demanding to speak to her. When Barbara said the Managing Director was unavailable she was instructed to have Elizabeth report to Mrs Emery's office the next day.

Josephine had compiled a thin file on Joan Emery's speeches. It contained information on the Emerys' company called InnovNext International. The prospectus to take the company public included brief descriptions of the two owners. Both South African-born and educated, children of wealthy landowners, they had created their company in Western Australia by investing in ideas from three graduates from local universities, establishing a fledgling group in Technology Park. Within five years they had forged international partnerships but had a messy split with their young protégés. Elizabeth was impressed with the prospectus. She knew what a daunting venture it was to take a family company public. She wondered how Emery would reconcile the process with her role as a parliamentarian.

Josephine's research suggested the float was not going well but the press clippings provided little additional information. Commentators puzzled over why Emery would enter politics. Her speeches about government constraints on business were riddled with clichés. Added to that she was hyper-critical of the state government's policies so why would she want to be part of it? Perhaps she did want to achieve something but at the moment she looked like someone revelling in the knowledge she could bring down the government at any time.

Elizabeth sent a copy of the file to Jeremy Hayes whose officers had unearthed precious nothing of much value about his new colleague. Penelope's prediction had proved to be an understatement. Hayes was so unhappy he was ignoring his responsibilities. Elizabeth needed his endorsement of the final budget submission for LOCAL to the Ministerial Council. Elizabeth had negotiated pilot projects in Queensland and Victoria in addition to Western Australia and she wanted to get started.

They were five minutes into their meeting the day before when he began pacing around the room. He removed his jacket and threw it on the back of his chair. He leaned his long frame against his desk, folding his arms. 'Joan Emery and I had our first meeting with the Premier yesterday. Our new junior minister acts as if she's running information policy now instead of helping me.'

Elizabeth thought he looked tired, even defeated. 'That's one of the things I was going to ask you about,' she said. 'What is Mrs Emery's role? I understand she is to have no departmental responsibilities.'

'Try telling her that. She talks like she's in charge of whole-of-government IT policy and can speak to anybody she damned well pleases. She's dropped the Minister Assisting title bloody fast.'

Hayes poured himself a whisky and offered one to Elizabeth. She accepted. It was after 6 pm, she had no further commitments and she suspected she would be listening to the minister's tirades for some time. He was in need of a sympathetic ear but she reminded herself theirs was a political, not a personal, relationship.

'I'm not convinced we can work with Emery.' Hayes gestured for them to move to the couches at the river end of his office. 'She's up to her ears in conflicts of interest. She shouldn't be anywhere near IT infrastructure policy given her corporate connections.'

'How will you and she work together if she won't acknowledge her junior status?'

'God knows. I told Catherine...' Hayes stopped. Perhaps he knew that criticising the Premier would be a step too far.

'If I may make a suggestion, minister, why not put your focus on the LOCAL Project? Make the announcement about our new technology partners, the pilot projects and the community consultations. They're all good news stories and perhaps we can shift the press's attention away from other things.'

Although Hayes had taken up Elizabeth's suggestions with some enthusiasm at their meeting she could not understand why the Emery situation rattled him so much. As a senior member of the cabinet what did he have to fear?

Mrs Emery's assistant interrupted Elizabeth's train of thought. 'The minister will see you now, Dr Wallace. Please come this way.'

Elizabeth followed the young man down an empty corridor with bare walls past several vacant offices. The Premier had not provided offices in the Governor Stirling Tower nor any of the other buildings in which ministers were housed so the junior minister would not be having regular tête-a-têtes with members of cabinet. Maybe she should be close to Hayes so he could keep an eye on her but that would mean offices in the Institute building. Not an attractive prospect, Elizabeth thought, for Hayes or herself.

The large office was furnished in a minimalist style with pale timbers and stainless steel. Elizabeth thought it elegant but harsh as it sat in a sea of unrelenting black: dark abstract paintings, two leather armchairs and two four-seater sofas. Colour would have lifted the space, some flowers perhaps, but Elizabeth suspected they would be too much competition for the occupant.

Dressed in a fuchsia coloured skirt and jacket, Joan Emery sat behind a glass desk. She waved to Elizabeth to sit in the chair opposite. 'Good morning, Ms Wallace.' She did not rise or offer her hand but spoke to her assistant. 'You needn't stay, Andrew. Dr Wallace and I are having an informal chat. By the way, have you made that appointment for me with the Premier tomorrow? Don't forget to get my dress from the dry cleaners for the Technology Awards dinner tonight.'

While Andrew wrote down his instructions Elizabeth gazed out the window, uncomfortable with this crass need to showcase authority. The view from the office was to the North across rusting rooftops and air-conditioning plants. She wondered if Joan Emery understood the symbolism of her location. No river views. Not even a corner office.

'Right, Ms Wallace, let's get down to business,' Emery said. 'As you know, I have accepted the Premier's invitation to take on the responsibility for government information infrastructure so your little Institute is of some interest. You have chosen not to provide me with background papers. I hope you have you brought them with you today as we are meeting a week after my request.'

Joan Emery set her elbows on the top of her desk and rested her chin atop the pyramid of fingernails painted the same colour as her suit. She wore three rings on her left hand, one a pearl surrounded by diamonds that matched those in her ears and around her neck. The woman exuded a physicality that Elizabeth found embarrassing. Because of the glass-topped desk and her chair being lower than Emery's, Elizabeth had an uninterrupted view of Emery's crossed legs, short skirt and underwear. Elizabeth suspected her own simple black suit, white silk top and single gold chain would be deemed by Emery to be the unfashionable costume of a woman of no significance.

'If you give me an indication of what information you require, I'm sure I can arrange to have it passed to you via Minister Hayes's office,' Elizabeth said. When hell freezes over, she thought.

Emery continued as if Elizabeth had not spoken. 'I see my role as quite separate from Jeremy's. The Premier has asked me to undertake a complete review of the state's ICT infrastructure. She agrees with me that successive governments have fiddled with the idea of what they called the knowledge economy. Stupid name. The important thing is it's time to let industry get on with building the right technology. Smaller government. That's what we need. Do more with less and just get out of the way. Work smarter.'

She's swallowed a truckload of airport management books, Elizabeth thought, and outdated ones to boot. No wonder Jeremy Hayes is upset. Thank heavens she doesn't have responsibility for the Institute.

Emery stood, pulling her jacket down, revealing even more cleavage. She was not a tall woman but she was what Elizabeth's mother would call buxom. Her shoulder length dark hair and heavy makeup gave her a Spanish look. Her jacket and skirt were tight-fitting but of a poor material that creased across her waist and hips. Elizabeth stayed seated as the minister sashayed up and down her office in black patent stiletto heels.

'I intend to establish a Task Force on the Information Economy. I will put together some of Australia's finest technologists to design the future.'

Elizabeth wondered if Emery knew the Institute had begun a review for the Council of Australian Governments. They would have to act quickly to convince Emery the Institute had the area under control and divert her atttention. Otherwise, what she was suggesting was tantamount to a review of the board. 'Minister, I think you'll find we have a great deal of information already from our R&D Division and the LOCAL project has national consultative mechanisms. One of the project teams is looking at an international partnership on wireless translation software and another team is investigating smart interfaces for developing countries.'

'I know all about LOCAL,' Emery interrupted. 'Some social welfare initiative trying to help a bunch of children and seniors explore local history. I'm talking about major economic development here, Ms Wallace, not village get-togethers. Taking the Internet to country hick towns won't build competitive advantage.'

Elizabeth took a deep breath. Which piece of bigotry or misinformation should she deal with first?

'My task force will require all government departments to nominate savings that a proper investment in ICT would make,' Emery continued, 'and I expect cooperation from you and your board.'

Emery stood close to Elizabeth, intruding into her personal space. 'Do you have a problem with that?'

What is going on here, Elizabeth wondered. Who does this woman think she is speaking to? 'I'm sure you will find the Institute's projects impressive,' she said. 'The Institute is a national organisation with an international brief. Any project group that you set up will find that we are indeed up with the best in the world on a number of fronts.'

'My advice tells me otherwise.'

Emery turned away from Elizabeth and swayed towards the door, opened it and left the office. What was Elizabeth to do? Was Emery coming back?

The task force sounded more like a witch-hunt than a strategic review but why would Emery seek to antagonise Hayes by rushing into such a thing? She had to be intelligent to be so successful in business and she had to have political street smarts to have negotiated her balance of power deal. But to what end?

Elizabeth decided to leave, disgusted by such rudeness. As she stood the door opened and the Minister returned. She was not alone.

'Ms Wallace, I believe you know Dr Michael Robinson.'

****

'So how many tasks has my darling wife persuaded you to undertake for the starving writers in the garrets of Australia?' Roger Lui asked.

'Oh, at least a dozen I know of and a dozen I don't.' Elizabeth carried the warmth of Felicity's enthusiasm with her as she accompanied Roger across the lawn to the riverside path.

'You and Beverley have become Felicity's stalwart lieutenants in her campaign for the appreciation of Australian literature. Please don't agree because of my role as Chairman of the Board.'

'Have no fear of that. I adore my involvement with the Karri Group and the retreat for emerging writers in January is a fabulous idea.'

Elizabeth, Felicity Lui and Beverley Farrington had been closeted since lunch in the Luis' sunny conservatory surrounded by orchids, Felicity's second passion. Ngaire French had joined them after lunch, bustling in, flustered about some 'damned tight-wad who wants a return on his investment whatever the hell that means' before donating to her campaign to help homeless young women. At the end of the meeting Roger Lui had suggested a short walk to discuss some board business.

'And given all the brouhaha in political circles,' Elizabeth said, drawing her coat around her against the evening breeze, 'I can't tell you how good it is to have a different project. I'd been wondering what to have as an interest outside work, whether to find a piano teacher or contact my former company and suggest I do some manuscript reading for them.'

'Ah, I heard you are a pianist, a concert pianist no less. This was not on your _curriculum vitae_.'

'Well, hardly that. I played in competitions as a child. Who have you been speaking to? Don't tell me. The Valerie/Beverley/Felicity connection.'

'I cannot tell a lie. Nothing escapes them. I think I'd rather negotiate with Attila the Hun than with the three Furies when they're in full flight.'

After the meeting with Emery, Elizabeth wondered if that was what they were going to have to do. Attila the Hen, Emery might prove to be.

They walked along the river path in comfortable silence. Elizabeth had become close to this kind man and his energetic wife through their shared interests in art and literature. Intrigued by their easy commitment to their adopted country, she wondered if she would ever feel that way.

'I wanted to discuss a few things with you away from the office,' Roger said, 'so when Felicity said she was meeting with you this afternoon I made sure I was here. I hope you'll stay for dinner. There will be just we three and I'm sure the conversation will be of a literary nature.'

'I'd love to.' Elizabeth was grateful not to have to return to what was becoming a lonely penthouse. She knew she should buy her own apartment but time had passed quickly without her doing anything about it. The penthouse was convenient and she had taken most of her personal things to Crespigny Bay.

'This new political scenario could be a significant problem for us,' Roger said. 'I have had some business dealings with Mrs Emery and I am not sure I wish to deal with her as a minister. Her company competed with mine for a major Malaysian contract that I was confident we would win. I cannot explain how we lost to her company but I am suspicious.'

He stopped walking and faced the distant city skyline across the water. The softening wind produced small waves on the river's surface in the fading light. Roger put his hands in his trouser pockets and gazed at his leather loafers. He kicked at the sand. 'I do not like situations with incomplete information. This woman is what the Americans call a cowboy but I think she is a clever one. Unpredictable. Why build a company, start to float it then walk away from it into politics? It does not make sense to me.'

'I agree,' Elizabeth said. 'It may be quite simple, of course. She likes power and wants more of it. On the other hand, giving her the benefit of the doubt, she may want to do good things.'

'You may be right but I have met such people before. The transfer of bad business practices into government will not produce good results. To me, she is – how to express it? Cold and calculating, doubtless, but I sense a darker side. I am not sure who she wishes to serve.'

Elizabeth wondered whether this was Roger's oriental intuition or male confusion in the face of a successful woman. She had become confident of his support but then she was no threat to him. However significant her role as MD, she was still subordinate to the board. Intellectually she could accept that but after being her own boss for so long she had moments when she chafed against the idea.

They walked to the end of the pathway at the river's edge where a limestone outcrop rose before them.

'Let's sit awhile,' Roger said, indicating a bench under a wide peppermint tree whose gnarled roots could have predated European settlement. 'This is my favourite place and my favourite time of the day at this time of the year. Strange how few people come here. I always have this spot to myself.'

Elizabeth did not think it strange. The small bay and the hillsides were covered with mansions that boasted wide views, large balconies and swimming pools. Why venture to the water's edge?

They contemplated the peaceful scene. Elizabeth counted ten yachts tacking in the middle of the river, twilight racing for business people and friends who could escape their offices in the middle of the afternoon.

While evidence of Perth's wealth ranged behind and before her, she reflected on how close that wealth could be to abject poverty. Perth's sea and river landscapes with its amenable climate created an illusion of the good life. A short walk from the gleaming towers of St George's Terrace and the high tech Institute building were parks where homeless young people survived in drug-induced misery. Early in the morning she would watch thinly clad people with belongings in plastic bags group around a van providing breakfast on the lawn in front of the Institute then disappear before tourists and workers arrived.

'Jeremy is disturbed by these developments,' Roger said. 'He would have preferred the Premier to go to an election to gain a clear majority. He does not approve of what he calls horse trading even if he did say he thought Mrs Emery looks like a mule.' Roger chuckled. 'Excuse me, I should not repeat this but Jeremy was so colourful in his descriptions I found myself more amused than angry. My old friend has deep passions and I fear he may undo himself if he does not gain a cooler head.'

Elizabeth kept her opinions to herself. Emery's long nose and raucous laugh would not be out of place on a horse. Damn, thought Elizabeth, every time I see her now I'm going to think this. 'From a protocol perspective,' she said, 'she is supposed to be assisting Minister Hayes so there are no legal connections with the Institute. In reality, however, she's the most powerful person in parliament right now.'

'This is true.' Roger picked up a fallen peppermint twig and swotted the hovering mosquitoes. 'I wonder why Catherine Goodman made Emery junior to Jeremy.'

'So she doesn't have to deal with her?''

'Yes, but can't she see how annoyed Jeremy is about it? It's clear it was done against his wishes. Perhaps it's because of Jeremy's political aspirations. I doubt Mrs Emery will stay out of his hair, or the Premier's. She does not have the manner of a handmaiden.'

Elizabeth sniggered. 'No, she does not. I found her to be sure of herself. There's nothing shrinking about that violet. Perhaps she thinks she's Joan of Arc.'

Roger turned and frowned. 'You have spoken with her? When?'

Elizabeth stood and began walking along the water's edge. Roger followed. They needed to return indoors before her pale skin was blotched by mosquito bites. 'She asked to see me last week. According to Barbara, it was more of a demand. Her assistant said it was to be an informal chat but it was nothing of the kind.'

In the falling darkness the trees draped their black shapes near the path. 'You went alone?' Roger's voice was quiet but concerned.

'Yes, and before you say anything, I know it was a mistake. She ambushed me.'

'Well, allow me to advise you anyway, Elizabeth.' Roger stopped walking and faced her. 'Do not meet with ministers alone at any time. The connections between Prince and Mrs Emery are bad enough. I do not want you compromised.'

'What connections between Emery and Prince?'

'Ah, yes, our enigmatic deputy chairman. He has many roles in business. His wife is South African so they introduced the Emerys to both society and commerce.'

They stepped onto the Luis' lawn, Elizabeth scratching a bite on her arm. Mosquitoes were a minor irritant compared to Joan Emery. 'Before we go in, one more thing,' she said. 'I was caught unawares but we've got another problem that at least was announced behind closed doors.'

'Yes?'

'Emery has appointed Michael Robinson as her Chief of Staff.'

Roger sighed. 'I thought we had seen the last of that unwelcome gentleman. Was he not to be head of some important Canberra department?'

'I think that's what he wanted us to believe. Jean Renfrew tells me it was more junior than he expected but he kept a high profile on the political circuit. His wife and children did not go with him so he was quite the free man. Jean said he was angling for a promotion but took this position instead. She also said rumour has it he toyed with pre-selection but nothing came of it.'

'Was he at the meeting?'

'Yes, at the end. Mrs Emery wheeled him in to show him off.'

Elizabeth gave Roger a potted version of the meeting, leaving out her disgust at Emery's flirting with Robinson and her own disappointment at the turn of events. So Emery, Robinson and Prince could marshal formidable business and social connections to drive their agenda. But what would that be?

CHAPTER TWO

'If I were to invent my worst nightmare, it would be Joan Emery and Michael Robinson working together.' Josephine Baxter's usual diffidence failed her when Elizabeth reported on the latest political pairing.

'I agree with you, Josephine,' George Eton said, leaning over the forgotten agenda papers before him. 'The way Emery lobbied the minister about her company not being short-listed for our Tech Assessment Centre was downright feral.'

'More like a hyena,' Anne Oldham said. 'She howled to the board when Elliott Prince was Acting Chairman. Lobbied the Premier as well. And I'm sure she was behind the parliamentary questions that suggested the tender process was flawed. The Supply Commission found all was in order but mud sticks.'

Elizabeth had called an Executive meeting to discuss tactics to engage Hayes in promoting the LOCAL project. She had kept news of the task force to herself as Roger Lui was determined to kill it.

'How did Emery choose Michael? And why?' Josephine scratched her forehead. 'I didn't think they knew each other. She never came to any functions when Michael was acting MD, as far as I know.'

Mario Fiori was turning his pen over and over across his fingers. He cleared his throat and spoke to the papers before him. 'I think I know how', he whispered.

'So, Mario, come on, mate. Spit it out,' said George.

Mario was going to take his time as usual. 'Michael called me the other day. Said he didn't want to bother Dr Wallace with his questions.'

'Mister Consideration,' Anne said. 'What did he want? Inside info on something, I'll bet.'

'Let him speak,' said Josephine. 'What did Michael want, Mario?'

'Well, he said he was just reconnecting. He wanted to know how things were going.' Mario squirmed in his chair. 'I said things were going well. He quizzed me about _Remembering_. He wanted to know if we'd made any money from it yet.'

Elizabeth sighed. Why was Robinson so obsessed with the idea of selling the digital archive? Who would buy it?

'Did he say anything about the new minister?' Josephine asked.

'He told me how wonderful Mrs. Emery is, how she'll bring a commercial focus to the government and how he's going to help her.' Mario looked at the ceiling and cleared his throat. 'He said that not everyone on the Institute Board supports Roger Lui and we'd find that out soon when Elliott Prince becomes chairman.'

'So Emery's keen on Prince,' Josephine said, 'and Prince is part of Michael's fan club. He tried so hard to get the board to revisit the Tech Assessment Centre contract. Prince's determined to be chairman and now he's seen a way to do it.'

Anne Oldham looked unconvinced. 'Josephine, you've spent too many years working in Canberra. That would mean a member of the board was attempting to interfere in a tender process. I can't believe that.'

'It makes sense,' said George. 'Prince's ego was battered when Roger Lui was made chairman. The guy's a racist bigot as well as a silvertail and he was furious when his blue-eyed boy didn't get the MD job. If he got Michael a job in Emery's office then Michael owes him big time.'

'So we have Tweedledee and Tweedledum on either side of the Red Queen,' Anne said.

'Let's hope it's not _my_ head she wants,' Elizabeth said. 'Given Emery's determination to make an impact as a minister and Michael Robinson's obsession with the Institute, it may be difficult to ignore her.'

Elizabeth listened to her team wallow in disaster scenarios ranging from abolition of the Institute to Robinson's inglorious return. It was clear that Josephine and George knew many of Robinson's networks and were happy to share. She decided she would share with them what she knew of Emery's intentions, whether Lui wanted her to or not, but she would not tell them about the meeting. She still felt stupid about walking into that trap.

As Josephine dimmed the lights and turned on the electronic screens to begin her scheduled presentation, Elizabeth stopped her. 'I know we said we would discuss your options for income-generation but I want to give you some information that may require us to be more imaginative than we thought.'

Josephine turned up the lights and returned to her seat.

'Mrs Emery wishes to set up a task force to review information infrastructure,' Elizabeth said.

'Not another review,' groaned Anne, slumping in her chair, her hand on her forehead. 'Just when we're getting ready to go ahead with LOCAL.'

'The oldies will have a meltdown,' said George. 'You use the word review and watch them froth at the mouth.'

Josephine nodded her agreement. 'Has anyone told Emery that we've already released our own interim report on the future of government ICT services?'

'I don't think we should overreact to this,' Elizabeth said. 'Even if we are responsible for policy development, it may be difficult for us to avoid Mrs Emery's activities. Roger Lui and Jeremy Hayes are doing what they can to persuade Mrs Emery there are other ways to achieve her objectives.'

Josephine was not to be placated. 'I know Michael Robinson better than any of you. He loathes Roger Lui. He'll never accept being passed over.' She sipped her water. 'If Jeremy Hayes doesn't stop her, we'll be a laughing stock. No one will take our existing report seriously.'

'The Premier should never have negotiated with Emery to begin with,' Anne said. 'This could shift the agenda from community outcomes to crass politicking.'

'Let's come back to our plan, shall we?' Elizabeth did not want a political discussion that would take them nowhere. 'I think we have three strategies: shore up the budget, prepare for any task force and pre-empt it by making a big noise about our achievements.' The directors made notes as she outlined her ideas with a confidence she did not feel.

George Eton was the first to speak. 'So, boss, what you're saying is it all looks a bit tricky but my job is to be in lots of people's faces and make us the talk of the town.'

Elizabeth nodded. 'Got it in one, George. Develop a promotional campaign for the next six months that makes the community and industry proud of us. And not just in this town. Australia-wide. Any ideas to start with?'

'Loads. Why don't I put together a portfolio for you by Friday?'

'Yes, but tell us what you think now. I'm sure Josephine, Anne and Mario will have some ideas too. We need your best creativity on this.'

George launched into a description of possible media events, including TV and radio interviews as well as visits to regional Australia.

'Why not check with the Convention Bureau and see how many international conferences are on?' said Anne. 'Offer them tours and reception venues with Elizabeth as host. We can show them _Valkyrie_ 's power.'

'That's a good idea,' said Josephine, 'but make sure we focus on those where ministers are doing something. That way we can shore up budget support.'

Mario put his hand up to speak. 'What about our own minister? Shouldn't we be making sure he's the most important? He needs to speak for us at cabinet, after all.'

'Exactly right, Mario,' George said. 'Look after numero uno. What about a special Christmas function this year after the board meeting?'

'Special function is good but Roger Lui has cancelled December's board meeting,' Elizabeth said. Four pairs of puzzled eyes looked at her. The chairman never missed a board meeting. 'He wants to host an Institute Christmas party at his home. You'll all be invited. Give me some names of your closest connections. Professional, of course.'

They laughed, some of their tension lifting.

'That's a smart idea,' said George. 'That way he doesn't have to invite Robinson or Emery.'

Elizabeth ignored George's usual forthrightness. 'Well, I think we've covered enough for today. Ideas to George within the week so we can hit the ground running after Christmas. Since you're going to be Acting MD, George, you'll have time to set up media coverage.'

'Yep, should be good,' George agreed. 'Lots of slow news periods so we'll be able to go with human interest stories. And radio interviews for you in January after your break. We'll make you the podcast queen.'

'Given that we're promoting LOCAL, shouldn't we look at some country visits, maybe to some holiday centres?' Josephine asked.

'I volunteer to do Margaret River and Yallingup,' Anne laughed. 'How about a mobile technology van to persuade the surfers to use mobiles not just for the surf reports but for our services?'

'Tweeting, twittering and chattering all over the place isn't going to help us deal with Joan Emery.' Josephine dampened their enthusiasm but no one spoke.

Much as she would prefer a low profile, Elizabeth saw she would have to be the lynchpin of a promotional campaign. Perhaps she had been hiding the Institute's light under a bushel. The convergence of poor budget forecasts and the incipient threats from Emery made for a dangerous situation. But it was almost Christmas, time for peace and goodwill to all. First a Scottish Hogmanay, then fight the good fight, Elizabeth thought. Onward Christian soldiers, her grandmother would say whenever challenged. Her Catholic mother, on the other hand, preferred to rely on Saint Jude, patron saint of hopeless causes. Elizabeth thought that channelling the father of her namesake would be more useful.

Off with the head of the abrasive one.

****

The fading sea breeze barely rippled the river's surface as Elizabeth arrived at Lamont's Restaurant in East Perth. She had considered refusing Martin Cheval's invitation to dinner but had relented, intrigued by his persistence. While they had met several times in the previous year to discuss his company's relationship with the Institute they had never socialised.

What am I doing here? she thought, as she negotiated the steps to the water's edge in her fashionable but impractical sandals. She was wearing a new white Armani silk sheath with a red bolero jacket. An image of her looking stylish and sexy flashed into her mind. She reminded herself it was a business dinner, not a romantic rendezvous but she had taken an inordinate amount of time choosing what to wear. She was surprised that she missed her long hair. She had few options to create an evening style with her close crop so she added pink Argyle diamond drop earrings.

Cheval was standing at the edge of the balcony, waiting for her, drink already in hand, watching her walk along the boardwalk and up the stairs towards him. He was the epitome of the debonair Frenchman, his dark suit a perfect fit, his white shirt luminous in the fading sunlight. His black hair and olive complexion contrasted with his beaming white smile as he offered her a champagne glass. He looked twenty years younger than his six decades.

He kissed her on both cheeks, gallic style. 'Bon soir. If you will permit me to say so, it is not often that I have the chance to dine with so beautiful a business partner.'

Elizabeth took the proffered champagne and sipped. 'And I had forgotten how graciously Frenchmen treat their female business partners.'

' _Touché_ ,' Cheval laughed.

Elizabeth turned and gazed across the river to the evening skyline. 'A little bird tells me you have bought a home here in East Perth. Are you planning to join us on the west coast?'

Cheval feigned ignorance. ' _Elisabeth_ ,' he said, using the French pronunciation of her name, 'you have your spies. How do you know this?'

'Claude Dubois told me.'

'Ah, _mais oui_. That makes sense. I was sorry to miss you in Paris. I was in Buenos Aires that week, I think. Claude would have been so happy to see you again.'

'And I him. He's a good friend.'

A pelican flew past them and landed on the water, undercarriage ready, nature's jumbo jet. The bird folded its wings and paraded before the restaurant where enemy detail was reflected in the still water. Elizabeth recalled her evening with Claude on the Seine. Another Frenchman, another dinner, another hemisphere, she thought, but this Frenchman was more complicated than her dear friend.

The waiter showed them to a table at the edge of the restaurant close to the water. They accepted his recommendations: the red emperor on a bed of Moroccan couscous with almond butter followed by a lemon sorbet then an apple and lime tartine.

With their back to the other tables and facing the empty boardwalk, they would not be overheard. Perfect for a confidential discussion. Or a romantic tryst, Elizabeth mused. Martin Cheval's solicitousness had an air of flirting but she thought she preferred Alex's Scottish diffidence.

'I had not seen Claude for some time,' he said. 'We were at a business and government dinner where he told me of your award. Many felicitations.'

Elizabeth had been more delighted than she had expected by the London award but she had told no one in Perth about it. It would have sounded too much like singing her own praises, a cardinal sin in her grandmother's litany of misdemeanours. For a moment, Alex's delight at her success came to mind. So often things did not become real till she shared them with him.

'Thank you, Martin,' she said, clinking wine glasses, 'and welcome to Perth. Tell me about your house. Can we see it from here?'

'No, it is around the corner. Perhaps we can walk there later for a night cap?'

Elizabeth felt her face flush. Goodness, was she blushing? She did not answer him, grateful for the arrival of their food.

While enthusing over the succulent fish, Cheval explained he wanted a home base for his Asian activities as well as a holiday house for himself and his staff. She wondered if he knew that he would be yet another absentee owner in the expensive and what, to Elizabeth, was a sterile suburb. While she had inspected several impressive apartments for sale she could not relate to the suburb's mélange of architectural styles.

'I'm hoping my god-daughter Hélène will join me for the summer but she'll want to spend time skiing with her friends after Christmas and then university begins again.' Cheval cast a wistful look at a passing motorboat, its music and laughter drifting across the water.

'Young people don't want to be spending time with their elders, no matter how _grise_ the _eminence_.' He supped the sorbet and spoke of his god-daughter's life and friends. Elizabeth wondered if he had transferred the love of his lost family to Hélène.

Silence settled between them as their tartine was delivered. Elizabeth sipped her sauternes and watched an elderly couple stroll along the boardwalk, arm in arm, a tiny Jack Russell terrier trotting alongside. Good food, good company and a serene view were welcome but a conversation about Martin's god-daughter made Elizabeth nervous. She decided to veer the subject away from family and back to business.

'So you'll be spending more time here yourself?'

'Yes. With our new Australian acquisitions in what you call the eastern states we will connect our offices in Paris, Delhi, Singapore and Hong Kong. A Vision necklace of jewels.'

'Well, I hope Perth will be a worthy addition to your collection.'

'Let me be the first to tell you my other news.' He looked like a mischievous boy with a secret. 'I am moving the Sydney office to Perth. I'm making the announcement tomorrow. I wanted to tell you myself.'

'Are you saying you're closing your Sydney offices?'

' _Non, pas du tout_. We will keep some of the staff there for sales and maintenance but I am moving our strategic focus to Asia, making Singapore and Perth our two major centres. I can't see the point of being in Sydney. The resources sector is doing so well here. The meetings I have had with your government suggest they are more welcoming to new technology industries. I am tired of big cities and Sydney does not work well. My conversations with government were most unsatisfactory.'

Elizabeth could not suppress her laughter. 'Martin, are you going to say this tomorrow? It'll be music to Western Australian ears but the eastern states people will think you've gone bananas. Speaking of bananas, didn't Queensland make you an offer you couldn't refuse? They say they're the Smart State, after all.'

After beckoning the waiter to bring coffee Cheval gave her a conspiratorial wink and leaned towards her although no one was close enough to hear. 'It is always amusing to be unpredictable. Of course, I could have gone troppo, as you say, because the Queensland government offered persuasive terms but I do not need tax concessions. I need access to Asia and I like Western Australia's entrepreneurial spirit.' He waved his arm at the view beyond the balcony. 'And I prefer Perth's Mediterranean climate.'

'Did you consider Canberra?'

'This is not necessary. It is enough for our manager there to engage lobbyists on the ground and for me to visit once or twice each year to speak with your Prime Minister. In any case, I believe I am dining with the most influential person in Vision's Australian future.'

So there isn't such thing as a free dinner, she thought. 'Well, the Institute does have a national brief but that influence may not stretch beyond the parochial.'

'I find nothing parochial about you or your chairman.' Cheval sipped his cognac and asked if she minded his selecting a cigar from the tray proffered by the waiter. She assured him she did not. She loathed smoking but had never perfected a gracious way to object.

'Of course, Perth is not Paris,' he continued, 'and I have wondered why the famous _Docteur_ Wallace, publisher and lover of ideas, would choose to travel to the other side of the world to work for a government?' He made the word sound like a prison sentence.

Elizabeth was yet to devise a satisfactory response to this frequent question, finding herself either apologising for, or defending, the Institute.

'As you've bought a house and are moving your head office here, I think you know the answer already. We've discovered the twenty-first century secret of how to create a new world on the oldest continent in a beautiful landscape. Let's not tell too many people.'

The waiter offered to replenish their coffee but they declined. The restaurant was emptying yet Elizabeth suspected they had not got to the point of the evening. What was behind Vision Industries International moving to Perth? There had to be a major strategy behind Cheval's decision. Buying a large house in East Perth could have cost upwards of two million dollars but that would be small change for him.

'There is something I wish to discuss with you.' Cheval folded his cigar wrapper lengthways, rolled it then smoothed it out again. 'As you know, I am a great admirer of the enthusiasm of your Jeremy Hayes but when I met with him yesterday he was distracted. Would I be correct in assuming he is displeased by the arrival of Madame Emery?'

Elizabeth knew it would not need Cheval's intelligence networks to inform him of Hayes's displeasure. The news media was full of it.

'He said nothing specific.' Cheval blew his cigar smoke away from Elizabeth. 'He is discreet but he was, how to say it, distracted, like a caged lion. Perhaps less enthusiastic about Vision's involvement in the Foundation. When I offered a larger contribution I do not think he heard me.'

'He may just have been preoccupied with catching his plane.' Elizabeth did not want to feed Cheval's curiosity. 'There's a Ministerial Council meeting on aged care and the Premier asked him to step in for the Minister for Health at the last moment.'

'Perhaps so. I would not have brought this up were it not for my meeting with Mrs. Emery.'

To buy some time Elizabeth beckoned the waiter and requested coffee. Her mind raced as she added milk to the cup. She knew Cheval would pick up her hesitation but she needed to tread with care. Why on earth would he meet with Emery?

'Did Mrs Emery ask for the meeting?' Elizabeth asked.

'Yes, indeed. I would have seen no reason to seek a meeting. I understand she has great power in your politics but I did not make a connection between her role and the Institute.'

'And you see a connection now?'

'I am not sure. That is why I requested we meet. There is no doubt that Madame Emery seeks to make a connection. She is too well informed about my company and our Knowledge Australia Foundation for my liking but the main worry was her understanding of the previous contracts with SysWA. From where would she have had such intelligence?'

Where indeed? Michael Robinson, Elizabeth thought, wondering how much to share with Cheval. 'Was anyone else at your meeting?'

'That is what I found strange. I am not accustomed to meeting alone with such a person. Usually there are several, what you Australians call minders.'

'Well, she is an unusual woman, new to politics, and has her own ways of doing things. I, too, had a meeting alone with her.' That, too, was strange, she wanted to add.

'It was most peculiar,' Cheval nodded. 'May I be frank with you, Elizabeth? In strictest confidence?'

'Yes, of course. I assure you.'

Cheval frowned. 'This Madame Emery, she is an ambitious person. She spoke most critically of the government's policies on what she called information infrastructure. A strange phrase to me. She said that governments should not own any technology. She said it should left to the private sector. Companies like mine.'

'Well, that's not government policy.' Elizabeth warned herself to keep the annoyance out of her voice. 'Indeed, the whole _raison d'être_ of the Institute is to ensure government keeps control of the information it needs. There was a lot of outsourcing in the 'nineties and we lost too much corporate memory and skills. Partnerships with companies like Vision are important but not unequal partnerships.' She resisted saying there had been nothing equal in the SysWA relationship.

Cheval drained his glass. 'So you do not see a change in policy on the horizon?'

'Martin, who knows? I'm not sure where Mrs Emery's interests will take the government but I cannot believe the Premier will overthrow her stated position that we must have skills and capacity in the public sector. We can't have excessive exposure to private sector risk. Given our isolation, competition can turn into monopolies overnight.'

'So, why would Madame Emery want to know if Vision would be interested in purchasing your Institute?'

'What? Are you sure you heard correctly?' In an instant the relaxing effect of the wine and brandy dissipated. 'You can't have been asked that. You could not have misunderstood?'

'No, those were her words. Please allow me to assure you I have spoken of this to no one else, including Minister Hayes.'

What should she say? Elizabeth wondered if this was evidence of Emery's real power or just stupidity? Surely she must expect Cheval to check with the chairman or Jeremy Hayes? Maybe she wanted him to. What better way to float the idea than by having it come from the private sector? She could always deny it came from her.

'She talked at great length about something she called a tasking force,' said Cheval. 'She asked me who I thought should be members. I cannot imagine what she is trying to do.'

This was too much for Elizabeth. 'She spoke to you about the task force? There's been no announcements and if it's up to my chairman there won't be one.'

'Well, I will not mention it to anyone. Perhaps I upset you too much. Let me assure you, Vision would not bid to purchase the Institute or accept any government's responsibilities.'

Elizabeth was working in the dark. What did she know about Cheval's motives? What was she doing, dressed up to the nines, in an expensive restaurant, sipping her second glass of Armagnac?

'If Madame Emery's task force proceeds and Vision is asked to speak to it may I assure you that we will say what I have just said. I am sorry if this upsets you.'

Cheval put his hand on hers. Elizabeth did not withdraw it immediately. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable and stupid as she realised she had been susceptible to his charm.

'Of course,' he continued, 'if Madame Emery has had similar conversations with other industry members, they may not hold the same views. I think you will need some strategies and some friends in the weeks ahead.'

Yes, friends are a good idea, thought Elizabeth, but are you one of them?

****

Elizabeth gazed at Perth's sky above the three-storey glass atrium. There had been no rain for two months and the sky's intense blue could still shock someone who first would have seen such a hue in her childhood paintbox. Elizabeth sat in one of six Barcelona chairs in the foyer of the Lui Technologies Corporation's headquarters. The cream marbled floor was punctuated with two clusters of black and stainless steel modern furniture on deep pile rugs. Roger and Felicity's daughter, Caroline, was the architect of the building, opened to critical acclaim earlier that year. Like many younger architects, Caroline had combined 21st century materials with a love of early to mid 20th century furniture. Elizabeth recognised the work of Corbusier and Breuer because she had left several pieces in her Glasgow house. Fionn had given her a complete floor of the Campbell house when she left John. Her heart had been healed as she combined the restoration of the 19th century mansion, searching for modern furniture to complement the house's existing collection of Macintosh originals.

Roger Lui had asked her to join him for a meeting requested by Ngaire French. 'Ngaire is upset,' he had said. 'She feels the board should respond to some of Mrs Emery's public statements and she does not wish to discuss it on the telephone or at a board meeting.'

Elizabeth wondered whether Ngaire expected her. Perhaps she wanted a confidential word with Roger but he said he would have no secret meetings. He would meet board members with their MD present or not at all.

'Elizabeth, what a lovely surprise. Is Roger keeping you waiting?' Felicity Lui walked across the lobby, summer sandals clicking on the marble floor. She looked cool in an ankle-length silk skirt and matching jacket in her signature jewel colours, this time a deep sapphire blue. After kissing Elizabeth and without waiting for an answer, she sank into the chair opposite. 'It's all such a rush at this time of the year. Are you coming south for Christmas?'

'Yes, I am.' She could hardly wait, if truth be told. Escape into silence, reconnect with Valerie. Already the city's heat was too intense.

'We're having our usual New Year's Eve bash. You must come. For once Caroline, Margaret and Simon will be home with their families so we'll have lots of younger people. Christmas is always so much more fun with children, don't you think?'

Elizabeth was glad Felicity did not wait for an answer because she did not want to commit. She needed less people in her life at the moment, not more. 'You must be so proud of Caroline. I understand the building's won a few architectural awards.'

'Yes, she's so clever, but this is a bit too modern for me. I like the minimalism but I'm not too keen on this furniture. Caroline says it's symbolic, past meets future and all that. It's all a bit Germanic for me. Never did like the Bauhaus stuff. Roger said we needed an iconic building, whatever that means, and the staff love it.'

Roger Lui's assistant strode towards them and, with the tiniest smile to Felicity, announced Roger was ready to see Elizabeth. Felicity winked at Elizabeth. 'Must let you go. Mustn't keep himself waiting, must we, Miss Morland? I've just come from sorting him out for our getaway. Have a good Christmas and do join us for New Year's Eve. Refusal is not an option.'

Elizabeth rose to follow Miss Morland's efficient back but Felicity put her hand on Elizabeth's arm. 'I forgot to tell you. I had lunch with Beverley Farrington yesterday and she told me Valerie McConochie is ill. She said you two had become good friends at either end of your bay. The old thing's quite housebound and Beverley said she would call you. Now I'm off.'

Elizabeth imagined Valerie lying alone on her bed next to the ocean. Another reason to go south but Miss Morland was waiting and Elizabeth followed her past the water sculpture and pool with the lucky Koi fish. She pushed her uneasiness aside as she decided she would call Beverley the moment the meeting ended.

She heard Ngaire's agitated voice as Miss Morland opened the door. 'I don't like it, all this skullduggery. It's like something out of a bad crime novel.'

****

An hour later, Ngaire had not been pacified. If anything she had stoked her anger to boiling point. She objected to the chairman's suggestions on how to deal with Joan Emery. Elizabeth appreciated Ngaire's position but she could see Roger's need for caution. After all, she thought, it's not as if Emery was the minister responsible for the Institute, so why all the sound and fury?

'I can see why you wish me to encourage Jeremy Hayes to publicly rebuke Mrs. Emery. I must tell you, in the strictest confidence, that I think he has done all he can. I doubt he has the power to isolate Mrs Emery at this stage.'

Ngaire waited for Roger to continue. His long silences were disconcerting for some people. Elizabeth thought of them as Pinteresque and put them to good use gathering her thoughts. Ensconced in Roger's office on the fourth floor with the low hum of the airconditioner masked by the trickling water that ran down the outside window of his office, the three engaged in their own ruminations. Roger stood before the north windows. The tops of the pine trees, vestiges of the plantation on which the Park was built, were interspersed with eucalypts in which honeyeaters cavorted.

He sighed, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets. Ngaire's patience ran out and she spoke to his back. 'We must speak to Jeremy. I can't believe he would tolerate Emery's interference. For her to think she could sell off the state's cultural heritage is beyond the pale. And now you've told me about your encounter at the Gallery, I'm more convinced than ever that she's dangerous.'

Ngaire's silver bracelets rattled as she waved her arms in protest. Elizabeth wished she would stop hounding him. Couldn't she see he was considering his response?

Roger Lui turned from the window. 'I spoke with Mrs Emery at the opening of the Chinese porcelain exhibition last night,' he explained to Elizabeth. 'She told me the government should not be in the business of supporting these elitist activities when so few people get to see the collections. They would fetch a tidy sum on the open market, she said. I think it is exaggerating to say she wants to sell off the art works.' He raised his hand to stop Ngaire's protest. 'But I do think she was more than hinting about breaking up the Institute and transforming services to the private sector.'

Elizabeth understood now why Ngaire was upset. She looked at the older woman who was pulling at the fringe of her red shawl.

'I think she was testing my responses,' Roger said, 'rather than proffering any serious policy position. Perhaps flapping her wings as a new minister.'

'More like flapping her lips as well as her hips,' muttered Ngaire. 'That dress she wore was barely there.'

Elizabeth wondered whether to introduce her particular spanner into the works. Roger's natural reticence was fuelling their differences rather than encouraging agreement.

'I had a call from the local ABC radio this morning,' Elizabeth said. 'They wanted to know what I thought about Mrs Emery's first speech to parliament and the remarks she made to a national ABC reporter on the early AM programme yesterday.'

'What's she said now?' moaned Ngaire.

'Well, I think we'll need to go into damage control.' Elizabeth looked at Roger. 'I'm sure you can expect press interest as the Opposition's already on to it. I received a Parliamentary Question this morning but Jeremy Hayes wants to delay the answer as parliament will rise any day for the summer break.'

Elizabeth explained how Mrs. Emery had spoken of the reasons why the Goodman government ought not to be running any high tech operations that were best left to the private sector then read from the transcript as she handed copies to Roger and Ngaire. It read:

The Institute for Information Services and Research is a huge operation mixing public and private sector functions. It occupies prime real estate worth millions of dollars in the Cultural Centre and on the Esplanade next to the river. The time has come to ask whether better use could be made of these assets.

Roger walked to the sideboard and poured a glass of water. Contained as he was, Elizabeth observed the tension in his fingers as he held the transcript. Ngaire rolled her eyes, dragged her ring-covered fingers through her long grey hair and leaped from her chair. She stood next to Roger Lui who was still reading.

'This is absolutely the last straw.' She was choking with exasperation. 'I knew Catherine Goodman made a mistake the day she took Emery in. What a cuckoo in the nest she's got. She has to bring Emery into line and Hayes has to tell her to and, Roger, you have to tell Hayes.'

Lui leaned back on the sideboard's edge, crossed his ankles and sipped his water. He frowned at Ngaire for a few moments then, putting his glass on his desk, he strode to the door of his office. He opened the door and spoke to the unflappable Miss Morland and returned to sit on the couch opposite Elizabeth.

'I've asked for some fresh tea.' He spoke in a soothing tone. 'Ngaire, please sit down and let us consider the situation. I suspect Dr Wallace will have brought a solution to our quandary.'

Ngaire sighed and slumped down next to Elizabeth. 'Yes, tea would be a good idea. Probably chamomile for me.' She offered a defeated smile. 'I know I shouldn't get so excited about all this. It's just that I've fought the battle before to protect the state's cultural heritage and I didn't think I'd have to do it all over again once we got a national organisation. And a so-called independent statutory authority to boot. You'd think the bloody politicians would let us get on with it.'

Miss Morland brought the tea, complete with petit fours and Swiss chocolates. Roger poured the tea with ceremonious concentration, handing the cups and plates to his guests. Ngaire calmed down as she sipped. After a few moments in which Roger consumed a tiny éclair with equal concentration, he nodded to Elizabeth to continue.

'I think we have an opportunity to put out the fires with the way we answer this Parliamentary Question. If Jeremy Hayes is prepared to take it. Let me read you the question. Interestingly, it's not from the Opposition. It's from one of the government back-benchers. Let me read it to you.

Will the Premier clarify the comments made by the Member for Joondalup on November 5th this year on the following points

a) does the Premier plan to dismantle the International Institute for Information Services and Research?

b) if yes, has the federal government been consulted.; or

c) if no, how will the Premier ensure the Member for Joondalup contains her remarks and activities to government policy?

d) Given that the Minister for Education and Information Services has responsibility for this area, why has the Premier allowed the Member for Joondalup to make such attacks against the government's stated policies?

e) What are the Terms of Reference of the review mentioned by the Member for Joondalup in a recent interview on ABC radio?'

'Review?' asked Ngaire. 'What review?'

'We believe that Mrs. Emery has spoken to several people about what she calls a task force,' Roger said. 'We know that our minister was taken unawares and has been trying to persuade the Premier that it is unnecessary.'

'But if Emery is prepared to talk publicly about it, either she's running the show or we don't have the level of support we thought we had.' Ngaire was furious again.

Ngaire's shrillness must be irritating Roger Lui, Elizabeth thought, but he showed no sign of it. 'We must separate the volatile political situation from our function as a board,' he said. 'Mrs Emery has no role in our accountability and no ability to direct us. However, she has written to me. It appears we are surrounded. I have drafted a response.' He went to his desk and retrieved papers that he presented to Elizabeth and Ngaire. 'Here is her extraordinary letter to me.'

Roger poured more tea while his guests read. Elizabeth had to read the letter twice. She thought Western Australia's newest Member of Parliament was either a raving, power hungry lunatic or a focused, ruthless strategist. Or both. The letter was couched in complimentary, at times charming language, flattering the board for 'steering the Institute to its present state... internationally admired.' The second paragraph held the sting:

As minister with responsibilities for information infrastructure, I have decided to establish a Task Force to advise me on the best mix of public and private means of information policy and service delivery. I am of the view that we can improve considerably the efficiency of information services through the establishment of better partnerships with industry. The people of Western Australia deserve better.'

This is Robinson's doing, Elizabeth thought. Too much public sector-speak. The last paragraph made Emery's intentions clear:

Therefore, I have invited Elliott Prince to chair my Task Force. The Institute is likely to be a major focus of this review. I trust I can expect your support and cooperation and that the Board will work with Mr Prince and my staff to achieve better outcomes for the people of Western Australia.

The letter indicated it had been copied to Hayes, Elliott Prince and the Premier.

For once, Ngaire was speechless. Before Elizabeth could decide what to say, Roger spoke, determination in his quiet voice. 'I have written already by fax to Mrs Emery and copied my response to our minister. I have not included the Premier. I will let Jeremy guide me on that. Mrs Emery's letter and my reply will be mailed to all board members today.'

He handed Elizabeth and Ngaire his response. It was short and to the point, acknowledging receipt and noting the contents of Emery's letter. Elizabeth smiled at the mastery of Roger's dismissive language:

I will discuss your correspondence with the Hon. Jeremy Hayes and with the Institute's Board. Of course, should there be any need to negotiate a connection between the Board and your proposed Task Force, I am sure Minister Hayes will be in touch with you. In the meantime, may I assure you the International Institute for Information Services and Research is a highly efficient organisation, committed to developing Australia's global presence in the information sector. Should there be a need to review any aspect of the Institute's operations, I assure you that I would initiate that action.

'Well, that's telling her,' said Ngaire, smiling at Roger. 'You don't think it's too subtle? She strikes me as a bit thick.'

Elizabeth knew Roger would not criticise anyone in that way. He explained that he had telephoned Hayes and read the letters to him. The minister had reassured him that the Institute would not get caught up in the task force but was less than forthcoming on how he could deliver on that promise.

'Look, I have to go,' said Ngaire, standing. 'Before I go, Roger, what are we going to do about Prince? Do we tackle him at the December board meeting?'

'I'm cancelling the meeting.' Ngaire opened her mouth to protest but Roger put up his hand. 'No, my mind is made up. We have no business that can't wait and we do not need a full meeting with all these uncertainties. I don't like working in the dark and would prefer to avoid a confrontation till I've spoken with Elliott.'

'You're the chairman. I'll see what I can find out about Emery's attitudes to cultural heritage, if she even knows what that means.'

Stuffing her shawl into her huge tote and gathering her papers, books and sunhat into her arms, she bade them farewell, more subdued than when she arrived. As Roger saw her to the lift, Elizabeth wondered about their next move.

'I have fifteen minutes before my next meeting,' Roger said when he returned to his office. 'I had hoped Ngaire would take less time. She's a ship in full flight when she sees injustice but she's always worth listening to. She's taken an intense objection to Mrs Emery. As have Felicity and Beverley, I might add.'

'Yes, the newest minister is creating a lot of enemies.' It was some of Joan Emery's new friends that concerned Elizabeth. She drew Roger's attention back to the Parliamentary Question. 'The Question is addressed to the Premier so we have no control over the final response. From what we know of our minister's attitude to all of this, he'd prefer Mrs Emery disappear altogether.'

'That's true,' said Roger. 'We could agree with him and Ngaire would happily provide the means, I'm sure.'

'I suggest we produce answers that will give Hayes the opportunity to take control of the situation while enabling the Premier to keep Emery at arms length.'

Elizabeth explained how the Premier could clarify her enthusiastic support for the Institute, referring to recent successes and the plans for LOCAL. 'We'll use lots of general words like global recognition, international partners and national strategies. She will need to emphasise there has been no change in policy or accountability and be seen to support Hayes while not antagonising Emery.'

Elizabeth clenched her fist around her pen. The falling water and the green atrium before her offered little relief from her irritation. Her conversation with Cheval came to mind and she wondered if she should mention his meeting with Emery. She decided against it. Roger was in a hurry and repeating Cheval's conversation would muddy the waters.

'I suggest we say that the Premier appreciates Mrs Emery's enthusiasm and commitment to the knowledge economy and that Jeremy Hayes will be making some announcements soon. The Premier also needs to underline there has been no change in her government's policy platform, a platform that Mrs Emery has agreed to support.'

'That's good,' said Roger. 'It forces both Hayes and Goodman to take a stand. Of course, they may not.'

'I know.' Elizabeth read the Parliamentary Question again. 'Answering part e) will be difficult. We're being asked to draft political statements without knowing what either Hayes or Goodman think about this so-called task force that I suspect is a witch-hunt. We're just not sure who will be deemed witches.'

'Yes, I don't like it any more than you do. This is a silly business. An MP asks a question of the Premier and a public sector CEO is expected to draft a reply.' Roger sighed and rubbed his hands across his eyes. 'I suspect some kind of review or audit of some sort is inevitable now.'

'It looks like it. I appreciate your immediate response to Emery's letter but what chance she'll leave us out of it? What we have to avoid is an instruction from Hayes to the board to cooperate with Emery.'

'Jeremy has already tried to get the Premier to stop the review but the source of this question shows the Premier has dissension in her own ranks.'

'Well, how about we have the Premier say it's timely to look at the state's information infrastructure at a practical level but to stay away from policy. Mention the Institute's interim discussion paper with our published future scenarios. Say that Mrs Emery will be discussing her ideas with Minister Hayes and she looks forward to their suggestions.'

'That's good,' said Roger. 'That way Hayes is asserting his control but the Premier doesn't lose face. Mrs Emery does have Mrs Goodman under siege, even if it is of her own making. Perhaps Jeremy's suggestions for a full election would have given the Premier less pain in the long run. I suspect Mrs Emery is going to be an unruly dragon.'

Elizabeth offered to draft a reply and send it to Hayes's office. Roger told her to proceed without further reference to him as he was heading to London with his son to visit their European operations.

Elizabeth felt she was swimming in a sea of mud. Once again, too little information, too many egos. This was no way to run an organisation, far less one supposed to be in the information business. Prince, Robinson, Emery. Some Christmas present. Three wise ones they weren't.

CHAPTER THREE

'Open email.' Elizabeth shouted at the computer that had been set up with _Valkyrie_ 's voice recognition software. She had woken that morning in an irritated mood that had not lifted. She was annoyed that she was not being greeted by the sounds of birds and ocean, her plans to drive south the previous Friday thwarted by the minister's prevarications over his response to Joan Emery's run-away truck.

At 9am on Christmas Eve she was alone in the Institute building save for Jock Stewart who had volunteered for the festive season's security shifts. Giovanni had said he would fax the final draft of the media release to her because he wanted to make sure she was happy with it before the minister saw it. He refused to email it to her, suspicious of computer hackers.

Troglodyte, she thought. The Institute had the most secure servers in Perth. In any case, what was the point of Hayes calling in Giovanni as media adviser if he wouldn't operate without her approval? So he can cover his backside and blame her if it backfired. Her impatience cranked up a notch as she stared at four pages of unopened emails. She clicked on the flashing orange icon next to one of them. An image of Santa Claus appeared on the screen with sounds of Ho,ho,ho and a photograph of the staff's Christmas Party. Wherever the staff are, they're having a better time than I am, she muttered to herself. Next was a message from Frank Calhoun, one of the Premier's policy advisers. Frank was a thirty-something American who had been welcomed into the Premier's inner circle. He was handling the Hayes/Emery clash by keeping the Premier out of it. Elizabeth had found herself at the centre of several communication axes: Hayes/Lui; Hayes/ Giovanni; Hayes/Goodman. Even so, she was not convinced she had the full picture.

Frank, true to his word, had sent Elizabeth a copy of the Premier's reply to parliament the week before. Elizabeth already had it, her staff delivering it the moment it appeared in the online Hansard, but she appreciated Frank's consideration. She made a note in her new netbook to contact him for coffee in the New Year. She wondered how as an American he coped with the tortuous labyrinths of the Westminster system.

Elizabeth laughed out loud at that thought. She had decided that the Westminster system as practised in Western Australia resembled the Washington system more and more. She knew Frank had studied at Oxford and his response to the Parliamentary Question was testament to political training in the ministry of Truth.

In response to the Question No. 1234 from the Member for Morley the Premier makes the following statement.

The Government expresses surprise at the Member's interpretation of the maiden speech by the Member for Joondalup.

The Government is committed to the continued success of the International Institute for Information Services and Research. Western Australia is proud to support this national organisation that was recognised recently with several international awards. The coming year will see even greater things. The Minister for Education and Information Services will make several announcements about future investments by the National Information Infrastructure Fund in Institute innovations.

There are always ways in which processes can be improved and the Government welcomes every Member's input to those deliberations.

Elizabeth doubted Mrs Emery would leave the Institute alone but she hoped the Opposition would. Given the endless conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan and the added anxiety over financial markets and climate change, Elizabeth wondered why parliamentarians chose to focus on parochial point-scoring.

Next on her email list was a message from Alex. As she looked at the unopened email she let out a deep sigh. Should she open it? She had spoken to him by telephone two weeks before to explain why she was cancelling their skiing trip in the Cairngorms. She tried to explain why the threats to the Institute were too great and that neither Hayes nor Lui would approve of her exiting the country for personal reasons. Perhaps she did them a disservice. Perhaps if she had explained? But discussing her private life had never been easy for her.

Alex's studied constraint made her wonder if he were angry. It had been on the tip of her tongue to suggest he come to Australia and exchange cold sleet for warm water but something held her back. Was she using work as an excuse to avoid further intimacy after their Scottish interlude that had left so much between them unresolved?

She opened the email, half expecting chastisement but finding instead the sweet understanding she both longed for and dreaded.

Darling, sorry if I was a bit abrupt on the phone. I was exhausted after some bloody negotiations on environmental protection for the Orkneys. Honestly, if some people have their way we'll end up wearing kilts and saying Och Aye, drinking whisky and playing golf for tourists but there will be no landscape worth enjoying if these oil types have their way.

They had spent many holidays in the fragile beauty of the Islands. An image of a summer walk along sandy beaches after a storm-tossed night took Elizabeth back to exploring the flotsam from unknown parts. A wave of affection and longing swept through her.

So, we're not to be cuddling in the cottage after trudging through six feet of snow drifts or snowed in with tea and griddle scones. Do you remember your Grandma's scones? All smothered in fresh butter and blackberry jelly. With the special tea, of course.

Yes, she remembered. Howling winds and snow lashing across the village. She grinned at Alex's mention of tea. Grandma's special tea was what she called her toddies. Tea laced with whisky and honey, the perfect brew to take the 'chill oot o' yer bones.'

The telephone rang. It was Giovanni, thirty minutes late. Reliably unreliable as usual.

'I'm sending the fax through now,' he said. Elizabeth walked with the telephone to Barbara's office and gathered the papers as Giovanni explained his conversation with Hayes.

'This has taken much longer than I would have expected from working with Jeremy before. He's beside himself with fury.'

'I could see that when the three of us met last week,' said Elizabeth, 'a meeting by the way that should not have included me.'

'Why on earth not?'

'Because the whole thing's getting way too political.' Elizabeth clenched her teeth. Why was it such an effort to keep calm around Giovanni? 'The Premier's made some deal with Emery that I don't understand and for some reason Emery won't acknowledge Hayes as the minister she's supposed to be assisting. I don't like the Institute being in her sights. Nor do I like having Michael Robinson using Emery to drive his bitter agendas.'

'Well, that's enough to be going on with,' he chuckled. 'Anything else?'

Elizabeth said nothing, astonished again at his smug confidence and easy familiarity, given their history.

'Okay, if you want to play by the book like a good public servant, can you read the media release and check it for facts? You don't need to comment on the politics. I just want to make sure I don't create another brouhaha by getting some detail wrong. Jeremy wants this to be a full stop rather than a comma.'

'Let's go through it then,' said Elizabeth, conceding her irritation was only partly Giovanni's fault. It was Hayes's fault that she had spent a weekend in the air-conditioned penthouse to escape thirty-seven degree heat while her clogged sinuses screamed for cool sea air.

The media release's beginning was innocuous enough. '...much unhelpful speculation in the media... excessive discussion leading to possible unsettling of the information industry that is vital to the state... reassure public of no change in policy.

Elizabeth was about to tell Giovanni he did not need her assistance to produce a wall of word fluff when the next sentence enraged her. 'What's this, for heaven's sake? In keeping with the Government's commitment to ensure our knowledge economy continues to flourish, the Minister has today announced he will establish a Task Force on the Information Economy, Infrastructure and Innovation. This is not what we agreed.'

'I know, I know,' Giovanni soothed as if placating a troublesome child. 'I thought we'd got Jeremy to the point where he'd kill any idea of a review but the Premier won't budge. She won't go along with embarrassing Emery this early.'

'So Jeremy Hayes and the Institute can be embarrassed instead?'

'He's as furious as you are but read on. It's the best I could do.'

Elizabeth read the next paragraph. The Task Force will report to the Minister for Education and Information Services and will focus on discovering new opportunities for the State's economy. This is NOT a review of current operations because the Government is pleased with those. The Minister praised in particular the work of the International Institute for Information Services and Research and its CEO, Dr Elizabeth Wallace _..._ She stopped reading. 'Not on, no way you're including me in this. No way.'

'Lizzie. Sorry. Elizabeth. Hayes wants to ensure the Institute's out of Emery's sights.'

'Put me in her sights instead?' Elizabeth pressed her nails into her palms. 'Make all the noises you want but take my name out. I mean it, John.'

'Okay, I'll take out the specific reference to you by name.' If he noticed her reversion to his name when they were married he did not show it. 'Can you give me some other words? It's about putting the Institute in the driving seat. Look, read the whole thing and call back, will you? I'm at home so use the mobile number on the fax cover sheet.'

Elizabeth walked around her office reading the remainder of the two- page release. In essence, Hayes was attempting to make clear that Emery was assisting him, not driving him, that she was a bit player. It had been a long shot that Lui or Hayes would have been able to kill the task force. Hayes had blustered with confidence at their meeting with Giovanni the previous week but Elizabeth suspected the pendulum of power had shifted beyond his control. Hayes's criticism of the Premier and obvious loathing of Emery were exhausting. As she finished reading Elizabeth had to admit that Giovanni had done a reasonable job, given the shifting sands of Hayes's querulousness.

She made a few amendments and faxed it to Giovanni's home, calling his mobile at the same time. Gabriella answered. 'Ah, Elizabeth, how are you? Merry Christmas. Giovanni's getting some drinks and your fax. No rest for the wicked, eh?'

Elizabeth heard the sound of children's laughter and splashing water. She imagined the poolside scene with the _bella bambini_ while she was stuck at a desk. Giovanni came to the phone and they discussed her suggestions.

'All good,' he said. 'Emphasise the Institute's innovation agenda, mention LOCAL as a major international initiative. That's good.'

'It's essential we make clear that the task force reports to Hayes. Can you add in some words about how delighted he is to be heading this up and he looks forward to discussing with industry how to make us a global player? Try and lift it from the mundane?'

'Good, I agree. It's not true but since when were media releases about the truth, eh?'

'One other thing,' Elizabeth said. 'There's no mention of the task force's chairman or membership. What happened there?'

Giovanni paused. 'Mmm, yes. Lost that one, I'm afraid. Goodman wouldn't budge on Emery's decisions there. Too embarrassing, already asked, etcetera, etcetera.'

'So Elliott Prince will chair it and Michael Robinson be Executive Officer?'

'Afraid so.'

'Oh, my God. They don't have a strategic thought between them.'

'Well, Jeremy's got control of the rest of the membership so give him your recommendations. Stack it the way you want. At least we don't mention the two evil ones in the media statement. Anything else?' Elizabeth could not tell whether he found the whole thing tedious or amusing.

Plenty, Elizabeth thought, like what happened to services to the community? She had spent weeks trying to protect a government organisation against the government that had appointed her. When did her job become manipulating words to defend the indefensible?

'None you'd be interested in.' She tried to sound light-hearted. 'I suppose you'll release this today and hope it sinks without a trace?'

'Yes, probably around five-thirty.' He sounded as if he were yawning. 'There is one other thing, though.'

No more, I'm off, she thought. Enough. Her car was packed and she wanted ten days without politicians.

'I know I said I would get back to you before Friday, but something happened.' Giovanni sniffed. 'My mother died on Saturday. She had been ill for some time. It was expected, but still a shock.'

Elizabeth was catapulted back to her former mother-in-law's kitchen. She could smell the minestrone boiling away for the family Sunday lunch, their weekly obligation. Giovanni, his mother always called him this, even during his John period, was being grilled about when he and Elizabeth were going to start a family. Elizabeth's body remembered the anger, the joy then the despair. Her mind played a film in fast-forward. Her stomach remembered the fear and the nausea.

'Are you there? Hello? Elizabeth?'

'My sympathies to you and your family,' she said, turning off the computer, ready to hang up the phone.

'I was wondering if you would like to come to the funeral. It will be on the twenty-ninth of December at Saint Mary's.'

Elizabeth's brain tried to make sense of the question. Surely he had not just asked her to worship at his mother's grave? To mourn that cruel woman? She felt a pain somewhere but where? Behind her eyes? A migraine starting? No, more in her abdomen, below her heart. The film kept running. Their Perth apartment, blood on a bathroom floor. She pushed her back into her chair, hands across her stomach as she gasped for breath.

'Elizabeth? Are you still there? Lizzie?'

She could hear him now, placating his mother. There will be more babies, when we're ready.

'Elizabeth, are you all right?'

'All right? All right?' she repeated, trying to get her bearings. 'No, I'm not all right.' A wave of fury began in the top of her head and rushed through her to clenched toes. 'Why the hell would I want to come to your mother's funeral? She hated you marrying me.'

'Lizzie, that was a long time ago,' he soothed. 'We've both moved on.'

'Yes, and one of us found it easier to move on than the other,' she said, her words burning acid into the phone. 'It was my fault alone that you turned your back on your Italian heritage, my fault you changed your name. No Catholic wedding.' A chill settled on her heated body. She sent her words down the telephone wires one by one, like spears. 'And no babies of course. Strange how getting pregnant was all your work and losing him was mine.'

'Do we have to go over this again? She just wanted to be a grandmother. It's natural.'

'She accused me of having an abortion. An abortion!' She let the word hang between them. 'That's what I remember about your mother. As usual, you were off in some piss-ant conflict. I lost our baby when I was alone but you believed all the filthy things she said about me.'

'Oh, Lizzie, I didn't, and she didn't accuse you. She made a comment about you not wanting children and you would make sure you never had any. And maybe she's right, because you haven't, have you?'

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip, refusing the tears. She would not go down this road with him again. Anger was better than sorrow. She wanted to reach down the phone and strangle him till he understood. In his perfect new life with his wife and two daughters did he ever spare a thought for their lost son?

'Lizzie, don't be like this.'

'Fuck off, John! Just fuck off!' She slammed the phone so violently onto its cradle that it bounced onto the floor.

****

Elizabeth gazed at the sleeping woman stretched on the day bed next to her, the little white dog curled up in the crook of his mistress's arm. The late afternoon light glinted on the waves of the bay beyond the veranda, joined by the sounds of splashing water and excited voices of children on the beach. The startling ease with which Elizabeth had played Chopin and Liszt failed to lift the melancholy that had gripped her since her conversation with Giovanni.

Valerie's features were serene, revealing no sign of the illness that Beverley Farrington had explained to Elizabeth that morning.

'I hope I'm not too early for you.' Beverley had burst into Elizabeth's house with her familiar energy. Elizabeth felt a hundred years old after another sleepless night while Beverley looked twenty years younger than her three score years and ten. With her bright red dress and white hair, she could be channelling Mrs Claus.

Beverley proffered a package wrapped in gold foil with a red ribbon. 'Beware of Farringtons bearing gifts. Here you are, a Christmas present for you and an invitation.'

Because she had been expecting to be skiing with Alex, Elizabeth had done no Christmas shopping. Even if she had, she would not have included Beverley Farrington on her Christmas list. She opened the parcel to discover a silver brooch in the shape of a fern with a purple stone forming the spine.

'You know the saying, when I grow old I shall wear purple?' Beverley asked. 'Well, I say why wait that long?' She dismissed Elizabeth's embarrassed thanks and demanded a coffee.

'The invitation I mentioned earlier is one from me to you on Valerie's behalf. She'd like you to come to afternoon tea if you have no other plans. She said she saw your lights on half the night. You do know she's been quite ill again?'

'Felicity mentioned it. I should have been here more often but work's been so hectic what with the balance of power situation and everyone jockeying for position.'

'Oh yes, that vile Emery woman. You'll manage her, I'm sure. She's a lightweight. Got no character. Won't last.'

Elizabeth hoped Beverley was right. 'But about Valerie, how ill is she?'

'She's been through the mill, poor love, but she's a fighter. The Big C, I'm afraid. She had another bout of chemo and they say they've got it all but who knows? She's picking up again but she's exhausted. I've been staying with her for a few days and Julie Barratt's been popping in with food.'

Elizabeth was aware of Beverley's reputation as a formidable businesswoman at the head of her family company, but she showed a vulnerability when she spoke of Valerie.

Elizabeth chastised herself for her self-absorption. She had visited Crespigny Bay every few weeks until her UK trip but had managed only one visit since her return and Valerie had not been at home. Had she been in hospital then?

'What I wondered was, would you visit with her today and tomorrow just so she's not alone all day? Unless that's interfering too much with your plans?'

'No,' said Elizabeth. 'Not at all.' She had no plans, apart from moping around while someone she had begun to think of as a friend lay ill a few hundred metres away.

'She's very fond of you.' Beverley scoffed a second slice of carrot cake. 'Your Scottish accent and connections to Jock's country is part of it but she speaks of you as if you have a bond of some sort. Valentina McConochie doesn't make deep friendships easily and she's taken you to her heart, believe me.'

'Valentina?'

'Oh, yes, that's her real name. Lovely, isn't it? Valentina Françoise Petrova. Her parents changed it to Valerie when they escaped Russia and settled here.'

After Beverley left, Elizabeth searched her house for a gift for Valerie. She had bought a book on photographing Australian wildflowers but had no wrapping paper so she improvised with baking paper and the ribbon from Beverley's gift. She had walked along the water's edge to Valerie's house after lunch, letting the cool breeze envelop her. Hot under the collar had been a good description of her life for most of the month. Whenever she stepped outside the air conditioning she found the heat insufferable. Even the reliable sea breezes had failed the city.

The political temperature showed no signs of easing as the end of the year approached. Perhaps the two were related. Hadn't she read that hot winds could drive people insane? Winds like the Mistral? Add the Western Australian easterlies to that.

The sea breezes of the south-west promised a cooler body and a better mood. They had not brought sleep but if she had to be awake, lounging on her balcony in the company of sea and stars was a welcome alternative.

As Elizabeth watched Valerie sleep she recalled the point her spirits began to lift. Cass had called from Paris where she and Penelope were spending Christmas. Cass had a major environmental case pending in the International Court and was staying in Europe for two months. Alex had suggested the four of them spend New Year's Eve together and he must have called Cass to let her know it was not going to happen. She imagined his unforgiving, 'Elizabeth has to work.'

As usual, Cass was full of fire and brimstone over yet another global corporation's destruction of the environment. Elizabeth envied Cass's resilient confidence that her cause was just. Even when she lost she never doubted she was on the side of the angels.

They had spoken for more than an hour. Cass joked about post-menopausal women changing their minds and hot flushes making them indecisive. Elizabeth teased about the lengths some people will go to set up court cases so they can have Christmas in Paris.

Cass asked her usual questions about Alex. Elizabeth kept to her determined refusal to discuss him, partly because of her natural reticence but partly because she was not sure of the status of their relationship. Given Cass's long-term bi-coastal relationship with Victor and her fierce determination to live alone, Elizabeth wondered yet again why Cass kept probing her intentions towards Alex.

He had telephoned her on Christmas Eve. She had arrived at Crespigny Bay around eight in the evening after stopping in Busselton for supplies. Unpacking, clearing several weeks' dust, opening shutters and watering the garden in the moonlight settled her. She let go the loss of her trip, told herself there was no point in letting Emery or Robinson, politics or weather spoil these few days. She would create a personal retreat, enjoy her own company. She had less than two weeks before returning to the fray. She would read, rest, walk on the beach and relish her hermitage.

She had finished her Christmas Eve meal of pasta carbonara and was sipping a fine Margaret River Shiraz while sitting on the deck in the dark, watching the play of the moon on the water. She let the murmur of the waves mix with the gentle strains of Kiri te Kanawa's songs of Provence to ease her tense muscles.

She had been tempted not to answer the phone, cursing herself for not turning it off. What if it were Giovanni apologising? She dismissed that idea. Apologising had never been his strong point. More than likely he's frolicking with Gabriella and the _principessas_. Why should he spare Elizabeth a thought?

The call was from Alex. He sounded unconcerned about the cancellation of the skiing adventure. Her guilt merged with a strange disappointment at his light-hearted tone.

'Maybe it's just as well you're not coming,' he quipped. 'The weather's bloody terrible so we'd have found ourselves rowing a boat rather than a set of skis. It's been pouring non-stop for three days.'

'So what are you doing for Christmas Day?'

'Going to Mum's. She's ninety next month but she thinks she can still give me a clip over the ear.'

Elizabeth remembered Christmases at Alex's family home, the huge Wallace clan crammed into the small house on the top of the cliff.

'There won't be many of us this year,' Alex said. 'Maybe twenty, no more, I'd say, but Mum's determined to manage. She's got them all organised. She'd have made a good company director.'

Alex's mother and Elizabeth's grandmother were cousins of some sort. Elizabeth had never worked it out. His father had been killed when Alex was three, leaving Alex an only child but his mother was one of nine children so each year their Christmases became larger and noisier. His unapologetic love for his mother was one of the reasons Elizabeth admired him. She wished she could be with them in that noisy room overlooking the sea, the wind and rain howling outside never dampening the joy within.

'And what will you be doing then?' Alex asked. 'You'll be missing Cass of course, but are you lunching with all your new friends?'

She was tempted to mention she had been invited to several homes, which indeed she had, but had turned them down because of the planned trip. But why pretend with him, of all people? 'It'll be good to have some breathing space. It doesn't feel like Christmas here. It's too hot. In any case, I'm exhausted. But I do adore it here. It's so peaceful. It cost a fortune to refurbish and furnish but it feels like the first house that's mine.' Although they had been lovers for many years, they had lived in their separate houses, Alex in his and she in Fionn's. Their conversation petered out with half-hearted wishes for a Happy Christmas.

Elizabeth shifted in her chair as Hamish lifted his head and scrutinised his sleeping mistress who was snoring gently.

'What are you thinking, Hamish?' Elizabeth asked him. 'Hoping for a walk?' His ears perked up but he did not move.

Valerie had lost weight, her thin physique now skeletal but her face had an ethereal beauty. Elizabeth could imagine the stunning young woman Valerie was when she met Jock McConochie. A graceful Russian aristocrat. In sleep, the white hair and pale skin gave her a luminous quality. Elizabeth shuddered as she recalled that same look in her grandmother before she died.

She decided to make some tea. She looked through the south-facing window of the kitchen at the un-Australian cottage garden that flourished in the face of the elements behind a low wall. The seashore was rocky and without sand on that side of the point. The breeze had strengthened and the waves crashed on the red boulders below the house. She heard a crunch of car on gravel followed by a knock at the door.

'Hello, Valerie, it's me, Julie. Are you awake?'

'No, she's not,' Elizabeth whispered, opening the door wide. Julie Barratt pushed backwards into the hallway, in her arms a large cardboard box wrapped with red ribbon and bows.

'Yes, I am,' came a feeble voice from the veranda, accompanied by Hamish's eager woof of welcome as he came bounding to Julie's legs.

'Hamish. Elizabeth, hello. Merry Christmas.' Julie put the box on the floor and hugged Elizabeth. 'You managed to escape the big smoke.'

'Yes, and I'm here for a whole ten days.' Even as she said it, it sounded too short. 'Go through and see Valerie. I'll put another cup on the tray,' Elizabeth said, walking back to the kitchen.

'Sorry, I don't have time. I just came to bring this.' Julie picked up the box again and headed into the house.

Elizabeth finished making the tea, assuming Julie had brought a Christmas gift for Valerie. As she arrived with the tray, Julie was leaving. 'Must dash,' she said. 'We're off to Malcolm's family in Augusta for a couple of days. We've got the prawns, Christmas cakes and beer so we'd better not be late.'

She was gone before Elizabeth had time to invite the Barratts to dinner in a few days. She wanted to thank them for their restoration of her house and garden.

'Julie gives meaning to the words salt of the earth,' Valerie said as Elizabeth set out their tea things. 'She's been popping in to check on me three times a day. Did you know she's a registered nurse? I would have been stuck in some care home if not for her.'

A scratching, scuffling sound came from the box that Julie had left in the corner of the veranda. Elizabeth noticed a row of holes in the side of the box. Hamish sat with his head on one side. Valerie shushed him as he growled. Elizabeth was as curious as Hamish but Valerie sipped her tea and indulged her delight in Julie's home-made scones.

'Okay, we give up, don't we Hamish?' Elizabeth said as Valerie began to slice another scone. 'What's in this box? Snakes or a wombat? Can we see?'

'Oh, well, I suppose so. I wanted to see which of you were more curious. Let's go into the lounge and close the doors so they can't escape. And it's all right, they're not snakes.'

Elizabeth helped Valerie into the house, noticing she was quite steady on her feet. She told Elizabeth to put the box on the coffee table and unwrap it. Opening the top, Elizabeth saw two bundles of silver grey fur and frightened yellow-green eyes staring at her.

'Look at you two. You're so beautiful.' Elizabeth picked up one of the small cats. 'Russian Blues. My Aunt Fionn had these. What a lovely gift.'

The second cat's head appeared above the edge of the box to scan the room. Hamish had been left on the veranda but his barking was causing the little ones some concern. They were not kittens but neither were they fully grown.

'But how will you be able to look after them? What about Hamish?'

'Oh, they're not for me,' Valerie said. 'They're my Christmas gift to you.'

****

Elizabeth carried the dishes to the kitchen as her guests continued their lively discussions. Roger Lui and Malcolm Barratt were deep in conversation about refurbishing houses, a conversation started when Roger admired the limestone walls and steps leading to the beach. Felicity Lui and Beverley Farrington were exchanging news of their children's escapades around the world. Valerie and Julie Barratt were deep in their shared obsession with gardens. From cocktails as the sun was setting to seared salmon by candlelight on the first day of the New Year, the evening passed in a comforting blanket of good will and laughter.

Penelope Lawson who had regaled them with humorous tales of her Parisian Christmas picked up the remainder of the main course's dishes and walked behind Elizabeth to the kitchen.

'You haven't lost your touch, Elizabeth,' Penelope said. 'The salmon was superb and the vegetable terrine magnifique, as your Frenchman would say. You must give me the recipe.'

Elizabeth nodded, knowing there was no point because she invented each dish anew. In any case, Penelope had a live-in housekeeper/cook to whom Elizabeth would never presume to give a recipe. Penelope would not know that the terrine recipe had been cajoled from Rose after yet another triumphant Lawson dinner party.

Elizabeth filled the coffee pots and set out cheeses, nuts and fruit. Penelope hovered, nibbling a walnut. 'So how are you, honestly? You look thinner to me and you have those dark circles under your eyes. Have you not been sleeping again? Are you having migraines?'

'I'm fine. I admit to being tired but I love being down here.'

'We were disappointed you couldn't join us in Paris. And you missed your skiing trip. What on earth was so important you had to stay here?'

Elizabeth would not let Penelope drag her back to work. She handed the cheese platters to her and pointed towards the table.

Penelope had intended staying in Europe for New Year's Eve with Cass and friends and then visiting some family in Zurich but her sister had taken ill on Boxing Day so she had come home. Elizabeth had been thrilled to hear from her and had invited her to dinner. While Penelope fussed and interrogated, Elizabeth knew it came from her heart. She was like a second mother who, unlike the first, provided unconditional support.

'So, young lady, what's so important that you have to cancel your arrangements with us, not to mention poor Alex, and hide yourself down here on your own?' Back in the kitchen, Penelope was not to be distracted and Elizabeth was imprisoned till the coffee brewed.

'I couldn't justify the time anyway. There's a lot going on. Jeremy Hayes and Joan Emery are having a turf war and we've been trying, Roger and I, to head off what Emery's calling a task force but it looks more like a review of the Institute.'

Penelope sniffed, slapping a wooden spoon in her hand. 'I knew that Emery business was going to lead to no good. I told Catherine that. And Jeremy's being a bit of a wimp, as usual.'

Elizabeth would have liked to have been a fly on the wall when Penelope advised the Premier on her balance of power tactics. Penelope's partisan loyalties lay with the opposing camp.

'I want to get to the bottom of this,' Penelope persisted. 'If Catherine gives into Joan Emery on these notions of selling off the community's jewels, what will be next? If the state's cultural heritage isn't safe, nothing will be.'

'What makes you think they'll sell off cultural heritage?'

'A friend of mine went to Emery's Christmas party and apparently the new minister is confident indeed that she's the neck upon which the head of state turns. She'd invited the Premier to the party and expected Catherine Goodman to arrive any minute. She didn't, of course. Catherine can't stand the woman.'

Elizabeth knew to be careful with what she told Penelope who sat on several boards, including Jeremy Hayes's Education Advisory Council, but she was also an excellent source of information, a paradoxical combination of gossip and discretion.

'Was Michael Robinson dancing attendance?' Elizabeth asked.

'Of course!' Penelope shrieked. 'She takes him wherever she goes. They were much too chummy at the launch of the Festival programme. God knows why they were but _Mister_ Emery and _Missus_ Robinson were nowhere to be seen.'

Elizabeth handed Penelope the tray with chocolates and petit fours and led her from the kitchen, carrying the coffee.

'You want to watch those two,' Penelope whispered. 'Pride cometh before a fall and their pride knows no limits. But they're not falling yet. Michael detests Roger but never fear, our friend will get the better of that pipsqueak.'

Elizabeth served her guests with coffee and brandy.

'A toast,' said Roger Lui. 'To our gracious hostess, thank you for a beautiful meal in your lovely home. And here's to a new year that will bring all of us what we hope for. Prosperity for all and peace in the world.'

'Peace and prosperity,' everyone echoed.

'Speaking of prosperity,' said Penelope, 'Cass and I were at her conference gala dinner under the Louvre pyramid and guess who was there? Your suave and sophisticated Frenchman.'

'Oh, do tell,' said Beverley. 'A gallic admirer, Elizabeth?'

'Who?' Elizabeth, feigned innocence. 'I have several French friends but none I would call an admirer. Not the way you mean, Beverley.'

'All he could talk about was you and business, business and you,' said Penelope.

Elizabeth attempted a look that would discourage Penelope.

'That's because he's a business associate. No more, I assure you. Sans doute.'

Penelope was not to be thwarted. 'He said you were the most beautiful of his business colleagues, you had a romantic dinner by the Swan River and he was looking forward to spending more time in Perth.'

'Is he good looking?' asked Felicity. 'Weren't you in Paris last year? Ah, your secret is out.'

'I didn't meet with him in Paris. You've met him. Martin Cheval, head of Vision Industries International. He agreed to contribute to the new Foundation.'

Elizabeth noticed Valerie was quiet amidst this teasing. Time to wind up the evening and take her home.

'He said he'll be visiting Perth next month,' Penelope said. 'His eyes sparkled as he spoke about it. Looked like more than a business passion to me.'

'Oh, do tell, Penelope,' said Beverley. 'I think Elizabeth's blushing.'

Elizabeth protested but Penelope was in full flight, relishing her description of the Frenchman's elegance, charm and intelligence. While Martin Cheval's persuasive ways had worked on Penelope, Elizabeth wondered what Cass thought of him.

'Why, he's practically Australian,' Penelope said. 'He's just bought another company in Sydney that services several big government departments. Sounded huge but my eyes glaze over when people start talking business.'

Roger Lui had been smiling as the women around the table mused on Monsieur Cheval's charms. He leaned forward, all attention. 'What company, Penelope? Can you remember?'

'Oh, heavens, no. Something about manufacturing computer bits of some sort.' Penelope frowned. 'Mind you, Cass knew what it meant. They got into a heated argument about companies needing to take responsibility for all their manufacturing materials. He was charming but I could see she was annoying him. She does go on about global corporations and their polluting ways.'

'So Vision International is still expanding in Australia and buying up government focused businesses. Very interesting.' Roger rubbed his chin.

'Yes, isn't it?' Elizabeth nodded to Roger, an unspoken agreement to investigate that piece of news passing between them.

****

'I think I need to sit down, my dear.'

Elizabeth wondered whether Valerie had been too ambitious in her insistence on walking home after dinner. Her bones felt frail and thin when Elizabeth supported her arm. They sat on the wooden bench closest to the beach where the water lapped in the moonlight. The town was quiet behind them, the beach deserted save for two lovers lost in each others' embrace as they strolled at the water's edge below Elizabeth's house.

'We can have a rest and then do the second half,' said Valerie. 'At my age this is a bit like the midway mark of the marathon.'

Elizabeth's concern abated as Valerie's breathing settled. She felt no need to speak, sinking again into the easy peace that surrounded the older woman, a peace that precluded inconsequential chatter.

'That was a lovely party,' Valerie sighed after some time. 'What an interesting group of people. Penelope hasn't changed in eighty years.'

'You've known Penelope all that time? What about her daughter Cass? Do you know her too?'

'No. I went to school with Penelope's sister, Clarissa. I was sorry to hear that she's ill.' Valerie fell silent again.

Elizabeth patted Valerie's arm. 'So you're part of what Cass calls the old girls' mafia.'

'Oh no, not me. I never fitted in. Not that a Russian girl would have been accepted if I tried. Never could stand all that snobbery.'

Elizabeth wondered if Valerie would have felt as out of place as she had at the university residential college. A lonely Scottish working class migrant in a sea of private school educated, rich girls whose main concern was the small size of the wardrobes in their rooms. Their complaints were all the more alien when Elizabeth observed her four homemade outfits hanging in less than quarter of the space.

'We have so much to be grateful for,' Elizabeth said, almost to herself. 'My generation has not gone through the suffering of yours or my parents.'

'Perhaps not, but there are many types of suffering. My son, Ioann.' Her voice faded as she drifted into memory.

'I'm sorry. That was thoughtless of me.'

'That's fine. I know what you mean. Anyway, there I was, from a family wealthy enough to afford the private school but I had no acceptable heritage. My manners were impeccable and my clothes beautiful, but I did not belong to the right set. I think that was when I decided I would be of no class and every class. Belong to no country and every country. Avoid the pain of loss that my parents suffered all their lives.'

Valerie took a deep breath and sighed. Elizabeth saw she was smiling at the sky.

'Strange how we all have a connection to land,' Valerie said. 'We've been through so many years of denying the Aboriginal idea of country that we've forgotten to acknowledge our own. That's what struck me about Scotland, you know, as well as other places we lived.'

'What's that?'

'The heritage of belonging. My Jock would be like your grandmother, I'm sure. No matter where we lived, when we returned to his mountains he relaxed. Coming home, I suppose. He expanded into his space somehow.'

'Yes, I know what that means. I think that's what I felt in the glen this last trip, but it would be too difficult to live there all the time. It's not my home but I wanted it to be somehow.'

'Ah, you carry its essence in your heart. You don't need to be there to go there, if you get my drift. Close your eyes and you're there.'

'That's a splendid way to put it.'

'I had a teacher who showed me how to think globally before that word became common. Miss Marchmain. Such an appropriate name for an English teacher, don't you think? She introduced me to history, painting, literature and music. I adored her. It was a positively Miss Jean Brodie experience.'

Elizabeth listened as Valerie reminisced about her childhood and the inspiration of the magnificent Miss Marchmain. Not for the first time, Elizabeth marveled at the parallels between her life and Valerie's. The love of learning, the sense of being different, the struggle to belong but always on the edge, yet always at the right time the magical appearance of a guide.

'I may never have applied to the Slade School of Art if Miss Marchmain had not encouraged me and spoken to my father,' Valerie said. 'Then I would not have met Jock and, who knows what my life would have been like? Lonelier and duller, I think. I cannot imagine my life without him, even now when he's not here.'

Elizabeth shivered. She loved Crespigny Bay but lately an unfamiliar longing visited her. What was it? Envy, disappointment or even sadness? A sense of opportunities missed? The answer was always out of reach.

'I have enjoyed your visits.' Valerie took Elizabeth's hand in hers. 'I think my life will be much poorer when you return to the big smoke.'

Elizabeth could not believe Valerie's life would be diminished by her absence. The old woman radiated an unfathomable peace. Valerie McConochie just is, she thought. Solid and strong and full of grace in spite of, or perhaps because of, her physical frailty.

'I've enjoyed them, too. I feel we could go on for ever with our daily pattern. It will be strange to go back to work.'

'How do you think the cats will settle into your apartment?' Valerie asked.

'Oh, I don't foresee any difficulties. They've quite taken over my house. They know they're like Russian princesses who see me as their servant. They show no interest in venturing outside.'

'So you'll keep them? I wondered if I wasn't too presumptuous. Julie could find another home for them if you think they're too much.'

'I must admit my first reaction was horror. Thoughts of litter trays, fishy smells and cat hair on clothes, if I'm honest. Aunt Fionn had both Siamese and Russians and I loved them but I've never been responsible for a cat. I've never had so much attention from an animal. They sit either side of me while I read.'

'Ah, you've been adopted already as their significant person.'

'Their what?'

'Russian blues bond to a significant person so if they've adopted you so soon, it shows you have a sensitive soul. Cats know these things. Much as I love Hamish, he's no match for a cat's wisdom.'

Elizabeth had called the cats Natasha and Anastasia. Wary at first, once they found the house to be a wondrous wall-free playground and Elizabeth the sole source of regular food, they settled into a routine of sleeping, eating, playing with each other and observing. No matter what Elizabeth was doing, one of them was perched on chair or table, watching her with half-closed eyes, ready for the moment when she sat down or went to bed when they would demand cuddles and strokes before curling up for another nap.

'It's wonderful that they've been trained so young to accept that they must be on leashes before they go outside so they can't wander or attack the wildlife. For three months' old they're surprisingly biddable so they should be happy in the penthouse. I hope they travel well in the car. I'm not looking forward to a drive with distressed animals.'

An easy quiet settled over the two women as they gazed into the blackened sea hung below a myriad stars as the moon disappeared behind a solitary cloud. Elizabeth's mind drifted to the books she and Valerie had explored in recent days. From Austen to Shelley, she had read from Valerie's collection. They agreed that _Middlemarch_ was their favourite so far.

Sometimes when Valerie had fallen asleep, Elizabeth continued reading or took Hamish for his walk along the beach, her head full of the wonder of words. She thought often of Fionn at these times, remembering again her aunt's support to establish the publishing arm of the family company. How exciting and difficult those days had been, trying to persuade authors to trust their new venture. Now that there was an internationally respected backlist, authors approached them. Why had she been so ready to leave? Could she not have made a role for herself in the new public company?

'I suppose we should be tackling the second leg but it is lovely here,' Valerie said.

Elizabeth brought her attention back to Valerie. 'Yes, it is, so why move?'

The breeze had all but disappeared and the empty beach was a warm silence. The longer they sat the more they could see as eyes adjusted to the moonlit shapes. Music drifted from a car passing along the road behind them, the thumping beat of rap the sound from another planet. Elizabeth wanted only nature's sounds, sounds to dispel her hovering doubts.

'I hope you'll continue to play the piano when you go back to Perth,' said Valerie. 'You're too good to give it up.'

Elizabeth squeezed Valerie's arm. 'You're the only person I play for. I'm so rusty. It's good of you to let me bang away but I'm sure I can't get back to the way I used to play.'

'I insist you find time to practise. You play well but I can see you have a brilliant touch. Technique is never lost. It's a gift from the gods. Something tells me you will need its sustenance in the days ahead. Please promise me.' She squeezed Elizabeth's hand. 'Promise.'

'I promise, but I don't know where I'll find a piano.'

'The piano will find you. There will be one somewhere in that building of yours or go next door and ask them to use the one in the Concert Hall.'

Elizabeth found her fingers moving on her knees to the tune of Liszt's Piano Sonata in B minor. She had been listening to the CD by Daniel Barenboim and carried its beauty in her head. She remembered playing it at the Aberdeen music festival when she was fifteen.

' _There midnight's all a glimmer, and moon a purple glow, and evening full of the linnet's wings_ ,' Valerie said. 'Do you remember _The Lake Isle of Innisfree?_ I often think of this place that way, like we're the only people on the planet. I wonder why we sleep so much. Look at what we're missing.'

Elizabeth sighed. 'I don't miss seeing it. Two thirty a.m. is often the most awake part of my day.'

'Now, why can't you sleep? You can't have a guilty conscience so what's bothering you?'

Elizabeth could not explain her night-time ruminations. Her grandmother, herself an insomniac, had tried to persuade her their wakefulness was a gift. Many an early morning snack they had shared before the kitchen stove as tales of her grandmother's childhood swirled around her young head. Elizabeth had long ago given up seeking a cure for her sleeplessness and had even learned to enjoy it on occasion. She could revive herself with catnaps during the day. Now she had two cats to assist in the perfection of her technique.

****

Three hours later Elizabeth was curled up in one of Valerie's chintz-covered armchairs. A table lamp illuminated the room's homely clutter. The silver-framed photographs on the piano gleamed. The doors to the veranda were open, the whisper of the waves melding with Hamish's snores. She watched the white dog's twitches. Was he running over heather he had never seen in the Western Highlands or rushing after Western Australian seagulls?

She had helped Valerie to bed and told her she would stay all night now that it was so late. The old woman was stick thin and frail beneath her silk pyjamas. She was asleep almost as soon as she settled into her huge bed, surrounded by her books and more photographs of her beloved husband and son. Her only son part of a worldwide statistic that hid the individual pain, she an only daughter with relatives lost in a revolution. Elizabeth looked at the fine white hair, the angular cheekbones below closed eyes. She could feel her slipping away, already preparing for embarkation on her next journey. Walking home, Valerie had revealed that she knew she was dying. Struggling up the steps from the beach, she had turned and faced the ocean, taking a deep breath.

'Do you remember the film _Little Big Man_?' she asked. 'It was one of Jock's favourites. You might have guessed he was short.'

Elizabeth said she had not.

'The Indian Chief used to say over and over again, _today is a good day to die._ I thought he meant that particular day, maybe he did, but now I think he meant that every day should be a good day to die. That's how I feel now. After a lovely dinner with friends and good conversation, with a view like this and the smell of the sea, how could today not be a good day to die?'

Elizabeth's tears surprised her. She could not speak. She was not ready to say goodbye yet here was Valerie accepting, even welcoming, death, even eager to be gone.

Hamish's dreams became frenetic and he woke up with a whimper, shaking himself and crossing the hearth rug to Elizabeth's lap.

'You big softy, do you want a cuddle?' She rubbed his belly and wondered why he was not with Valerie since mostly he never left her side. She remembered her grandmother saying something about animals leaving the house when death was close, and shuddered.

Death. She had not thought of much else for two hours. Valerie's words echoed around her head like pebbles in a bowl. A good day to die.

'I have had a wonderful life,' Valerie had said. 'It's been full of good and bad, pain and joy but now I have peace. I've learned all I can learn here. It's almost time to go but I think I've got a while yet.'

'I'm glad to hear it.' Elizabeth tried to joke. 'I'm not ready to say goodbye yet. We've barely said hello.'

'I think I had to wait for you to come along.' Valerie grabbed the verandah post and looked into Elizabeth's eyes. 'It's not finished yet.'

Elizabeth wondered what she meant but worried that Valerie was tiring fast.

'All my affairs are in order,' Valerie whispered, 'but now I can see there a few things I still need to do. If I were to ask you to tend to one or two matters for me after my death, would you do that?'

'Let's not talk about this tonight. It's nearly three o'clock. You wouldn't want to keep me from my insomnia, would you?'

Valerie put a frail hand on Elizabeth's head as she helped her remove her shoes. 'I know you don't want to face your pain. I don't want to interfere in the deep sadness I sense in you but you must face it. Loss of country, loss of your grandmother and your baby. That's a lot to carry but you have great courage. I will die soon but believe me,' she took Elizabeth's head in her hands and cast lively blue eyes at her, 'I will never leave you.'

CHAPTER FOUR

'Peace at last. Let's eat, shall we?'

Roger Lui ushered Elizabeth from the room that moments before had been bustling with his children and five grandchildren. Doors slammed and car engines revved as the Lui children and their partners left for their dinner engagement.

'Felicity will be ages seeing the little ones tucked in. She suggested we start dinner.' Roger directed Elizabeth outside to the patio where a table had been set for three people. She was surprised for the second time that evening as she had not expected to share her pre-dinner drink with the Lui family nor to eat with Roger and Felicity alone.

'Felicity and I have been meaning to talk to you about a few things,' Roger said, 'and, of course, one may as well talk over food, a Chinese custom I have no desire to give up.' He held a chair for Elizabeth. 'Now, a drink for you?'

Elizabeth watched Roger pour a glass of sauvignon blanc into a crystal goblet. The dinner table was set with Felicity's exquisite attention to detail. In the centre was a shallow bowl with floating frangipani flowers and yellow candles.

Roger was dressed in a white shirt of fine linen over beige trousers. She wondered if he ever looked dishevelled. His face was cheerful and softened by the light. He looked relaxed but there was an unusual languor in his movements. Fatigue, she thought.

'We love having the children here but I'll be relieved to get our peace back next week.'

'They're an exuberant lot,' said Elizabeth, recalling her own boisterous childhood full of cousins. 'I remember how much I loved visiting my grandparents' village in the mountains. The whole community joined in birthdays, weddings and funerals. Especially funerals.'

Roger looked wistfully over his gardens stretching to the river. 'Australia has been good to us but I regret my grandchildren not growing up in Hong Kong. We are all migrants now. The youngest ones are fair dinkum Aussies complete with surfboards. Sometimes I have no idea what they are talking about. They were discussing twittering at breakfast and I thought they had all become birdwatchers. They do not know any different but you and I know what we leave behind.'

'I think I know what you mean. To tell the truth, I'm not certain about where to belong any more.'

Goodness, where did that come from, Elizabeth wondered. Roger's silence suggested he was giving her words careful attention and he leaned forward in his chair, nodding.

'Ah, do not say that. Scotland is a great country and it is part of who you are. We always have choices. I am Chinese and officially I can add Australian to that but I can never remove the old China or Hong Kong from my soul.'

He laughed, his eyes closing with mirth. 'We become too serious, Dr Wallace. Here is our food. The best restaurant in Perth is in our kitchen, is it not, Jacqueline?'

Jacqueline Wu, the Luis' regular cook and caterer, set out platters of tiny finger food, a blend of Western and Eastern delicacies in her own original style that combined her Chinese and French heritages.

While they ate, Elizabeth marvelled at the cosmopolitan city Perth had become in her absence. Being seen as an influential CEO of a significant organisation, she had been wooed by different sectors. There were chambers of commerce for a dozen nationalities with considerable wealth. With recent invitations to meet not-for-profit organisations she had begun to see the gap between the rich and the poor and the not too subtle resentments against those with their riverfront mansions, yachts and private schools. The unresolved issues of the indigenous peoples and the damage to the environment were bubbling below the surface as was an undercurrent of antagonism towards the newest migrants. With the global financial uncertainty, Roger Lui was more conscious of these than most and he had spoken to Elizabeth about increasing his philanthropic work. While the Lui Foundation focused on medical research, he spoke often of the new Knowledge for Australia Foundation as a way to channel funds to education for the disadvantaged. With his Mosman Park mansion and billion dollar businesses, his grandchildren would want for nothing but this appeared to Elizabeth to give him as much concern as comfort.

'Felicity's storytelling will give us ample time to discuss some business,' Roger said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. 'You are aware that my chairmanship expires in April this year?'

'Yes, I am. I have assumed you would continue.'

'Apparently that is a matter of some discussion. Jeremy Hayes has asked me to continue.'

'So in that case he would take it to Cabinet. It's just a rubber stamp job, isn't it?'

'Well, I would have thought so, but after Jeremy having to compromise on the task force, I am uncertain of his influence. This is why I wanted us to speak. Felicity and I have come to think of you as a friend. I hope that is acceptable to you.'

Elizabeth reached for her wine to hide her discomfort. While Roger Lui was always charming and engaging, he was also her boss. She had come to depend on his wisdom and guidance but to become friends was a different thing altogether.

'I do not mean to embarrass you, Elizabeth. Simply to make sure we have a conversation as equals. I value your counsel.'

'Of course, yes, I would like that.' She gulped her wine.

'So let me be frank.' He leaned his elbows on the table and made a pyramid with his fingers. 'How I read the situation is this. Number one, you and I and Jeremy think it reasonable for me to continue as chairman.'

'Agreed.'

'Number two, Jeremy is furious with both the Premier and Joan Emery over Emery's role and the task force.'

'Furious, I agree.'

'Number three, it is doubtful that Jeremy Hayes can control his assisting minister or the task force.'

Elizabeth hesitated. 'I'm not sure about that. He's determined to run his own show. I know he feels let down over the way the Premier wouldn't cancel the task force but I thought she'd made it clear that no one but Hayes can take recommendations to Cabinet. Do you think the Premier will resile from that?'

Roger stood and leaned against the balustrade, his back to the now darkened river. His floodlit pool and garden stretched behind him, his own walled kingdom. Elizabeth waited for him to respond.

'If I may be blunt,' he said, 'I have my doubts whether Minister Hayes or Premier Goodman is in control of anything at the moment. Mrs Emery is a powerful adversary and I fear she has the Institute in her sights. She is not without her support. I am told she meets with the other independent MPs and lets it be known she could bring down the government at any time.'

'So, what are you saying? Emery's running the show and she wants the Institute under her control? And neither Hayes nor Goodman will stop her? She's playing both sides so she wins either way?'

Roger reached across the table for a spring roll. 'That is what I think. You must understand, Jeremy Hayes is a goal-oriented person but he is impatient. He went into politics to build something and the Institute is his vehicle, or at least one of them. He will defend us but, like many, he does not take the long view. He does not like politics. I do not think we can rely on him.'

Elizabeth knew Hayes and Lui were good friends and had been involved in philanthropic projects long before Hayes became an MP so she should pay attention to Roger's assessments.

'As Sun Tzu tells us,' Roger said, ' _If you know the enemy and know yourself you need not fear the result of a hundred battles._ Jeremy spends insufficient time studying himself, I think, and even less on his enemies. We cannot rely on him for information. He is angry with the Premier so he is not in Mrs Goodman's inner circle. We must build new allies.'

It dawned on Elizabeth what he was suggesting. 'Are you telling me you think you'll not be reappointed as chairman even if Hayes wants you to continue?'

'That may be jumping too many fences too early. I think we should consider the possibility but there are other matters to discuss, and here is Felicity to see how much we have decided.'

Felicity was dressed in an emerald green floor length cheong-sam. She carried a tray of food while Jacqueline followed with two platters. They set out the bowls of steaming aromatic noodles, vegetables and meat dishes and Jacqueline left.

Felicity sat at the opposite end of the table to Roger and flicked her serviette across her lap. 'I hope you two have finished your scheming and plotting so we can talk about the Foundation now.'

'Well, darling, we've done some scheming,' Roger said, 'but you can help us. We've been discussing Jeremy's annoyances and what we might do about the famous Mrs Emery.'

'Oh, don't get me started. You mean infamous, don't you? She's upset so many people so quickly. She was so rude to Ngaire and Beverley at the Gallery the other day. Ngaire said she's thinking about sticking pins in an Emery doll.' Felicity chuckled at the memory. 'So, what do you think about Roger not continuing as chairman, Elizabeth?'

'Felicity,' Roger interrupted her, 'we've not discussed that yet.'

'Roger, you promised.'

'Elizabeth, excuse us. Some marital cross-wiring, I think.'

'So, he hasn't told you I don't want him to continue? I want him to cut back on his workload.'

'Darling, perhaps we can leave it till later.'

'No, Roger, we agreed we would be honest with Elizabeth.' Felicity put down her chopsticks and leaned over to touch Elizabeth's hand. 'We've become very fond of you. Roger's always saying how he admires the way you've turned the Institute around and how amazed he is with your boundless energy.'

'Oh, I think he overestimates my role. It's a team effort.'

'That's what I'd expect you to say,' said Felicity, patting Elizabeth's hand. 'Let me explain. No, Roger, I'm going to. Why don't you go and get your latest acquisition. Didn't you say you wanted to show it to Elizabeth?'

Roger hesitated then, shaking his head towards Elizabeth, stood and entered the house.

'I knew he would not tell you,' Felicity sighed. 'He does not want to let you down but I've told him you would understand.'

'Understand what?'

'You remember Roger and our son Simon went to Hong Kong and London for Christmas then our daughter and her family came here together? Well, when Roger was in London he had a small heart attack.'

'Is he all right now?' Elizabeth's assessment of Roger's tiredness now made sense.

'Yes, and no.' Felicity frowned. 'The doctors say it was minor and there is no damage but I think it is a warning. I want him to heed it.'

'You want him not to seek reappointment as chairman?'

'We have discussed it and I've said it's his decision but I'm a worried wife, you know. Roger's only sixty-seven but this has frightened me. He could hand over the company to Simon. It's time for us to spend more time with our grandchildren.'

Elizabeth heard the frustration in Felicity's voice. 'And you would like me to persuade Roger we can get by without him?'

'Oh, it sounds dreadful when you put it like that.'

This was the last thing she needed but Elizabeth took the diplomatic tack. 'The decision may be made for us. Roger says he may not be reappointed. You could let things take their course and then decide. It's not for me to say. Dangerous to get between husband and wife.'

'Yes, extremely dangerous,' Roger said, walking towards them with a yellow silk- wrapped bundle in his hands. 'Let us speak of other things.'

Felicity stood and waved Elizabeth into the house.

'This was delivered today,' Roger said, unfolding the material and placing a leather-bound, gold embossed book on a small table. 'This volume completes my set of Joseph Needham's studies on China.'

Elizabeth watched Roger's delight as he explained how an Englishman had documented the great wonders of Chinese thought and knowledge. He reminded her of her grandmother as she revelled in stories of Scotland's 'clever folk,' always admonishing Elizabeth to attend to her schooling. That was what Roger and she shared, this deep commitment to preserving knowledge of the past and encouraging learning to create new ideas. That was what the Institute was for and they must fight to preserve it.

Two hours later, they were sipping liqueurs and coffee by the Luis' swimming pool with citronella candles keeping the mosquitoes at bay. Elizabeth delighted in their conversation's breadth as they explored their experiences of migration and their first impressions of Australia. Always they returned to books. The Luis' gratitude for their life in Australia was another topic that was never far from the conversation.

'We've come to terms with dying here,' Roger said. 'There's no returning for us. I would like my children to take my ashes to our family shrine but it grieves me to think they will never follow me.'

Felicity busied herself with clearing glasses and refilling coffee cups. Elizabeth thought she could see tears. She wondered about her own feelings. Where would she want to be buried? An image of ashes scattered by ancient stones was followed in rapid succession by memories of the sound of bagpipes at her soldier father's funeral then the image of yellow tulips on her mother's grave. Were her parents' souls restless, buried as they were in Australian soil?

'Roger, you're becoming morbid.' Felicity kissed the top of his head as she passed behind him to fill his brandy balloon. 'Have some cognac, darling. It'll cheer you up no end.'

Roger Lui took his wife's hand and brought it to his lips, saying. 'Quite right. That's the problem with great art and literature. Sooner or later, you end up talking about death.'

Elizabeth shivered, wondering whether her chills originated in memories or premonitions. She changed the subject. 'Felicity, you were telling us about your ideas for this year's Karri Group activities. You were threatening to ask me to do something?'

'Of course she is,' said Roger. 'When it comes to writers, all are corralled to her purpose. All in the great cause of literature.' Roger winked at Elizabeth.

'I'm getting around to that.' Felicity settled into the chair next to Elizabeth. 'I've had an idea.'

'That's code for lots of work.'

'Roger, shush. Don't put her off.'

Felicity leaned towards Elizabeth, hands open as if to share a gift. 'We appreciated so much your former company's support for the summer festival. Your friend Lynda was great. I was wondering if we could develop some longer term relationships.'

'I'm sure Lynda would love to.'

'That'd be lovely but I'm thinking of you becoming more involved. Roger and I want to invite you to be on the board of the Preston Lui Foundation. Help me with the literature focus. You impressed all of us with the talk you gave at our Christmas function on how important novels are.'

Elizabeth had enjoyed helping with the Group's activities, linking them with the many writers she knew and inviting publishers to sponsor activities, but to be asked to join the Preston Lui Foundation? That was a shock. The Foundation was a tight-knit family vehicle for the Luis' philanthropic activities few people outside the family were on the board.

After surprise came delight. It would be good to belong to something. Her body leaned into Felicity's space, drawn by her warmth.

'I'm flattered you would ask me but there must be others who have connections you need. I'm not sure how much time I could give.'

'Now, don't try to talk me out of it,' said Felicity. 'My heart's set on this. Don't shoot me for saying this but you need something else to do.'

'Goodness, Felicity, I've got so many, things to do I don't even do enough exercise.'

'Oh, I don't mean you're not busy. What I mean is you do nothing but work, work, work. Roger and I are worried about you. You're so far away from home, live alone in that dreadful apartment with no home to call your own. Those politicians must be wearing you down. You look tired.'

Elizabeth wanted to defend herself. She enjoyed her job. The challenges were exhilarating. True, the Emery/Robinson antagonism was incomprehensible but she would handle that. Yet part of her knew Felicity was right. There was no time for anything other than work. She was used to not sleeping. Always she had her books, comfort in the endless nights punctuated with light sleep but lately she had been too wired to read. Had she put all her eggs in the one basket, a basket that was fraying around the edges?

'So Felicity's solution is for you to work for the Foundation as a member of the board,' said Roger. 'Strategic advice, nothing too tiring. Provide her with a roving connection to the international writing scene.' Roger stood. 'Speaking of feeling tired, I think I'll take a stroll around the garden and leave you two to your scheming.'

Roger sauntered down the steps towards the river. Elizabeth decided she would accept. She missed her pantheon of irascible and lovable authors.

'So, how do I persuade you?' Felicity began again.

'No more argument needed. I accept, I agree and thank you. It's a great honour.'

'Oh, tosh. The honour is ours.' Felicity leaned over and hugged Elizabeth. 'Welcome to the family.'

****

'I've been reading Marcus again today. He says: How then shalt thou possess a perpetual fountain? By forming thyself hourly to freedom, conjoined with contentment, simplicity and modesty. For my contenment all I need are Julie's luscious caramel slices but you have many things to do so good luck. Break a leg.'

Elizabeth flicked the switch on the tiny recorder and Valerie's voice disappeared. She had given Valerie a similar recorder as a New Year's gift to encourage her to record her life's stories. More often than not Valerie read to her from a favourite author. Marcus Aurelius had featured for three weeks.

Valerie refused to have anything to do with computers but she adopted the recorder with a passion. Elizabeth received the cassettes each week. Valerie called it her voicemail. After all, what else were the cassettes but voices sent through the mail? Often she included small gifts: a lavender pot pourri, a lace handkerchief, Julie Barratt's homemade toffees. That day's cassette had arrived in a red silk pouch with golden tassles.

Break a leg. An unfortunate benediction. Emery and Robinson were trying to hobble the minister, kneecap him politically. Elizabeth needed Hayes and Roger Lui to remain as minister and chairman. They were her power base and their disappearance could be catastrophic.

Today's the day, she thought. If all goes well, the public will know how successful the Institute is and Hayes will look so good the Premier will back him, even against Emery. Time to get the show on the road. One last check in the mirror. Grey, perfectly cut suit, jacket buttoned, purple silk camisole and matching ear studs. She had let her hair grow again and she tucked it behind her ears, remembering Fionn's cardinal rule: business-like with a touch of whimsy. Don't let them forget they're dealing with a woman but be subtle. Keep them guessing. Make it difficult for them to put you in a box. Fionn was always better with the whimsy part.

She picked up her portfolio, checked again it contained copies of speeches, order of proceedings and press releases and stepped into the penthouse lift. Today must go well. The Institute had to become more accessible to the public. Be more visible for something other than as a political football.

Okay, she told herself, let's do it. Lights, camera, action!

****

Elizabeth watched the media pack as Jeremy Hayes delivered his speech. Cameras filmed. Journalists scribbled. They looked so young. Not a good sign, sending junior staff. All was not lost, however. She noticed a senior reporter from The Australian newspaper and The AFR's chief Perth scribe in the front row. Both had asked for interviews with Elizabeth, as had ABC Radio.

Hayes completed the first part of his speech, covering his government's achievements in IT, telecommunications and knowledge industries. What he said matched the draft speech she had written. She hoped his office had not butchered the part on the Institute. It was impossible to control anything once the spin doctors got hold of it.

'That brings me to my major announcement,' Hayes continued. 'As you know, our government has been at the forefront of encouraging high tech developments in Western Australia. The International Institute for Information Services and Research has been the lynchpin of this strategy. In the last two years the Institute has signed three international partnerships for government electronic commerce in areas as diverse as translation and smart reference services on the web.'

Hayes paused to enjoy the applause and the murmuring delight. He continued, beaming. 'Today, I am delighted to launch the program for the International Conference on the Knowledge Economy to be held in Perth later this year. Dr Elizabeth Wallace, the Institute's Managing Director, has been instrumental in attracting this Conference. More than two thousand delegates from all over the world will spend time in our lovely city at the Convention Centre, the Institute building and other locations discussing how best to deliver the benefits of the knowledge age to all. I am delighted to announce also that our Premier has agreed to be the chief patron of the Conference. Mrs Goodman sends her best wishes for a successful outcome.'

Elizabeth hoped Hayes's staff had confirmed the Premier's involvement as she had been unable to do so before finalising his speech.

'The Institute's flagship project known as LOCAL will be featured as the theme of the Conference, the title of which will be _Knowledge + Know-How: Building Creative Learning Communities.'_

Applause broke out again. The minister stood to one side as the multi-media presentation began. Images taken from the _Remembering_ archive displayed the work of Australian artists, musicians and film-makers then the new avatars appeared. The male surfer and the female snowboarder zoomed in and out to suggest new strategies. Elizabeth's anxiety lessened as the room buzzed with enthusiasm then erupted in laughter as animated animal guides appeared. Anne Oldham had hired Daniel Power again. The lifelike antics of the speaking quokka generated thunderous applause and laughter.

Hayes returned to the lectern. 'This Conference will promote the best of Australia's creative brains but will also bring to us the world's best thinkers in knowledge systems. Writers like Richard Florida have pointed out the connection between the characteristics of a city and the innovation it generates. If we are to be seen as more than mining, agriculture and sport then we need to make WA a place that attracts clever people. Too many of our best minds leave our shores.'

Oh, no, thought Elizabeth, there's the headline grabber. Minister bags miners, farmers and sportsmen. Minister says we're a nation of diggers, land clearers and cricketers. Why did he never stick to the script?

'I'd like to invite Dr Wallace and Dr Renfrew who is representing the federal minister to join me now to answer your questions.'

'Minister, perhaps I can ask you the first question,' a voice from the audience called as Elizabeth and Jean took their places. 'James Michaelson from _The West Australian_. Congratulations on the conference. You'll be hoping you'll still be in power to enjoy it, no doubt. I see that Vision Industries International is a major sponsor. Would you tell us why that conglomerate has such a close relationship with your government?'

Hayes scowled, glanced at Martin Cheval then mustered a smile. 'We're delighted that Vision has agreed to be the prime sponsor of the conference. Monsieur Cheval has been most generous and I'm sure his company will gain a useful showcase for its products at the associated technical expo.'

'That's all very well, Minister,' said a young woman whom Elizabeth did not recognise, 'but Vision has a lot of strings to its bow. The takeover of SysWA's software means Vision is working on the _Remembering_ project so it has access to our state's digital archives. How can you reassure Western Australians that Vision won't get LOCAL as well?'

'Well, Maria, we're here to talk about LOCAL and the Conference.'

'So why is Vision getting so much profile?'

'Can I take another question?' The minister cut off the journalist.

Elizabeth wondered who the young woman represented. Michaelson was scribbling furiously. Business stories were his focus so the Vision connection would have him running down every rabbit hole.

'Sally Foster, ABC Science Show,' said another young woman clad in jeans and leather jacket. 'You suggested the Conference would provide Western Australia with an opportunity to see state-of-the-art technologies. How will you get your Party colleagues to take an interest? There's a decided lack of focus on science and innovation in our national and state governments. Do you think it's possible we can be a knowledge economy? Haven't we already missed the boat here in the west due to repeated failure in your government's policy settings?'

'Goodness, Sally, you've got quite a few questions there.' Hayes's smile added to his patronising.

The young reporter stared him down. No one jumped in with another question. The room wanted this one answered.

'Our government is proud of the work being done at a strategic level,' said Hayes. 'Roger Lui, as the Institute's Chairman, has led the organisation to some stunning international achievements. I'm confident the Conference and the expo will encourage investment in Australia's knowledge-creating companies.'

The rest of the questions continued in the same vein. Attacks or fishing expeditions while Hayes fielded each inference with studied aplomb, saying whatever he wished regardless of the question.

James Michaelson was not to be deflected.

'Minister, would you like to explain to us why, if the Institute is doing such a great job, it's being considered for privatisation? How do you, and I'd like to hear from Dr Wallace, too, feel about that?'

Jean Renfrew let out a puzzled snort beside Elizabeth who willed her face to remain immobile. Jeremy Hayes's body tensed as he drank from his water glass. Giovanni stood at the back of the room, looking first at Elizabeth then Hayes with a slight shake of his head.

'Ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid we've run out of time. Dr Wallace will be happy to speak with you individually in a few moments about the conference but I must go.' He turned to Elizabeth. 'Walk out with me.'

As they waited for the lift with his policy adviser, Jonathan Strong, Hayes let fly. 'You know where Michaelson gets his information, don't you? Bloody Robinson. They went to school together. Is there anybody that bastard didn't go to school with? Even you know him, don't you, Jonathan?'

Jonathan's expression was unreadable. Elizabeth knew he had been with Hayes from the beginning of his political career. No doubt he was experienced in dealing with his minister's outbursts.

'I think you were right to ignore the question,' Elizabeth said, 'but did he ask it because he knows the answer?'

They entered the lift, Hayes jabbing the button as if poking someone's eye. 'It's Joan Emery's agenda. That bloody woman's taken a complete dislike to me, you, the Institute, whatever, and that damned task force of hers is going to be the death of me.'

He turned to Strong and told him to set up a meeting for them with Emery and Elliott Prince. Elizabeth wondered at the wisdom of this but Hayes was in no mood to be diverted.

'I've tried all the persuasive niceties I can to kill that bloody task force. We need some new ammunition. Look, Joan Emery's no clean skin. Jonathan, you'd better find out where her bodies are buried. It's time to play hardball. I haven't created this Institute to have some petty power junkie wreck it. She wants a fight, she can have one. I'll make her sorry she ever put her hip-swivelling backside on a parliamentary bench.'

****

'I would prefer, Dr Robinson, if you would stop interrupting me.'

Jeremy Hayes's tone was clipped yet commanding. The reddening of his ears showed he was furious but he was handling well what had become an awkward situation.

Michael Robinson and Elliott Prince sat on one side of the minister's meeting room table, Hayes and Elizabeth on the other. What was to have been peace talks on the task force had become a battleground.

'As I was saying, Elliot,' Hayes said, 'the task force is in danger of becoming a public relations disaster. Sending out letters demanding senior public servants, chief information officers and even ministers appear is just not on. Even Dr Wallace here received one. It's a wonder you didn't summon me.'

'That can be arranged,' smirked Michael Robinson.

Prince poured water into his glass and drank slowly. 'If we don't speak with the major players in ICT infrastructure we won't be able to provide you with evidence to support our recommendations.'

'So at least we agree the recommendations are to come to me?'

'Yes, of course, Minister.'

'I want us to understand that, Elliot.' Hayes tapped the table with his left forefinger. 'This task force is our government's initiative and I will take its findings to Cabinet. Mrs. Emery is not a member of Cabinet and that is what I would have said to her had she bothered to turn up today as arranged.'

Michael Robinson leaned over to Prince on his left. He held his hand before his face as he muttered something in Prince's ear. Elizabeth watched Prince's discomfort. It was clear that Robinson's advice was not pleasing him. He put up his hand to stop him and Robinson leaned back.

'Dr Robinson was just reminding me that it was Mrs Emery's intention to be here today, that her office did try to reschedule and he is here to represent her.' Prince spoke as if he were the most senior person in the room.

Elizabeth could feel the minister tense beside her. 'Dr Robinson is a member of Mrs Emery's staff,' Hayes hissed. 'He does not represent a Minister of the Crown and I will not, as a senior member of this government have my communications with my assisting minister go through a public servant.'

'If I may explain–' Robinson began.

'No, I think not, Michael,' Prince said. 'I think you should leave. The minister and Mrs. Emery can reschedule their meeting. You've briefed me well enough, thank you.'

Elliott Prince's concession to Hayes was unexpected. Elizabeth disliked his patrician manner, having watched him attempt to thwart Roger Lui's chairmanship at board meetings and she had become accustomed to what she sensed as his constant disapproval of her.

Robinson looked stunned, started to speak but thought better of it. He took time to gather his papers and briefcase. 'Yes, it may be more appropriate at this time for you and my minister to chat. I presume Dr Wallace will be leaving too?'

Elizabeth wondered whether to laugh or explode with anger. You had to admire his gall. In some ways, she would be happy to leave. After all, she and Roger had decided they would play down the relevance of the task force to the Institute but she was damned if she was toddling out after him as if their positions were equal.

'Minister, if you'll excuse us for a moment, I'd like to have a quick word with Michael,' said Prince, jostling Robinson out the door.

'Well, I never. Who the hell does he think he is?' Hayes stood and threw his pen on the table. It scuttered over the jarrah wood surface and landed on the floor by the window. Elizabeth wanted to persuade Hayes to end the meeting. 'Minister, why don't I go out and tell Prince you've been called away to another meeting and your office will reschedule?'

'No, let's get this over with. Elliot Prince doesn't leave this office till he acknowledges I am in charge of this bloody task force and he will report to me. I want a witness.'

Elizabeth suspected Prince was a man who took orders from no one, including Joan Emery. She needed to stop Jeremy Hayes reading him some imaginary riot act when in reality Prince had not shown him any overt opposition.

'Minister, may I make a suggestion?' She did not wait for an answer. 'This meeting was supposed to be between you and Mrs Emery with Elliot and I here to advise and assist, so that we're all clear about the task force and its relationship to the Institute.'

'Yes, but she's not here, is she? Bloody woman.'

'No, she's not, so why would you meet with the chairman of the task force? Mrs Emery needs her instructions from you, not through Elliott. I'll tell Elliott you've been called away and he and I can discuss this situation. I may get some more information from him.'

Hayes stopped pacing and sighed. 'Well, I am due at the Premier's office in half an hour so we're running out of time anyway.'

'Exactly. We waited and waited for Mrs Emery, then had to deal with Michael Robinson and now you're not available.'

Hayes slumped in his chair. 'You know, Elizabeth, I'm getting fed up with all this. Joan Emery is going to bring down this government, mark my words. She behaves more like the Opposition than they do. How dare she send that self-opinionated, inflated ego instead of keeping the appointment.'

'You mean Prince?'

'No. He's quite decent underneath that aristocratic air of his. I mean Robinson. I never could stand him. Went to school with his older brother. He was a great bloke, top hockey player, got killed in Vietnam. His mother never got over it. Scrimped and saved to give Michael the best. Got all her attention. Spoilt rotten then married money three times. Word is his mother lives in a nursing home and he never visits.'

Why am I not surprised at Hayes's link with Robinson, she thought. It's not six degrees of separation in this town. It's more like two for Perth residents and sixty for her. Navigating political mazes was worse than finding your way out of King Minos's labyrinth without Ariadne's help.

'Minister, Elliot will be back any moment. I suggest you go to your other meeting now and I'll get the lie of the land. Although he's Deputy Chairman of the board, he and I have never had a one on one conversation. It's about time we did.'

Hayes looked defeated, his head leaning on his left hand as he flicked through the papers before him.

'I'll make clear to him that the Institute is off limits for the task force, she said. I'll offer our full cooperation on information infrastructure but the Institute must be the prime mover. Perhaps I can appeal to his attachment to the Institute. There must be some reason he stays on the board.'

'Good, very good, but be subtle about it. The task force is supposed to be independent.'

Whatever that means, Elizabeth thought.

****

'Jeremy Hayes may not believe this, but I will conduct this task force in a fair and impartial manner.'

Elliot Prince stopped at the entrance to the meeting room. He found only Elizabeth waiting for him. She thought he was going to refuse to meet with her but his hesitation erupted into laughter. 'Okay. Round one to the minister. Let's you and I go to the jetty. Let's have a coffee and sort out this mess.'

As they settled into a sheltered table at the river's edge, Elizabeth reminded herself to be cautious. Recent board meetings were haunted by the spectre of Michael Robinson and Joan Emery, their unknown agenda hovering like Banquo's ghost. Prince and Robinson were old friends and Emery would not have appointed him to lead the task force if she were not convinced of his loyalty. However, Prince might have his own reasons and Elizabeth vowed to give him the benefit of the doubt.

'Can I ask you why you agreed to take on the task force?' Elizabeth asked after their coffees were delivered.

'Another of your deceptively polite questions, Dr Wallace?' Prince's smile showed he was more amused than offended. 'You have a courageous quietness about you that is quite disconcerting. Let's cut to the chase, do you mean? What's my agenda?'

'Well, you give a great deal of time to the Institute. Being Deputy Chairman as well as a member of the Museum Board indicates a deep interest in cultural heritage so I can't imagine you'd want to see it sold off.'

'Can't you? Why not? Perhaps the private sector would do a better job.'

Elizabeth could not tell whether he was serious. 'And how would you define a better job? The collections become performing assets, the curators become salesmen and the clients fee paying customers? Sell off the state's heritage and the intellectual property we've developed in information retrieval software like _Valkyrie_?'

'Ah, the horrors of selling off the family silver to the evil global corporations.' He sipped his coffee and gazed at the ferry. 'I'm astonished, Dr Wallace, considering your commercial background. Have you become a rusted-on bureaucrat already?'

'No, I was trying to find out your agenda, as you said. You're a successful businessman. You're already busy so I wonder why you would take on a task force in such strange circumstances.'

'This apple danish is delicious. Are you sure I can't tempt you?' He wiped his fingers and made great moment of flicking a crumb from his lapel. His diamond signet ring sparkled with the movement. 'As you say, I am busy, too busy according to my wife and grandchildren, but I do have my reasons.' He leaned back in his chair. 'My family came here on the first ship to land in Albany. I believe in this state and this country. Western Australia is important to both the economy and security of this nation, and high tech industries have got to be established here. We can't rely on digging things out of the ground forever.'

Elizabeth waited for him to continue.

'I'm sure you're aware how we keep being ignored by Canberra. It's been going on for years. That's why the Institute was such a breakthrough. Much as Jeremy Hayes takes all the credit for it he had help from a group of WA business people and this may surprise you, Dr Wallace, but my role was an influential one.'

Elizabeth had heard this story several times. Each time the teller took the credit. Jeremy Hayes had a lot of people to keep happy.

'Unfortunately, the minute the bureaucrats got their hands on the idea we ended up with the library, archives, museum and a dozen other so called cultural institutions thrown into the mix. Then they told us to look after government records and libraries and websites. It's muddied the waters when all we wanted to do was create policy settings based on good research to support new smart industries.' He put on his sunglasses as the clouds cleared and the glare from the water intensified. 'Well, I don't need to tell you that. You've seen already all the squabbling over _Remembering_ , among other things.'

'So why support the task force and take on being chairman? Doesn't that turn the mud into bedrock? We'll never put this behind us if the operations of the Institute come under constant review. We could lose a year's progress at least.'

Prince laughed. 'Review? Is that the scuttlebutt doing the rounds? Who's got time to do a review? In any case, how could I carry out a review of a board on which I am Deputy Chair? It would be a conflict of interest nightmare.'

'Exactly, I agree, but the staff see it as a review. They've been through several restructures and, quite frankly, I don't think people like Josephine and Anne would stay for another. They'd get jobs anywhere like that.' She snapped her fingers.

'Look, let's be frank with each other,' Prince said. 'Joan Emery would be a dangerous person to have offside. She's got a high tech background and serious connections in the ITC sector. What drives her is a combination of free market ideology and a naïve belief in the panacea of technology.'

I thought it was unadulaterated power that drove her, Elizabeth mused, but kept her opinion to herself.

'God knows why she wanted to go into politics. Someone's persuaded her that a task force is the way to achieve her goals.'

'Do you have any idea who that would be?' Elizabeth asked, with never a doubt in her own mind about the dead hand of Michael Robinson.

Prince was not to be drawn. 'I'm sure we all have our suspicions but what's important now is that the task force stay focused and get the right outcomes.'

'Which are?'

'God knows, but since He's not saying, we need to make up our own. Emery's pretty vague about it all. I'm convinced she believes in infrastructure development but fiddling around with what government departments do will just end up as internecine warfare between bureaucratic fiefdoms.'

Elizabeth was feeling more comfortable. Prince's apparent frankness augured well for at least some influence on the proceedings.

'So what do you hope the task force will achieve?'

'A strengthened national partnership across governments and the private sector that will make Australia finally the clever or intelligent or innovative country. Whatever the current buzz word is that will get politicians' attention. All sides of politics have failed to deliver on this for more than a decade. Queensland is the state that's remotely on the right track. The Feds think all we need is their national broadband network and the perfect magic wand will make all right with the digital world. The mess with e-health shows you that government can't do this stuff alone.'

Elizabeth expected the upcoming Ministerial Council meeting would be the usual federal/state battleground but if Prince could get the task force to aim for such lofty goals then perhaps she could work with him.

'Sounds like six impossible things before breakfast. How many before lunch?'

'Oh, ten at least, Alice. When you're dealing with government/industry links, it's best to believe in the impossible. It can happen, just not in the way you expect.'

'Let's hope things become more predictable than Alice in Wonderland, then.'

Strains of Beethoven's fifth came from Prince's mobile phone. He excused himself and moved into the cafe to take the call. Elizabeth pointed to her watch, signalling to him that she had to leave. As she walked back to she office, she wondered whether Prince was trying to win her over by connecting the task force's goals to the Institute's. She doubted that Mrs Emery would be influenced by his lofty visions of the public good.

CHAPTER FIVE

'That brings me to the final item on the agenda. I trust on this item at least you will find some merit, Mrs Emery?'

The sarcasm in the gentle Irish lilt of Joseph Collins, the Federal Minister for Information, Communications and the Arts, was lost on no one at the Ministerial Council meeting except for Joan Emery who pored over her papers then leaned to speak in Michael Robinson's ear.

Elizabeth tried to unlock the spasm in her neck muscles as she counselled herself yet again to be gracious. Her role was to be the consummate public servant supporting her minister. Except she was not her minister. She could kill Jeremy Hayes. Flitting off overseas and approving Emery attend instead. Elizabeth took a deep breath and responded to Minister Collins's invitation to speak on the LOCAL project.

'What you have before you is the original LOCAL proposal approved conditionally at the last Ministerial Council meeting together with the report on the wheat-belt pilot study in Western Australia that has, I am delighted to say, proved the concept. So, Mr Chairman, my equivalents in the three jurisdictions where we have had pilots have agreed, subject to the approval of this Council, that we establish the national project structure and roll out the benefits to all Australians.'

'Thank you, Dr Wallace,' said Collins, 'and may I say how impressed I am with the cooperation between the Institute, the WA government and my office? Dr Jean Renfrew, my adviser on this matter, has kept me well briefed. Now, can I ask for any questions or comments before putting the motion that the National Information Infrastructure Council approve and support the LOCAL recommendations in the document before us?'

Elizabeth relaxed as ministers from New South Wales, Victoria and South Australia sought clarification then committed themselves. The one bone of contention was which state would be set up first but Elizabeth would not budge on it being WA.

'As you know, our objective is to build local online communities,' she said, 'and our first phase is to create inter-jurisdictional project management groups in each state. As the work proceeds, we will consider commercial opportunities but the fundamental philosophy is that both the content and infrastructure remain in government hands. At this stage the priority is getting the skills upgraded so local people can start building their information bases.'

'I agree,' said Geraldine Conroy, the South Australian Minister for Education and the Arts. 'It's essential that we get ownership of this at the community level. Otherwise, we fail the C in LOCAL.'

The Tasmanian minister, Philippa Clarkson, had been a passionate supporter of LOCAL from the beginning. 'We're particularly pleased at the skills training happening simultaneously across the country. Tasmania has been a leader in online services but this national cooperation is what we have hoped for all along. A world first, I would guess. Particularly when we add the full benefits of the national broadband network.'

Elizabeth cast a grateful smile towards Philippa. They had discovered at dinner the previous evening a shared commitment to the ideas of social entrepreneurship. This is actually going to happen, Elizabeth thought, her tension easing. After months of negotiations and setbacks, they're going to commit real money.

Jean Renfrew gave Elizabeth a thumbs-up sign. Jean had been the proverbial tower of strength, negotiating and cajoling their fellow information advisers at the national level as much as Elizabeth had at the state level. Elizabeth was looking forward to their evening at the Opera House. Jean had organised first night tickets to David Williamson's new play. Celebrating or commiserating, we'll have a great time, she had said. Now it looked like victory.

'So, the hour being late,' Collins said, 'and I know some of you have planes to catch, may I propose from the chair that we proceed to putting Australia on the world map when it comes to online community development?'

Joan Emery cleared her throat and clasped her hands on her folder, sharp red nails pointing outwards. 'I think not. There are too many questions hanging over this project, Joseph. We must not be hasty because this will be a huge ongoing investment by our governments, and WA in particular.'

Elizabeth could not believe her ears. LOCAL had been approved by the Western Australian Cabinet and Hayes had written to Collins confirming funding and support for the Institute's leadership. The chairman's smile disappeared into a puzzled frown. Emery had behaved like an alternate chairman all day.

Everyone stared at Joan Emery as if she were speaking a foreign language. Jean looked at Elizabeth then Emery then back again, wide eyes reflecting Elizabeth's thoughts. What the hell's going on here?

Elizabeth would not relish telling Hayes they had been defeated by Emery's last minute interference. 'If there's one thing keeping me in politics, given this Emery mess,' he had said at their last meeting, 'it's LOCAL. We can make a real difference for those who have missed out on the digital revolution.'

But Hayes was in Geneva, persuading the World Health Organisation that building community health meant building a healthy sense of community and that technology could help. Elizabeth glanced at Michael Robinson who was staring at her. His smug look suggested he had planned this.

Collins removed his glasses and used them to point at Joan Emery. 'Mrs Emery, the WA government has approved this initiative. I spoke to Minister Hayes just last week. On what authority do you object at this late stage?'

'The authority of the Premier,' Joan Emery said, either unfazed by or oblivious to the turmoil in the room. 'I spoke with the Premier at lunchtime today and expressed my concerns. The WA government is too exposed on this LOCAL notion.'

'This is most unusual,' said Collins, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Ministers and their advisers huddled, whispering behind screening hands. Elizabeth's thoughts raced down a dozen dead ends. How could she save LOCAL without a public spat between the WA representatives? Surely the Premier would not have given Emery permission to override Hayes?

Collins came to the rescue. 'Mrs Emery, I admit your statement has thrown me. I was led to believe that this item was a foregone conclusion. Indeed, I must say that I personally view the cooperative framework under which LOCAL has been negotiated as the best federal/state/local government project I have seen in a long time. We would not want this to be another idea that fails because of petty rivalries.'

Joan Emery pushed her glasses to the top of her head and leaned back in a way that tightened her blouse over her breasts. Elizabeth tried not to laugh as she imagined Joan Emery asking, who's got the balls to take me on? If the project were delayed the Ministerial Council would not be able to deal with it again for at least six months. Elizabeth refused to spend more time on self-serving agendas. 'Mr Chairman, I think I can assist here.' She cleared her throat and smiled to cover her fury. She spoke carefully but her tone was cold and sharp, leaving no one in doubt of her intentions.

'My minister, Jeremy Hayes, was disappointed he could not be here but I can assure you of his unqualified support for LOCAL. He emailed me this morning saying he intended announcing the next phase in his speech tomorrow in Geneva, emphasising how a vibrant, culturally rich community means a healthy community. That's what LOCAL will bring, not only to Australia but also to developing countries if we have the courage and the generosity to assist them.'

'Spare me the bleeding heart,' Emery spat. 'Why should WA carry the can?'

'I think, Mr Chairman, that Mrs Emery has not been fully briefed,' Elizabeth said. 'She was asked to represent WA two days ago and we have been unable to speak.' Elizabeth forced herself to smile at Emery who scowled in return. 'I am confident I can allay Mrs Emery's concerns. As the Premier has given her support, we can proceed to formalise the agreements.'

'Look, I'll not be steamrolled this way,' snapped Emery. 'I'm the WA ministerial representative here, Joseph, and I don't expect you to pay attention to some bureaucrat.'

'Mrs Emery, Dr Wallace is the Managing Director of a nationally-funded independent organisation that we established to do exactly this kind of work. I have the WA Premier's letter and Jeremy Hayes's commitment as well as Dr Wallace's assurances so I am putting the motion. All those in favour of LOCAL moving to national implementation?'

Robinson leaned in to Emery's space as if to whisper to her but she swatted him away. 'You'll pay for this,' she hissed at Elizabeth. 'You may as well pack your bags.'

'All those in favour?' Collins repeated as if no one had heard Emery.

Ministers raised their hands while Emery sat, immobile, never taking her eyes from Elizabeth.

'Motion carried,' Collins said. 'I declare the meeting closed. Those who can stay are welcome to join me for a celebratory drink. Mrs Emery, I hope you'll support LOCAL.' He stood and extended his hand to Emery. 'The Prime minister will be pleased.'

Elizabeth could not decide whether to look at Collins as he dropped his unshaken hand or at Emery's red-faced fury but hoped the WA minister would leave the room without further embarrassment but it was not to be. Robinson stood and put on his jacket. Joan Emery remained seated, her hands still clenched on her leather portfolio. She shouted above the commotion of ministers and advisers saying their farewells. 'No, Mr Chairman, I will not support this. This project will not proceed. In fact, I have reason to believe that there are serious questions about the funding model presented by Dr Wallace.'

Robinson sat down again. Even he looked nonplussed.

'Mrs Emery, I have declared this meeting closed.' Collins had returned to his place at the table to put his papers in his briefcase. 'Speaking for myself, I am disappointed you have chosen to oppose a project proposed by a government you have sworn to support. No, please.' He shook his head. 'No more. We are all aware of the unusual nature of the WA Cabinet at the moment and the position you hold. We should not venture into those waters. We have made our decision.'

'I agree, Mr Chairman,' said Geraldine Conroy. 'As you know, we have had similar challenges in South Australia although we have fared better than Western Australia. This is no time to play internal state politics.'

'This meeting is at an end.' Collins bundled his papers under his arm and headed for the door. 'Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Now I think we all need a drink.'

As people headed for the exit or moved to the anteroom, Robinson and Emery leaned into each other yet again, Emery's back to Elizabeth. As she stood, Elizabeth looked at Robinson over the minister's head and was chilled by the naked contempt she saw there. Whatever the reasons for his antagonism she would tolerate it no longer. God help them if Emery became the minister responsible for the Institute. Elizabeth stepped towards Robinson but Jean Renfrew touched her arm.

'Come have a drink then we'll get out of here,' she said.

'I'm so tired of this, Jean. If I stay for a drink with the other ministers and she doesn't, it'll be seen as another affront. On the other hand, I'm damned if I'll toddle off behind them like some handmaiden.'

'Right, then, you're damned if you do or don't,' Jean whispered. 'Allow me to assist.'

Jean walked around the table and stood before Emery. 'Minister, can I ask you to join us all for a drink? I know Minister Collins would be delighted to show you some of our nineteenth century landscape paintings. We have a McCubbin, you know.'

Emery turned on her stiletto heels and spoke without looking at Jean. 'You've got to be joking. We've spent enough time today in the nineteenth century.'

****

'So, in conclusion, on behalf of the Institute, I make the following recommendations.' Elizabeth was almost finished her submission to the Task Force on Information Infrastructure. 'That the role of the Institute in national information policy coordination be noted and affirmed; that the task force acknowledge that technology infrastructure must benefit all Western Australians and is the shared responsibility of national and state governments; and that the purpose of this is as much about building knowledge skills as it is economic development. If government provides the means then individuals' creativity and entrepreneurship will foster new industry and community connections.'

A commotion at the back of the room caused the chairman of the task force, Elliot Prince, to stand and the other four members followed his lead. Elizabeth turned to see who was commanding such respect. Joan Emery. Why had she thought she could get through her presentation without Emery and her acolyte showing up? True to form there was Robinson, striding behind his minister. Elizabeth wondered if they were aware of the gossip around them.

'Minister, welcome to our proceedings,' said Prince, still standing. 'We are listening to an excellent submission from Dr Wallace.'

Emery was dressed in her usual garish colours, this time an aquamarine suit with a thigh-split skirt and a jacket with straining buttons that suggested there was nothing worn underneath. A collection of gold bracelets clanked together as she teetered the length of the room and proceeded to shake hands with task force members, pausing for a word with each. Even Prince looked bewildered when she moved to the end of the table, instructed Robinson to provide a chair and sat as if a member of the committee.

'Don't allow me to interrupt your proceedings, Elliott,' she said. 'I'm most interested in hearing what the eminent Dr Wallace has to say to my task force.'

Prince nodded to Elizabeth who gathered her thoughts to deliver her final words. She could see Michael Robinson in her peripheral vision. He had taken a seat in the front row behind her to her right. Her skin crawled with a familiar repulsion as the tightness in her solar plexus wavered between fear and anger. Laughing stock or no, the Emery/Robinson cabal were wielding increasing power.

'Thank you, Mr Chairman, I'm almost finished.' Elizabeth sipped some water and willed herself to focus on her papers. She had worked long into the night choosing the right tone for her conclusion. After the debacle of the Sydney Ministerial Council she needed to quarantine LOCAL from the task force's scrutiny. She had spoken with Hayes who was still in Geneva. Amid his palpable fury was total confidence that Emery could be contained given that LOCAL had been lauded by the Prime Minister as a COAG success. Elizabeth hoped he was right because the major financial agreements were yet to be signed. They could proceed without all jurisdictions but not if the WA government pulled out. Elizabeth took a deep breath and read the statement she, Hayes and Roger Lui had agreed.

'I have spoken at some length about the LOCAL project, about the success of the wheat-belt and Tasmanian pilots. We uncovered issues that will need to be addressed when we extend LOCAL Australia-wide. The NBN will go a long way to solving them.'

Elizabeth paused. What she was going to say next would be the proverbial red flag before the bullish Emery who peered at Elizabeth through half-closed eyes.

'The LOCAL Project will deliver many of the benefits sought by the task force. As telecommunications policy is a national issue, it may be difficult for any task force recommendations to be implemented. If they are not–'

'So you think the WA government is wasting its time with the task force, Ms Wallace?' Emery's voice boomed across the room.

Because she was delivering a formal submission, Elizabeth did not expect to be interrupted. She looked to the chairman who turned to face Emery. 'Minister, perhaps for the sake of the transcript we should let Dr Wallace continue then we can take questions.'

'I don't think it's the job of a public servant to criticise her government's policy, Elliot, but if you're happy for the task force to be insulted in this way, by all means.'

The task force members looked at each other, making no effort to conceal their disdain. Prince nodded to Elizabeth to continue.

'As I was saying, ICT infrastructure is a national issue and we are fortunate to have in the Institute the remit for these issues located in Western Australia. Given the size of our state, if we can resolve infrastructure issues here, we can resolve them anywhere. So, the Institute's final recommendation which I make on behalf of the chairman, Roger Lui, and the responsible minister, the Honourable Jeremy Hayes, both of whom are overseas, is as follows: that the task force support the Institute's role as Australia's premier agency for the provision of research and policy advice on the delivery of information services to the people of Australia.' Elizabeth paused for a breath, expecting Emery to erupt again. 'I also advise the task force not to create any additional entities.'

'Well, aren't you the dark horse?' Emery clapped her hands three times. 'A bold move but who put you up to that? Are you the puppet or the puppeteer?'

Joan Emery tilted back her chair, crossing her legs so the split in her skirt widened to show a less than attractive thigh.

'I beg your pardon?'

'Mrs Emery, Minister, please,' Prince pleaded. 'May we follow our accepted processes?'

'Elliott, I think it is a procedural matter when you have before you a public servant who says she's speaking on behalf of a minister and who's challenging the reason for this inquiry. She's telling you you're wasting your time.'

'Minister, this is a public hearing and I've heard worse.' Prince's laugh failed to ease the tension. 'Only the other day someone complained to us about the restricted access to pornographic websites as an invasion of his civil liberties. We must listen to those who wish to speak to us. Indeed, I think you were the one who insisted that these hearings be public. His half-smile did not hide his discomfort as the shuffling in the room increased. The journalists had more than enough to fill their quota of column inches and a few juicy sound bites for the evening news.

Not waiting for another outburst from Emery, Elliott Prince asked his fellow task force members to direct their questions or comments to Elizabeth.

'If I may, Mr Chairman, I'd like to compliment Dr Wallace on her presentation,' said James McWilliams, who sat on the opposite end of the curved table to Joan Emery. 'It's been a pleasure not only to listen to the content, but also to the delightful Scottish accent which I must say I miss.'

Joan Emery snorted. 'Oh, get on with it, you old fool.'

'As an Emeritus Professor of electrical engineering, I'm sure I was invited as a tech-head but I confess my main interest as I get older is the gap between the knowledge rich and the knowledge poor. You are most wise to remind us that important as getting connected is, it's what we do with the connection that counts. This is the first time I've heard about the LOCAL Project in any detail. Can you tell us some more about it?'

McWilliams's soft Edinburgh accent and gentle demeanour, coupled with his tweed jacket and Saint Andrews University tie reminded Elizabeth of Archibald McCrae.

'Yes, Professor McWilliams, thank you,' she said. 'LOCAL could be described as a virtual village green, what some have called an electronic commons. LOCAL will bring people back together again to collect their community's identity while learning new skills. For old and young to come together–'

'We're getting way off the track here,' interrupted Joan Emery. 'After all, LOCAL will never proceed.'

'What? Not proceed? But we've just heard about a detailed plan and successful pilot. What's going on here, Mr Chairman?' asked Glenda Parkin, the State President of the Australian Computer Industry Association. Elizabeth knew Glenda's annoyance was not directed at her because Glenda's company had been a sponsor of the wheat-belt pilot.

'What's going on,' hissed Joan Emery, 'is that Elizabeth Wallace knows damned well there are serious concerns about LOCAL's business model and I have drawn them to the Premier's attention.'

Elizabeth watched the scurry of journalists edging forward with their digital recorders. Now the Premier had been named they've got even better stories. Damn the woman. Why did she have to be the centre of attention all the time?

'Mr Chairman,' Glenda Parkin continued, 'I want to object to Mrs Emery's repeated interruptions. Her blatant attempts to intimidate Dr Wallace are offensive. Not to mention the way she refuses to use Dr Wallace's proper title.'

Elliott Prince looked at Joan Emery then at Elizabeth who wondered how he would handle the situation. His ambition would demand he keep Emery happy but tolerating her rudeness in public made him look weak.

'I think I will finish for today,' he said. 'I'd like to thank you, Dr Wallace for your presentation. I hope you'll be available to speak with us again.'

Joan Emery looked as if she were about to object but closed her mouth, glowering at Prince then at Elizabeth. Michael Robinson rose from his seat and instead of walking towards Emery he came towards Elizabeth and stood close to the edge of her chair. 'Your precious LOCAL is going to disappear soon and you with it,' he whispered to the top of Elizabeth's head.

Before she could answer he turned to greet Mrs Emery. He said something to the minister who roared with laughter and looked towards Elizabeth who remained in her chair. She returned their contempt with what she hoped was unwavering confidence.

'Come out the side door before the press start in on you. I'll show you the way.' Giovanni was at her elbow, his hand on her arm, tilting his head towards the TV crews had gathered at the exit.

'Joan Emery will have a lot to say to them, for sure,' he said. 'She loves being boss cocky, but Hayes wouldn't want you in a bunfight with the Banshee.'

'Right now, I don't give a damn what Jeremy Hayes wants. This is the second time Emery's gone after me publicly.' Elizabeth stuffed her papers into her briefcase and snapped it shut. 'I can't imagine why you think I need your protection.'

Giovanni took her briefcase and whispered. 'Look, just believe me that it's better if you fight her some other way. You've provoked her enough for one day. If you speak to the press now, you may say something you'll regret. In fact, given that look on your face, you'll be bound to.'

'Who do you think you're speaking to? I've handled situations worse than this before. Try coping with defamation cases between authors and their families. This isn't complicated–'

'Oh yes, it is. More than you know. I know I'm the last person you want advice from but I want to help you and, believe me, you do need some help.' Giovanni pushed her to a side door. 'You're worth a million of her. Trust me. Please.'

****

The bathroom tiles were cool along the length of her body, from the surface of her left cheek all the way to her feet. It was as if she had spent the night under an Australian noonday sun, lost in the outback, shadows consumed by an unrelenting ball of fire and then discovered an oasis.

Blessed relief tempered her exhaustion. The pounding behind her left eye had eased after she vomited. It was still there but it had travelled to a sufficient distance for her to be aware of her heart rate slowing. Her skin was clammy with sweat but that felt wonderful after the heat.

The migraine hovered, reluctant to leave. Usually, once she had been sick she could expect the worst to be over yet she could not move. If only she could sleep, perhaps the evil spirit would tire of tormenting her and slink off to whatever underground cave it called home. She remembered Fuseli's painting _The Nightmare_. The way the incubus sits on the sleeping woman's chest was often interpreted as sexual but for Elizabeth it was a clear representation of a migraine. The image haunted her in her deepest pain. She would feel the presence both in her body and near it. The migraine had a life of its own, a pattern whose predictability did not make it easier to bear.

Cold crept over her, first along her leg then her arm thrown out over the floor, head leaning into her shoulder. It must be around two, she thought. Easter Sunday, Christ's resurrection. That should chase away any fallen angels.

The heat receding from her body was the familiar sign of the migraine's turning point but, Pilgrim that she was in the Slough of Despond, she knew there were more obstacles to overcome. Move to the bedroom, she told herself, get warm, but her bed in the Lawson's guest wing might as well be ten miles away instead of ten feet. She tried to push herself from the floor but when she moved a pain shot through her left eye, leaving her gasping and drenched in sweat once more. She eased onto her elbow and pulled the large bath towels to the floor and wrapped them around herself, praying for oblivion.

Silence enveloped her like a blanket, a welcome replacement to the noisy thoughts that accompanied the pain. She had asked her doctor once why this happened. Why did she sink into the depths of despair as fast as the pain intensified? Why, when the pain was so demanding of her attention, did she have chattering voices in her head dragging up every disaster in her life? He said that perhaps if she paid more attention to her emotional pain then the physical pain might stop.

She remembered that conversation when the next migraine came, vowing to do something about it. When the pain receded she forgot the idea.

She had accepted Penelope's invitation to spend Easter with her. Cass was in Europe but flying home late on Easter Sunday. The plan was for the three of them to spend Easter Monday together but Elizabeth wished she had stayed in the penthouse. At least she would be cocooned with her own things, away from obligation.

She rolled one of the bath towels into a pillow and tried to calm her racing mind. Should she take some more medication? How much had she already taken? She had taken it on Saturday morning and had felt better by evening. Penelope had pressed her to call for a doctor but Elizabeth refused, saying sleep would send the demon on its way. After eating a slice of toast and soup, she had gone to bed early, expecting her normal pattern of exhausted sleep followed by a day of pain-free fatigue.

The pain that woke her at midnight shocked her. This was not normal. The migraine felt as if it were beginning again. She tried all she knew: the ice pack, a hot water bottle then some of the various recommendations she had received from different practitioners over the years. Focus on her breathing, put her mind on her feet instead of her pain, mutter _sleep, sleep, sleep_ to herself but nothing worked. If only she could sleep.

There, there, _anam cara_ , ye've been here before. It's no' unfamiliar. This too will pass.

Her grandmother's voice. When as a child, when she was in pain, her grandmother was the only one who could calm her. Those sturdy arms, that large bosom and soothing voice enfolded her in a secure peace. Whenever there was a bad thing in her young life, from an exam in which she failed to come top of the class to her debilitating periods where she would lose two days of school, it was to her grandmother's house she went. Her mother had her own pain that, years later, Elizabeth would understand as the post-natal depression that never released her mother. Elizabeth would have been a lost child indeed without the love of Heather MacDonald Wallace.

A lost child. Yes, she knew about a lost child. Her fault. Can't do anything right. Left her grandmother. Left Alex. No wonder she was lying alone on a cold bathroom floor miles from home. No children, no family, no lover. You could die on this floor and no one would care. No wonder Alex has had enough. All you think about is work and you've ignored him. He'll not contact you again.

Still the voices came. You've got no tenacity of purpose, says her father. You'll never amount to anything. Go and be like your crazy Aunt Fionnhuala. Stupid name for a stupid woman. Barren and lonely, that's how you'll end up. Just like her.

Death comes to all of us, it's a matter of time. Valerie's voice, quiet like a benediction.

Elizabeth wanted to hang onto Valerie but the image of her dressed in a white sari faded, replaced by her mother's voice. It's all a waste of time, a vale of tears to be endured, she says, dressed in black, holding her Bible, the only book she ever read. She felt her mother's misery wash over her and settle in the back of her skull. If she could move to the bed, make a hot water bottle to ease her coldness.

Coldness is all around her now. There she sees it, the loch covered with white ice. They're all there, standing around a welcome fire while she is knee deep in snow, wearing only her nightgown. She feels the chill in her bones. They look happy, leaning over something, joined together with joy.

Elizabeth calls to them, astonished that her grandmother and mother are chatting like old friends, and why is Valerie there? She does not belong with them. Calling again, Elizabeth hears the answer of a baby's cry. She does not need to see. She knows that cry, the call of an unborn child who never breathed a sound in this world but who lives in her migraine world. She knows they will not turn. She will not see the baby. Even Valerie does not turn.

Dragging herself to consciousness again Elizabeth was able to open her eyes and focus on the grout between the white tiles in an attempt to ground herself. She put one hand over her heart and another at her belly but the remembered pain ripped through her again and unbidden tears slipped down her cheeks and into her ear.

As she gave herself up to the weeping, someone wiped the tears from her cheek. She thought she was still dreaming but a rasping tongue made her open her eyes. Anastasia had come to comfort her with her low purring. In the semi-darkness she pushed the cat away from her but Anastasia was not to be deterred and lay next to her arm. Natasha sat at the bathroom door, more fearful than her sister.

Perhaps she could venture the short journey to bed. Raising herself to her knees, she crawled to the bedroom and slipped between the covers. Anastasia and Natasha followed and settled into their syncopated purring. Elizabeth was overwhelmed by an image of herself as a lonely old woman with cats as a new wave of despair crashed over her.

What was she doing with her life? She hated the public attention that came with the MD job. So many things made her angry and she was cultivating an avalanche of unfamiliar rage. She had burned so many bridges in returning to Australia. She had left behind Next Generation Publishing, friends, a city where she was comfortable, Alex. There was no going back and no going forward either.

Another wave of pain lashed her and somewhere in the familiar miasma of unwelcome thoughts a rational voice told her something was wrong. She needed help. Holding her battered head, she reached for the intercom and spoke to Penelope.

****

'Tell me about London, then. Did you get time to go to a show? Meet anyone interesting?'

'No to all three. Too busy,' Cass snapped. 'Why would I have any spare time? I was working.'

Elizabeth sensed she had touched a nerve. Was it her imagination or was Cass avoiding eye contact? Probably the after-effects of the migraine medication clouding her judgment, Elizabeth told herself. Penelope's doctor had given her an injection for the pain around 4am and she had slept till 10.

'Penelope mentioned you had an unexpected stopover in Singapore,' Elizabeth persisyed. 'Did you have a good time there? I love Singapore. All that lush greenery and purple orchids.'

Cass buttered her toast and chomped into it. 'What's with the third degree? Why all this interest in my life all of a sudden?'

'Cass, why wouldn't I be interested? Is something the matter? I thought your court case went well, a triumph Penelope called it. Isn't that right?'

'Yes, it was fine. Great.' Cass sighed. 'I'm just tired, I guess. The plane was delayed and we didn't get in till six am.'

'We're quite a pair, then. Me drugged and you jet-lagged.' Elizabeth tried to sound jovial but Cass's wan smile was unresponsive.

They were in the Lawsons' sunroom off the kitchen. After lashing rain all night that Elizabeth thought at times was just the noises in her head the morning was still and clear, sun gleaming through rain-washed windows. Natasha and Anastasia were basking in the warmth of the windowsills.

'What's with a three-day migraine then?' Cass asked. 'I thought you had beaten these years ago.'

Elizabeth was not about to tell Cass she had had four of them in as many months. 'Maybe it's just the weather or different food and I'll adjust.'

'What does the doc say?'

'Let's not talk about it. Tell me about your win. Millions of pounds damages? That's some kind of a record, isn't it?'

'Don't try changing the subject. Penelope is worried about you. She said Dr Graham wanted you to go to the emergency room.'

'Your mother is a natural born worrier. Dr Graham said I should go to my own doctor and get checked out. He wants me to have a brain scan.'

'Are you working too hard?' Cass asked. 'You never know when to stop.'

'You can talk. Hard work never gave me headaches before and I don't think I'm working as hard as I did in the early days at Next Generation Publishing.'

'It's a different kind of work, though, isn't it? You weren't always in the public eye, having to bite your tongue no matter how many stupid things are said by politicians about you. That job of yours would give anyone a headache.'

Elizabeth spread her toast with honey. If she were honest, the migraine's intensity had frightened her and she began to wonder whether there was indeed a link between the way she was living and the headaches. She dismissed the fear of anything more sinister.

'Feel up to a walk around the garden, then?' Cass asked. 'Let's make sure Penelope's standards aren't slipping.'

Elizabeth donned hat and sunglasses and they stepped down the limestone steps into the formal garden. Cass put her arm through Elizabeth's as they wandered around the plots. The garden was laid out in rectangular rose beds, each one with its own colour and surrounded by connecting limestone paths. Between the paths was a lawn worthy of a bowling club. Walking these paths was a ritual they repeated whenever they visited Penelope but Elizabeth's greatest joy had been when she walked them alone as if she were tracing a labyrinth.

'Seriously, Perse, do you want to tell me what's bringing these headaches on again? Penelope said that Joan Emery is disrupting the government something awful and that for some reason she's attacking you.'

While part of Elizabeth wanted to talk it over with Cass, she knew she was too fragile after the migraine. 'On the migraines, I don't know, but the heat and glare of this summer have been relentless. Even today. Look at it. It's going to be thirty three degrees and not a cloud in the sky at Easter time. Global warming evidence, I'm sure.'

'It's better than London's rain and gloom. No wonder the poms set off to explore new empires, they need to find some space to breathe.'

They walked around the eighth and last rose bed full of the brightest yellow blossoms and continued down the path through a wall of peppermint trees. At the river's edge was Penelope's secret garden. After a visit to Japan she had invited a local Japanese horticulturalist to create a classic garden. Once a week he came to maintain its Zen perfection. Elizabeth and Penelope had spent several hours there on the day before, having one of what Penelope called their life, love and the meaning of happiness conversations. The gravel and symbolically placed rocks, the golden fish in the narrow pond and the weeping willow above a roofed wooden deck forced one to slow down and breathe.

Cass settled into a wooden recliner and closed her eyes. 'God, it's good to be home. My life has become one tornado after another. Not that that's an excuse for behaving badly.'

Elizabeth had no energy to quiz Cass's meaning so she let the silence settle between them. She gazed across the garden's low limestone wall to the river beyond. A soft sea breeze wafted over her bare arms and she felt herself drift with the cooling wind. Watching a granite rock's fluttering reflection in the pond she let herself sink into a blurred listlessnes, thanking Dr Graham for his magic potion.

'So what's the strategy to deal with the Emery board?' Cass asked after some time. 'Stick a nail file in her back?'

'Oh, were it but so simple,' Elizabeth sighed without opening her eyes. 'I suspect she wears a suit of armour under her designer clothes. You'd never get close enough. Her Prince Albert is always with her. The ever-present consort that is Michael Robinson. She lends new meaning to the term iron fist in a velvet glove. More like red fingernails and stiletto heels. Everything about her is sharp.'

Cass sat up in the chair and put her hands on her chin, elbows on her knees, peering into the distance. 'Penelope says Roger Lui probably won't be reappointed because Emery doesn't like him. How can Jeremy Hayes stand by and let that happen?'

'I'm not sure Hayes has a choice. The Premier will give in to Emery.'

'Catherine Goodman wants to take a good look at herself. After all these years we finally get another woman Premier and to keep power she deals with another woman who's putting feminism back a hundred years.' Cass stood and kicked the gravel at the edge of the pond, stones plopping into the water and scattering the golden fish. 'The old boys must be wetting themselves.'

'Well, it's only a rumour about Roger,' said Elizabeth, 'but I'm sure the rumour started in Emery's office. Michael Robinson keeps firing shots at me. I just wish I knew what the war was about.'

'Power, pure and simple. Or rather, impure and devious.'

'I know, but power to do what? I'm as ambitious as the next person but there has to be a purpose to it. The MD position was my opportunity to build something and now I'm stuck in some turf war. Some days I think the turf we're fighting over is more like quicksand.'

Elizabeth's voice rose, her frustration banishing her peace, but Cass did not interrupt. 'I've brought international recognition to Perth, got support from all the states and commonwealth for LOCAL, built international alliances with companies like Vision International and protected government IP on projects like _Remembering_ that Robinson would have sold off. Hayes is delighted and he tells me so is the Premier but still we have to deal with all this nonsense.'

'It's just politics. Grubby and petty.' Cass stood behind Elizabeth's chair and kneaded her friend's shoulders. 'You're so tense. Are you sure all this is worth it? You'll never beat people like Emery because you've got principles and standards. Let's face it, old thing, you won't play dirty enough.'

Elizabeth relaxed into Cass's moving hands. 'I can be as Machiavellian as the next person. I got rid of Michael Robinson didn't I?'

'Well, moved him on but he's still on the chess board.'

'Yes, yes, okay, but the Institute is a major player in the state's social and economic development so how can Emery get away with talking about selling it off? This wasn't what I signed up to do.'

'Keep your hat on.' Cass sat on the step next to Elizabeth's chair. 'Take a deep breath. Now, what's your strategy? What's the one thing you won't do as MD? What would make you resign?'

Elizabeth closed her eyes and tried to recover her peace. Resignation was not something her fragile head wanted to think about.

'Come on. What would make you tell them to stuff it?'

Elizabeth thought for a moment. 'I won't collude with selling off the Institute's assets.'

'And you think Emery wants to do that?'

'Yes.'

'What if she's determined to do that?'

'But why would she?'

'Because she can or because she enjoys winding you up or because she's an asshole or a genius. Who the hell knows?'

'I didn't sell my company, give up Alex and come to the other side of the world to give in easily.'

'Good girl, and when you lose? What then?'

Elizabeth sat up and stared at Cass. 'When I lose?'

'Yes.'

Elizabeth tried to process Cass's pragmatism but to talk about losing took too much energy. It was too drastic, almost physically unbearable. 'I'd have nothing left. What would I do with my life?'

'That's what made me ask.' Cass put a hand on Elizabeth's arm. 'You're investing too much in all this. You need options. You must fight from strength, not weakness.'

Weak was how Elizabeth felt, weak and empty. Tired in her bones, as if she had lost the strength to speak. Was Cass right? Had she had put so much into a job that the loss of it would leave a void she may not be able to fill? Or was that just the reappearance of her migraine voices?

'Let's talk about something else.' Elizabeth closed her eyes again and willed the fluttering in her left eye to disappear. Where had the peace from Dr Graham's drug gone?

'I think you need to deal with this.' Cass stood and leaned against the gazebo's railing. 'I know you're feeling tired after the migraine but you can't go back to work with this defeatist approach. You're dealing with a bunch of bastards and you must make them fight on your terms.'

'Cass, enough. I don't want to fight. You're the fighter. I'd rather find some way to negotiate. Find the middle ground.'

'There is no middle ground. You're such an idealist, Perse.'

Elizabeth swung her legs from the recliner and stood. 'You use that word as if it were a sign of some weakness. Just because I approach things differently, it doesn't mean that my way is a weak way.'

'I'm not saying that. I'm just saying that you don't appreciate how vicious a game you've entered and it's going to get worse.'

'Well, let me do it my way. I appreciate your advice but I have to do what I think is right.'

'Right? Why are you so sure you're right? You were right to give up Next Generation Publishing because you thought the new owners would treat you properly and they didn't, did they? Were you right to leave Alex as well? How could you leave that gorgeous man? He told me you just up and left. Just the way you did John. Why would it be so hard for you to just up and leave the Institute as well?'

Cass was red-faced and almost shouting. All vestige of calm flew away from Elizabeth as a sudden nausea drove a foul taste into her mouth. 'What did you say about Alex? He said those things? When?'

Cass bit her bottom lip and looked at Elizabeth with wide eyes. The laughter of children playing in the pool next door hung between them but the sounds could be miles away. Elizabeth could not decipher what had just happened and she could not process her racing thoughts. She walked across the deck and put her hand on the gate. It might be a good idea to take some more medication.

No, she thought, there was no point in adding even more unsettling thoughts to her cacophonous chorus. She stepped back onto the deck from which Cass had not moved. 'When did you speak with Alex and why are you looking so guilty? Do you want to tell me something?'

Cass slumped onto the chair and hugged her knees as if to make herself smaller. 'I saw him in Paris last week. I've seen him each time I've gone overseas in the last year. Just coincidences because of his Scottish Parliament responsibilities for the environment. We always talked about you.'

'In ways that sound like you had a right old criticise-Elizabeth session. Let's talk about how she's stuffed up her life. How dare you?'

'It wasn't like that. In any case, you never see him. You've got a job here. He's lonely. He's assuming you've left him.'

'There's more to this, isn't there? What are you trying to tell me?'

Cass pulled her knees even closer and bent her head. 'I'm sorry, Perse,' she whispered. 'We didn't mean to. We were drunk. I was so cross with Victor. He's been sleeping with someone else for two years in Sydney. I found out the day before I left for Paris. Alex was so kind and we both drowned our sorrows. Comforted each other. It didn't mean anything.'

The stabbing pain in Elizabeth's left eye returned and she had to hold on to the railing to keep her balance. She breathed into the pain as an image came to her mind that she knew she would never be able to obliterate.

'You slept with him? Cass! You slept with Alex?'

CHAPTER SIX

Beverley Farrington had called that morning as Elizabeth was finishing a meagre breakfast of toast and weak tea in the penthouse with the drapes closed. Outside the sun was already too bright. In spite of the doctor's magic pills that gave her a decent night's sleep she felt bone-weary. A thousand times a day images of Alex and Cass assaulted her but she told herself the fatigue in her body was the after-effects of the migraine. When the telephone rang she was tempted to ignore it. Why not escape from the cyclone of the task force for a few days? Crespigny Bay never looked so attractive.

Beverley's words were still rushing around her head as she started the Executive meeting. 'Roger's collapsed. He's in hospital. Felicity's in a terrible state. She said his heart stopped twice in the ambulance.'

Elizabeth could not shake the ominous feelings generated by Beverley's call. She could not share these with her team because she had promised she would keep the news to herself. Events were gathering a momentum beyond her control. If she could not direct the speed of the boulder perhaps she could influence its trajectory so that it landed somewhere other than on the Institute.

'We need to talk about what we do next.' Elizabeth kept her tone upbeat but a general gloom hung over her directors.

Josephine Baxter spoke first. 'I hate to sound cold-hearted, but all this publicity won't be acceptable to Roger Lui and if he doesn't get reappointed, we'll lose a hell of a lot more than someone who chairs board meetings.' When no one disagreed she continued. 'The original vision for the Institute was Lui's and Hayes's and much as I admire our minister, he's been a bit loopy lately.'

'That's an understatement,' said George. 'If you ask me, he's got more than a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock. Did you see him on TV last night? What's he done to his hair? And being interviewed in a T-shirt?'

'He was interviewed after the Fun Run,' Josephine said. 'Still, I can't help feeling we're becoming as expendable as he is. Hayes might have shaved his head but it's his political neck he needs to worry about.'

'Now, you two, some respect for our glorious leader,' Anne said. 'He's not loopy. He's just apoplectic about Joan Emery.'

'With good reason,' said George. 'Look guys, we've tried lots of promotional events. The LOCAL launch, the Knowledge Conference announcement, the Vision Industries sponsorship and the Foundation but, honestly, all the press want to know about is the feud between Emery and Hayes. I can't find us clear air.'

Elizabeth shared their disappointment. They had done all she asked of them, working as a team, perhaps on the way to becoming friends. Recently, she had invited them to the penthouse for drinks on Friday nights then cooked dinner for whoever could stay. Most often it was with Anne she talked late into the evening. Josephine and George had busy social calendars while Mario pleaded family commitments.

'This morning, ABC radio wanted to know what you thought about Roger not being reappointed chairman,' George said.

'What?' Josephine interrupted. 'Where's that come from? Hayes wouldn't want anyone else, would he?'

'It may not be up to him,' said George.

'The Premier thinks the world of Mr Lui,' said Mario, more agitated than usual. 'She's been to Felicity Lui's fundraisers at their house. Roger Lui is the one person on the board who appreciates fine bindings. His collection is priceless.'

Elizabeth admired Mario's loyalty even if it was based on an assumption that anyone with a much loved rare book collection could do no wrong.

'Look, I don't get this,' said Anne. 'The journo who rang you. What was his source, George?'

'Wouldn't say to begin with but then asked questions about Roger's views of the task force's monkey business so I suspect Emery's office. She wants Roger out.'

Elizabeth let them continue their conspiracy theories. Between them their intelligence network meant more often than not that their hypotheses had some grains of truth.

'So should I deal with the media?' asked George. 'They'll question the leaks on Lui's non re-appointment, the squabbles between Hayes and Emery and the comments Robinson made yesterday about the task force's likely outcomes.'

'Robinson's comments? What did he say?' Elizabeth's back tensed as if readying for another blow.

'I was at our government PR network meeting yesterday. You know, the loose confederation of we spin doctors, our monthly booze or bust evening.'

'Why was Robinson there?' asked Anne. 'Mind you, he's such a con artist he could teach you a few things. The spin doctor par excellence.'

'He was minding the guest speaker who was the press officer for the Federal Minister for Telecommunications. Great talk, by the way. How to make a minister look as if he's in control of the Web. As if the Internet stops and starts at international boundaries. Crazy stuff but I think he actually believed it. It's a worry.'

'George, stick to the point,' said Josephine. 'What was Robinson doing there and what did he say that has any relevance to us?'

'For some reason he was at my table and we got into an extended discussion about Telstra and the broadband projects. Robinson pontificated as usual and said this was exactly what his minister was trying to pursue in other areas of information services. Privatise everything, he said. Why should governments own shares in any enterprise? It's like being half pregnant.'

'There's an original thought,' Anne sniffed.

'Did you get the impression these were his own views or Emery's?' Elizabeth asked.

'Is there a difference?' said George.

Mario pushed back his chair and rose to replenish his tea.

'He looked pretty confident to me,' said George. 'He said the Institute should be sold off lock, stock and barrel. Or, rather, technology, services and collections in that order.'

'You're sure? Collections?' Mario squawked with horror while his cup and saucer rattled in sympathy. 'You'd need to change legislation. There'd be a public outcry. No one would stand for it.'

'Keep you shirt on, mate,' George said. 'The average punter doesn't give a damn about a bunch of rare books, old paintings and stuffed animals.'

Elizabeth sympathised with Mario but she wanted them to focus on evidence rather than conjecture. 'Let's bring the conversation back to our actions for the next month and not get too carried away with Michael Robinson's pipe dreams.' She stopped speaking as the door opened. Standing there was Michael Robinson himself with Barbara following him and giving Elizabeth an apologetic look.

He strode into the room, a broad grin on his face. 'Ah, here you all are. Such happy little vegemites. Barbara said you were having an executive meeting. No doubt your deliberations are of great import but our appointment was for five minutes ago, Ms Wallace, and I can spare you half an hour.'

'We were just finishing,' Elizabeth said.

Robinson moved towards Mario Fiori, hand outstretched. 'Mario, how are you, mate? And how are Stella and the children? We did enjoy the barbecue last week. We must do it again soon.'

Mario reddened from neck to forehead and mumbled something. His hand drifted into momentary contact with Robinson's. 'If we've finished, Dr Wallace, I have another meeting,' he said. Gathering up his papers to his chest like a comforting hot water bottle, he scuttled from the room.

'Yes, we've finished,' Elizabeth said, 'but the rest of you stay. Continue our discussions on the task force and perhaps you could draw up some notes for the board meeting, Josephine. Michael, if you'll come with me, we can meet in my office.'

'The task force, eh? Getting ready to persuade the board to oppose it? Naughty, naughty. My minister won't like that.'

Good, Elizabeth thought. Don't forget to report that to Her Majesty. She moved to the door, expecting Robinson to follow. He did not.

'How are you, George? Bit like a fox in a henhouse working with all these women. Aren't you fed up trying to make the Institute look good? Silk purse and sow's ears come to mind.'

George's fist curled on his papers but his voice was measured. 'Did you miss our full page coverage in _The Australian's Higher Education Supplement_?'

'If it weren't for the _Remembering_ archive, you couldn't do any of these things. What are you calling it now? LOCO? Dripping with imagination that one, George. You've excelled yourself. Why not try Parochial? I hear it stands for people attempting ridiculous old concepts heavily imbued with archaic logic.'

'Is that what you've been spending your time doing? Playing with words.'

Elizabeth wanted Robinson out of the room and away from goading her people. 'You mentioned your time is limited, Michael. As is mine.'

'Yes, it is. Can't stand around here exchanging acronyms all day. We'll leave you to your scheming, Josephine. We all know how good you are at it, don't we?'

Elizabeth could not fathom Josephine's expression. There was a familiarity in her gaze rather than contempt. The moment faded as Elizabeth turned to enter her office, but Robinson walked past her into the boardroom. 'I think we'll meet in here and coffee would be good, Barbara. You know how I like it.'

Barbara asked Elizabeth if she wanted coffee then told Robinson she would be happy to include arsenic in his to put himself out of his misery. Elizabeth took a deep breath and followed Robinson. They were in her woods and he was one fox that was going to get his tail clipped.

On Elizabeth's instigation, Barbara had invited Robinson to the Institute building by suggesting Elizabeth needed his assistance to find a way for the board and the task force to co-operate. Elizabeth had suggested Barbara give him the impression she had capitulated, banking on his ego being unable to resist the opportunity to tell Joan Emery he had been instrumental in bringing the Institute to heel.

Robinson sat at the head of the table in the chairman's position, swivelling and surveying the room as if trying the chair for size. 'Elegant, isn't it? government would never build anything like this now. What do you think the building would fetch on the open market? A hundred million?'

Elizabeth ignored him and sat halfway down the table. 'Thank you for finding time in your busy schedule to meet with me. I thought we should find some common ground for the Institute board and Mrs. Emery.'

'Well, that's easy.' He leaned back in the tilting chair and unbuttoned his jacket. 'The task force is bound to recommend splitting up and selling the Institute so all the board needs to do is vacate the premises. I'm happy to provide the For Sale sign.'

What a good start, she thought. No pretence at an accommodation, displaying his midriff like some farmyard cockerel. Looking at his white shirt stretched across his stomach, it was clear he had been enjoying too many political dinners.

'So you feel confident the Premier would agree to that?' asked Elizabeth. 'I don't think repealing the Institute Act would be high on her agenda. I doubt the Opposition or Independents in the upper house would support that.'

Elizabeth knew they would not because they had met with her, expressing a deep antagonism to the task force. As one Member had said, the whole exercise was a farce, its sole purpose to keep the Premier's newest partner occupied.

Barbara entered with their coffee. Robinson accepted his cup without acknowledging Barbara who set the sugar, milk and a plate of small muffins at Elizabeth's elbow out of Robinson's reach.

'You're welcome, Michael. A pleasure as always,' she said, rolling her eyes as she left.

Elizabeth sipped her coffee, letting the silence extend to the point of discomfort. She sliced a muffin into four pieces.

'So, the task force,' he said.

'I was asking how far you have progressed with repealing the Institute's legislation.'

'All in good time,' he sniffed. 'Minister Emery will deal with the Legislative Council. They'll come into line.'

'So help me understand why you are so certain of the task force's findings when its final report has not yet been accepted by the Premier.'

Robinson sipped his coffee with both hands holding the cup and propped his elbows on the table. He sneered across the top of the liquid. 'Are you so naïve as to think the task force was ever going to produce recommendations other than what Mrs Emery charged them with?'

'But it's an independent body, looking at information technology and telecommunications infrastructure,' Elizabeth said with pretended artlessness. 'The Institute is about much more than that, surely? I can't see how the minister could accept any recommendations about the Institute. That's outside the terms of reference.'

Robinson stood up, put his hands in his trousers pockets and looked out the window, his back to Elizabeth. 'Joan can accept whatever she wishes.'

'I don't mean Mrs Emery. The task force must present its report to Jeremy Hayes and he'll never accept any watering down of the Institute's activities.'

Robinson turned around, eyes narrowed. 'Hayes is a has-been. Yesterday's man.' He leaned back on the windowsill, hands still in his pockets. 'You and Hayes and the inscrutable Roger Lui forget that the great Catherine Goodman will lose government if she doesn't keep Joan Emery happy. I think you could assume what Joan Emery wants she'll get. You'd do well to change your allegiances.'

'And what does Mrs Emery want?' Elizabeth flicked crumbs from her fingers.

'That's for me to know and for you to find out,' Robinson moved to the edge of the table and leaned over Elizabeth. 'But I think it safe to say you might be packing your bagpipes and returning to the glen sooner than you think.'

Elizabeth looked up at him and maintained eye contact till he looked away and walked back to his chair.

'Well, it appears there's not much we agree on,' she said. 'I'll let the board know we've met and that Mrs Emery is directing the task force to make recommendations for the sale of the Institute. She believes the legislation can be easily repealed, given that Minister Hayes has no real authority. Should I leave out the part about you arranging my dismissal? Will you be informing the federal government of all this or should I write a briefing note for the Premier?'

He squinted his eyes at her in a momentary flash of concern. 'No need to tell the board anything yet. We're just having an informal conversation, aren't we? Off the record. Just doing you the courtesy of giving you my advice. Let's wait and see how things pan out.'

'My mistake. Were you just musing over some possibilities? I suppose reference to my returning to Scotland was just your innocent joke?'

'Best if the board receives its information through proper channels. Mrs Emery will be in touch.'

'Of course, Michael. Let's leave it just between us. Perhaps you and I should meet again in a few weeks to discuss the task force, given your role as executive officer. We wouldn't want the board to think the final report was the result of undue influence or manipulation.'

Robinson stood and buttoned his jacket. 'Must go now. I have another meeting.'

'By the way, while you're here, can I ask you why Vision Industries International has source code for the _Valkyrie_ software on their Singapore servers?'

She watched him tense and clench his fist. His tanned face looked paler but it was his deep breathing that gave him away. To Elizabeth it looked like panic.

'How would I know anything about that stupid project? It's a crock of shit.' He took another breath. 'In any case, Vision has nothing to do with me.'

Elizabeth remained seated, sipped her cold coffee. 'So Mrs Emery suggesting to Martin Cheval that he buy the Institute was not your idea?'

Elizabeth watched his blue eyes widen then close as he tightened his lips. That's given him a few things to think about, she thought.

He turned to the door and almost bowled over Barbara who had been primed by Elizabeth to rescue her after thirty minutes.

'Well,' said Barbara, 'by the look of his highness, I'd say checkmate.'

****

'With the greatest respect, Minister, why should we feel comforted by your promises when Mrs Emery suggests to the media frequently that this Institute has no future and your government makes no attempt to refute what she says?'

Ngaire French's shrill voice was not helping. Elliott Prince paid scant heed to Ngaire's arguments so the way he was performing as acting chairman was not improving her mood. Much as Elizabeth admired Ngaire's passionate nature, she knew it was working against her with the rational Prince.

'Mrs Emery is part of the government, Ngaire,' he said. 'We can't always believe what we read in the press. He held up his hand to silence further objections. 'It is an awkward situation for us, but for you as well, Minister. Surely the torrent of leaks could at least be reduced to a trickle?'

Keep cool, Elizabeth begged Jeremy Hayes in her head as she observed his mounting irritation. He had a habit of scratching his neck when annoyed and the skin beneath his ear was a bright red.

'It's not appropriate for me to comment on a colleague's management of her office,' Hayes said, 'but let me be frank with you. I'm sure you've been chairing the task force with great discretion, Elliott, in these difficult circumstances but what I find objectionable is the public nature of some of the debate and the way the Institute has been dragged into it.'

'That's exactly Ngaire's point,' said Fred Fromberg. 'This organisation matters to country people. Dr Wallace's ideas for LOCAL is the first time I've seen regional areas get equal attention to the city and it shouldn't be hijacked by a set of arguments that we had in the 1990s.'

'Exactly, Fred,' said Ngaire. 'We don't need to repeat that economic rationalist user pays claptrap. Minister, are we going to be forced to accept the recommendations of this task force? Will we be able to comment on a draft? And how will you ensure there are no adverse effects on the Institute?'

Hayes put his elbows on the arms of his chair and clasped his hands. 'Perhaps that's a question for the chairman of the task force who just happens also to be chairman of the Institute Board.'

'Acting chairman, Minister,' said Elliott Prince. 'We're all hopeful that Roger Lui will be back with us soon. I would not presume to fill his shoes.'

Oh, right, thought Elizabeth. He was more likely to throw them in the river and replace them with his hand-made boots.

'Avoidance worthy of a politician, Mr Chairman,' said Fred, 'but please answer the question. I for one would like to see the task force draft report. Where's the harm? We'd be bound to improve it. What happened to our role as the prime source of policy advice on information services?'

'I'm not sure it's up to me,' said Prince. 'The task force reports to Mrs Emery so perhaps, Minister, you should advise her accordingly.'

'I don't advise Mrs Emery,' Hayes snapped. 'She reports to me. She's not a member of Cabinet and it is up to me when, and if, I take the final report there.' As he paused to make sure they understood, he glowered at Prince and then nodded to Fred Fromberg. 'Excellent idea, Fred. Submit your draft report to me, Elliott, and I will formally request the board's scrutiny. I'll write to Mrs Emery today indicating I have instructed you to do so.'

'Excellent, Minister, thank you,' said Jackie Olson. 'Small business is likely to be ignored in anything government does so I hope we can make our comments through our chairman Roger Lui directly to you.'

'Best through Roger, yes,' Hayes said. 'That way, Elliott, you don't have to decide which hat you're wearing.'

'Although it means he gets two bites at it,' said Ngaire, 'one as task force chairman and one as a member of this board.'

Elizabeth felt a grudging admiration for Prince's aplomb. If he thought he had lost that round he was not showing it. The meeting had been tense from the beginning. It was as if board members trusted Roger Lui and distrusted Elliott Prince in equal measure. Elizabeth thought that several board members had undergone a personality change, becoming more vocal and determined to protect the Institute. Nothing like an external enemy to cohere a team. Was that a theory of Sun Tzu or Hitler?

She was less worried about the future after visiting Roger Lui and finding his heart attack to have been dramatic but minor. He was resting at the Luis' Margaret River property and was his same imperturbable self. Not so Felicity who looked tired and pale. Elizabeth knew the consuming fear that comes when a loved one's life is threatened. She had lived with it in the last years of Fionn's debilitating illness as her aunt determined to maintain her sociable lifestyle till the end. She could tell Felicity to let that fear go and cherish each moment. How many hours with her aunt had she had tainted with her own dread instead of blessing them?

After visiting the Luis Elizabeth had spent most of her weekend with Valerie. Beverley had told Elizabeth that Valerie was not expected to make a full recovery. It had been easier to focus her attention on her ailing friend than to dwell on the rawness of the wound inflicted by Cass.

Jeremy Hayes pontificating about his intentions brought Elizabeth back to the boardroom battle.

'I assure the board that I see a great future for the Institute. As you know, the creation of the Institute was my idea and, with Dr Wallace's leadership and with Roger Lui at the helm for many years to come, I can see a future that will justify my insistence on the word International the Institute's name.'

Ngaire French lifted her pen to gain the chairman's attention. Prince nodded to her to proceed.

'If I may bring you back to the task force, Minister,' she said. 'We will have no future if the government decides to sell us off. I don't question your passion for what we're trying to do, but doesn't all this come down to political will? Isn't it a fact that Joan Emery's running the government? If she wants to corporatise, commercialise or privatise us then that's what's going to happen, isn't it?'

Nodding heads from other board members increased the tension in the room again. Prince shifted in his chair, allowing several others to speak along similar lines without reining in the growing antagonism to the minister. Elizabeth kept her distance from the blatant politics of much of the comments. Not that Prince wanted her opinions. He sat like some Medici noble, master of all he surveyed. It struck Elizabeth that he was enjoying the minister's discomfort. Hayes proved more than capable of handling the situation without Prince's assistance. 'As I've said, Cabinet will make the decisions. You are an independent statutory board. There's nothing to stop you making your own approaches to my fellow ministers, even the Premier. 'He paused as if to make sure they heard that unusual suggestion. 'I have said I will release the task force's report but since the task force is advising me and I am advising the Cabinet, we need not be bound by anything the task force suggests. Indeed, I could bury the report if I chose.'

Elizabeth watched board members relax. Hayes was good, very good, but it was tortuous. Giving them permission to lobby whomever they please meant Elizabeth would spend endless hours writing proposals. She could not read Prince's reaction.

'But, Minister, I understood you've already received the task force's report,' said Fred Fromberg. Prince glowered at Fred while Elizabeth and other board members stared at Hayes. Surely Fred was wrong?

The minister was unfazed. 'Well, Fred, you need better informants. What I have received is an _interim_ report. The task force called it a final report, did they not, Elliott, but I will have it returned to you, maybe next week, with an extensive list of questions.'

Elliott sat tall in his chair, his fists clasped on the edge of the table. 'This may not be the time to discuss the report, Minister, although we do consider it to be a final document. I doubt task force members will want to do any more work.'

'Is that right, Elliott? Well, I may have to disband it. Given board members' concerns, that might be the best option.'

'Yes, Minister, a _very_ good option,' said Ngaire. And if I may be so bold, Mr Acting Chairman, given my concerns about your role as chairman of the task force and a member of this board, perhaps you need to consider your position. Why did you not tell us of the task force report's status? Letting the task force lapse because it cannot produce acceptable recommendations would resolve quite a few issues.' Ngaire preened herself with her logic.

Elizabeth resisted smiling. Ngaire was like a mother hen protecting her chick against Prince the wolf. He stared at Ngaire with barely concealed fury. Before he could speak, Fred Fromberg agreed with Ngaire. 'That's right, Elliott, I don't see how you can act as chairman of this board and the task force. Come to think of it, it's bloody odd you taking on the task force and not stepping down as a board member. Roger's too polite to object but I'm not. At least you shouldn't be Acting Chairman of the Board.' Fred prodded his papers with his forefinger. 'You can't have divided loyalties and I'm getting fed up with the way this task force leaks constant criticisms of us. I suggest you lose it, Minister. File it under B for bullshit.'

'Yes, good idea,' said Geoff Ames. 'You just misfile it somewhere. Isn't that how it works?'

Board members nodded their agreement, some laughing. When Prince spoke, his voice was calm. 'I think we're missing the point. The task force exists and I chair it. I am also a member of this board and I do not need advice on my ethics. No one should doubt my commitment to this Institute but like it or not, we must deal with the politics of the day.'

Jeremy Hayes cleared his throat. 'Well, I think it is time for me to leave you to your deliberations.'

He stood and moved to the chairman's end of the table. He extended his hand and Elliott Prince stood to shake it. 'It's been a most useful discussion, Elliott. I'll write to you on the task force matter but in the meantime can I assure the board that this Institute will remain in government hands so long as I am its minister.'

'Not much comfort there,' muttered Fred as Elizabeth followed Hayes to the door. 'I reckon his days are numbered.'

****

'You take the lift, Jason, and check on the car. I want a word with Dr Wallace. Give me the report.'

Jason handed Hayes a bulky manila envelope and entered the lift. The minister walked towards the staircase at the top of the fourth floor void and gazed at the open plan floors ranged below. He leaned on the glass and stainless steel balustrade. 'I never tire of the view from here. This is one of the most beautiful public buildings anywhere. Look at those people using the computers and reading. Who knows what new ideas they're hatching? Why would anyone want to destroy it?' The buoyant confidence he had presented to the board disappeared as he dropped his head onto his chest.

Elizabeth suspected bad news but was loath to ask. She asked anyway. 'Who wants to destroy it?'

Hayes thumped the railing, turned around, and walked a few steps as if he could not contain himself. 'The very dishonourable Mrs Joan Emery, my so-called assisting minister.' Clients turned their heads upwards as his raised voice carried to the floor below. 'More like assisting me at my political suicide. I'm telling you, Elizabeth, I've had enough.'

There was no time to have such a conversation. Elizabeth thought she lived her days in a Tower of Babel. Hayes and Emery. Robinson and Prince. So many chattering voices. So many agendas. With Roger ill, she wondered who to trust. Surely the gods would not visit the Dark Prince upon her?

'Look, I do need to talk to you but it's probably best if you read this first.' Hayes handed her the envelope. 'That's the task force report. I've told Emery I'm not accepting it and if she leaks it, I'll kill the whole thing, Premier or no.'

The envelope was heavy. Elizabeth assessed it must contain around three hundred pages. 'Do you want me to give this to the board?'

'God, no!' Hayes shouted. This has to be redrafted before it goes anywhere. I want you to read it then discuss it with me. I want you to rewrite it so it says what we want. I have to go to Melbourne for three days so let's meet when I get back.'

Elizabeth had to think quickly. She should not have these discussions without the chairman present. The problem was with Prince acting as Institute chairman as well as being chairman of the task force, it would be pointless approaching him on the issue. Presumably Prince had approved the report being sent to Emery. Hayes had told them he would return the report to Prince but what if Prince was astute enough to ask her if she had received it?

'Minister, I need to think about this.' She lowered her voice to a whisper. 'I'd rather not take this now. I would have to tell the board that I have it, given the conversation they've just had. I have no idea what Elliott Prince might do.'

'I'll tell you,' Hayes snapped. 'He's undermining Roger Lui and blindly following Emery like some patsy. He loathes me because I wouldn't support his chairmanship of the Institute. He's never forgiven me for not backing his mate Robinson for MD. It's personal as well as political. No way does he give a damn about the Institute. That report proves it.'

Hayes's agitation increased as he paced back and forth at the top of the stairs. More clients were beginning to notice the minister and the MD in what must look like a disagreement.

'Minister, could we step in here for a moment, please?' Elizabeth entered a small meeting room, leaving Hayes no option but to follow.

The minister slumped into a chair, his arm stretched across the table. Elizabeth wanted to ask a dozen questions but she had no time. She must return to the board meeting and Hayes was due at Parliament House for a state lunch with visiting Indonesians.

The envelope lay on the table. Hayes slapped his hand on it. 'Much as I would like to bury this, Catherine Goodman won't let me. I need you to help me whip this rubbish into shape.'

Elizabeth wondered if things were that bad. Hayes's language was so black and white. He was staring at her, waiting for her agreement. She needed to talk to Roger Lui. 'Let me finish with the board today,' she said. 'Don't give me the report. Have your office courier it to Roger Lui's home and ask him for confidential advice. As minister, you can ask anyone for advice and who better to ask than Roger?'

'But I'm asking you.'

'I know, but I must take my direction from the chairman.'

'Yes, yes, yes. Technically speaking I can accept that but you're also employed as a public servant. But, as a minister, I require you to advise me.'

Now was not the time to debate ministerial protocols for directing the CEO of an independent agency. 'If you seek advice outside the public sector,' Elizabeth said, 'you can tell Joan Emery and the Premier that you are considering the report. Roger can advise you and also decide when to involve the board. If he chooses to ask for my confidential advice then I am duty bound to give it.'

Hayes's frown lines relaxed into a grin. 'You should consider a political life, Elizabeth Wallace. Okay, we'll do it your way but time is short. Joan Emery's got no patience and her full-time helper doesn't miss a trick.'

'The eminent Dr Robinson, I presume. What I don't understand is why you don't just sit on the report. Say it's under consideration, you'll comment on it in the fullness of time, etcetera, till people lose interest.'

Hayes pulled at his tie. 'There's the rub, as they say. This is getting caught up in the survival of the government. Oh, I could believe Joan Emery's convinced that the recommendations in that report are for the best but it's basically an ideological diatribe against the public sector as an amorphous, inefficient monster that should be put down.'

'She certainly hates public servants. At the task force public hearings she didn't even pretend politeness.'

'I heard about that. I'm sorry you were subjected to such abuse.'

'Don't worry about it. I think she made more of a spectacle of herself than of me.'

Hayes stood and buttoned his jacket. 'The report also reads like a tribute to market forces as the sole arbiter of public good. I've spent my life in the corporate world and she reminds me of the worst kind of carpetbaggers.' He picked up the envelope. 'I'll have this sent to Roger. Good thinking.'

Elizabeth escorted the minister back to the lift. They shook hands.

'I'd better be getting back to the board, Elizabeth said, 'or Mr Prince will be thinking we're scheming behind his back.'

'Which we weren't, of course.' Hayes tapped the side of his nose. 'Heaven forbid.'

CHAPTER SEVEN

'Thank you for coming and my apologies for the lateness of the hour.'

Catherine Goodman was the epitome of the cool public figure that was the Premier of Western Australia. At the end of the day her grey suit was uncreased and her smile intact as she invited Elizabeth to join her at the river end of her office The room was more masculine than Elizabeth expected, all burgundy leather and the rich maroon of jarrah timber.

'You must be wondering why I asked for this meeting,' the Premier began, 'so I'll get straight to the point. You'll be aware, no doubt, of Jeremy Hayes's decision to go to the backbench?'

Giovanni had told Elizabeth of that possibility. Was the Premier fishing for information or telling her?

'Has he indicated his reasons for such a decision?' Elizabeth asked.

Catherine Goodman had a reputation for cool indifference. Her government's approval ratings had plummeted but Elizabeth detected no signs of insecurity. The two women had met first when the Premier was mingling at a Christmas cocktail party for government CEOs who buzzed around Goodman with an obsequiousness Elizabeth found embarrassing. At the time Goodman had been Premier for three months and was still the darling of the media although they reminded the public that she was the second woman to become Premier of Western Australia because her party was so divided they could find no clear successor. She had proven to be a clever politician but the public had not warmed to her in the way they had to her predecessor who was described as 'the much-loved Giles Blakeson.' Elizabeth thought the journalists painted his resignation due to the terminal illness of his youngest son as proof of sainthood while Goodman's childlessness demonstrated either her single-minded ambition or a failure of her natural role as a woman.

'I'm sure Jeremy has vented his spleen to you, Dr Wallace,' the Premier said, opening a drinks cabinet. 'Certainly he has spared me none of his outrage. My sins are legion.'

Goodman handed Elizabeth a gin and tonic and gestured to her to sit on one of the matching chesterfields. The Premier sat on the edge of the opposite sofa, crossing her long legs sideways and eyed Elizabeth over the top of her glass.

'There's nothing like a long G and T after a hard day,' she said, 'but I stop at one. Have to have your wits about you in this job.'

'Yes, I can imagine. I've been surprised at wha t some might call the vibrancy of politics here.'

'Did you expect us to be some quiet backwater after Europe?'

'No, I didn't mean it that way. It's just that there's a disproportionate media focus on government and politicians. We wouldn't have this level of incessant interest in the UK. Australians must know more about British and US politics than the Brits.'

Catherine Goodman smiled but there was a tension about her shoulders. 'Yes, the media are tireless, and this Joan Emery business has made them more voracious than ever.'

Elizabeth could not get her bearings. What did the Premier want?

'You're probably wondering why I put up with Mrs Emery and her patently unreliable support of my government.' Goodman swirled the ice in her glass. 'It's rather like being in a whirlpool. You start off at the edge and the motion is almost imperceptible but then you get closer to the centre and you find you're not as much in control as you thought.' She gazed at her drink. 'That's Jeremy Hayes's analogy by the way, but it has merit. He says Joan Emery's sucking us all in. He, for one, is not going to play the game any longer.'

Elizabeth had some sympathy for the Premier's predicament but sensed she would not appreciate its expression.

'Jumping ship is not an option for me.' Goodman stood and walked to the window. The sky was darkening above the lights of South Perth and the gridlocked traffic at the entrance to the freeway. 'I'm furious with Jeremy for doing this but I understand why. He's been against the alliance with Emery from the beginning. Who knows, maybe he was right, but all the advice was if we went to an election we would lose. So Jeremy's taking his bat and ball and I can't stop him going. At least he's staying on the backbench so our numbers are okay.'

'Minister Hayes has been a great supporter of the Institute so I hope he can stay involved with us.'

'What?' Goodman turned back. 'Yes, he'll not give that up easily. He's passionate about that place. In fact, that's the reason for his fury.'

'The Institute?'

'No, the chairmanship of the Board. I wanted to tell you myself, before you get Jeremy's version.' The Premier sat on the arm of the chesterfield flexing her foot. 'I've made several decisions in relation to the Institute that I suspect you won't like but I need your cooperation.'

Elizabeth sipped her drink and waited for the Premier to continue. So this was not to be a fireside chat on her brilliant performance, after all.

'Firstly, a replacement for Jeremy Hayes. I'll be announcing my Cabinet reshuffle tomorrow. It's minor but the main change is that I'll be taking over both the culture and information services portfolios. I'm keen to focus on the knowledge economy aspects, by the way.'

Knowledge economy. This was good news. To have the Premier's support for the Institute should make life easier. 'Well, I'm sure the board will be pleased.'

'Perhaps. Perhaps not. Let me continue.' Goodman put her drink on the coffee table and began pacing behind the sofa. 'You see, I should not increase my workload but I need to keep a close eye on Joan Emery. Jeremy's move will hurt us and I can't ask another minister to take her on so I've agreed to Mrs Emery assisting me. My Cultural Advisory Council has been complaining about my neglect so I've appointed Mrs Emery to assist me there as well.'

Elizabeth's disappointment mixed with amazement. She hoped neither showed on her face. The idea of the uncultured Mrs Emery assisting the Premier with the arts would enrage the circles in which Penelope and Felicity moved.

'But the chairman will still be accountable to you, under the Act? There's no change in Mrs Emery's role _vis-à-vis_ the Institute?'

Goodman laughed. 'No, no change. She can continue to be as useful to me as she has been to Jeremy.' She returned to the drinks cabinet, filled her glass with tonic, and retrieved a sheet of paper from her desk. 'There will be another announcement tomorrow. That's the press release.'

Elizabeth read the document's first sentence, then read it again. No, she thought, this is too much.

_The Premier is pleased to announce the appointment of Mr Elliott Prince as Chairman of the Board of the International Institute for Information Services and Research_.

The statement extolled Prince's illustrious career and impeccable credentials then paid syrupy compliments to Roger Lui for his _extraordinary achievements in establishing this world-class Institute_.

Elizabeth reminded herself where she was. 'I thought Roger Lui wanted to be reappointed and Jeremy Hayes was happy with that. Does Roger know? He's just arrived back from London.'

'Yes, he does. My letter was couriered to him this morning.'

Catherine Goodman sat down again opposite Elizabeth. As she removed her glasses and tweaked the bridge of her nose, Elizabeth noticed the dark circles under puffy eyes.

'Look, Elizabeth, I don't expect you to like any of this. I wanted to tell you these things myself because I admire what you've achieved and we'd hate to lose you. Especially over what my opponents would see as political rearranging of the deckchairs.'

'Thank you, Premier but it's a team effort, and Roger Lui and Jeremy Hayes have been key members of that team.'

'That's generous of you but the fact remains the organisation was a shambles and you've taken it by the scruff of the neck and shaken it into submission. You give them too much credit.'

Elizabeth imagined wringing Jeremy Hayes's neck. He was responsible for removing the Institute's political and corporate influence in one fell swoop.

'So now I need you to build a new team.'

'With Elliott Prince and Joan Emery?' Elizabeth snapped without thinking.

'No, I don't think either of us can make a team player out of Joan Emery. But Elliott Prince might surprise you. He speaks highly of you.'

'He speaks highly of Joan Emery and Michael Robinson too.' Elizabeth gulped the rest of her G and T, realising she sounded petulant.

'Let's have some food.' Catherine Goodman strode out of her office, leaving Elizabeth to follow. Think, she told herself. What was the correct response to all this? And what did the Premier mean when she said she did not want to lose her? A genuine plea or a not-too-subtle threat?

After heating savoury muffins and setting a tray with freshly percolated coffee in the small kitchen, the Premier invited Elizabeth to follow her down a narrow corridor to a room in the southeast corner of the building.

'Please, make yourself comfortable.'

Elizabeth entered a room that could not be more different to the Premier's office. Where that room was a throwback to a gentlemen's club complete with green shaded brass lamps, this room had cream-coloured walls, a blue-grey carpet and contained a two-seater sofa, a chair and footstool next to a glass coffee table. Rain streamed down the south panes turning the city's lights into gleaming ribbons.

'Let's shut out the weather, shall we? As well as the beady eyes of the offices opposite.' Goodman drew the silk curtains that were the same shade as the carpet. 'My office gets to me sometimes, all that macho leather and dark wood. Much as I love our jarrah trees, I'd prefer we left them in the forests. Coffee?'

'Yes, thank you.' Elizabeth busied herself with slicing and buttering a muffin, wondering at this sudden change in the Premier.

'I escape here at least once a day to think. I've had this chair for twenty years. It was a gift from my husband. It's a Charles and Ray Eames chair and since he died, I prefer to have it here.'

'It's a beautiful room, and I agree with you about the chair. I have one, too. I have chairs by Charles Rennie Mackintosh as well. Glasgow's own hero.'

Catherine Goodman stretched back into her chair, kicking off her black stiletto-heeled shoes and putting her feet on the footstool. 'Isn't that amazing? My husband was an architect and our house is full of Mies and Corbusier furniture.'

'I have a Corbusier _chaise longue_ in my London flat but I haven't had it shipped here. It's too fragile. It belonged to my Aunt Fionn who bought it when they were originally made.'

'My husband used to spend hours in it. I think of it now as a piece of sculpture. I look at it and remember him asleep or reading.'

While they ate in silence Elizabeth wondered how to navigate the uncharted waters of the Premier's conversation.

'It's a pity you have to put up with this Emery business,' Goodman said after a while, 'and that Jeremy has deserted his post. Given he persuaded you to come so far, he should have been more considerate. He's such a hot-head.'

Much as she agreed, Elizabeth thought it best not to criticise Hayes. 'He has his reasons, I'm sure, but we'll manage. We have a clear path now, what with the LOCAL initiative and the upcoming Knowledge Conference.'

'Yes, I know, and I'm looking forward to opening that and hosting the dinner for the international speakers. You've put together an impressive group.'

'And now the LOCAL work has national support, I'm sure we can make a success of it.'

The Premier swung her legs to the floor and laid her plate and coffee cup on the table. She leaned forward, her hands clasped on her knees. 'Don't underestimate Joan Emery, Elizabeth. For some reason she dislikes you intensely. Oh, don't worry about it,' she said as Elizabeth was about to protest. 'You're no orphan. She detests me.'

Elizabeth clenched the coffee jug's handle as she refilled her cup. 'I don't understand why she is so antagonistic. She won't accept my invitations to tour the building or for personal briefings. She criticises us in public but won't acquaint herself with the facts. And as for her task force...'

'Calm down, Elizabeth. Believe me, it does no good. I've paced a hole in my office carpet trying to figure her out. Joan Emery is a cross we all have to bear for the time being. What would happen if we all jumped ship like Jeremy?'

Elizabeth remembered where she was. 'Premier, my apologies. Of course we'll cope. You need not concern yourself.'

Catherine Goodman roared with laughter. 'You are so proper, Dr Wallace. Have one of those chocolates. They were a gift from the New South Wales Premier. They're probably poisoned.'

Elizabeth popped a dark chocolate ginger into her mouth. 'Perhaps we should send them to Mrs Emery then?'

'What a good idea.' Goodman selected a chocolate. 'Tell me something about yourself. Why would you leave your beautiful country to come to the WA public sector?'

Elizabeth was not sure she understood the reasons for her decision so she spoke about how much she enjoyed travelling. She and Catherine Goodman spent half an hour talking about countries they had visited. The Premier spoke of the powerful women she had met and the obstacles they faced in achieving power.

'I can't say I've felt any real obstacles that I could blame on being a woman,' Elizabeth said. 'That is, until perhaps this job. I can't put my finger on it but it's like there's closed doors wherever I look. Too many unknowns.'

'Maaate.' Goodman dragged out the syllable in an exaggerated Australian accent. 'It's the old boys' club. It should be called the middle-aged blokes' club. Being a country of migrants we say we're mutlicultural but I think if you're a woman or Asian it's difficult. Power in Perth is complicated. It's a strange combination of old and new money. Corporate, social and political influence intersect in all things.' The Premier's voice had turned bitter. 'Oh, they're happy enough to select a woman once the boys have stuffed things up so much that none of their mates want the job. Best not to have any illusions. If we win government at the next election, the blokes will toss me out within the year. Our first female Premiers in WA and Victoria fared no better although the Queensland Premier has rewritten the rule book.'

Elizabeth sensed the melancholy descending on them. 'I should go and let you rest, Premier.'

'I suppose so. I've got a mountain of work to do as your new minister. I have to read your briefing papers for Estimates Committee.'

They stood, Catherine Goodman fishing her shoes from under the table. 'Just one thing, Elizabeth. The boys love to see women at each other's throats. No matter how much Emery bates you, try not to lose it in public. Leave it to me to make any public statements.'

Goodman walked with Elizabeth to the exit of the Premier's suite. 'Of course, I wouldn't discourage you from cutting her throat in private. As a senior public servant you can make life pretty difficult for a minister if you try.'

Traffic edged along the freeway in the trench below Parliament House as the rain poured across the darkened city, sparkling in the lights from the office towers. The wind in the tall lemon-scented gums combined with the rumble of cars impatient to be home. Perth's winter had arrived with a vengeance that delivered the wettest July on record.

Elizabeth stood at the top of the steps at the entrance to the Parliament building, shifting from foot to foot to keep warm. The latest security rules required she leave her car two streets away. She cursed paranoid politicians for the inconvenience that resulted in her wet, frozen feet. Not to mention her ruined new Bruno Magli shoes. Who in the world would be likely to attack the Western Australian Parliament? She pressed the buzzer again but there was no sign of the security officer.

The city looked shiny and new, its buildings lit up as if there was no energy crisis, familiar logos proclaiming to the night sky. Perth might be the most isolated capital in the world but the global mining and resources companies called it a second home.

Elizabeth contemplated the tiny red brick arch perched on the edge of the freeway trench. Once there had stood a convict-built barracks for colonial soldiers. In the nineteen-sixties and 'seventies Perth developers had demolished many of the old buildings but the arch was saved. Elizabeth could not fathom why a society would demolish their historic buildings but was even more puzzled at the tiny remnant of the barracks. In its defiance it surveyed the line of corporate towers. A modern lesson from Ozymandias. Given the global financial situation, Ozymandias must be in hysterics.

Perth was a strange town, Elizabeth thought. Demolishing a short past, obsessed with the future yet battling any change. She had found it friendly and welcoming but, as an outsider, she could see that in the circles into which she had been invited there was a refusal to deal with disadvantage, whether in people or the environment. The gap between rich and poor had worried her when she lived in Perth through the 1970s. In spite of Fionn's financial assistance she had struggled to make ends meet. When she moved to Scotland to live with her aunt, she knew greater wealth but Fionn insisted on tithing their own income as well as the company's profits. Now Elizabeth had what she considered to be too much money. She was wondering how to help those in Australia whom politicians dubbed the _battlers_ when an apologetic parliamentary officer rescued her.

She was the last to be shown into the Premier's meeting room. Josephine Baxter was already there, displaying her studious indifference to Michael Robinson who was holding forth about his favourite topic. Himself. Elizabeth heard the tail end of his story about an international meeting he was to attend, something about 'sustainable nanotechnology industries.' Josephine rolled her eyes as Elizabeth sank into the seat next to her.

Next to Robinson sat Joan Emery, dressed in a red silk suit with the predictable amount of stress on its seams. 'Glad you could join us, Ms Wallace. I see timekeeping is not one of your many talents.'

Elizabeth organised her papers as Josephine whispered that the Estimates Committee was running an hour late. They could expect to be in Parliament House for the rest of the evening.

Catherine Goodman entered the room, accompanied by a short stocky man with the build of a boxer. 'Most of you will not have met my new Chief of Staff, James Creedy,' the Premier said. 'He'll be assisting me this evening. Now, let's get down to business. What do we think is going to be the drop dead question from the Opposition tonight?'

The Premier nodded to Elizabeth to begin. 'Good evening, Premier. As you can see from the briefing papers–'

'I think they'll go after the release of the task force report,' Joan Emery interrupted. 'You would be advised to give them a date, Catherine.'

The Premier looked at Emery then turned back to Elizabeth. 'You were saying, Dr Wallace?'

Before Elizabeth could continue, Emery spoke again. 'Michael is across the submissions we have received as well as the content of the report. I'm happy for him to sit by you to assist in answering any questions.'

The Premier stared at Emery. Goodman must be amazed at Emery's persistence, Elizabeth thought, but she could see no evidence of it in the cool stare.

'Thank you,' the Premier said, 'but we are discussing the Institute's budget, not the task force, and I am confident that all the advice I need can come from Dr Wallace.'

Emery's narrowing eyes showed her displeasure but she did not speak. Trying to ignore the tension in the room, Elizabeth began again. 'The Budget Papers emphasise the Institute's profitable operations for the last year and our expectations that this will continue, so I can't see any problems there. On the policy front, they may question progress on the LOCAL project whose pilot phase is complete. We're behind schedule in getting the agreements in place. I can explain the delays.'

The Premier nodded. 'Yes, I agree. I'll ask you to answer those. There may be some issues about the State Collections. You know some of the Opposition want to remove those from the Institute because of perceived exploitation of heritage items? Let me handle those. I've no intentions of restructuring the public sector again. It costs millions and all it does is create more highly paid jobs.'

Joan Emery coughed. 'I must emphasise that the task force received some excellent submissions on that topic. You may not want to pre-empt our recommendations, Premier.'

Catherine Goodman sighed. 'And you should be encouraged not to give me a recommendation that suggests any restructuring of the Institute. Shall we move on? James, run through the protocols and our tactics while I take a phone call.'

'We want to make sure the Institute's national lead role is emphasised,' James Creedy said as the door closed behind the Premier.

'Lead role in what?' Emery sneered. 'Spending wads of money inventing projects that should be left to the private sector?'

Creedy kept talking as if Emery had not spoken. 'We don't want to give the Feds the impression we're anything but committed to the partnership.'

'Why would they think we're not?' asked Josephine Baxter.

'The Premier had a call from Joseph Collins the other day. He's worried about all the publicity the Institute is attracting and now Hayes has resigned, he thinks the Institute's momentum might suffer.'

'Surely the Premier reassured him?' Elizabeth wondered why Jean Renfrew had not called her.

'Yes, perhaps.' Creedy turned his head to look at Joan Emery. 'But certain public comments make it difficult to give the impression of a united front.'

Emery was not to be cowed. 'Well, James, if you knew what I've discovered about the way the Institute is run, you'd be worried too. And if I can't get a minister to pay attention, I have to act in the greater good.'

Elizabeth watched James Creedy as he handled Emery's constant interruptions. Why did the blasted woman always have to be the centre of attention?

'The Premier is the responsible minister now, and if she is confident the Institute is run well, who are we to question her?'

Emery put on a syrupy smile. 'I'd be more than happy to share my concerns with the Premier. Perhaps you could arrange a meeting, James. Or perhaps you and I could get together? Have lunch, perhaps?'

'Perhaps,' Creedy said. 'Now can we go over the protocols?' His tone had shades of a frustrated parent speaking to recalcitrant children.

****

Two hours later, the usher showed Elizabeth and Josephine to the waiting area at the edge of the Legislative Assembly chamber. The Premier sat on the government side of the house with James Creedy on her left. On her right was the Executive Director of the Arts Department with a dozen people ranged on the seats behind them. Elizabeth recognised some of the senior public servants from the theatre, the orchestra and the art gallery. She wondered how they were taking the news of their new cultural supremo.

Members of the Opposition, she counted ten of them, sat on their side of the House. One of their number was berating the Premier for some failure of policy in a tone steeped in contempt. The chairman brought them to order from his perch in the Speaker's chair and invited the Premier to speak.

As Elizabeth listened she surveyed the chamber. Built in the nineteenth century, its space reverberated with allusions to the mother country. Its decoration was austere when compared to the British Houses of Parliament but it had some touches of elegance in the stained glass inserts in moulded wooden screens but this elegance was mocked by the abomination of chandeliers of dubious style whose glaring globes banished the shadows.

Josephine had pointed out the mediocre artwork and crowded offices as they had followed the usher to the chamber. 'They've weathered the annual criticism about their pay increases but won't spend money on the symbol of our democracy,' she had said. 'Compared to the national parliament this is a colonial throwback.'

Elizabeth had asked Josephine to accompany her to assist with policy issues and the federal/state funding model that became more complicated every year. While she continued to be impressed with Josephine's intellect Elizabeth could not shake the thought that her pragmatism bordered on cynicism.

'You see Emery and Robinson in the public gallery next to the press?' Josephine tilted her head upwards. 'I saw them in the car park looking extremely chummy, if you take my meaning. They'd better hope no journalists saw them but you have to admit things are never dull with her around.'

'I could do with more dullness.' Elizabeth stood as the usher approached. 'Looks like it's our turn.' She led Josephine to the Premier as the arts people vacated their seats.

The head of the theatres greeted Elizabeth. 'They're out for blood tonight. As usual, the country members think they're badly done by. Trouble is, they're right. Good luck.'

The Premier guided Elizabeth to her right side and Josephine sat next to Elizabeth. James Creedy stretched his back, rubbed his eyes and resumed his seat on the Premier's left.

'Premier, we will continue,' said the chairman. 'Section 83: Information Services. Please introduce your advisers.'

Catherine Goodman introduced Elizabeth and Josephine and listened to the first question from the Member for Kalgoorlie. His tone was so derisive that Elizabeth wondered why a question asked with such obvious contempt should be dignified with a reply.

'The Premier presents herself to us as the Minister for Information Services but she would know next to nothing about IT Infrastructure or the appalling record of her government in delivering information services to the bush. Whether it's the internet, online education or web business, Western Australia is a laughing stock. My question is: will the Premier confirm that Jeremy Hayes has resigned as Minister for Information Services because he's too ashamed at the lack of progress?'

Catherine Goodman leaned towards the microphone, a gentle smile on her face. 'No,' she said, and leaned back.

Silence. The Member for Kalgoorlie indicated he had another question. The chairman nodded for him to continue.

'Very clever, Premier. Point to you. Let me ask it differently. Recent research shows that Western Australians have the least reliable telecommunications, the most complicated and stupid arrangements with the Commonwealth and our computer literacy skills among primary school children are among the worst in the nation. What is your government going to do about it?' His voice boomed across the Chamber.

The Premier leaned into the microphone. 'I think the Honourable Member's facts are questionable but if he could define the word stupid I could answer his question.'

'Unintelligent! Ridiculous! Dreamt up by idiots! What part of stupid don't you understand, Premier?'

The chairman interrupted. 'This line of questioning is going nowhere. I remind Members we are discussing the budget. I'll take a question from another member. Yes, the Member for Kimberley.'

A well-dressed man of Japanese appearance read from notes trembling in his hands. 'Thank you, Mr Chairman. My question for the Premier relates to the Institute's commercial goals as stated in the Parliamentary Papers. We have just heard from the arts community how important it is to develop our cultural treasures. Given the Institute is responsible for libraries, archives and museums, how can we be sure that these get the attention they deserve? What are these rumours of selling these treasures? More to the point, why is there no mention of the _Remembering_ project which I understand uses leading-edge technology and is regarded as best-practice?'

He glanced in the direction of Robinson and Emery. Elizabeth could not see them but the nod from the Member for Kimberley made the source of his question clear. Damn Robinson to hell, Elizabeth thought. His obsession with _Remembering_ knew no limits.

'Our cultural heritage is not for sale,' said the Premier. 'Can we concentrate on what is in the papers, Mr Chairman? The hour is late and we are not making best use of the time.'

Elizabeth was finding her first experience of the Estimates Committee process more than perplexing. The Budget had already been presented, the Opposition did not have the numbers to block its progress in the lower house unless Emery voted with them and she was not going to do that. So what was the point? It made more sense to have such conversations in the development of the budget but she had not been invited to speak with the minister to Cabinet's Budget Committee.

A third Opposition Member stood. 'Premier, my question relates to the task force set up by the Member for Joondalup. When will the report be presented to the public? And what are the interim findings?'

Elizabeth could see Catherine Goodman tap her fingernails on her knee under the desk. When she spoke, however, her voice did not waver. 'The task force was set up by my government, not by the Member for Joondalup. It provided an interim report to the Minister for Education and Information Services and I understand he found it to be flawed. Once I receive the report I'll decide what to do with it. I would remind the Member that the task force is not a Parliamentary Committee and there is no requirement for its report to be presented here.'

Muttering voices came from the gallery. Elizabeth assumed the terrible twosome were unhappy with that answer.

The chairman wound up the session, putting the motion that the budget be accepted. So this is the Western Australian version of parliamentary scrutiny of public expenditure, Elizabeth mused. Why had she worked most of the night reviewing her papers when not one anticipated question had been asked?

****

'You spent days working on the Parliamentary Papers and the Premier's notes and we weren't asked one sensible question. Doesn't it annoy you?'

Josephine had suggested a post-mortem meal. At eleven pm on a Thursday evening with the rain teeming down, Elizabeth was not surprised to find an empty Oriel Café in Subiaco. She had driven in a fury from Parliament House. She had seen some petulant displays from writers and their publicists in her time but she had expected something more from the heart of democracy.

They ordered red wine and Elizabeth gulped hers while waiting for their meal. If she were sensible she would have gone back to the penthouse, had a chamomile tea and tried to sleep but she knew that was pointless.

'I'm surprised you're surprised.' Josephine dipped her turkish bread into the olive oil. 'It's got nothing to do with sensible questions. It's just politics.'

'I can't accept that. There has to be some accounting. They ran late by three hours, kept us waiting and then gave us no time to deal with the Institute's achievements. There will be nothing now in the Hansard about us other than a bunch of unsubstantiated accusations.'

'The accusations were against the Premier. They smell blood.'

'And we know who's supplying the knife. Did you see how the Member for Kimberley kept glancing up at Emery and Robinson?'

Josephine waited as their food was set in front of them by a tired looking young man. 'He's a new MP and guess whose company he worked in before getting elected?'

'Whose? Emery's?'

'SysWA. He's an old mate of Michael Robinson.'

'I suppose they went to school together?' Elizabeth sighed. 'Honestly, everybody knows everybody else in this town. How did you get connected when you came here first?'

'Have something to eat. You'll feel better. The first Parliamentary Estimates experience is always the worst. Public servants think it's a big chance to showcase how well they perform but it's not about that.'

Elizabeth had not eaten since lunchtime. She cut into the Tasmanian salmon served with a vegetable julienne and a delicate ginger sauce. A few mouthfuls of the tender fish and she felt some good humour return.

'There is no need for us to appear,' Josephine said. 'The Institute gets no more than 20% of its funds from the state but because it's established under a Western Australian Act we get listed so they have to deal with us. It's Jeremy Hayes's fault we're here.'

'I know this is the first time the Institute has had to appear but I thought it was a change in parliamentary processes.'

'No, in previous years they included a short paragraph outlining the funding and left it to the minister to deal with any questions. We were bundled up with so many other odd bods that we were invisible.'

'So why this year?'

'Well, Hayes wanted to grandstand, I suppose. He fought to have us created as our own division so that meant producing documents as well as those infernal performance indicators.'

'So, now he's shone the spotlight on us but he's not here.'

'It'll pass, provided the media ignore it.' Josephine wiped her mouth. 'This cannelloni is perfection itself. How's the salmon?'

'Good, it's good.' Elizabeth set her fork and knife on her plate, realising she was eating without attention to the taste. 'So how many of these have you been through?'

'Lost count. The federal parliament's process is different. Appearing before Senate Estimates Committee can get pretty hellish if they go after public servants. Mind you, these days it's hard to tell the difference between the obfuscation of some public sector CEOs and the pollies.'

Elizabeth had wondered more than once how her senior director could work in a system for which she exhibited more contempt than admiration. Josephine's pragmatism stood in sharp contrast to Anne Oldham's frustrated enthusiasm. Elizabeth connected more with Anne than Josephine but wondered if Josephine was more suited to thrive in the public sector.

'More wine?' Josephine asked, as the waiter cleared their plates.

'No, not for me. One is my absolute limit. Otherwise I pay for it.' Elizabeth wiped her mouth with her napkin and leaned back. 'Just some tea, thanks.'

'No tea for me. I'll have another glass of the Evans and Tate.' Josephine told the waiter. 'Tell me how do you pay for the red wine. It gives my mother the most dreadful migraines.'

Elizabeth cursed herself for her slip. Josephine never missed a trick. She changed the subject. 'This is a pleasant place. Do you come here regularly?'

'Yes, I do. I live just across the road in Subi Centro. But don't change the subject. You don't have to be superwoman, you know.'

'Superwoman? Hardly.' Elizabeth could never shake the suspicion that conversations with Josephine were intelligence gathering exercises.

'You're allowed to have a weakness. You do drink so you're not a wowser but you stop at one and you said you'd pay for it. Do you get migraines like my mum?'

Elizabeth tried to change the subject again. 'Does your mother visit Australia often?'

'Okay, message received. You're a great boss, you know, but you do keep everything to yourself.'

'And you're too curious for your own good. I have no deep dark secrets. Who has time for a private life?'

The waiter brought Elizabeth's tea and Josephine's wine. The restaurant was filling now with the after theatre crowd.

'You need to make time,' Josephine said. 'I mean it. There's no reward in the public service for killing yourself. They don't flog dead horses, just willing ones. Either way, you're dead.'

'So why do you stay? You sound so disillusioned sometimes.'

'Drink helps.' Josephine smiled as she sipped her wine. 'Just joking. There are things I care about and want to see improved the same as you. The Institute is, or was, a great idea, and the way you've made us all focus on knowledge is perfect. We just need to make sure we're making the rules for our own game.'

'A game? Looks more like a war.'

'Exactly. Think of it as a computer war game. Look, I used to be so attached to outcomes that I'd run around like a whirling dervish trying to cover all my bases. Then I'd lose because of party politics, factions or ideology. Or just plain and simple personal vendettas between ministers or public servants. Once I saw it as a game I began to look for the rules and the players. Keep to your strategy but work out your tactics in ways to survive changes of government.'

Elizabeth's three-year contract had eighteen months to run so she wondered whether she had time to learn the rules, never mind win the game. 'So what kind of a game is it?' she asked. 'Soccer or cricket or monopoly? Dungeons and dragons?'

'Snakes and ladders. You throw the dice and sometimes you go up ladders and sometimes down snakes. As long as you have more ladders than snakes you're doing okay.'

'So where are we now according to your reckoning? We have two snakes in Emery and Robinson. Hayes kicked over his ladder. Which rung of her ladder is the Premier standing on? Is Elliott Prince offering us a ladder of opportunity or is he just a snake?'

Josephine took some time to answer. 'I think Elliott is a chameleon. Depends on who's throwing the dice. We'll have to wait and see how much the Premier can control Emery. And how much she's prepared to stroke Prince's ego.'

'And in the meantime we have to stay away from the snakes. And hope to God that our ladder is leaning up against the right wall.'

****

Elizabeth watched Roger Lui shuffle across the room to retrieve the Premier's letter from his desk. She was glad of the few moments to gather her thoughts, wondering how to fulfil his daughter's request not to tire her father.

Roger had called Elizabeth and suggested they meet. He sounded tired but bright. In person, however, his face was thinner and his breathing laboured. He extended a shaking hand to show Elizabeth the Premier's cursory termination of his role as chairman: _May I thank you on behalf of the people of Western Australia for your contribution as Chairman of the Board of the International lnstitute for lnformation Services and Research and wish you all the best for the future._

'That's it?' Elizabeth said. 'Not even a pretence that you'll be missed? You created the Institute. You deserve more than this.'

'It doesn't matter.' Roger eased himself back into his chair. 'In the scheme of things, it matters not.'

Elizabeth admired Roger's equanimity but when you're fighting to grasp enough breath, it did not matter. Yet she was outraged at the treatment meted out to this gentle, generous man.

'I did not invite you here to discuss my fall from grace. Felicity is pleased but then she has become something of a Catherine Goodman critic.' His coughing stopped him. Elizabeth fetched him some water from the sideboard.

'Would you like me to go?' she asked. 'You must rest.'

'No, stay. I must speak with you.'

Elizabeth returned to the couch opposite him. The dark room made her think of a cocoon from which Roger might not escape if he were as ill as he looked. She wondered if his heart was a factor in his latest health scare.

'Jeremy is going to join us at four thirty so we don't have much time. There's a few things I must say to you alone.'

Roger gazed into the fire until his breathing settled. 'Catherine Goodman has backed herself into a corner. Like a bad general, she has allowed the enemy's troops into her camp, and she is no longer master of her own strategy.'

Elizabeth waited for Sun Tzu's advice.

'She has let Mrs Emery dictate the terms of the battle when she should have fought a skirmish earlier to repel her. Now Mrs Emery has more strength and the Premier looks weak. Joan Emery and my son crossed swords over a recent business venture. She behaved dishonourably so we withdrew our company from the negotiations and made the reasons known. That would not have helped my cause.'

Roger stopped, gathering his strength. 'When Jeremy recommended my renewal as chairman to the Premier, she rejected it.'

'But why? What possible reason could the Premier have to be so vindictive when you indicated you wanted to continue?'

'Ah, well, the omnipresent Mrs Emery told the Premier she wanted Elliott Prince to be chairman. Jeremy exploded. Hit the roof, as you might say. If he keeps doing that he will acquire a very sore head.'

'Elliott's not half the man you are.'

Roger wiped the sweat from his brow. 'He's four times the man I am at the moment.'

'That's temporary, I'm sure.'

'Let's hope so, but I wanted to help you prepare yourself. I fear we have let you down.'

Elizabeth searched for the right words. Yes, they had, but it was not Roger's fault he had been tossed aside. Jeremy Hayes throwing in the towel was a different matter altogether. 'I think it is the Premier who has let us down,' she said. 'If she had accepted you as chairman and Hayes as minister we could stay at arm's length. With Hayes going to the backbench the Institute has the Premier as its responsible minister and Emery as minister assisting and we know the last thing she wants to do is assist us. It's such a mess.'

Roger Lui sipped his water and asked Elizabeth to put some wood on the fire. The room was stifling already but she did as she was asked. She worried about having any conversation with Roger. Felicity was right to encourage him to slow down.

'I regret deserting you,' he whispered.

Elizabeth busied herself with the logs to hide her discomfort. 'I came here with my eyes open. Things change. Organisations are bigger than any one individual and we'll get through this. My meeting with the Premier went well and I think Joan Emery may find Catherine Goodman more wily than she suspects.'

Roger looked up. 'You met with Mrs Goodman?'

'Yes, she asked to see me.'

'You met alone?'

'Yes, in the evening. It was quite late. I think there were no other people on her floor. She was pretty direct with me. Being in her portfolio should keep Emery at bay.'

Roger selected a pipe from the rack beside him and pressed tobacco into it. 'It's odd the Premier approached you like that. Mrs Goodman is known to be a remote figure. Even her ministers can't get to see her. You may be more powerful than you know.'

'I thought she just wanted to make sure I was happy with the Hayes situation and to meet me before she takes responsibility for the Institute. We had the Estimates Committee a few days later.'

'Exactly. She has enough on her hands without having you throw a wobbly, as my granddaughter says. You need to remember you lead an Australian experiment. A national institute in Perth was always going to be complicated. If the WA government damages this, they'll never get another chance. Mrs Goodman is clever enough to see you are crucial to its success.'

Elizabeth was wondering how to tell Roger he was fantasising when the door opened and in rushed Jeremy Hayes.

'Sorry I'm late, folks. How're you going, Roger? God, I need a drink. Cleared out the office today. Just a humble back bencher now.'

Hayes shook Roger's hand, took off his jacket and poured himself a drink at Roger's desk. Elizabeth thought his forced cheerfulness was a smokescreen. Perhaps the consequences of his resignation were beginning to hit home. No more ministerial trappings or attention.

'So what have you two been cooking up, then?' Hayes settled into the chesterfield facing the fire, gulping his whisky.

Given Hayes's antagonism towards the Premier, Elizabeth thought it best not to mention her meeting with Catherine Goodman. 'Roger was telling me that Elliott Prince will be our next chairman and I was saying what a great loss Roger is to the Institute and to me, personally.'

'Absolutely. Yes, indeed. That's why I told Goodman to keep the minister's job.' Hayes leaped from the sofa and poured another whisky. He stood before the fire, warming to his theme. 'I've had enough of Queen Joan and her sidekick. I told Goodman to have nothing to do with her. Look at the mess. The government's survival now depends on that bloody woman. We should have called an election. If you dance with the devil, don't be shocked to find yourself in hell.'

'Well, have you gone to heaven on the backbench, Jeremy?' Lui asked.

'God knows, and if it is heaven, He's the only one who does. Damned if I do.'

'Sit down and let us see how we can help Elizabeth with this new situation. We persuaded her to take the MD job. Even if circumstances have changed, we can still help.'

It was as if Roger had not spoken. Hayes continued to rail against the world, rehearsing the Emery situation, the task force, how no one respected his position, how no one could be trusted. While Elizabeth's irritation increased Roger relaxed, his eyes twinkling with amusement and the colour back in his face.

'Jeremy, we've heard this before, remember? Now, please sit down or you'll have a heart attack and then we'll both have to sit around the fire like a couple of retired generals waiting to join our ancestors.'

Hayes crumpled into the leather couch with a deep sigh. 'Sorry, mate. Got a bit carried away. Just bloody hard to accept how it's all played out. Bowled for a duck, I'd say.'

Elizabeth wanted to leave. Neither of these men was in a state to assist her.

'In many ways I may be able to assist more on the outside than by being chairman,' Roger Lui said.

'How do you mean?' she asked.

'Well, I do have some influence and I have no intentions of letting the Institute be abolished, split or sold off, whatever Joan Emery thinks. There's a lot that can be done, even by a sick old man in his study. We still have our Knowledge Australia Foundation so let's stay in touch. Felicity thinks of you as a friend and my darling wife is ferocious when it comes to looking after her friends.'

'I think of her as a friend, too,' Elizabeth said.

'Absolutely. So do I.' Hayes bounded from his seat, again to fill his glass. 'You're right Roger. Just because our roles have changed doesn't mean we can't help.'

Elizabeth stared at Hayes. What did he think he could do as a backbencher? He had no access to resources, he ought not to speak out against the government and she should not speak to him without ministerial approval.

'I have influence, too,' Hayes spluttered. 'There's a lot of government MPs pretty unhappy about the way Emery's going on and on about her blasted task force. I think we can bury it.' Hayes speech was slurred. Roger looked at his old friend as he would a wayward child.

There was a tentative knock on the door and Roger's daughter, Caroline, entered with a tray of tea and scones. 'Father, here is your afternoon tea and your medication. Then you must rest.'

'Ah, here comes the flower of my life. Come to supervise the care of her elderly one according to her mother's strict instructions.' Roger put his hand on his daughter's arm. 'Tea, then my guests will leave and I will rest. I promise.'

Elizabeth and Hayes watched as Caroline set out the tea things, a collection of fine china and a teapot worthy of the Ritz. Caroline removed the pipe from Roger's fingers, poured the tea, split the steaming fresh scones and spread one with jam for her father, smacking his hand as he suggested cream.

Elizabeth wanted to be away from the room. Tactics and strategy, analyses of risks and options had come to dominate her life. Roger's and Jeremy's world revolved around them, too, but they went home to loving families while her waking hours were consumed with trying to navigate waters where Scylla and Charybdis would look like minor hurdles. She longed to discuss these developments with Alex then was hit with a sickening blow to her solar plexus as the memory of him with Cass drove into her.

As Caroline left, Elizabeth covered her distress by slicing and spreading her scone. Roger and Jeremy continued to explore ways they could stay in touch. They did not notice her silence.

'There's the Knowledge 2020 Conference,' said Hayes. 'I'm scheduled to open that. Don't see why I can't still do that.'

'The Premier may want to do that, Jeremy,' said Roger.

'I'll have a word with her. I don't think she'll object. We three should show a united front.'

'Jeremy, you've resigned from her Cabinet. You're not her favourite person at the moment.'

'It's just politics. Catherine Goodman's not interested in the Institute. She knows nothing about the knowledge economy. She said she would be happy to have me advise her and stand in for her whenever necessary.'

Roger leaned forward and spread a scone with cream. 'Don't tell Caroline. I've given up my whisky and my pipe but it's a bit much to give up my Devonshire tea.' He licked his fingers. 'Elizabeth, you're quiet. Here we are, conspiring around you. What would you like from us?'

'Yes, you can't trust anybody, you know,' said Hayes. 'Except us, of course.'

Elizabeth looked at both of them. Roger's generosity and wisdom would be welcome at any time. She would like to keep him as a friend and adviser if she could. Hayes was a different story. He was as erratic and volatile as a wounded lion, all the more dangerous for having been gored by a female. Ignominy had been added to injury. The trouble with a wounded animal is it is likely to hit out at whoever is closest.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Valerie had drifted into sleep. Elizabeth closed _The Baghavadgita_ , placing the hand-woven bookmark where she had left off reading when something made her move the bookmark back two chapters. For three days she had been reading from Valerie's favourite spiritual texts and novels, as well as helping Beverley Farrington and Julie Barratt tend to Valerie's needs. Hamish kept watch. Only Elizabeth could entice him to leave his mistress's side for short walks. Like Valerie, he did not eat.

It was clear but unspoken that Valerie was dying. Beverley's call to Elizabeth four days earlier had explained that the doctor suspected Valerie's cancer had returned but she refused either diagnosis or treatment.

'All tuckered out,' Valerie said. 'I've been content enough here in my cottage with my friends and painting and memories but I've lived long enough with a broken heart.'

Elizabeth gazed around the dark living room that was lit by a single Tiffany lamp behind her. Save for the oxygen cylinder and the drip in Valerie's arm the room remained the comfortable haven in which they had spent so many hours. They had moved Valerie's bed because she wanted to watch the ocean through the north-facing windows. She said the southern ocean upset her too much with its vast emptiness. In any case, she refused to die in a bedroom.

She insisted she was in no pain but the deep creases around her mouth and eyes suggested otherwise. 'I'm not going till Elizabeth and I finish _Wuthering Heights_. And maybe _War and Peace_ , as well,' Valerie had told Julie.

Elizabeth marked her adolescent milestones by her favourite novels. Apart from _Wuthering Heights_ , there was _Jane Eyre_ , _Lorna Doone_ and later _Anna Karenina_ and _The Golden Notebook._ Valerie's life had been punctuated by different books but they shared many favourites.

'I love to listen to your accent,' Valerie often said. 'Jock had that same lilt. I can almost smell the heather after rain.'

Valerie explained that she and Jock read aloud to each other all their married lives. Elizabeth had done the same thing for Fionn in her last months. Favourite passages were all the more beautiful when read at a slower pace. The Brontës had been her aunt's greatest passion. Elizabeth could recite whole passages of Emily Bronte's poetry. _No coward's heart is mine_.

'A penny for them,' a faint voice said from the bed.

'I thought you were asleep.' Elizabeth stood and touched Valerie's arm. 'Can I get you anything?'

'No, I'm fine. Don't fuss, now. Perhaps just prop me up.'

Elizabeth plumped the pillows and lifted Valerie's almost weightless body up onto them.

'Do you want me to keep reading?'

'No, let's talk a while. I feel like a chat. What time is it?'

'It's one am. Beverley went home but she said she'd be back in the morning.'

'Such kindness.' Valerie's shallow breathing made speaking an effort. 'You should be in bed.'

'Don't worry about me. I had a nap earlier. I'm staying right here.'

Valerie's thin lips attempted a smile as she gazed at Elizabeth and patted the bed. Elizabeth settled at the foot of the king size bed, placing her back against its wooden panel and extending her feet alongside Valerie's thin legs.

Valerie stroked Elizabeth's ankle.

'Ah, but I do worry about you. I know it's time I was off but I don't like to leave you here alone and so far from home with all those blackguards.'

Home. Elizabeth let the word hang between them. Only the soft murmur of the waves disturbed the silence of the night. Home could feel like this, she thought. Comforted by a benevolent ocean and the embrace of flickering firelight. Except home should not contain a dying friend.

Valerie persisted, her voice a whisper. 'What do you think of when you think of home?'

'Why do you ask me that?'

'I have my reasons. Humour an old woman.'

'To be honest, I'm not sure. The first thought is of the Scotland of my childhood. Grandma's glen, decorating the church with holly for Christmas and a huge circular jigsaw. The Seven Wonders of the Ancient World it was called. One of the few times George and I weren't arguing. Snow outside, wind in the chimney, hot cocoa and fresh scones.' Elizabeth stopped, buffeted by forgotten emotions. Seldom did she think of her family as united or happy but each Christmas they would complete that jigsaw then celebrate with green ginger wine, only to return the pieces to the box for another year.

She looked across the room through the windows to where a full moon scattered its light across undulating waves that merged with her reflection. She spoke, as if to the translucent, watery image. 'I remember once being with Grandma at the cottage in the glen. It was even quieter than this. You know how the whole world sounds as if it is asleep when it snows? We sat at the window and watched the snowflakes floating down. Grandma had made gingerbread and we sat in the bay window with tea and hot buttered slices. For once I wasn't chattering my head off. I can remember the silence. Then there he was, a gorgeous red fox, dappled with white, walking across the garden. It felt like it was his home and we were intruders.'

Valerie had drifted into sleep again. Was it Elizabeth's imagination or did she look younger? She panicked for a moment as she watched the old woman's chest. The antique lace nightgown rose and fell. Not gone yet, just asleep.

This charming wise woman had inveigled her way into her heart. They had shared their love of music, literature, Scotland, their travels and, in recent days, long conversations about spirituality. 'Our meaning of life chats,' Valerie called them.

Elizabeth chastised herself for the lack of visits she had made in the previous six months. She had let the Institute dominate her life. Well, there were reasons for that beyond the pressure of work. It was easier than being swamped with images of Cass and Alex in a Parisian hotel room.

As Elizabeth moved off the bed Valerie woke with an undignified snort. 'Goodness, I'm having trouble staying awake. Maybe I need a coffee.'

'A coffee? You've barely eaten or drunk anything other than water and crackers for three days. What do you think a coffee would do to you?'

'I don't know but I feel like one. Please.'

Although anxious to hang onto each moment with Valerie, Elizabeth went to the kitchen and put on the kettle. The aroma of the coffee made her feel hungry. She set out a tray with a lace cover and Valerie's fine Wedgwood crockery painted with red rosebuds.

Everything in Valerie's house was from another time. The delicate china, silver cutlery, linen napkins, antique furniture. What would happen to the cottage, caught as it was in a time warp? Would the exquisite completeness of it be disbanded, each piece taken by some distant relative? There were no children and Valerie was an only child. Who would become the custodian of this cottage into which Elizabeth had been so welcomed?

Taking the tray back to the living room, she cleared a small table and moved it to Valerie's bedside. She pushed a large armchair next to it and settled to pour the coffee. She had found some lemon coconut slices in the pantry, thanks to Julie Barratt who came and went with quiet solicitude and baskets of baked delights that Beverley and Elizabeth ate and Valerie left untouched.

She set the coffee and slice on the bed table, suspecting they would be ignored but the normalcy of the scene comforted her. Just two friends sharing a coffee break. Forget that it was the middle of the night and her friend would see few more.

'Read a few pages,' Valerie whispered.

'All right, but let's choose something else other than Catherine and Heathcliff. It's all a bit lovelorn.' Elizabeth rifled through the pile of books. 'How about _The Man Who Loved Children_? I don't know that one.'

'Yes, but read the ending,' said Valerie, 'after Hettie's suicide.'

'Suicide? Can't we find something that doesn't include...'

'Death? What better topic for us?'

Elizabeth hid her tears as she flicked through the leather bound first edition of Christina Stead's most famous novel.

'It's not the end, you know. It's just the next step,' Valerie murmured. 'You'll not be able to see me, but I'll be with you.'

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip. She would not cry yet. She should be comforting Valerie yet here was this dear woman using her precious breath to comfort her. She must make these moments beautiful, help her friend take sweet memories into whatever next world she believed she would enter. Elizabeth suspected oblivion was waiting, the extinguishing of a light that burned less and less each day. How could she go on without Valerie's warmth and comfort? It was like losing her grandmother all over again.

'Where shall I begin to read?' she asked, clearing her throat.

'Start at the last few pages, three or four from the end. There's a point where Louie says she's her own mother.'

Elizabeth read of the young girl who shakes off her father's cajoling and chiding for the last time. Two pages into her reading she noticed that Valerie had closed her eyes. After checking again for the breath's tiny movement, she continued reading aloud, soothed by the sounds of her own voice and the beauty of the language. Elizabeth read on to the end of the novel with Louie's escape from Spa House and her demanding family, fleeing with the freedom of dolphins. She closed the book, letting Louie's hope reverberate in the silent room. Was it easier for an adolescent to have such faith in the future? She flicked back through the pages to find Valerie's reference to the suicide, horrified to discover the death of a mother and her child's role in it.

'Patrick White said Christina Stead was a better novelist than he was but she's still less known than him,' Valerie whispered.

'I thought you'd fallen asleep.'

'Just resting my eyes. I don't want to sleep anymore.' She had slipped down the bed again so Elizabeth removed the untouched coffee and cake and lifted Valerie again against the reorganised pillows and bedding. It was difficult to tell where the pillow ended and Valerie's white hair and pale face began.

'Do you want me to keep reading? Something more cheerful.'

'No, I'd rather we chatted but I don't have much puff. Read the whole book yourself. Take it with you. Talk to me for a bit. Tell me about that busy world of yours. What's the plan?'

Elizabeth did not want to talk about herself. There were more important things to say. Thank you for your love and friendship, your sympathetic ear, and unconditional support. The wisdom of the years. Your laughter. The hours spent in this old cottage with music, literature, friends and food, discussion of politics, life, the meaning of existence, but to say these things was to say goodbye, and she could not. Not yet. So she told Valerie about the Institute and its politics, her meeting with the Premier and the Parliamentary Estimates Committee. It all sounded so irrelevant, mundane matters in the face of the image of silver dolphins behind her eyes.

She was glad Valerie had not renewed her interrogations of the day before. It was as if she knew Elizabeth was not yet ready to face the deepest hurt. Alex. Cass. Even Valerie's wisdom could not put salve on that wound.

****

The cold morning air feels moist on her skin, chilling her soul. She has come to the loch at sunrise as bidden. A strange unease blankets her thoughts. Some foreboding lurks in the shadows. She suspects she is being followed, turns around quickly. Dark shapes of trees gaze at her in the mist. Her eyes will not focus. She draws her shawl close around her heart and presses on but her long skirt hobbles her progress. There is an appointment to keep. With whom she does not know but she must not be late. Through the morning sun's weak glow on the loch she watches the last of the fog disperse. A boat comes towards her, its rowers dipping their silent oars into water undisturbed by their passing.

In the pit of her stomach the foreboding metamorphoses into sheer dread. No, no, come no further. Not here, not now. Go somewhere else. Please.

The oarsmen are deaf. On they come.

Standing at the rear of the boat in Celtic garb is an ethereal young woman, her long blonde hair drifting below a golden circlet above luminous blue eyes. Her red cloak is held at her shoulder by a silver brooch surrounded by a purple glow.

The boat makes no noise as it settles on the pebbled shore. The wind is still. The whole world holds its breath.

The young woman lifts her white skirt and steps onto the sand. 'It is time to go,' she whispers, extending a kind arm. 'It is written that you must come.'

'Not yet. Please. There is much still to be done, much still to be said. We've had so little time.'

'Elizabeth, waken up. You're dreaming. Elizabeth.'

The hand shaking her shoulder dispelled the images of her dream but not the anxiety.

'She's gone.'

Elizabeth unwound her legs from under her, her back and neck aching from the twisted way in which she had fallen asleep in the chair next to Valerie's bed. What had Beverley said? Yes, the goddess in the boat had gone.

'Valerie's gone.' Beverley sat on the arm of Elizabeth's chair. 'Two hours ago. I thought I would let you sleep as long as I could but Julie's called Dr Wilson. We want things to be ready, don't we?'

Gone? Gone where? Who's gone? Elizabeth could feel the beckoning pain of a migraine. No, not now, she commanded it. She stood and stretched, forcing open her heavy eyelids.

Valerie looked too peaceful to be gone. No, she's not gone, Elizabeth wanted to tell Beverley. She's waiting for me to continue with Wuthering Heights. Elizabeth looked for the book. Where had they left off?

'I came in at six o'clock and the two of you were both asleep,' Beverley said, sinking into the armchair Elizabeth had vacated. 'Valerie's breathing was a bit laboured. I tidied up a few things and then came back in here. Her eyes were open and she smiled at me. She said it was time for her to go. I asked her if she wanted anything and went to waken you. She shook her head and said to let you sleep.'

Elizabeth looked from Valerie to Beverley then back to Valerie. 'But, I wanted...' What did she want? More time? More conversation? More advice? Just more.

'I sat with her, holding her hand, realising I was losing my dearest and oldest friend,' Beverley whispered, as if talking to herself. 'She didn't say much more. She just slipped away. I couldn't pick the moment she left.' She let out a sob.

Elizabeth looked at her watch. Eight o'clock. She had slept for four hours, curled in the chair in a foetal position. Her body would not straighten as her mind scrolled through a dozen thoughts like an out of control computer.

The morning had brought a perfect day, harbinger of an idyllic spring. Perhaps it would be warm enough to open the doors to the veranda, let Valerie have some fresh air. She turned from the windows to speak then her brain cleared with a jolt. There was Valerie, serene on her bed, her soft white hair circling her face. Gone, Beverley had said. Gone. She meant Valerie's gone. No more springs, no more warm summer breezes. No more anything.

Hamish was stretched alongside his mistress's body, his paw resting on her breast as if to get her attention. He looked up at Elizabeth who moved toward the bed and touched Valerie's cheek. He whimpered, stood up and licked first Valerie's face then Elizabeth's hand.

'Oh, Hamish, she's left us.' She stroked the top of the dog's head, sharing his confusion.

Beverley busied herself rearranging the room but Elizabeth's energy had deserted her. She could not move and there were no tears. It was as if she were behind a glass wall watching Beverley's silent grief.

Beverley returned to the chair and the two women sat in silence. Beverley would weep and sniff then quieten while Hamish alternated between licking Valerie's face to waken her and offering a questioning look to Elizabeth before settling down again when he received no attention. He reminded Elizabeth of Greyfriars Bobby and wondered what would become of him. It was easier than wondering what would become of herself.

Beverley had recovered her equanimity by the time Dr Wilson arrived with Julie Barratt. Elizabeth cleaned an already immaculate kitchen to avoid the activity in the living areas. By ten o'clock Valerie's body had gone.

'Let's go for a walk, get out of the house,' Beverley said. 'I don't feel like breakfast but I'd love a decent cup of coffee. Come on, Hamish. Time for a walk.'

Each lost in her own grief, they walked along the path to the town, Hamish dragging at his leash till Elizabeth gathered him into her arms. He smelled of Valerie's lavender and orange scent. The Boronia Tea Rooms were empty, the morning joggers and cyclists long gone. Not that there was ever much of a rush hour, Elizabeth thought, pleased to have the café to themselves.

'So sorry to hear about Mrs McConochie,' Jim Ellis, the proprietor, said. 'She'll be sorely missed round here. She and Hamish came here every day till a few weeks ago. She'd dined all over the world but she said our afternoon teas were the best. The wife's real upset.'

They should have known the whole town would have heard the news. The close-knit community treated Valerie as royalty and Elizabeth suspected her own warm welcome was because of Valerie. There were rumours that Valerie was a Russian princess yet it would have been nothing to do with aristocracy that made Valerie so loved for the people who lived here were fiercely egalitarian. No bullshit allowed, Valerie would say, that was the rule. Live and let live. No, she was more like the mediaeval wise woman, a source of advice and encouragement to young and old. Elizabeth knew she was not the first to be enveloped in Valerie's warmth but she would be the last.

'So, tea and scones for the pair of you? In Mrs M's memory. On the house.' Jim turned away to prepare the food without waiting for them to order or object.

'Let's sit outside,' Beverley said. 'It's going to be a beautiful day.'

They settled into the wooden armchairs at the open end of the verandah with an unimpeded view of the beach. The hub of the town's social life on the weekends as the city folk came south, it was left to the locals on other days.

'I've lost count of the cups of tea we've had here,' Beverley said. 'Two old women, tea, scones and chatter. I thought she'd last forever. She's been like my big sister for as long as I can remember.'

Elizabeth offered what she hoped was a comforting smile. A veil of mist separated her from the world. Some threatening presence in the corner of her mind would not leave. She spread the scone with jam and cream, slicing it with great attention but as she chewed and swallowed, she tasted nothing.

'No wonder you wanted to sleep, Elizabeth. You've been marvellous to sit with Valerie for so long.'

'It's been so short. Not even three days. It's nothing. I should have come earlier.'

'No shoulds, remember? Valerie hated should haves or could haves. Waste of energy, she said.' Beverley patted Elizabeth's hand. 'She told me not to call you. You know she hated fuss.'

'I'm so glad you did. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't seen her again.' Elizabeth sighed, letting out the tight breath. As her shoulders relaxed she released a suppressed sob. Hamish whimpered then jumped onto her lap. She hugged him to her. The seagulls held no interest for him.

'I'm executor of Valerie's will,' Beverley said. 'There's time for all that carry on later but I have a couple of things she wanted me to give you and I'd rather do it right away.'

Elizabeth did not want to talk but Beverley persisted. 'Valerie's been ready for death for a long time. She said the years she and Jock spent in India gave her a spiritual centre she could rely on.'

'Yes, we spoke many times about that. She tried to get me to take up meditation. Said it saved her when their son was so ill.'

'That's right. I meditate, too, because of Valerie. It's a wonderful process. You might find it helpful in the days ahead.' Beverley refilled their cups and spread another scone. Elizabeth wondered if the meditation was the reason for Beverley's equanimity.

'Valerie loved you,' Beverley said. 'She told me it was a wonderful gift to have you come into her life at the end.'

'Oh, the gift was mine. She's such a wise person, so full of stories and insights. She makes me...' She stopped, realising she was using the present tense. There would be no more stories. Hamish squealed as she squeezed his ear. 'Sorry, little man, sorry,' she said, feeling the spectre closing in.

'I know this is difficult for you,' Beverley said. 'I'm amazed at how close you two became. Like two soul friends, Valerie said.'

A wave of fatigue swamped Elizabeth. She needed to be alone, to sleep. Oblivion.

'I have to pass something to you before she's cremated.'

The word hung between them.

'I have it here in my bag.' Beverley reached into her tapestry-covered tote and set a worn velvet box before Elizabeth. The tarnished silver catch opened easily to reveal on a purple velvet cushion a celtic brooch after the style of the Tara Brooch: a circle of silver studded with green and amber stones. At the pin's tip was a large purple gemstone.

Elizabeth was back in her dream. This was like the brooch her celtic goddess had worn. The dread hovering at the edge of her mind dissolved as she picked up the brooch.

'I understand it's been in Jock's family for generations,' Beverley said. 'He gave it to Valerie on their wedding day. She wants you to have it. It's supposed be passed to female children but Jock and Valerie never had any.'

'Surely it should go to someone in Jock's family?'

'Jock's family was Valerie and Ioann and they're both gone. It's Valerie's decision. She said giving it to you would be like giving it back to Scotland so it's going home.'

As Elizabeth tilted the brooch its purple stone caught the morning sun. How old would it be? Who would have worn this over the centuries?

'There's something else, too,' Beverley said. 'You know the writing case Valerie had on the table next to the fireplace?'

'Yes. It belonged to a English Victorian countess who was bold enough to go to Egypt alone.'

'She wants you to have that, too. She also wrote you a letter.' Beverley handed Elizabeth a bulky envelope.

'I'm not sure I should be taking her things.'

Beverley reached for her bag and jacket. 'Don't shoot the messenger. Just be a good girl and say thank you. Now, help me to my car. My knee's playing up again and I'm going to retreat to Margaret River to mourn my old friend now I've done what I promised.'

****

1 May The Festival of Beltane

Dearest Elizabeth,

If you're reading this then I'll be gone. I suppose I could have written 'dead' but I've never believed in death. Life is a better faith. If I'm right I'll have moved on to a more enlightened place. I'm not naïve enough to envisage meeting Jock or our beloved angel Ioann again but I do have a strong sense of their presence as I write this.

Today I visited Dr. Wilson and got the news I expected. I've been increasingly breathless lately. I knew the old heart was wearing out. I'm not interested in their drugs and palaver. I told him I wanted no more scans to find returned cancers either. I'm going to stay in my cottage here and fade away, just like an old soldier.

You've given me a new lease of life these last two years. Strangely I feel as if I've always known you. You're the daughter I always wanted but who never came. Well, I suppose you did come – only much later.

Forgive an old woman her forthrightness but I think you feel this connection too and so I worry about the effect on you of the loss of it.

Sitting here on our veranda, Hamish and I are content. He's getting older but he's not as old as me. He's still enjoying his runs along the beach and I manage a slow shuffle behind him. We've been dozing here on and off since lunchtime. Autumn has been so mild this year, lovely warmth for old bones. Strange to think I'll not see another autumn. I'll be lucky to see another spring.

Valerie's words came to Elizabeth as she stood on the beach. Valerie had not seen another spring but the August air held the promise of it. The breeze had lost its chill, warmed by winds across the inland where wildflowers contemplated their blooming. The setting sun was covered with a pale orange glow. Beverley, Julie and Elizabeth stood at the edge of the waves. A group of townspeople had arrived at the top of the dunes to pay their respects.

Valerie's instructions were for her ashes to be scattered into the sea, for there to be no service, no religious rituals. She had been specific about the meaning of the four white roses each held. One in memory of herself, one for Jock, one for Ioann and, typical of her generosity they all agreed, one for themselves. She had requested they wear white. Beverley held the ashes in an alabaster jar that Mr and Mrs McConochie purchased as a memento of their much-deferred honeymoon in Tuscany in 1950. Elizabeth wondered what the townspeople thought about the scene before them. Pagan priestesses ministering to their goddess?

Beverley's voice trembled but her hands were steady around the jar. 'Valerie wanted no fuss in death, just as she wanted no fuss in life, but she was a woman who knew the value of memory and history. Time was a continuum for her. She did not live in the past but the past was always with her. So often we enjoyed her stories about her Russian parents or her Scottish husband or the many countries they visited. Valerie was a citizen of the world, without an ounce of bigotry or judgement. Her acceptance of life and its tribulations of which she had many but never complained was an inspiration to us all.'

Beverley's eyes were clear as she handed the alabaster jar to Julie and bent down to the bag at her feet. She withdrew a bundle of coloured cloths.

'Valerie asked me to give you these gifts at this moment as a memory of her life. To you, Julie, the blue silk to match your eyes and the wide blue sky of Australia that is your home.'

Beverley unfurled a long silk scarf of the deepest turquoise and draped it over Julie's shoulders. The fringe reached to below her knees.

'For you, Elizabeth, purple to set off your red hair and remind you of the heather of Scotland.'

Elizabeth recognised these scarves, part of Valerie's priceless collection of Indian silks. She ran her fingers over the fine material, wrapping the scarf around her for comfort. A whiff of Valerie's perfume on the silk stirred the grief in her chest.

'For me, Valerie suggested crimson. She said old women should wear bright colours and refuse to become grey shadows. Perhaps I'll become a scarlet woman.' Beverley wound the scarf around her neck, flicking one end over her shoulder. She took the jar back from Julie.

'Valerie gave me no other instructions but to scatter the ashes here then bury the jar in her garden in the rose bed facing north. Does anyone want to say anything before we do this?'

Julie and Elizabeth looked at each other then back to Beverley. All three had tears in their eyes as they shook their heads. Elizabeth gazed at the roses that were tied with a white ribbon, the ends of which fluttered into each other.

Elizabeth could find no words of her own but Valerie's letter enveloped her.

We've spent so many hours on my verandah chatting about anything and everything. Thank you for all the confidences you've shared with me. My one regret about leaving you is that I sense you wanted to share more with me but each time you held back. Is it unfinished business? You show such irritation or impatience when you speak of Giovanni. I think you have not forgiven him because of the baby.

Forgive him, my dear, for your own sake. Let the past go. It's only a thought. A memory is only a thought. You've carried this for too long.

Perhaps if I had stayed we could have talked some more but I will write to you here. I know it's not the same as a conversation. Maybe it's better. This way I don't get interrupted.

Was Valerie right? Had Elizabeth changed the subject whenever they got close to topics that she wanted to avoid?

The freezing waves lapping at her feet brought her back to the beach. The sun was dipping below the horizon, the evening chill descending. This far south, it would be weeks before the warmth of the day heated the ocean.

Beverley spoke again. 'Let's scatter the ashes now. Shall we each do some? I'll go first.' She stepped a few feet into the sea, opened the jar and tipped some ash into the water. She tossed three white roses one after the other as far from her as she could, then Julie did the same thing, returning to the water's edge with a single rose.

Elizabeth hitched her long linen skirt through her belt, gasping as the cold water covered her legs. She accepted the alabaster jar from Julie and pushed into the sea. The beach had a wide shallow shelf. She wanted to walk forever but stopped twenty metres from the shore.

With barely a breath of wind, a slight swell lifted the waves above her knees. It was difficult to juggle flowers and jar together so she tucked the jar under her arm and arranged the four roses in a circle on the water's surface. With the ocean stretching south before her and her back to the beach, she held the translucent alabaster jar with both hands.

Her legs warmed, adjusting to the sea into which she was to cast the last remnants of Valerie's existence. Elizabeth's religion was a vague memory, her Presbyterian God long ago rejected for His callous banishment of her from Scotland and the theft of her only child.

She wanted to feel Valerie close, to hear her laughter, smell her sandalwood incense and the taste of a good malt. She gazed at the horizon now steeped in oranges and pinks around a globe of fire, letting a long sigh escape. There must be something she could say but no words came. Her mind was a collection of pictures. Taking her grandmother's ashes to a secret place. Aunt Fionn buried in a family mausoleum on a bleak Glasgow day. Her mother and father laid together in Australian soil. A tiny lost boy alone in a cold casket.

'Well Valerie, they're waiting for me so I'd better do this. Wherever you are, I hope it is where what you want to be.'

As she tipped the remainder of the ashes from the jar into the centre of the floating flowers and watched the fine ash disperse in the clear water. She turned back toward the beach. Beverley and Julie stood with arms shading their eyes against the sun. They looked as if they were scanning the horizon for a ship that would never come.

Stepping out of the water, Elizabeth felt a scratching at her foot. One of her flowers had followed her to shore. She stooped and picked up the dripping rose, its white petals turned to pink by the sun. She handed the empty alabaster jar to Beverley who wrapped Elizabeth and Julie in a long embrace. With her back to the ocean, Elizabeth watched the townspeople turn and leave the three women to their grief.

'We need to bury the jar now,' said Beverley, putting on her organising voice. 'We're getting chilled with wet feet so let's do this and have a drink to the dear departed.'

As Elizabeth bent to dry her legs with her skirt, a pain sliced into her back. She had had occasional spasms for several days, often hoping on waking that the pain was but part of some troubled dream. Her insomnia had deserted her, leaving her with a constant desire for sleep, but it was a sleep that did not relieve her dragging fatigue. Walking to Valerie's cottage and burying the last vestige of her friend's existence and then walking back along the beach to her own home was impossible. Dear as Beverley and Julie were, she wanted to be away from them.

'Beverley, you and Julie do it. You've known Valerie for so long. I'm going home, and you need to rest. I'm sure you must be exhausted.'

Beverley and Julie exchanged questioning glances. 'As you wish, my dear,' said Beverley, 'although I know Valerie thought of you as a dear friend too. I don't think the number of years we know someone defines the depth of the connection.'

Julie took the jar from Beverley. 'Elizabeth's right about one thing. We're all exhausted, so let's get this over with. I don't know why Valerie wanted the empty jar buried but she'd have her reasons. We'll see you later, Elizabeth. God bless.'

Julie embraced Elizabeth and set off, supporting Beverley, towards Valerie's cottage. Elizabeth watched them go, regretting her decision. What was she doing? Beverley would think she was self-centred, denying Valerie's last wishes.

The wet edge of her skirt set her shivering as the breeze blew against her legs. She gripped the rose, ignoring the thorns that drew blood and turned to walk along the deserted beach. A solitary pelican glided in the shallows, following her. Reaching the steps at the bottom of the cliff atop which her house waited, dark and somehow foreboding, she could go no further. Her back screamed at her to stop. She slumped on the lower steps, hunching over to relieve the pressure on her vertebrae.

Gazing out over the darkening ocean, she watched the pelican gather speed, swoop over the beach and fly round the edge of the dunes out of sight. She was alone save for the chattering birds whose calls sounded to her forlorn and desolate, like a thousand unanswered questions.

Tomorrow she must return to work. Begin life without Valerie. Could she cope with the grief of losing another wise friend? First Grandma, then Fionn and now Valerie. For a moment, she imagined them meeting each other.

Could she keep this house that faced Valerie's cottage? Could she feel any sense of homecoming without her friend, her soul mate? Her anam cara.

****

The knocking at the back door had stopped. Elizabeth sank back onto the rug by the fireplace. Several times in the previous days there had been an insistent tapping at her door. It might be kind-hearted Julie with homemade food but she was uninterested in company or eating. Her body was consumed with a back pain alleviated solely by lying on the floor with her knees bent up on a chair. Her mind, perhaps even her soul, was gripped in a vice of lethargy. On one level she welcomed it as relief from her loss. Yet, on another level, it frightened her, this indifference to her life.

As she drifted again into apathy she wondered if she should attempt the lengthy and pain-wracking process of putting a new CD on the player. Deciding against it she pressed the remote and drifted once again with the gentle tones of Bach's violin concertos for the umpteenth time that afternoon. She should have bought a CD with a stacker.

A distant voice competed with the music. 'Perse, open the door! Come on!'

'Go away,' Elizabeth whispered, thinking she was imagining Cass's voice but a more determined bashing on the door made her realise that it was indeed Cass. What was she doing here? A momentary hope of comfort was dispelled yet again with the image of Alex and Cass together. Would she ever be able to think of her beloved Paris again without the taint of these mental pictures?

She rolled onto her side and held her knees, breathed into the pain and retreated again into herself. She would not answer. Cass could leave, just like previous visitors. Leave her alone. She shut her eyes, willing her mind to silence. The knocking stopped.

Some time later she imagined she heard a door close.

'I knew you were here. What are you doing? Hiding out?'

Elizabeth's body jerked, pain shooting from her lower back to her legs and she groaned with the shock. How had Cass got a key?

Cass stood over her. 'What've you done to yourself? Have you got a migraine?'

It was not her imagination. Cass stood in all her familiar boisterousness, as if the last time they spoke had been about trivia instead of betrayal.

'What are you doing here?' Elizabeth leaned on the coffee table and leveraged herself onto a chair.

'Have you had a fall? You look bloody awful.' Cass set two shopping bags on the kitchen bench. 'Julie said she'd visited a couple of times but she got no answer. She rang Beverley who rang Penelope asking if you'd gone back to Perth.'

Elizabeth let Cass busy herself with unpacking plastic containers and stacking them in the fridge.

'Looks like you've really hurt yourself this time, haven't you, Perse?' Cass came over to support Elizabeth as she tried to get comfortable in the chair. 'I'll open the bottle of the lovely red I brought but first you need a hot bath.'

'I don't need any help,' Elizabeth muttered. 'Leave me alone.'

'Look, Perse, I know you're furious with me, but let's just leave the Alex business to one side for the moment. First things first and before you object, I'm going nowhere. You don't want me ringing the matriarch and have her descend upon us.'

Elizabeth knew there was no point in arguing. Something eased in her. Let someone else be in charge of the mess that was her life even if that had to be Cass.

Half an hour later, Elizabeth was in the bath, surrounded by the fragrance of frangipani bubbles and candlight. There was a glass of red wine on the table next to her. Cass had moved a chair from the bedroom and supplied a tray of hors d'oeuvres worthy of a restaurant. Leftovers from her mother's lunch party, she explained. The two of them had been in Margaret River for a week.

'We can have a boozy wake, if you like, reminiscing about Valerie.' Cass might be trying to joke but her voice was shaky.

Elizabeth leaned her head on the rolled towel. She tried to let the tension dissolve into the warm water. She felt as if she had been holding her breath for days as protection against the pain. She was not confident she would be able to get out of the bath but for now it was enough to feel her body loosen. Closing her eyes, she sighed again but it sounded more like a groan.

'Do you want some painkillers?' Cass asked.

'No, not just now.' Elizabeth opened her eyes. 'What brings you here, anyway? I thought you were in Hong Kong for another week.'

'I've been in Hong Kong for two weeks, as planned. I think you've lost a week somewhere. How long have you been here?'

Elizabeth tried to count days. It felt like months since she had driven south, dreading what she would find at Valerie's cottage. She struggled in her sleepy fog. Four days then Valerie died, three days then ashes in the ocean, then how many since? Three? Four?

'What day is it?'

'Saturday. Saturday the ninth of August. What day do you think it is?'

'Saturday? Really?' Elizabeth processed this piece of information as if it were some alien concept. 'Saturday. We scattered Valerie's ashes on Tuesday or was it Wednesday? The days are all the same down here.'

Two weeks she had been away from work, then. She needed to get back. No, she needed sleep and some way to relieve the pain. Work on Monday felt as possible as climbing Mount Everest.

Cass filled Elizabeth's glass and sat on the edge of the bath. 'So you've been here two weeks on your own dealing with a dying friend and the aftermath. Why didn't you call someone? Quite a few people have been worried about you. Barbara called me to say you weren't answering your phone. She expected you back at work three days ago.'

Two weeks. It sounded short but her heart told her it was an eternity. Why would she call Cass? To discuss yet again why she and Alex had slept together? How much more justification did Cass think she wanted to hear?

'Barbara called? Why?'

'Why not? There are people who care about you, you know, although you never believe it.'

Elizabeth reached for the wine glass and a hot pain seared her back. She gasped and knocked the glass into the water. She held her breath as she watched the pain recede like the red wine turning the bubbles pink.

'Let's get you into bed and I'll give you a massage. You need to sleep.' Cass leaned over to lift Elizabeth from the bath. 'No arguments. I'm in charge here. Just give in, Perse. Let it go.'

Yes. Let it go. Let it all go. Good idea.

****

The room was suffused with early morning light. Elizabeth lay on her back, a pillow under her knees, arms resting on her abdomen. For a moment she was unsure where she was but the familiar greens of her bedroom and the chirping birds brought her to a gentle awareness. She must have slept for nearly ten hours.

As she turned her head to watch the honeyeaters she saw Cass asleep next to her. Elizabeth felt a wave of deep gratitude sweep over her, tears starting at the corner of her eyes. She let them slip over her cheeks and down her neck. They were sweet tears, unlike those of the previous night.

She squirmed inside as she recalled the racking sobs that had escaped as Cass massaged her back and neck. Pliable after the bath, each limb contracted and released as Cass's expert fingers worked deep into her muscles, creating a pain that shot up her back to the base of her skull.

'You're like a rock all over,' Cass had said. Elizabeth thought she was more flexible than she had been for a week. 'And you're not letting go. Relax, Perse. Nothing's worth this.'

After the massage she had slept, refusing food. There would be no more massages if the result was to be those tears. She remembered being face down on the bed, gasping for breath, a wrenching roil she could not name starting deep in her stomach and erupting into uncontrollable grief. What must Cass have thought of her?

She gazed at the person she had thought was one of her dearest friends. Cass's strength amazed her. Short black curls surrounded a tanned face that even in sleep contained that calm confidence. Did Cass ever doubt herself? Nothing intimidated her, not even Elizabeth's fury. To come to rescue her after the things they had said to each other, to accept her breakdown. That was what it felt like. Something was broken, but what? Her back? Like some poor racehorse whose last race was too much. They shoot horses, don't they? She recalled the Jane Fonda film. Dance till you drop. Gallop till they shoot you. Broken horses, broken people.

Stop this. Don't go there. Rest your back. Sleep. Sleep.

****

She could hear Hamish barking. Where was Valerie? The ocean rushed up the beach. The sky was heavy with malevolent clouds ready to cast sheets of rain on them. She must find Valerie. She mustn't get wet. She's too ill to get wet. She'll catch pneumonia. Where is she? Must find her. Shush, Hamish. She's close. We'll find her.

Elizabeth jolted awake as she heard Cass's voice. 'Shush Hamish. You'll wake Perse. Come on, let's go for a walk then, if you insist.' A door slammed.

The room was bathed in mid-morning light. She could not remember sleeping so long except after a migraine and she was grateful that particular hell had not been visited upon her. Had the home of pain moved from head to lower back?

She tested her body's flexibility by moving her legs. So far so good. No stabbing pain. Should she try getting up? Maybe when Cass came back. What was Hamish doing here? She had a vague memory of telling Beverley she would look after him but nothing had been resolved. Her two cats would have something to say about that. Come to think of it, where were they?

'Natasha? Anastasia? Where are you?' Silence, then tiny paws pattering up the stairs and jumping onto the bottom of the bed. They sat at her feet, elegant and dignified, unsure whether she was to be trusted. She had ignored them save for serving up dry biscuits and water, gifts accepted with contemptuous stares. Their tentative offerings of bodies to be caressed were rejected. Now they sensed some attention in the offing, but they were not about to grovel.

'Come on, sweeties, here,' she coaxed, patting her stomach. Anastasia padded alongside her and stretched front legs then back as if to say, I was passing this way anyway, this has nothing to do with your request. Natasha remained at her feet, paws folded in front, sphinx-like, watching her with half open green eyes. Both started to purr, however. Elizabeth's breathing matched their comforting rumble and she let her mind drift as more of Valerie's words came to her.

What I do want to say to you is to find some peace with the past. Forgive my boldness, my dear Elizabeth, but what would be the point of writing to you without giving you a gift. All I can give you is what wisdom I have been given over the years and hope to save you years of the same struggle. I was not always as peaceful and accepting as you knew me. Oh no, I was very angry once, just like you ...

'Well, we're awake are we? What about some breakfast?' Cass strode into the bedroom. 'It's beautiful outside, going to be a perfect twenty-six degrees so brunch on the deck.' Cass pulled back the bedcovers. Elizabeth's back felt better but her body was heavy and her mind foggy. She was grateful that the stabbing pain had become a dull ache.

'There's fresh eggs and croissants downstairs,' Cass chirped, ignoring Elizabeth's silence. 'Hamish and I just had a run along the beach and picked them up, so what do you want to wear? Let's get this show on the road.'

'Hamish? I thought I heard you speaking to him. What's he doing here?' 'Julie dropped him off this morning. She said you were expecting him. Weren't you? What are you going to do with him, anyway?'

Elizabeth groaned. She had forgotten about the poor dog. 'Beverley asked me if I would take him because he'd never get on with her spoilt darling and Julie's going overseas for a month on holidays. He doesn't know anyone else.'

'Now, do you want some help to get up?'

'No, no, go make breakfast. I'll manage.'

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed, summoning courage to walk across the room to the wardrobe. How was she going to drive back to Perth like this? She needed to get her mind focused on work.

After struggling into a pair of knickers and a shift dress she rested after on her chair. Cass's clattering in the kitchen and the fresh smells of coffee and bacon tempted her tastebuds. Cass had put on a Keb' Mo' CD. He was singing something about not being able to measure your love by the depth of your pain. Oh, no?

An hour later, Cass poured Elizabeth her second cup of coffee and cleared away their plates. 'For someone who said she wasn't hungry, you've put away more than a morsel.'

Elizabeth leaned back in her chair on the deck and winced as her back adjusted. She rearranged the cushions and settled into immobile comfort again. She had chosen to face north with her back towards Valerie's cottage and watched the calm undulations of the glistening ocean before her.

Cass busied herself inside while Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying to settle mind and body, knowing there were things she needed to think and do but wanting to avoid them for as long as possible. Her two Russian princesses were half asleep at the edge of the deck inside the house, suspicious about the white furry intruder. Hamish had curled onto the chair next to her, contented after his bacon treats.

As Elizabeth watched Cass return to the table, she noticed a wooden box on the floor next to the dining area inside the house.

'What's that box?'

'No idea. Julie put it there when she brought Hamish.'

It would be the traveller's writing desk from Valerie. 'Oh, yes. I'd forgotten about that.'

'Bit like Hamish. Are you getting absent-minded as well as old?' Cass deposited the newspapers on the table. 'You look a bit better today but you gave me quite a scare last night.'

Although Elizabeth was grateful to Cass the unspoken topic hovered between them. Cass's excessive chatter was her usual response to discomfort. 'You can't stay here any longer, you know. You need to get back to work. Take your mind off things.'

'I know, but I can barely move. Maybe a few more days would fix it.'

'No, it won't. In any case, I thought you couldn't stay away from that job of yours. For as long as I've known you, whatever the question the answer for you is always work. Get back on the horse.'

'I'm too tired.'

'All the more reason to come back to Perth and see a back specialist. No point in moping around here.'

Elizabeth could feel her irritation close to the surface. 'I'm not moping. I've got a sore back, that's all.'

'No, it's not all. You became attached to Valerie and you're not coping. Penelope's told me how your work's been hell. I did warn you about those bastards. No wonder you're looking for an excuse to avoid it but I'm not leaving you here to wallow in your own misery. We're going back to Perth tomorrow.'

Elizabeth crunched her left hand into a fist, feeling her nails bend as she pressed them into her palm. She felt like slapping Cass. Why wouldn't she even try to understand? Cass's simple pragmatism, her complete absence of equivocation and her boldness in speaking her truth might be worthy qualities but there were times when she overstepped the mark. What was good-hearted cajoling in good times became bullying in bad. And this was a bad time.

'Look, Cass, I'll call Barbara. I can work here using the Net. My back feels much better today but I couldn't drive. A few more days won't make any difference.' Elizabeth thought her tone was strong enough for even Cass to get the message to back off.

'I agree. They won't make any difference. I'm not leaving you here on your own. You can't get up those stairs and I can't stay. I have to be in Perth tomorrow afternoon. I'll drive back to Margaret River tonight and pick up Penelope. She can drop me back here tomorrow and I'll drive you back in your car. We're going home tomorrow and that's that.'

'That's that? That's that? I don't get a say? Look Cass, I appreciate all your help, but I think I know my own body best.'

'No, you don't. You look terrible. You've got black circles under your eyes. I'm not leaving you here on your own. Not after what Penelope said about your last migraine.'

'On my own? What's the big deal about being on my own? You think I'm going to be with anybody in Perth? Who do you think is waiting for me in the penthouse? Mister Fucking Wonderful? A loving family? Grandchildren? Get real, Cass! I am on my own! You should have thought about my loneliness before you slept with Alex. You have no idea how alone I am.'

Elizabeth pushed herself onto her feet. She knocked her glass of orange juice over the remains of her toast, thinking that would make a soggy mess. She stumbled across the deck to the stairs leading to the beach. Barely registering Cass's apologetic tone, she grabbed the handrail with both hands and forced one leg after the other down the limestone steps.

Elizabeth throbbed with anger. The fury pulsed along her back and legs, down her arms to her clenched hands, colonising her fingers and toes, propelling her downwards and across the sand to the water's edge. She gasped as the cold water drenched her bare feet but she stood firm, welcoming the lapping sea. The heat in her body exploded in a furious howl, thrusting her frustration and anger to an unhearing sky. How dare Valerie die! Again she had allowed herself to get close to someone and again they'd been taken. She should have known better.

She leaned over to support herself, hands on her knees as she shivered with cold and her back screamed. Her fingers dug into her thighs. Stepping out of the water she eased herself onto the dry warm sand. She opened and closed her fists, grinding grains between her fingers.

What power decided she should lose so much? It had started with a young girl dragged from home to the other side of the world only to lose so much that even returning to Scotland did not fill the void. To be deprived of her family and then be denied one of her own was too much. No children, no grandchildren. No Alex. Now no Valerie. Why had she pretended she'd found a new family? Valerie was not her grandmother or her aunt. They were gone as well. What an idiot. Alone, always alone. What was the point of it all?

Valerie had asked that in her letter.

What's the point of it all? We ask that so often but it's the wrong question. All of it is the point. Every experience, every joy, every loss is the point. We learn from it and we move on. On and on. Forwards is the only real option. Don't look back. Do not mourn me. Don't waste your energy. I want to imagine you striding forth. You have such gifts. Intelligence, ethics, knowledge, a way of communicating that makes people follow you, but above all you passionately want to make a difference.

You've spoken so often of your grandmother but only mentioned your lost baby twice to me. I recognise that deep sadness in you and I worry that my death will add to it. Do not let it. Let all this stuff go. Focus on your gifts. Dream your dreams and make that difference.

Find Alex again. Give all that love to him. I know that's what you want. Forgive him. Forgive yourself.

Elizabeth breathed into that familiar peace she identified with Valerie but had not felt since her death. It was as if each furious cell transmuted into a sad, heavy one. Valerie made it sound so easy but she could never understand. She had had her family. She had found her home. Alex was on the other side of the world. He had chosen Cass. Elizabeth did not deserve him. She had left him alone without explanation, alone like she was. So alone. It was natural her two best friends would prefer each other.

She remembered when she had had a particularly bad 'flu. Alex had surprised her with his attentiveness. She wanted that Alex with her, his comforting arms around her. His silly jokes. His reserved love. Whatever he had done, it didn't matter. He was her anam cara and she needed to tell him so. Was it too late?

A wet nose and sandy feet interrupted her muddled thoughts as Hamish jumped on her lap. He touched her face with his paws and licked her cheeks.

'Hamish, you poor neglected thing. Do you want a cuddle? Me, too.'

She folded her arms around the bundle of white fur as a great sob erupted deep in her belly. Hamish was quiet in her embrace as she let herself melt into a salty sea of tears, sand and fur.

### PART FOUR

You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, "I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along." You must do the thing you think you cannot do.

Eleanor Roosevelt.

CHAPTER ONE

'I'm confident that the Knowledge Conference in December will be a magnificent showcase for the Institute. With the return of Professors Andresen and Jefferson we should get national and international coverage. Already we have over eight hundred delegates from more than twenty countries and we expect at least a thousand.'

Elizabeth completed her board presentation. Josephine and Anne had assisted in explaining the conference programme, its associated theme meetings and the extensive media campaign.

'I'm be happy to take questions, Mr Chairman.' Elizabeth eased herself back into her chair. Her back ached but it was bearable, thanks to painkillers and a heaven-sent kinesiologist. Or rather, Beverley-sent. Elizabeth had her fourth session booked for that afternoon. She winced as she reached for her water glass.

'Thank you Dr Wallace,' Elliott Prince said. 'An excellent presentation. I like your invitations to board members to chair sessions. Considerate, and sensible, given the distinguished talent we have around this table.'

Prince sounded more and more monarchical, Elizabeth thought. He relished his role as chairman, exhibiting no sign of a troubled conscience over Roger Lui. Neither was he fazed that Roger's company was a major sponsor of the Conference. A generous and sensitive sponsor. 'Of course, I cannot be part of the opening ceremony,' Roger Lui had said. 'That honour goes to the chairman but I'm happy to support the Conference in any way I can.'

She had created a two-day session called _Catalytic Conversations on Eastern Concepts of Knowledge_ that would showcase a Chinese dissident. With Roger as moderator, Sun Tzu would get a serious workout.

Board members offered their congratulations. The atmosphere in the room was more cordial than Elizabeth had expected. She knew several board members were unhappy with Prince's appointment but the new chairman was impervious to sarcasm. Since returning to work after Valerie's death, Elizabeth had wondered often whether to tell the board about her meeting with the Premier. Roger said she should not as she could not be sure of the Premier's agenda but she was uncomfortable with the secrecy. If Prince found out about it he might become suspicious of all her advice.

'I have two items of further business,' Prince said. 'I'd like Dr Barker and Dr Oldham to leave us. Ladies, if you please.'

Elizabeth avoided Josephine and Anne's quizzical expressions, hiding her own puzzlement. Prince had not flagged additional items. What was he up to? Roger Lui would never spring items on her like this.

'Right. My first item is the issue of the Conference's opening address,' Prince said. 'As you know, Jeremy Hayes was to have opened the Conference but as he is no longer our minister we need to decide who will.'

Ngaire French spoke before Prince could utter his next sentence. 'Mr chairman, the Premier is now the responsible minister. There is nothing to discuss.'

Prince was unperturbed by the interruption. 'If you will allow me to continue. Mrs Emery has indicated to me she would be delighted to open the Conference. She thought it would be a good opportunity to announce the findings of the task force.'

Elizabeth's automatic tensing sent a stabbing pain into her lower back. She breathed into the spasm as the kinesiologist had taught her. The concept of backstabbing came to mind. She was about to speak when Ngaire let fly.

'Elliott, I'll not stand for this. Joan Emery is a junior minister. The Premier opens the Conference or no minister at all. We'll find someone else. And as for the bloody task force, Jeremy Hayes promised the report would come here first for our advice. We've seen neither hide nor hair of it.' Ngaire glowered at Prince. 'If you don't keep Joan Emery out of this Institute's business I'll go public on her messes.' She lowered her voice. 'And you know I've got the evidence, Elliott.'

The boardroom was hushed. Ngaire and Elliott stared at each other. Something had just passed between them but the next move had to be the chairman's.

'It was only a suggestion, Ngaire,' he soothed. 'I'm not proposing any resolution. We can leave it to our CEO to liaise with the Premier and the Conference Committee on the matter. There's no need to get so agitated.'

Board members relaxed. Truce.

'I do have another item of business,' Prince continued, showing no sign of being flustered. 'I know your views on this, Ngaire, so perhaps you will allow me to put my question and let other board members speak to the matter.' Ngaire folded her arms but remained silent.

'As you know, with Jeremy Hayes's resignation, the Premier has taken us under her wing, so to speak. However, Mrs Emery is now a minister assisting the Premier in several roles. Mrs Emery has indicated to me she will need to take a more active role because the Premier is so much busier than minister Hayes was. So, to assist her, Mrs Emery has suggested Michael Robinson attend board meetings as an observer.'

'No way!' shouted Ngaire.

'Absolutely not,' Frederick Fromberg said at the same time. 'We've just got rid of the self-serving bastard.'

Other board members joined in the chorus of outrage. Prince called for order. 'I suspected just such a reaction, but it behoves me as chairman to bring the request to the board. Perhaps we could hear some legal reasons that I can present to Mrs Emery from the board?'

Fred erupted. 'You know damned well there was no need to bring that here, Elliott. We don't need any ministerial spies. I'm astounded you even proposed the idea. I want my objections noted.'

'There, there, Fred. No need to man the barricades,' Prince said. 'I'm not making a formal proposal. What do you think, Dr Wallace? Is there any value to us in opening such lines of communication?'

Elizabeth put her right hand behind her onto her throbbing back. How dare he put her in this position? She was fed up with trying to second-guess Emery's agenda but was uncertain about board members' reactions if she reminded them they need deal with no one but the Premier. Roger Lui might have been strong enough to write to the Premier and Joan Emery to make clear in his respectful way that neither the board nor its staff would respond to Mrs Emery's demands. But Elliot Prince was not Roger Lui. Dealing with the new chairman was like trying to cut rubber with a blunt knife. He slithered around each issue, manoeuvring for his own gain without declaring his position. His close relationship with Robinson was well known and several board members spoke with each other in indignant tones.

'Elliott, Dr Wallace may not feel she can comment on a minister's actions, but we can.' Ngaire's raised voice brought the brouhaha to an end. 'It's just not on. If you want to make it formal, propose it from the Chair and see if anyone will second it.'

'Yes, do that,' spat Fred Fromberg. 'I'm sick of all this nonsense. She's a stupid woman and we don't need any of her lapdogs spying on us. I'm jack of all his games.'

'Thank you, Fred. Colourful as ever.' Prince turned again to Elizabeth. 'Dr Wallace, in spite of my colleagues' objections, I would like your views on this. The minister may well be difficult. I don't agree with the ambiguity over the task force any more than the rest of the board. However, do you think we would be seen as uncooperative if we refuse this request?'

Several board members continued to mutter. Ngaire put her hands in the air as if to say to Elizabeth, sorry, we tried.

No way was Elizabeth letting Michael Robinson back into the Institute. 'Not for minuting please, Barbara,' she said. 'There is no provision in the Act for observers so if the board were to allow it, how would you decide who could attend? If this request were granted, what would the next one be?'

Nods of agreement around the table.

'But my main concern,' Elizabeth continued, 'is that Dr Robinson is a ministerial officer. He is not bound by the constraints that public servants are nor the liability that board members carry. His sole obligation is to Mrs. Emery and she has shown herself antagonistic to this Institute. I do not think extending an invitation to Dr Robinson would mitigate that antagonism.'

'On what evidence do you base an assumption about antagonism?' Prince asked. He turned his body to face her.

Elizabeth's back and neck felt like an iron rod. An image of Frida Kahlo came to mind, inspiring her to push through the pain. 'Board members must be aware of the rumours around the task force report. Mrs. Emery, aided by Michael Robinson, has decided the Institute should be sold off to the private sector, either in part or the whole thing.'

'What? Who does she think she is?' boomed Fred Fromberg.

'Good Lord in Heaven, what does she think she's doing?' Henry Jones looked to the ceiling for inspiration. 'The Premier should never have got into bed with her. If you sleep with the devil don't be amazed by your progeny.'

'Unfortunate turn of phrase,' said Jackie Olson, casting a disdainful look at the usually taciturn history professor, 'but I agree.'

'This is ridiculous,' muttered Ames. 'The place is a nuthouse.'

'Ladies and gentlemen, please.' Elliott Prince banged his gavel on the table several times. 'Dr Wallace, you have set off an explosion here. What evidence do you have for this allegation?'

'Jeremy Hayes has shared with me his concerns that the task force is becoming a guise to legitimise recommendations to sell off some, if not all, of the Institute's assets. He's worried that there may be some ministers who agree. That is why he insisted on the draft of the task force report going to his office and then coming here. However, because of his resignation the report is now with the Premier and she has yet to decide what to do with it. She may choose not to refer it to the board. Indeed, she may do nothing at all with it.'

'How do you know that?' Prince asked. 'I am chairman of the task force and I have been told no such thing. I have yet to meet with the Premier and I expect her to discuss this with me in person.'

Elizabeth realised she had made a slip. 'If the Premier had decided to let the board have it as Hayes suggested, you would have received it as Institute Chairman.' She thought it wise not to mention Roger Lui had received the report and had shared its contents with her.

'And that's the stupid thing, since you sent it to Emery to begin with.' Fred Fromberg grunted. 'Never mind all this bloody bureaucracy. What I want to know, Elliott, is whether you recommended to Mrs Emery that this Institute be tossed?'

Prince ignored Fred. 'So, Dr Wallace, do you have first-hand evidence that our minister said this?'

'She's not our minister.' Ngaire's face was crimson again. 'The Premier is our minister. Look, I propose you put the question of Robinson's attendance to the board or we close the meeting. We've run half an hour over time as it is.'

Prince scowled at her then surveyed his fellow board members. 'I think I have the mood of the meeting. I'll let the matter rest on the table for the moment.'

'No, that's no resolution.' Ngaire slapped her hand on the table. 'Fix this once and for all. I propose the chairman indicates to the junior minister that only duly appointed members of the board attend meetings. We would be happy to invite Mrs Emery on occasion for specific discussions but not her staff.'

'I second that.' Fred grabbed his Akubra and stood. 'For the record, hell can freeze over before she gets my invitation.'

Elliott sat tall in his chair but his forced smile could not hide his irritation. He did as she asked. The motion was passed, all but Prince supporting it.

'I trust we do not come to regret denying the minister's request.'

Prince closed the meeting without further discussion on the task force. Yet again Elizabeth had not told the board about Emery's conversation with Martin Cheval or of the evening spent in the Premier's office.

Ngaire refused to let the matter rest. 'I'm sorry, Elliott, but I can't for the life of me understand why you don't explain the facts of the legislation to Joan Emery. Just tell her she has no formal responsibilities or control over us.'

Elizabeth was chatting to Geoff Ames about his new iPhone. It was usual for board members to share a light finger food lunch after the meeting but Prince never stayed unless a minister or other significant personage was present. He was gathering up his papers, signing various documents for Barbara and looked as if he did not hear Ngaire's challenge.

She was undeterred. 'Invite the Premier to our next meeting and we'll clarify this once and for all.'

Prince screwed the top of his gold fountain pen, folded his papers into his Louis Vuitton portfolio and replaced his glasses in their case. Stretching to his full height, he looked down on Ngaire through half-closed eyes. 'You do have a bee in your bonnet about Mrs Emery. As you say, she has no authority over us, so why do you insist on me telling her so? What would I have to gain by doing that?'

'What would you have to gain? That's not the point. Have you forgotten she holds the balance of power? She could use it for anything she wants. I can't believe the Premier would approve of this level of interference.' Ngaire's cardigan fell from her shoulders and she bent to retrieve it.

'If you are right then we've nothing to worry about. Now, I have to go. Can't stand around here gossiping all day.'

With a glance towards Elizabeth, Prince moved to the door. Fred Fromberg cut him off and spoke to him. Elizabeth watched Prince's fixed smile turn into a sneer. Whatever Fred was saying, Prince did not like it. After a few moments Prince turned to go, promising to 'sort out these bloody women.'

It was clear people had heard him and an uncomfortable chatter began after the door closed. Ngaire busied herself at the food table. Her cup rattled as she poured her coffee. Elizabeth moved to thank her for her support when Barbara approached her.

'Anne wants an urgent word. She won't tell me what it's about.'

'Tell her to come and join us for lunch. I need to talk to Ngaire.'

Elizabeth poured herself some peppermint tea. Her churning stomach needed no food. Board members were saying their goodbyes but she did not want Ngaire to leave, upset as she was. The two had become friends bound by their love of books and Ngaire's tireless work on the Knowledge Conference organising committee.

'That man annoys me more than anyone I've ever met,' spat Ngaire, her bangles jangling their agreement. 'If you were Elizabeth the First, you could lock the Black Prince in the Tower then chop off his head.' She walked to the end of the room, waving an arm in exasperation. Suddenly she was laughing. 'Sorry. Shouldn't get so worked up but I am going to do something about this. I won't stand by and let all Roger's work go to waste. Elliott Prince will never fill his shoes.'

Elizabeth did not want to criticise the new chairman. She ought not to say anything that could be used later even by someone as supportive as Ngaire who was unpredictable when driven by her passions and oblivious to the offence taken by some board members to her left-wing views.

Anne Oldham was at Elizabeth's elbow. 'Boss, I need to tell you something,' she whispered. 'All hell's broken loose.'

'What?'

'Perhaps in your office?'

'What's the matter?' Ngaire asked.

Anne hesitated but it was impossible to proceed without offending Ngaire.

'Let's move next door to my meeting room,' Elizabeth said. 'My back's killing me. Bring some lunch, Anne, and tell us what's going on.'

'No, thanks. I've eaten. In any case, what I've just heard would put anyone off their food.'

'Ngaire, why don't you join us?' Elizabeth led the way from the boardroom and lowered herself into a firm straight-back chair to support her complaining spine. Anne and Ngaire occupied the couches on either side of her.

Anne fidgeted with the glass beads around her neck. 'George had a call earlier to say Joan Emery was on talkback radio and sounding off about the Institute. I've been listening to her for the last half hour. I'll get a transcript shortly but what I heard wasn't good.'

Ngaire groaned. 'We've just wasted almost the whole board meeting on Mrs Emery's machinations. What's she done now?'

Given that media was George's area Elizabeth wondered if Anne had been deputised to convey bad news because he knew Elizabeth and Anne had become close. 'Tell us, Anne. We won't shoot the messenger,' Elizabeth said. 'How does she score an hour's radio time?'

'Easy when hubbie has a share in the station,' Anne said, 'and she's good copy. She loves this Queen Bee stuff. Anyone would think she's Deputy Premier, to hear her speak.' Her Yorkshire accent had strengthened, a sure sign of her anxiety.

'To all intents and purposes, she might as well be the Premier. What did she say?' asked Ngaire.

'She was promoting her task force and all its wonderful work. The usual stuff. Remove duplication across government, standardise IT systems, insist on better value for money and contract out anything that isn't nailed down, then a listener rang about the recent salary increases for senior public servants.'

'Yes, that's not gone down well with anyone,' Elizabeth said, reliving her own concern about her increased pay packet. She had considered refusing it but Josephine said other CEOs would misconstrue it as grandstanding.

'Well, she agreed with the listener then she released a diatribe about one in particular who lived in government premises at the taxpayer's expense, was paid a huge salary but spent most of her time at her beach house down south.'

'So did she mention Elizabeth by name?'

'No, but she used the Institute as an example of the kind of inefficiencies she was talking about. No one doubts who she meant when she said if you wanted to change any organisation you needed to start at the top.' Anne whispered as if the walls were listening. 'Then she said a fish rots from the head, especially North Sea cod.'

Ngaire gasped but Elizabeth said nothing. What was there to say? None of her experience had prepared her for such an onslaught. Each time she cut off one head of the political hydra, two more grew in its place, all with Joan Emery's face. She felt like she won each battle but there was a war going on for which she had no weapons. Maybe she should revisit Sun Tzu. On the other hand, she was more in the mood for Clausewitz's total war. Blitzkrieg was looking more attractive by the day.

Ngaire quizzed Anne about the radio program but there was not much more. 'She's a piece of work, right enough,' Anne said. 'I'm not sure too many people take her seriously. It's all a bit too bignote-ing for Australians to stomach. By all reports the Premier's not giving her much attention. As my Gran would say, it's neither nowt nor summat.'

Elizabeth was not so sure. Given her meeting with the Premier, she wondered again what Catherine Goodman thought she was doing. Giving Joan Emery enough rope to hang herself might work but it was Elizabeth's neck that was in the noose.

****

I'm so grateful for you agreeing to move in with Penelope while I'm in London. I'm worried about her, Perse. It's knocked all the sparkle out of her. A vase of yellow gerberas with Cass's note was waiting for Elizabeth in the guest wing of the Lawsons' house. Penelope was not the only one who had lost her sparkle, Elizabeth thought, as she waited for her third painkiller for the day to take effect.

She was still smarting from Joan Emery's attack the week before and was grateful to escape from the penthouse. She was not grateful for the reasons she had to move. Apart from Emery's diatribe she was shocked to see how helpless Penelope was after her fall. Mary, a fulltime nurse, was living with her but she could not be expected to be a companion. As Elizabeth closed the penthouse door she wondered who would be the greater friend to whom. It had been to Penelope she had fled as a young woman whenever her mother's silences became too much. A safe haven had been offered yet again.

Cass was due to appear in the European Court and could not refuse to attend without enormous disruption to her clients. Penelope had spent a week in hospital then Cass had stayed with her for two weeks.

Elizabeth had been avoiding the Sunday papers on the table before her and watching Hamish play with Penelope's dachshund on the lawn. The spring morning's sun warmed the breakfast room next to the kitchen. She had folded back the glass doors leading to the garden and was content to linger over coffee and try to empty her mind.

'If I'd known breaking my leg would get me such a welcome house guest, I'd have thrown myself down the stairs months ago.' Penelope sat in a wheelchair, her left leg in plaster from ankle to thigh and propped horizontally before her.

Mary manoeuvred the wheelchair alongside the breakfast table. 'I'll leave you ladies to your breakfast. Just press the buzzer if you need me, Mrs Lawson.'

'She's an angel,' Penelope said, as Mary left. 'Much as I hate all this fuss and frustration, if you have to have a full-time nurse, Mary's the one. Mary by name, Mary by nature. Heaven-sent.'

Elizabeth was relieved to see Penelope in better spirits than the night before. 'So, breakfast. Shall I prepare plates for us both?' She entered the kitchen where breakfast was laid out in platters worthy of an English country house, prepared earlier by Penelope's cook/housekeeper who had increased her visits to twice a day.

Elizabeth willed her body to relax as she focused on the food, realising her anxiety levels were increasing because of her worry about Penelope as well as her damaged friendship with Cass.

'Any of that food left for a hungry visitor?' Felicity Lui exploded into the room with her familiar energy, kicked off her shoes and pattered across the tiled floor in stockinged feet. She was dressed in a pink skirt and jacket, pearls at her neck. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head with not a strand out of place. Elizabeth felt frumpy in her track pants and sweater.

Felicity picked up a plate and helped herself. 'Penelope said May Ling was doing all her cooking at the moment. You must try her pancakes and ricotta pears. How are you, anyway?'

'Penelope has invited me to stay as long as I want. I'm not going back to the penthouse.'

'Good idea. I thought I'd invite myself to breakfast on my way to church. Is Penelope out of bed yet? Cass said she was depressed and not eating.'

'I'm just getting breakfast for her. She's on the patio. I hope her cheerfulness isn't an act for my benefit.'

Felicity piled a stack of pancakes on her plate, giving the lie to large appetites leading to large frames. 'So how are you coping? Roger sends his best wishes and says to ignore Joan Emery. He says to feign weakness and later you will strike with chaos. Honestly, that old codger Sun Tzu is such a know-all. A lot of hot air if you ask me, but don't tell him I said that. It'd be grounds for divorce. Sun Tzu and Confucius are the other two people in our marriage.'

'Ignoring her just annoys her more. I'm not sure it was the right tactic. Maybe Sun Tzu does have the answers. I don't.'

'Her remarks about living above the shop and always being down south were beyond the pale. You're so exposed and the way she never calls you Dr Wallace is so disrespectful. Do you think she calls you Ms Wallace deliberately? Truly, I couldn't stand to be in public life.'

Elizabeth's sleepless nights gave her hours to analyse why the Institute was stuck in the headlights of the Emery shooters but she could find no answers. Perhaps Felicity and Roger's wealth cushioned them or made critics cautious about attacking them. There was something about public office that made it open season for personal vilification.

'So, how is Roger's health? Is he back on the golf course and at the office?'

'He says he's fine but he tires easily. Our son, Simon, is full-time CEO now but Roger is still chairman. I want him to hand over completely but he won't, I know that. Not even for me. It's been his life, after all.'

Elizabeth wanted to discuss her situation with Roger. She missed the anchor of his corporate memory as well as his wise counsel but she knew Felicity would not appreciate her putting more pressure on her husband.

'Roger's furious about the way you're being treated. He said you should talk with him but, to be honest, I'm not sure he should get back into all the Institute stuff. He was upset not to continue as chairman.'

Oh, well, Elizabeth thought, I can't go see Roger now. 'It's no problem. Storm in a teacup. Joan Emery will have a new bat in her belfry tomorrow.' She tried to sound upbeat while another support disappeared from her crumbling house. 'Tell Roger things are fine and we're looking forward to his address at the Knowledge Conference dinner.'

'I'll do that. He's spending a lot of time writing it but you must come to dinner before then.'

****

'Hey, Hamish has already been fed. You'll make him the size of an elephant. Pancakes and bacon are not the staple diet of West Highland terriers.' Elizabeth scolded Penelope who was giving the grateful dog more food than she was eating.

'Oh, Elizabeth, don't be mean. It won't hurt and he deserves to be spoilt after losing his beloved Valerie. Mind you, Fritz the Fourth is a bit put out.'

Penelope's tiny dachshund had ensconced himself on the opposite side of the wheelchair to Hamish.

'Yes, he is,' Felicity said. 'If small German dogs can look aggrieved then he's very put out.'

Watching the dogs, the three women finished their coffee in the windless spring morning. A carpet of yellow, white and pink flowers stretched before them towards the river. Elizabeth focused on her breathing in an attempt to loosen the knot of tension that had taken up permanent residence in her chest

'Are those cats on leashes?' Felicity stepped onto the lawn. Natasha and Anastasia were exploring the pansy beds, leaping at white butterflies that hovered always out of reach. They gazed up at Felicity as she knelt and stroked them. 'Poor angels. Who's got you all tied up then? Penelope, when did you acquire these beauties?'

'They're mine, Felicity,' said Elizabeth. 'Valerie gave them to me last Christmas. They're house cats. They're allowed out on leashes. Valerie said it was the way to stop them being urban terrorists. No geckos or birds for these two darlings.'

'Are you missing Valerie terribly?' Felicity asked.

Elizabeth felt tears come. They had come too easily in recent weeks. 'Yes, I do miss her although work's been hectic. I've not been to the beach house since Cass rescued me.'

'Elizabeth has a terrible back pain,' Penelope told Felicity. 'We're quite a pair.'

'It's much better than it was,' Elizabeth said. 'I've gone from being an immobile lump to a slow-moving clod.'

Felicity walked back to the table, gathering up a reluctant Natasha on the way. 'I was just thinking that you shouldn't have to put up with Emery's attacks. Roger would have sorted her out if he'd still been chairman.'

'I wonder if even he would have been driven to distraction,' Elizabeth said. 'At least there's a pretence that Prince, Robinson and Emery get along whereas Emery knows Roger has a low opinion of her.'

Felicity agreed. 'We think that's part of the reason Joan Emery is attacking you rather than Roger. She thinks you're a safe target. She knows that as a public servant you can't fight back. I've never understood why when some women get power all they do is try to bring down any woman who looks like being a threat. It's a bit like fighting over being the fairy at the top of the Christmas tree. Not much point when the tree gets thrown out in early January.'

'I think there's more to it than that,' Elizabeth said. 'She goes after me with no logical argumens. She has to be after more than my scalp and I don't think it's just because I'm a woman. I'm going to have to find out what her real agenda is. It can't just be getting Michael Robinson my job.'

'So, what's it all about, Alfie?' Penelope tapped her eyebrow. 'She can't be Premier or even a full minister, standing as an independent. What's she up to?'

'I don't know, but if I don't find out, I won't know how to fight her.'

****

'Have some more chocolate mousse. Your figure can stand it more than mine.'

Beverley Farrington held out her hand for Elizabeth's plate but Elizabeth put her hand above her head. 'I'm full up to here, as my brother used to say.' Her brother had crept into her mind more often in recent weeks. He lived in Melbourne with his daughters but Elizabeth had made no effort to contact them, even when she visited that city on business. Perhaps it was evidence of her loneliness that she wanted to reach out to that little boy whom she had taught to read.

Beverley lived on the top floor of a small block of apartments in Crawley. Her expansive dining room had a window stretching the length of the wall that faced the river. The sensation when seated was of being on board a ship, floating above the water. Beverley had questioned Elizabeth about the Institute over a leisurely lunch, interested in the latest machinations of Michael Robinson whom her son Robert met at university. The Robinsons had not approved of Michael's burgeoning friendship with Robert. Beverley had never forgiven them their cutting remarks on Robert's clothes and manners. Even now, when Beverley's company was worth millions more than the Robinson wine interests, she refused to mix in their circles.

Elizabeth enjoyed Beverley's down to earth sense of humour that was as outspoken as Penelope's was proper but she found it odd that Felicity would be friends with both. It would be unlikely that the three would never be in the same room together.

'Have you been south since Valerie's death?' Beverley asked, pouring the coffee.

'No, I haven't. Too busy. My back's not comfortable sitting for hours so driving is a problem as well.'

'Me, neither, but I have no excuse other than cowardice.'

'Cowardice? Why do you say that?'

Beverley poured two small Drambuies and put them on a silver tray. 'Let's take our coffee into the lounge room.' Elizabeth followed her hostess into a small southwest corner room that was protected by another wide balcony. A cool breeze wafted through the open glass doors, bringing sounds of laughing children on the foreshore.

'You know that I call it like I see it.' Beverley eased her arthritic legs onto the ottoman in front of her chair. 'Some people don't like my bluntness but they put up with it. Nothing like being filthy rich to make people suck up to you.'

Elizabeth understood why Beverley and Valerie had been lifelong friends. They faced the world with the same courageous humour and honesty. She knew Beverley would explain herself eventually. She loved to talk but hated being questioned, loved to tell stories but listeners had to be patient till she got to the point. Valerie once said Beverley's visits were like having Scheherazade drop in with tales of business and political intrigue.

'I was saying I'm a coward, wasn't I? I won't walk away from a corporate battle and I'll defend my kids and grandkids to the death but Valerie's loss has hit me hard. We wrote to each other while she was overseas all those years and Howard and I often visited. Oh, the times we had in Nepal and Washington. Tokyo and Paris were such fun, too. The loveliest was the year Jock retired and we went to their cottage in the Scottish highlands. Not what we'd called a cottage. I expected a shack but it was more like a mansion. They had their own loch, for goodness sake. You must miss Scotland. What a wonderful country, and such friendly people.'

Beverley's mention of letters reminded Elizabeth of Valerie's writing desk and the box accompanying it. She rested her back in the deep cushions of the armchair and sipped her Drambuie, savouring its honey herbal taste, letting Beverley continue.

'When Valerie came back to Crespigny Bay we picked up easy as pie. She stayed with me in Margaret River while Ioann renovated the cottage and we healed each other. My husband Howard had died two years before but I had papered over the grief. The company needed running and I was determined to keep it in the family but Valerie helped me grieve with her. She was so open with her emotions. So brave till the end.' Beverley's eyes filled and she reached for a handkerchief.

'Yes. _No coward's soul is mine_. Valerie loved Emily Brontë's poem. _No trembler in the world's storm troubled sphere_.'

Beverley blew her nose and poured herself another Drambuie. 'She introduced me to this stuff. Everything reminds me of her, but I can't face the Margaret River house without her.'

I know what you mean, thought Elizabeth, not knowing how to comfort Beverley.

'Anyway, how are you doing? Enough of me prattling on. You're looking what Valerie would call peaky.'

Elizabeth smiled. 'I think she would have got that phrase from Jock. My grandmother used to say that and then tell me what I needed was a good feed of mince, mashed potatoes and peas from the garden.'

'I think what you need more is a few more friends. Food for the soul, even if sometimes it is politic to beat a noble retreat.'

'A noble retreat? You think I should give in? Just walk away?' Elizabeth realised she sounded belligerent.

'Ah, a bit of spirit. Just testing your mettle. You sound energetic enough even if you don't look it.'

'It's my back. It's better than it was, but the ache wears me down.'

Beverley nodded. 'I know what it is to live with pain, my dear. My arthritic hips are constantly complaining. Is yours arthritis?'

'No, all the tests show no damage, no osteoporosis. Just inflammation. It hurts like hell sometimes then other times, it's okay. It's making me unreliable. I make appointments then have to cancel. I've postponed some travel commitments but I can't go on like this.'

Beverley sipped her drink, licking her lips with pleasure. 'A wise old woman once told me pain in the body reflects pain in the spirit and a bad back means you feel unsupported.'

Elizabeth shivered. 'And what wise old woman would that be?'

'Oh, I think you know. Since I can't bear not to have Valerie in my life, I decided not to let her go from my heart. We have lots of interesting chats. As I live alone, I can gabble away to her all night.'

Elizabeth rejected the offer of another drink, pleading she was driving and wondering if Beverley was becoming tipsy after the wine at lunch.

'If you're going to fix your back, you'll need to pull out the knives first.' Beverley's ample bosom shook as she laughed. 'Roger and I have dug up some juicy ways for you to do just that and stick them into someone else.'

'You've been discussing Institute politics with Roger? Felicity will have you drawn and quartered.'

'Oh, Felicity's an old worrywart. She's a beautiful woman and a dear friend but she doesn't understand her husband. If Roger's kept away from business, he'll die. She can't control his phone calls or his visitors when she's out. In any case, Roger's concerned about you. He feels he's let you down.'

'I've tried to tell him he doesn't have to feel that way. He couldn't help his heart attack and no one anticipated Joan Emery's accession to power.'

'We know that but Roger's used to being in charge.' Beverley wiggled in her chair with excitement. 'Anyway, Ngaire keeps him well informed. They're good mates. She's a bit arty farty but knows what she doesn't know and in my book that's the cleverest you can be. She's furious about Prince refusing to stand up to Emery and she's always been suspicious of Michael Robinson. She asked Roger to do some fishing and he asked me to help.'

'Fishing for what?'

'Anything and everything. Once you accept business and politics are an interconnected chess game, it's just a question of who's going to keep their King.'

'So are Queen Emery and her knight Sir Michael in any danger?'

'Yes, indeed, and I suspect the Black Prince may be in it with them.' Beverley counted on her fingers. 'Let's get down to tin tacks. First, remember the company SysWA that was bought by Vision Industries International, your French friend's company?'

'Yes, although I've said before he's hardly a friend.'

'Ah, I suspect the charming Frenchman would disagree. In any case, Roger was suspicious about why Robinson let SysWA have so much business without telling the board.'

'I thought it was because he put so much personal effort and his reputation into the _Remembering_ project, the one about digitising historical papers and manuscripts.'

'Yes, that's how it looks but Roger's been digging a bit more after he spoke last month to Martin Cheval.'

'Martin? He's in Australia?' Elizabeth had not spoken to Cheval for weeks.

'No, he rang from Paris. He had not heard Roger was no longer Chair of the board. What he rang about will make your hair curl.'

'Beverley, nothing makes my hair curl but I take it you mean something amazing?'

'Michael Robinson rang Cheval and asked whether Vision International would be interested in buying the Institute.'

'What? That's preposterous! Was he calling on behalf of Emery?'

'Who knows? The one thing that drives Michael is ambition. He's a self-centred bastard. Always has been, even as a young man.' Beverley waved her hand as if swatting away an irritating insect. 'Let me get on with my story because it gets even more interesting.'

Elizabeth sighed and felt her neck tense. Perhaps another Drambuie would help. She poured herself a glass.

'Roger's had his legal people do some digging. Apparently Robinson's family trust owned ten per cent of SysWA so when it was sold to Vision he made a bundle.'

'So he was giving SysWA exclusive access to the state's archives for their digitisation software development when he had a share in the company? He would have had to declare an interest.'

'Any self-respecting public servant would, but he's not in the public sector to serve anyone but himself. Also, the trust is in his wife's maiden name, set up by her father. Michael could argue that technically he doesn't have an interest.'

Elizabeth stood as her restless mind competed with her body's need to be still. She used both hands to support her back. 'That doesn't wash, surely? He could have been sacked for that, and he still could. Legally, he's still on the staff of the Institute. He's only on secondment to the minister's office.' She grabbed on to the idea of a life without Robinson breathing down her neck but it wouldn't get rid of Emery. 'Do you think there's a connection between his share in SysWA and asking Cheval to buy the Institute?'

'Sit down, Elizabeth. You're giving me a neck ache looking up at you. There's more, and this is the real doozy. Turns out Emery's company has a joint venture with an interesting UK company.'

'How did you find out all this?'

'Roger says he's following the trails of Brian and Joan Emery's company but it's complicated. They're a small holding company and they have joint ventures in several countries. She's declared the parent company on the parliamentary register and insists her husband runs the show.'

Elizabeth smirked. 'And we believe that, don't we? She'd pretend he did but I've never met such a controlling, manipulative - oh, words fail me.'

'No they don't. She's a bitch. No need to be prissy about it, although it's a bit unfair to lady dogs, isn't it Josie?' Beverley patted her Maltese terrier that slept on the couch next to her. 'My son Robert works as a freelance financial writer in London so I asked him to do some digging into the UK connection. Guess who the UK company is in negotiations with for a possible merger?'

'Not Vision?'

'Not exactly. One of Vision's subsidiaries. How do you like them apples?'

'Why would Cheval buy that kind of company? I thought he was focusing on the surveillance sector.'

'He's got fingers in all kinds of pies, Robert said. Some of them are pretty half-baked, if you ask me.'

'So Cheval and Emery could become partners any day? Did Martin mention this to Roger?'

'No, he didn't. Cheval may not know. Vision is a huge conglomerate. He won't be handling the deal personally.'

'So we have some information that makes us suspicious but nothing we can prove.' Elizabeth said, thinking aloud. 'Robinson could have called Cheval on Emery's instructions. Did you find out what happened with Robinson's share of SysWA? Did he become wealthier or does he now have an investment in Vision Industries itself? He doesn't strike me as a financial high flyer.'

'More of a well-dressed gutter rat, I'd say.'

Elizabeth stood and walked to the edge of the balcony and breathed in the fresh air. Beverley joined her and they watched the yachts tacking in the middle of the river.

'What if he were calling on behalf of Emery?' Elizabeth said. 'Sounding out Cheval? She's driven by this privatisation idea. Be a bit embarrassing if they put the Institute up for sale and no one was interested.'

'Either way, they're both out of line so far as public behaviour is concerned. It must break every rule in the ministerial code of conduct, and then some.'

'Sounds like corruption to me but they could argue Martin misunderstood. Lost in the translation.'

Elizabeth's mind raced on. If Robinson was approaching Cheval about purchasing the Institute, and he was acting on behalf of Emery, what if this was government policy? How could she be sure the Premier wouldn't support it? Would she sacrifice the Institute to stay in power? They might get big dollars for the Institute. The state's budget surplus was shrinking by the day so a sale might be attractive.

'You could leak this to the press,' Beverley said. 'Or Roger and I could. The public outcry might get rid of Emery and save the Institute. Checkmate.'

'No, it's too soon.' Elizabeth tensed again. 'We need to find out more. We've got no proof of anything. I don't know where Elliott Prince fits into this and we shouldn't do anything till that's clearer.'

Beverley banged her fist on the balcony's balustrade. 'Michael Robinson and Joan Emery are a pair of conniving self-seekers. Now, don't you go giving them the benefit of the doubt. You sound like Valerie.' She clenched her fists and pushed her arms forwards. 'We need to flush them out. If I call the editor of the Fin Review and point him in the right direction, a good journalist could find out even more. At least it'll be in the public arena. Courage, my friend.'

'Beverley, it's not a question of courage. The trouble with being MD of a public institution is I have to fight with one hand tied behind my back. I appreciate all your info and advice but let's not make a move that will end up with both my hands tied.'

And my back up against the wall, she thought, as her spine screamed for her to lie down.

CHAPTER TWO

'I think we should stop here, Alex. These shoes aren't made for walking and I'm hot.'

'Well, I agree with the last statement.' He smiled as he waited for Elizabeth to catch up and put his arm around her. She did not reciprocate, bending over with her hands on her hips.

'I am so out of condition. I've done no walking since my back started playing up.' Elizabeth's breathing was laboured and she was sweating heavily.

'Is it hurting now?'

'It's better than it was but I've walked far enough for now.'

They were half way up the hill behind the Hayman Island resort and stood in the shade of the forest that hung over the road. The Whitsundays stretched out before them, green islands in an aquamarine sea, picture-postcard perfect.

They had lingered long over breakfast and the tropical sun was well alight by the time they set out. Elizabeth suggested they abandon the idea of a walk but Alex was bursting with energy. She had not wanted to dampen his enthusiasm but he was wet with perspiration now.

'You look as red and puffed as I feel,' Elizabeth told him. 'Drink some water. You have to be careful in this heat.'

'Oh, tosh, as they say in the best circles. It's not that hot.'

'Okay, Gunga Din, but don't say I didn't warn you.'

'What's that small building up the hill? Let's rest there.' He strode upwards while Elizabeth tottered behind him.

They had arrived the previous day, their tentative greeting leaving so much unspoken. In March Alex had suggested a holiday attached to his attendance at a conference in Sydney and Elizabeth had agreed without hesitation. She had found herself looking forward to it as something to take her mind away from deciphering political mazes. That was before Cass's confession. And before the apologetic letter from Alex. Elizabeth's first reaction had been to cancel Hayman Island.

So what was she doing here now, she asked herself. Despite her fury with Cass, Elizabeth had discovered she wanted to be with Alex, the one person in the world on whom she thought she could rely. She had rung him and said she thought they should sort things out. Now she was with him, all she wanted to do was punish him.

The wooden structure proved to be a closed-in gazebo, maybe a hundred feet away but it felt like a mile to Elizabeth who staggered up the steep hill and collapsed on a bench. She discovered blisters across the front of her feet where the sandal straps had rubbed. She leaned back and gazed at the lush green foliage, none of which she could name, breathed into her stomach and tried to slow her heartbeat. Tropical paradise it may be but her genes were made for cooler climes.

Music burst from the wall behind them. Bette Midler's _You are the wind beneath my wings_. Alex disappeared round the corner, coming back seconds later. 'It's a chapel, cantilevered out from the cliff, and there's a wedding. Come on, let's join them.'

'Alex, that's private, we can't.'

'Yes, we can. Let's just sit at the back. The building's amazing.' He pulled her to her now throbbing feet and they tiptoed into the building, Elizabeth's sandals in her hands.

The structure was larger than its exterior suggested. Octagonal in shape, it perched above the resort. Ceiling to floor windows offered ocean vistas. It was furnished with a few wooden benches and a lectern from which hung a golden altar cloth.

The wedding party was small, ten people, including the couple and the priest. In their early twenties, the two young people's elegant clothes would not be out of place in a Paris hotel but it was the glow of happiness that struck Elizabeth. It was a palpable, living thing that drew her into its circle. The couple's guests shared their joy, smiling heads bent to each other as they listened to the exchange of vows.

The ceremony was near its end and Elizabeth heard the bride's confident last words. 'I commit to you my love, my respect, and my friendship. You are my solace, my inspiration, my refuge and my eternal joy.'

Guests wiped away tears, the priest declared the new husband and wife joined forever and the couple kissed. He whispered something in her ear. She laughed. Something about the couple's stillness kept the guests still. He took her hand, raised it to his lips and gazed at her. She leaned her cheek on his. They were locked in a timeless moment neither they nor their guests wanted to end. The bride in her white strapless dress with frangipanis in her hair and the groom in a white suit stood framed against the infinite blue of sea and sky, suspended in space and time.

Then the music began again. The spell was broken and the group burst into hugs and congratulations.

Elizabeth and Alex remained seated as the chapel emptied. She sensed a loss of something, as if a rare bird had flown away. Alex jumped up and followed the wedding party. Elizabeth watched him go, puzzled but unwilling to follow. Weddings always upset her. All that hope and promise and expectations of happy ever after. She had thought she loved John and that he adored her. What a paltry refuge he had been in the end.

Alex returned, still bubbling with energy. 'Wasn't that beautiful? I just had to wish them well. Goodness, it takes me back.' He sat next to her. 'Were we ever that young? Some days I feel their age and other days I feel like Methuselah.'

Elizabeth tried to banish the memories of her own wedding but she was stuck somewhere, paralysed in the tropical heat.

'The groom gave me this and I give it to you.' Alex handed her the frangipani buttonhole. Elizabeth breathed in the unmistakable scent and gazed across the silent space to the ocean beyond.

'They looked so young and hopeful, didn't they?' Alex said after a few minutes. 'He's French. They met here two years ago. He asked me how long I had been married and when I said I'd never been, he told me I must hurry. Surely there was a beautiful woman I could share my _grand âge_ with? Can you believe the cheek of it?'

Alex lifted Elizabeth's hand that clasped the flowers. 'The lady has always had my heart. In spite of my valiant efforts to stuff things up completely.'

Elizabeth knew they must discuss what happened with Cass but how? The day before they had avoided the issue by behaving like polite friends on a boat trip to the reef and picnicked on a beach with four other couples. Their companions must all have been newlyweds, obsessed with each other, bodies and hands entwined with that honeymoon urgency. Elizabeth had alternated between self-consciousness and an anger that settled into an overwhelming sadness.

In the evening they had dined in one of the fine restaurants but she had not tasted the food. Their safe conversation had been of mutual friends and families. Their roles were reversed with Elizabeth's usual chattiness replaced by her short questions while Alex's usual reticence was replaced by stories of parliamentary dramas as well as his beloved mother. They got through the evening and retired to their separate bedrooms. Elizabeth wondered if Alex had struggled to sleep as much as she.

'We do need to talk,' Alex said, as if reading her mind.

How many times had she said that over the years in the face of his impenetrable silences? Now she knew how he must have felt. She was not ready to talk. She did not trust herself. If she started to speak, an avalanche of words might smother them both but at 3am the previous night she knew one thing for sure. He was her best friend and to lose him would be like death.

She had sat alone on the balcony in the tropical coolness and rehearsed what she might say to him. Words were her stock in trade, she told herself, so why was it so difficult? Whatever she practised sounded petulant or cruel. After all, she had left him, gone to the other side of the world, leaving their relationship in limbo. How could she blame him for sleeping with someone else when there was no sign of her return?

Sleeping might be okay. Even sex with someone else might be okay. But sex with Cass? The pictures in her mind made her nauseous. How could either of them excuse it?

Alex was waiting for a response but she stood and moved to the entrance. 'I promised to call Barbara,' she said. 'I've got a conference call booked.'

She heard Alex's intake of breath as if we were going to object. 'Oh, well, if you must. We can talk later. You go back. Make your call. I'm going to a walk further along the ridge. I want some photographs.'

Outside the building he kissed her on the cheek then held her gaze till she looked away. 'But we will talk this afternoon, Elizabeth. I can't stand this much longer.'

****

There was nothing needing Elizabeth's attention, Barbara explained. Everything was under control. Elizabeth had come to expect as much. Barbara's breadth of knowledge, when matched with her fierce loyalty, meant she had become confidante, intelligence source and strategy partner. Although Elizabeth delegated her authority to Josephine or Anne when necessary, she suspected Barbara would have a better idea of Elizabeth's preferences.

'So you'd better set up an Executive meeting as soon as possible,' Elizabeth said. 'Canberra has our budget under the spotlight again. Jean Renfrew thinks it'll be fine but she's not one hundred per cent sure.'

Barbara was unconcerned. 'The Feds have played this game with us from the beginning. They don't like their money or their power going outside Canberra but they pay up in the end. Some of them think our allocation should go through the Foreign Investment Board.'

'No, I think it's more than that this time. The instability caused by Joan Emery is giving them an excuse. They're fighting over forests, water, power, oil and gas royalties. Jean's worried the Institute is an easy target.'

'Well, maybe we'd be better off without them. Go it alone,' Barbara said. 'If we can't secede as a state, let's take the Institute away from them. Find our own money from elsewhere.'

Elizabeth had considered just such a possibility but being a supplicant to the resources sector might be fraught with even more difficulties. In any case, the financial meltdown was affecting even the so-called long boom.

'Well, let's see. Can you ask Josephine to pull together the various pieces of legislation and regulations that govern the Institute? Let's have the facts in front of us and see what our options are.'

'Okay, boss, anything else? You'll be back in the office Wednesday?'

'Yes. I've got a bit of time in Sydney airport. I may check in with you then.'

'Good. I've got a couple more things then Josephine and Anne both want a word. Firstly, the Premier's office has confirmed that the Premier will give the opening address at the Knowledge 2020 Conference and they want an outline asap.'

Elizabeth sighed with relief. 'Great. At least that's locked in. I'll have a word with Josephine but make a time for us on Wednesday to go through the draft. It'll be good to put a few words in the Premier's mouth. What else?'

'Your friend Martin Cheval has called. Twice on Friday then again this morning. He wanted your mobile number but I said you weren't available. I hope that's all right?'

'Martin Cheval? What does he want? And, Barbara, he's hardly a friend.'

'Oh, I think he'd like to be even more than that.'

'Strange he wouldn't tell you the subject. Oh well, tell him I'll call him Wednesday. Can't be anything too urgent. Oh, hell, I wonder?' Elizabeth remembered the conversation with Beverley. 'I think I might know what it's about. I wonder if he'll come clean.'

'Clean about what?'

'I'll tell you when I see you. It's complicated.'

'Okay. So are you and Alex are having a lovely time?'

'Put Josephine on the line and I'll see you on Wednesday.'

After preliminary pleasantries, Josephine explained why she needed to speak to Elizabeth urgently. 'Joan Emery called me on my direct line on Friday. She said she wanted to speak to you but understood you were out of town again.'

'Again? She said again?'

'Several times. You know what she's like. Anyway, she didn't call Barbara so I don't know if she was calling me as director or as acting MD.'

'She's out of line contacting any of my staff but go on.'

'She congratulated us on the Knowledge Conference programme then said she would like to host a dinner for the speakers.'

'Did you tell her the Premier's doing that?'

'Well, no, that would have sounded a bit aggressive, I thought, since we haven't invited her to the dinner. In any case, as you're the Conference Convener I told her that the decision was yours.'

Elizabeth had left Josephine in charge. Why hadn't she killed the idea? Yet if the budget was in jeopardy because of Emery's shaky position they needed some stability in their relationship with the troublesome assisting minister. 'Let's think about it,' Elizabeth said. 'Maybe not a dinner. Maybe a cocktail party. We can speak when I get back. Was that what you needed to speak to me urgently about?'

Josephine hesitated. 'No, it was what she said next.'

'Don't tell me. She wants to be the star?'

'Yes. She says she's to open the Conference, not the Premier.'

'Well, she'll have to take that up with the Premier because Barbara says we have confirmation the Premier herself will be the numero uno, thank goodness.'

'Do you want me to call her back?'

Elizabeth wondered again about Josephine's motives. It was nothing she could put her finger on but the question implied there was nothing wrong with such a conversation. It was becoming more difficult to give Josephine the benefit of the doubt.

'No, let me think about it. I suspect we're going to have to give her a role of some sort. Her antagonism towards the Institute is just too obvious to Canberra.'

'Do you have new reasons to think that?'

'Nothing specific but Jean Renfrew says Collins is less than thrilled. We need a better engagement strategy with Canberra.' Elizabeth decided to do some fishing. 'Why did Joan Emery call you directly? Usually she has Michael Robinson pushing her barrow.'

'Well, he did call several times but I told him that the program had been drafted with the Premier giving the opening address and as soon as we got confirmation it would go to the printers, which it will do today. I'll see to it personally.'

So Robinson's calls to Josephine are frequent, Elizabeth thought, and she had not mentioned them. 'Anything else Robinson calls about?'

'Oh, the usual. He thinks he can charm every female on the face of the earth. It's more useful to string him along than tell him what I really think. No point in burning bridges.'

Like you do. Elizabeth let the implication hang in the air. Now was not the time to explore Josephine's loyalty. Alex would be back for lunch soon and she needed to speak with Anne.

'Sorry to bother you on your well earned break,' Anne's cheery voice said. 'Is the weather glorious on Hayman? I've never been there but there was an article in _Belle_ magazine last year. Looks heavenly.'

Did they all know where she was? And who she was with? She should have told Barbara to keep her trip confidential, although that would have generated as much misinformed gossip about the extra three days added to a quick trip to Canberra.

'It's beautiful here,' Elizabeth said. 'I hope I can come back for a longer visit sometime in the winter. It's too hot for me.'

'Okay, well I won't keep you long but I thought you should know I had a call from a journalist friend of mine fishing for a story. Normally I'd just handball it to George but this one bothers me.'

'In what way?'

'It sounds far-fetched but things are so crazy around government at the moment I'd believe Martians have landed on Cottesloe Beach and bought ice cream.'

Elizabeth laughed as Anne explained. 'My friend is writing an article on the Australian Government's privatisation projects for the last ten years and he's trying to anticipate whether they will move into new areas or revert to more central control.'

'Good question. Probably both. What has this got to do with us?'

'Well, in pursuit of new areas, some official mentioned the Institute, and Giovanni said–'

'Giovanni? Giovanni Federico?' The name sounded odd to her still. 'He's doing the story?'

'Yes. Do you know him?'

'He hasn't told you? You said you were friends.'

'Yes, well I'm friends with his wife Gabriella actually. We're in the same squash club.'

'Go on. He did some work for Jeremy Hayes last year so I had a lot to do with him.' If Anne did not know Giovanni was her former husband she was not going to tell her.

'I think he's still working for him,' Anne said. 'Well, Giovanni reckons someone is fishing for a buyer for the Institute.'

Elizabeth's silence must have fed Anne's suspicion. 'This isn't the first you've heard of this, is it?'

****

Alex did not return for lunch. Elizabeth knew his sense of time was unreliable when walking or upset. He had a habit of biting his bottom lip as if to stop the words, muttering some excuse such as needing fresh air and disappearing for hours but on return was restored to his usual cheerful self on return.

She went to the restaurant by the pool and ordered barbecued fish, but did not eat all of it as her stomach churned over what they would say to each other. She returned to their suite and tried to work on her notes for the Premier's conference speech. The day's heat and the glare of sun on sea was the stuff of which migraines were made so she remained indoors. Her concern for Alex increased as the afternoon wore on. Where was on earth was he? He had no water with him and she knew how British people underestimated the Australian weather. It might be still spring in the tropics but it was much hotter than a London heatwave.

Deciding to search for him, she took a large bottle of water from the refrigerator and grabbed her hat. Stepping into the corridor, she saw him stumbling along the corridor. His face and arms below his short-sleeved shirt were red. She held the door open for him, forcing herself to remain silent. I told you so would not help.

'I need a cold shower and a drink.' He collapsed onto the edge of the bed.

Elizabeth filled a glass with water and handed it to him. He drank it in one gulp. 'I got a bit carried away,' he croaked. 'This island is bigger than you think.'

Elizabeth went to the bathroom and soaked large towels with cold water. She wrapped one towel round his neck and another across his legs. He was burning to the touch.

'I've got a terrible headache,' he said.

'Lie down and I'll get some aspirin. You may have sunstroke.' She helped him onto the bed, removed his loafers. By the time she returned his eyes were closed and his breath ragged. She felt his pulse. It was racing.

An hour later, his pulse and breathing were normal and he had sunk into a still, deep sleep. The skin on his face, legs and arms were a livid red. She wondered if the pharmacy had calamine lotion, her mother's cure for their annual holiday sunburn, but the tepid Scottish sun was a gentle caress compared to the lashing from Australia's.

'Stupid man,' she said to his unhearing ears. 'We're not made for this country.'

As she watched his chest's slow rise and fall, her anxiety lessened. She stretched her back and walked onto the balcony. Enveloped by a cooling breeze off the sea, she lay on a lounger with the cup of iced tea she had prepared for Alex. He might sleep for hours.

Getting burned is an extreme way to avoid a conversation, she thought, as she opened her laptop.

****

By 6.30pm, Alex was awake, insisting his headache was gone so at least he had avoided sunstroke. He looked sheepish, blaming himself and joking about being a mad dog but never an Englishman. He was adamant that he could shower and dress for dinner and he encouraged Elizabeth keep her appointment with the hairdresser.

She allowed herself to be persuaded into a facial, massage and manicure, rare indulgences. The beauty therapists enthused about her cheekbones, eyebrows that needed plucking (which she permitted), her green eyes and fine red hair. Elizabeth knew such flattery came with the service but she was astonished at the result of their efforts. She did look beautiful. A green cream that she expected would match her eyes rather than hide the strain concealed the dark circles under her eyes. She must buy a stick of that miracle potion.

'Now, why not buy a new dress to wear for your special dinner tonight?' the white-coated magician had asked.

Elizabeth was about to say the dinner was not special but she realised she wanted it to be. Alex would leave the next day and she did not know when she would see him again. Must they have the dreaded conversation about what in her mind she called _the event_? Betrayal was too big a word. Perhaps forgiveness was a better one.

'Yes, why not? What have you got to match this creation of yours?' she said to the beautician, examining the stranger in the mirror.

The embroidered green silk dress shimmered in the lights. Monstrously expensive, it proved irresistible once it slithered over her body, delighting her with its lightness and texture. She was more startled to find the perfect fit was a size eight. She had noticed her clothes were looser but had dismissed Penelope's nagging to eat more.

She rang Alex to say she would meet him in the bar by the pool, relieved that he assured her he was showered and about to dress. He sounded lethargic but she dismissed her negative thoughts as the waiter brought her drink, setting it on the small table beside her. She gazed out over the beach, relaxing into the comfortable chair and let herself drift. Work thoughts kept intruding. What to do about Cheval? Why was Giovanni sniffing around? And always Joan Emery. Like some jungle creature crouching in the corner of her mind. Well, not tonight.

Waiting for Alex, she remembered Valerie's admonition always to be grateful and count her blessings. Love is always the answer, Valerie would say, no matter the question.

****

'Elizabeth, where are you?'

She had no edges. She had woken early and practised the meditation taught by Valerie. She was suspended in a boundless space of white energy, so beautiful she wept with the joy of it. She did not want to leave but someone was calling her. The voice tugged at her but she ignored it. She did not know where she was. She was everywhere and nowhere. Half awake, half asleep, she knew this place. Home was a good word for it.

'Elizabeth?' A gentle touch on her shoulder. The light faded as she came back into her body. Opening her eyes, she stared at Alex.

'I've been watching you for half an hour. You look so serene but I couldn't resist waking you. Just to make sure last night wasn't a dream.'

They lay facing each other on the king-sized bed in her room. He touched her head, pushing wayward strands of hair behind her ear, his gaze so full of love she had to close her eyes. Memories of the light hovered as she tried to orient herself. Alex, Hayman Island, the flight from Sydney, his sunburn, their closeness rediscovered. Well, almost.

She had no words to describe her responses. Amazement that they had found their way back to each other. Astonishment at the way he had poured his heart out to her over dinner in ways he never had before. Delight that forgiveness was a possibility in her admission that she had contributed to his loneliness.

'It's nine o'clock,' Alex said. 'If you don't get out of this bed, I'm not going to be responsible for the consequences.' He let his hand rest on her side. 'You get more beautiful each time I see you,' he whispered, his voice husky, 'but I insist we eat. Come along, breakfast by the pool.'

Elizabeth was disoriented by more than her dream. Alex's uncharacteristic openness puzzled her but she hoped he would not put on his customary reserve with his clothes. She wanted to stay in the moment longer. She closed her eyes and stretched her back, delighting in its flexibility. Her whole body was lighter.

The night had been strange. After dinner, where the ice between them receded, they went to their separate rooms in the suite. Alex did not try to kiss her. Elizabeth remembered the disappointment as her body told her she was ready for him. Some time later, sleeplessness her companion again, she got out of bed and sat on the sofa on the balcony, watching the moonlight on the ocean and the hotel pools.

'Do you want some company?' Alex stood at the edge of the balcony. 'I can't sleep either. I'm a walking furnace.'

So they had sat, Alex pressing wet towels on his face, arms and legs. It had been easier to talk in the darkness. They spoke of their life together but Elizabeth knew they lacked the courage to speak of the weight on their hearts. She went to bed and retreated into a short, restless sleep. When she awoke in the strange light of dawn she could see Alex still lying on a lounge on the balcony. She called to him and he came into her room.

She beckoned to him to lie next to her. As he eased himself onto the bed, she touched his chest and he placed both his hands on top of hers. 'I'm sorry,' she thought she heard him say. 'Please forgive me.'

They had not made love. Whether it was Alex's burnt skin or Elizabeth's raw hurt, his guilt or hers, she did not know. For the time being, it was enough to be together.

****

Elizabeth felt like a teenager as they had coffee after breakfast by the pool. They were packed, ready for the boat to take them to the airport. Alex's sunburn looked as red as the day before but he refused to complain about it. Elizabeth insisted they sit in the shade for the morning.

'Is your beach at home like this?' Alex asked.

Elizabeth's mind conjured an image of pebbles, wind and crashing waves before a grey North Sea followed by a memory of exploring rock pools for crabs and buckies on a summer's day before realising he meant her beach in Crespigny Bay.

'Well, it's more like this than the northeast of Scotland but it's different. Cooler, fresher, windier. We get lots of wind in the west, and we don't have islands and hills like this, and the vegetation is different, and the birds are different.' She laughed. 'So apart from water and sand, there's not much in common!'

As they watched the yachts on the horizon, Elizabeth listened to the sounds of the rainforest behind the resort. She found herself wondering how Alex would like Crespigny Bay, imagining him in her house. Her home.

Home and Alex. The two ideas went well together.

'I can't believe how relaxed you look compared to Saturday,' Alex said. 'I was worried about you. You looked so exhausted.'

'You didn't look so great yourself.'

Alex and Elizabeth had settled in the business lounge at Sydney airport. Her flight had been delayed for an hour so they had settled into a quiet corner. She sat with her back to the growing vanguard of male business suits congregating around the bar and snacks island. The plane would be full as usual. If Perth's boom was slowing there was no evidence of it.

'I wonder what disasters will be waiting for me when I get back,' Elizabeth said. The Institute's world flooded her mind as she acknowledged the wave of a Western Australian CEO whose name she could not recall.

'From what you've been telling me it all sounds a bit off, corrupt even. Have you taken legal advice?'

Elizabeth had shared some of her work dramas with Alex over the weekend. It had been one way of avoiding other things. He had listened without criticism, questioning her as the lawyer turned politician that he had become.

'Do you have whistleblower protections? What if you went public?'

'Wouldn't I just be attacked even more? I could leak it to the Opposition but that's professional suicide. I don't know who to trust. In any case, I don't have enough hard evidence. Cass told me about someone who made an issue public and he was hung out to dry. Parked in the transit lounge was what she called it.'

Cass's name hung between them. Elizabeth cursed herself for spoiling the mood but Alex did not move his arm. She leaned into him without saying anything.

'If you want to get out and come home, I'm here,' Alex said. 'To tell you the truth, this MP business is not all it's cracked up to be. I don't think I'll stand again.'

Elizabeth was not as annoyed at the suggestion she abandon her job as she would have expected but had she heard him correctly? He wanted to leave the Scottish Parliament? Annoyed as she was still at that decision she would not want him to make that sacrifice.

'You look a lot more flushed than you did on Saturday,' Elizabeth teased him, changing the subject.

'My face is going to peel. I'll be in for a dreadful ribbing by my colleagues, I suppose. The Honourable Member is a bit red-faced about this matter.'

'Too right, as Australians say. I could say the reason I'm looking so relaxed is all the great sex we had but someone was too hot to touch last night.' With his florid skin she suspected he would be glad to get into a cool bath, removing the shirt and trousers that must be chafing. He would not have a comfortable journey home.

'The spirit was willing,' he whispered, leaning over and kissing her ear. 'Actually, everything was willing except the skin. Wrong kind of hot stuff, eh?'

Elizabeth rested in the memory of their closeness. It was enough for now, she told herself. After all, neither had said a thing about the future. Was he waiting for her to say something? She knew she wanted things to be different between them.

'I can't believe I stomped off like that then got so burned,' he said. 'Bloody-minded. Sullen silences, my mother called them.'

'Silences?' Elizabeth feigned innocence. 'So, if you're telling me you were being sullen, what would you say it was about?'

'Och, don't tell me you don't know. I ought to be old enough to face my feelings but I'm not too good at it.'

Acknowledging personal flaws had never been high on Alex's agenda. How often had she begun to discuss some aspect of their relationship when he pleaded his work needed urgent attention. She tried conversations in coffee shops or over meals in restaurants but always he would change the subject if she got too close to a raw emotion.

'Tell me what were you being sullen about.'

'I wanted you all to myself. We had so few days and you went off to make a phone call. You've always put work first.'

'Oh, Alex, it wasn't easy to get away. I've already taken so much time off this year because of Valerie's illness and now there's this huge conference coming up.'

'I know, I know. After what I did I don't deserve your time. What I'm trying to say in my hopeless dour way – sorry, you can't expect a Scotsman to turn into an Italian lover – is that I understand. I have to stop pressuring you for what I want or what I think is best. Living without you has been hell. Nothing has any joy in it.'

He leaned his head onto the side of hers and let his arm slip to her shoulder. Elizabeth felt confused by this new Alex who did not shun public displays of affection.

'What I'm saying is I don't want to lose you again. I know you need time to forgive me but do you think we could agree on another visit? What would you say to me coming to Perth for Christmas? Stay with you in your beautiful house on the beach.'

Elizabeth turned to look at him and saw a face full of love and hope. 'You'd fly all this way again? So soon? But you hate travelling. Even from Cairns to Sydney I could see how nervous you are. White knuckles and all.'

'Yes, well the wonders of modern tranquillizers help. I'll sleep most of the way. They have full length beds now, you know.'

'Are you sure?'

He took Elizabeth's hands in his and pressed them to his lips. 'I am absolutely, positively, hopelessly, sure. If you turn me down, I don't know what I'll do. I'd rather have part of you than none at all. And we neither of us will work forever. Couldn't we find some way through our professional lives till then?'

She knew she wanted the same thing. Maybe they could sort it out, find some way of being together. At least keep the hope of them alive.

He had slipped, yes, with that one night with Cass. Would she throw away ten years of love for one mistake, a mistake in which she felt complicit?

'Yes, let's spend Christmas together,' she said. 'See where that takes us. But I'll come to you. Let's have a white Christmas. Let's go to the glen, get snowed in and not see anyone for a week.'

CHAPTER THREE

'Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. I wasn't sure you would.' Giovanni stood to greet Elizabeth as she entered the Boatshed Cafe on the South Perth foreshore. At eleven in the morning only two tables were occupied, one with a casually dressed couple poring over a guidebook and another with what looked like a book club. Elizabeth envied the eight women their laughing companionship. She recognised the book they were reading. Gail Jones's _Sorry_ was one of a dozen novels on her coffee table at Crespigny Bay.

'I'm not avoiding you. I've been interstate and I had more urgent things to deal with than return your call.' She knew she was being rude. So much for her determination to be civil.

They ordered coffee and cake. Elizabeth needed a sugar boost, having had little breakfast and less sleep. They sat at a table closest to the river's edge, their backs to the restaurant.

'We shouldn't be overheard here,' Giovanni said. 'It'll get busy in an hour or so but that's long enough.'

'Long enough for what? You're behaving like we mustn't be seen. You've spent too much time in war zones.'

'Sometimes it feels like I'm still in one with Jeremy's paranoia. I've got some information for you but my source has to remain anonymous.'

'What now? I've had enough cloak and dagger dramas to last a lifetime.' She stopped speaking as their coffee arrived.

The wide expanse of river stretched before them, its calm surface reflecting the city towers. A group of black swans sailed past, completing the picture of a perfect Perth spring day. Who would imagine the shady tricks hidden behind the pristine light? Isolation might breed entrepreneurial creativity, Elizabeth thought, but it also breeds squabbles over the spoils. She drank her coffee, breathing in the view and the silence, knowing Giovanni would explain himself. He always did love an audience.

'Look, Elizabeth, I know we've got a lot of history but I'm here as a friend. I just want to help you.'

Elizabeth widened her eyes at him over her cup.

'I know you've got no reason to trust me but professionally you could give me a chance.'

'Go on.'

'Since Jeremy Hayes became a backbencher I've not done much work for him. I've returned to my photography and I've been working with a local business school academic on a book about WA's entrepreneurs. Each chapter is on a major industry. Shipbuilding, oil and gas, wine, etcetera. And one on new technologies with a focus on nanotechnology.'

That grabbed Elizabeth's attention. She had been reading about nanotechnology and its potential for intelligent systems.

'In doing the story a colleague came up with some interesting connections that I thought Hayes might like to know about.'

'Hayes? You just said you weren't working for him.'

'No, but we're good mates and neither of us can stand Joan Emery.'

Elizabeth had trouble believing Giovanni wanted to help. Once a journalist always a journalist. He smelled a scandal. 'What has Joan Emery got to do with a book on entrepreneurs?'

'Oh, come on, Elizabeth, her company is a star. They've pioneered a range of medical technologies and won all kinds of export awards.'

'I've been told the husband is the one with the brains.' Nothing would convince Elizabeth the woman who was hell bent on destroying her was an intellectual giant. Joan Emery's skills were more animal cunning than genius.

'I'll grant you that and my focus for the book is Brian Emery. Thank God. I'd never be able to stomach photographing that crass dress sense of hers, although I suppose I could make her look like an ageing centrefold.'

'You're not getting to the point.'

'No, okay, here's the thing. Turns out the Emerys have signed a deal with a UK company to develop a nanobot to deliver vaccines. It could revolutionise treatments for tropical diseases, even cancers. And not just for humans. Animals, too.'

'How did you find out all of that?'

'Well, that's the amazing thing. Brian Emery is an upfront bloke. He's proud of his company and loves to talk about science. The UK CEO raved about him. Called him an honest genius.'

'Why are you telling me this?'

'Well, Brian's excited about a huge deal in the pipeline. Their joint venture company is being courted by a multi-national.'

So Giovanni had sussed out the information Beverley had already given Elizabeth. 'And the relevance of this to me is?'

'The multinational is none other than your French admirer's Vision Industries International.'

'So you mentioned to Anne but I knew that already.'

'You did? How did you find out? Did he tell you? What are you going to do?'

Elizabeth felt her impatience return. Why did he always think he was one step ahead of her? 'I don't know yet. What are you going to do with it?'

'Well, Vision hasn't bought the UK company yet. Jeremy's got wind of a few things and he wants to go public right away.' He gulped the rest of his coffee. 'I'm trying to persuade him to think it through.' He looked towards the door. 'Here he is now. Don't let on I've told you anything.'

Hayes sauntered across the room. A few more tables were occupied in the adjacent section but Elizabeth was relieved they would remain alone at the river's edge. Out of earshot but not out of sight. Being observed meeting with the former minister was _Inside Cover_ fodder.

'Elizabeth, how are you? I'm just on my way to meet Roger for lunch. Can I join you two?'

She shook the proffered hand while going along with Hayes's pretence that their meeting was accidental. She had to admit that she was curious to hear Hayes's strategies. God knows, she could do with a new perspective.

'What a place, eh?' Hayes spread his arms to the view. 'Don't know why the Queenslanders go on about beautiful one day, perfect the next. Too bloody humid there. This is the best place in the world to live. No argument about it.'

He beamed at her, ordered his coffee and waited till the waitress was out of hearing. 'So has Giovanni told you about the Robinson blurt? I'm looking forward to telling Roger all about this. We've got her this time.'

Given Roger already knew more than Hayes, Elizabeth wondered if he would tell his old friend about Michael Robinson's call to Martin Cheval. Her best approach was to play the naïf. She knew Jeremy responded well to an audience less well informed than himself.

'What's the eminent Dr Robinson done now?' she asked Hayes.

'Well, Giovanni and I were at the opening night of the ballet–'

'Ballet? Giovanni?' she laughed.

'Yes, well, Gabriella loves it.' Giovanni stirred the dregs of his coffee. 'Bores me shitless but the wine and food at interval are great.'

'And the conversation,' said Jeremy Hayes. 'There we were, Giovanni and I, moaning about our wives' penchant for these things when who should come up to us but Michael Robinson, the blueblood himself, all decked out in a tuxedo.'

'He's susceptible to flattery,' Giovanni said, 'and although he should know better when speaking to a journalist–'

'And a Member of Parliament that he shafted–'

'Yes, that too. He proceeded to gabble away about how successful Joan Emery was in government, how fabulous it was to work for such a distinguished woman.'

'Was he drunk?' Elizabeth's raised voice caught the attention of the couple at the edge of the café. She lowered her voice. 'I can't understand the relationship between these two. He's so oldie worldie snobbish and she's so crass. He has a beautiful wife at home.'

'No accounting for lust,' said Hayes. 'Word is they've been having it off for months. I can't believe the media haven't made something of it.' He grunted. 'Have to give them some credit for not muck raking, I suppose. You'd think they'd be keen to stoke people's already bad opinions of politicians by letting them know some sleep with the help.'

'Yes, okay,' said Giovanni, 'but that's not the point. The Premier wouldn't act in response to gossip but she ought to do something about a public servant, or at least a ministerial officer, trying to set up deals that are contrary to public policy. She couldn't ignore the smell of corruption.'

Hayes slapped the table, making the coffee cups rattle. 'Exactly. She'll have to act if I tell her.'

'Corruption?' Elizabeth shook her head at their enthusiasm. 'Whose? About what?'

'Let me tell this, mate,' Hayes said. 'I love this bit. Robinson was tipsy and he started hinting at something big in the pipeline. So I kept flattering and cajoling him and he said, "Oh, you won't like it Jeremy, not when your beloved Institute is broken up and sold off. Oh, no, you'll not like it at all." Smug bugger.'

'It's just more of the same,' said Elizabeth. 'Emery's been going on about this ever since the task force was set up. It may be her agenda but it's not government policy.'

'Maybe so,' said Hayes, 'but that's not the main reason I asked Giovanni to set up this conversation.'

Elizabeth looked at Giovanni. So, she was right not to trust him. Always another agenda.

Hayes lowered his voice. 'Michael Robinson said he had already begun negotiating with a global corporation and that when Catherine Goodman sees what a great deal it is and how much money the state will make, she'll roll over.'

'And how do you know it's not just Michael's usual hot air?' Elizabeth asked. 'Do you know who the corporation is?'

'We don't know that yet, but I'll find out,' said Giovanni. 'Look I know Robinson's an arsehole but he's no idiot, even when drunk. He could have told us this in the hope we'd tell you.'

'And you have. What for? To make me even more uneasy about vague threats and rumours?'

Hayes put his hand on Elizabeth's arm. 'No, Elizabeth. We want to help protect the Institute. You can trust us.'

Elizabeth looked at the two men. She had trusted one with her life and still he did not comprehend his treachery. As for the other, power was the centre of his life. Hayes's commitment to the Institute would be unlikely to translate into protecting her welfare.

'How will you find out which corporation Michael's spoken to, if any?' she asked. 'He could just be mischief making,' she asked.

'Yes, he could, but my gut tells me different,' whispered Giovanni, leaning over the table. 'I can approach him to suggest Joan Emery be included in the entrepreneurs book, stroke their egos and fish around. He's a clever bastard all right, but he's always in for a chance to promote his meal ticket.'

If they registered that Elizabeth had offered them no information, they did not acknowledge it. It was only a matter of time till Giovanni found out that Vision Industries was the company Robinson had approached. She wondered whether she should tell Giovanni to explore Robinson's connections with Vision but decided against it.

'So what do you plan to do with all these suspicions?' she asked.

Jeremy Hayes drained the last of his coffee. 'I'm going to persuade the Premier to give Emery another area of responsibility. There's too much damage being done. Yesterday an Opposition MP said to me it might be a good idea to break up the Institute, re-establish the separate cultural institutions and sell off or at least outsource what he called all the IT stuff to the private sector. I don't know whether they're going to go public on all this. They've been bleating about it for ages but there's enough support in the western suburbs for this to get up at their State Conference next month. If the community newspapers pick up on it then it might get some legs. We're in danger of Emery's ideas becoming Opposition policy.'

Elizabeth groaned and pushed back her shoulders to try to ease the tension in her neck. 'Look, what I don't understand is that the WA Act of Parliament establishes the Institute as a statutory body. And secondly, there are COAG agreements on national funding and millions of dollars committed to our projects. I'm supposed to be heading up a stable independent organisation but it's becoming a house built on sand.'

Giovanni looked at his hands and Hayes looked out the open doors to the river as if seeking inspiration from the wise towers on the opposite shore.

'I share your frustration,' Hayes said, 'but I'm convinced we can still achieve what we set out to do. This is just a fork in the road.'

'I suppose we could leak information about Emery and Robinson being seen together at a certain luxury retreat for the weekend,' Giovanni said. 'Make Emery into Robinson's plaything. Discredit her completely.'

'Good idea, take the gloves off,' said Hayes.

Elizabeth looked at the two of them, salivating over their schemes. 'You said two minutes ago you wouldn't get into the gutter. So if all else fails you'll do what men have always done to powerful women. Paint her as either difficult or a slut? Who's next? The Premier?'

Elizabeth stood, gathering her jacket and bag. 'What's that famous Australian book? _Damned Whores and God's Police._ We haven't travelled far.'

****

'Given that it's ten minutes past eleven, our appointed starting time, let's begin. I have no apology from Geoff Ames so let's assume he's on his way.'

Elliott Prince sat with his back to the window. The board's Executive Committee members had spread themselves around the table with Ngaire French on Elizabeth's right facing Fred Fromberg on Prince's left. Barbara, as the board's Executive Secretary, sat at the end of the table. She knew the reasons Elizabeth had called the meeting and she glanced protectively at her as she served coffee and her homemade shortbread. Ever since Elizabeth mentioned that shortbread and a cup of tea were her grandmother's solution to all of life's disasters, Barbara had taken to providing the buttery biscuits on a regular basis. It would take more than shortbread to allay Elizabeth's anxieties.

'Dr Wallace has called this meeting,' said Elliott Prince. 'She tells me she has important information that cannot wait for the full board meeting in November. We're all ears, Dr Wallace.'

Elizabeth wondered whether the extraordinary meeting was such a good idea after all. Was Prince already annoyed? Ah well, too late now, she told herself. Wallace by name, Wallace by nature. As long as drawing and quartering were not on the agenda.

'Thank you, Mr Chairman,' she began, willing a relaxed smile to her face, 'and thank you all for fitting this meeting into your busy schedules at such short notice. You'll be aware of the continual attacks on the Institute and the media's repeated suggestions that we will be restructured, outsourced, split or sold off.'

'Or whatever Joan Emery's latest crazy idea might be,' Ngaire muttered.

Prince glowered at Ngaire but said nothing. Elizabeth continued. 'While I think the task force report may languish in the Premier's office, other events have led me to believe that the board may need to take specific action to prevent ongoing destabilisation as the situation is beginning to threaten our funding.'

'Our funding? I can't see how,' Prince growled. 'We have triennial agreements with both the commonwealth and the state, not to mention the COAG agreements and the partnership deals. Why would you think they are at risk?'

'I met with Jean Renfrew from the federal minister's office in Canberra two weeks ago.'

'I for one would believe Jean,' Ngaire said. 'As our last State Librarian, she still has a great commitment to WA.'

Elizabeth nodded. 'Jean told me that the constant suggestions about outsourcing Institute activities and the media reporting Mrs Emery's linking of the Institute to her waste agenda is making her minister nervous. As you know, a federal election is due any day. Given the federal minister holds a marginal WA seat any suggestion that our funding might be cut would not do him any good.'

'So cutting funds would be the last thing he'd do,' said Fred Fromberg, 'although God knows they've slashed rural and roads funding often enough and still people vote for them.'

'The minister doesn't want to cut funds,' Elizabeth said. 'His concern is that the state government will do what Emery wants. If that happens then he would have to take the matter to the Prime Minister. Some Canberra people see the Institute as a bold experiment gone wrong and are praying for it to fail and the PM is one of them.'

'So we need to fix relations with Canberra. How do you suggest we do that?' Prince asked.

'Before I answer that, let me give you some more information.' Elizabeth explained her impressions of the federal minister's concerns as well as Emery's business connections. She did not tell them about her meetings with the Premier and Hayes nor did she reveal that Roger Lui and Beverley Farrington were her sources. Prince, Ngaire and Fred responded in different ways. Ngaire's mobile face changed from amazement to anger while Fred snorted and huffed as if each comment offered him further justification for his pastoralist's contempt for all politicians and their power brokers. Canberra was synonymous with Satan in Fred's religion. Prince's response was less legible. As he listened he made occasional notes, removed and replaced the cap of his fountain pen, a Namiki, sepia-coloured with rabbit engravings. Something changed in Prince's demeanour as she continued. He leaned forwards, narrowing his eyes then making another addition to the page before him. He did not interrupt her.

The boardroom door flew open and Geoff Ames rushed in. 'Sorry, folks. Car troubles, phone troubles, the works.' Ames shook everyone's hand, moved to sit by Ngaire then walked round the table to occupy the chair next to Fred, balancing the numbers on either side of the table.

'Have I missed much? I'd kill for a coffee.' Getting up again, he helped himself to a cup and muffin and returned to his seat. 'Sorry. Haven't even had breakfast. So where's the fire, Elliott?'

Elizabeth watched Prince's irritation and tried not to smile. If Prince was still waters, Ames was a perpetual motion machine, as dynamic as his technology company that had recently won an export award for its hand-held devices used in the health sector. A self-made millionaire many times over, his impatience with government bureaucracies and politics had been increasing at Institute board meetings. While he missed as many meetings as he attended, his quick wit and intelligence always lifted Elizabeth's spirits. Prince, on the other hand, treated him like a troublesome child rather than a mid-thirties businessman who flew his own helicopter.'

'Dr Wallace has provided us with some unsettling information and we have no time to go over it again, so perhaps you can catch up as we go, Mr Ames.'

'We may be having funding problems with Canberra,' Elizabeth said, 'as well as some suspicion of conflict of interest with Joan Emery's family company. I was about to talk about Michael Robinson's call to Martin Cheval to explore Vision's interest in purchasing all or part of the Institute.'

Geoff almost choked on his muffin. 'What? Is that all I've missed? Have we been sold off while I've been in New York?'

For once, Ngaire French was speechless and Fred Fromberg rolled his eyes as if nothing amazed him any more.

'It hasn't come to that yet,' said Prince, 'and as long as I'm chairman of this board it won't happen.'

Elizabeth looked at Prince. He had shown no surprise at her information. Was he in on their schemes? Yet his belligerent tone suggested he would defend the Institute.

'I think it might be best if you let us have the rest of the information, Dr Wallace, and then we can discuss our strategy,' he said.

'Yes, Elizabeth, do tell,' Ames chuckled, 'and if we can boost Michael Robinson into outer space, even better. The man's an idiot.'

'Perhaps we can refrain from personal attacks, Mr Ames,' Prince said. 'This meeting is being minuted, although I'm sure Barbara will ignore such remarks.'

Barbara's face remained expressionless although Elizabeth knew she loathed the way the chairman treated her like some minion who worked for him rather than the MD.

'Actually, Mr Chairman,' Elizabeth said, 'Barbara's taking notes but I suggest we agree on the official record at the end of the meeting.'

'Get on with it. All this bureaucratic nonsense,' Fred said.

Elizabeth began again. 'Some may argue that Joan Emery's business interests are irrelevant to the board but I have my reasons for exploring them in such detail.' She paused to settle herself. There was no going back now. She felt like an apprentice wizard who was about to let the genie out of the bottle without the spell to return it.

'But Robinson couldn't have been serious?' Ames popped another piece of muffin into his mouth. 'Even Michael's not that stupid. It couldn't have been official, could it?'

'Why not?' said Fred. 'They've sold off everything else. Why not us?'

'People, please,' Prince said. 'Let Dr Wallace continue without interruption.'

'Martin Cheval called Roger Lui who told me all this. Michael Robinson had said he was calling in a semi-official capacity at the behest of the minister. Cheval suggested to Robinson that any such approaches would best be made in public through a proper tendering process.'

'That's principled of the bloke,' said Fred. 'I'm surprised he wasn't onto it like flies on a carcass.'

'I think Monsieur Cheval has been burnt by a few government contracts in several countries,' Elizabeth said. 'He says he refuses to deal with politicians any more and that working with government is the equivalent of lighting one's cigars with hundred euro bills.'

'So did Michael suggest what form the sales process would take?' Prince asked.

'No. He spoke at some length about Emery's vision for being smarter while creating smaller government. Cheval said Robinson sounded like an ideologue who could not tell the difference between public service and the market.'

Elizabeth sipped her water, slowing down. She was beginning to editorialise.

'Anything else?' asked Ames.

'Mrs Emery intends pursuing the sale of the Institute, that she expects it to happen sooner rather than later because it's the right thing to do.' Elizabeth searched for the proper phrase. It was becoming impossible to keep the politics separate from the Institute.

'Could happen,' said Fred Fromberg. 'Emery's got a lot of power over the Premier. Same old story. Emery's the piper who's calling the tune. The Premier's going to have to pay one way or another if she's to avoid an early election.'

Prince cleared his throat. 'That's outside our remit but I take your point, Fred. The Premier is a crucial player in this, all the more so now she is our minister.'

Geoff Ames was mesmerised. He had listened in absorbed silence to the conversation without his usual fidgeting. He pointed a finger at Prince. 'Now then, what we need to do, Elliott, is make more of a bloody noise about what we do. Strengthen the Premier's arm against the terrible twosome.'

'More like the terrible two year olds,' Ngaire said.

'And how exactly do you propose we do that, Mr Ames?' Prince asked.

Ames walked to the whiteboard and began drawing. He was a talented cartoonist. 'Here we have the voluptuous Mrs Emery and here her troubadour, the talented Robinson who serenades her ego. Over here we have the Premier and her Cabinet, also known as the knights of the kitchen table. Minus Mrs Emery, of course.'

'Do you have a point to all this scribbling?' Prince snapped. 'You might find this amusing but I do not.'

'Just keep your knickers on for a minute, Elliott.' Ames drew more objects. 'Here's us, then. Think of us in our own castle. We're independent with our own legislation but there are barbarians at the gates. Now do we fight them in public and get bloodied or do we find ourselves some new big friends? Once we do that we can tell the Emery and Robinson clan to butt out and mosey on back to their hovel at the bottom of the hill.'

'Oh, for goodness sake, Geoff, I wish you'd get to the point and stop all these childish stories of yours,' muttered Fred Fromberg. 'We're not crouching round a campfire telling tales.'

'Okay, Fred. Simple it is,' said Ames, sitting down again. 'There's a connection between Emery and Goodman because Goodman thinks she needs Emery to stay in power. The Premier has said she will take over responsibility for the Institute so she has to defend us. The quality of that relationship is our choice but we have some big friends that could be hers. We could also use those friends to discredit Emery so no one takes her seriously.'

Ngaire's frown turned into a beaming smile. 'Exactly, and one of these big friends is the Council of Australian Governments. Another friend is the federal minister. We're not using these connections enough.'

'Got it in one,' Ames said. 'We have one line of accountability and that's to the people through Parliament. The Premier as our minister cannot direct us without tabling the direction in Parliament.'

'The Premier has not directed us in any way,' said Prince.

Elizabeth was glad she had not mentioned her meeting with Catherine Goodman to anyone. She had a nagging suspicion the Premier might have been trying to direct the Institute at their meeting but she did not want to believe Goodman was manipulating her.

'Geoff, I can't see what you're getting at, mate,' said Fred, 'and I need to go in a minute. Do we go public or play possum? We need to take some action. We can't stand still as a board and become Emery's punching bag.'

'That's my point, Fred,' Geoff said. 'Sticks and stones Emery hasn't got. She's just chucking names at us. Can't break our bones without the Premier. To do that Goodman has to direct us and table that direction in Parliament. That'd make her look like Emery's puppet. I suggest you let Emery squeal and build up the Premier. Ignore her.'

'Honestly, Geoff, do you expect us to believe you've got where you are today by being so passive?' Ngaire never hid her dislike of Ames's flashy ebullience and his blunt language. 'Are you suggesting inaction because you might be embarrassed if we stood up for ourselves?'

'Ngaire, I'm as game for a fight as the next one, but we've got nothing but hearsay and supposition.'

'Rubbish! Martin Cheval has told Roger Lui that Robinson asked him to buy the Institute.'

'Exactly. It's hearsay. Roger Lui's not chairman any more so it doesn't matter what he tells him.' Ames leaned his head to Elizabeth. 'Sorry, Elizabeth. It's good you wanted to share this with us but, officially, it's better if we pretend we don't know this.'

Fred Fromberg had listened to Ames's speculation with some interest but his impatience took over again. He sighed and put his hand to his forehead. 'Look, I think it's good Dr Wallace shares these things with us. It's an improvement on the mushroom treatment we got from Robinson. I want to know what Cheval's game is. Is he fishing to find out if it's true or is he onside? Don't tell me he wouldn't be interested in a quick buck if it were offered on a plate. Why didn't he call Elizabeth?'

'This is getting us nowhere,' said Prince, 'and I have to go. I propose Dr Wallace and I seek a meeting with the Premier. We need to gauge what she knows about this. We also need to find out whether Robinson is acting alone or under direction.'

'Well, I hope it's not the latter,' said Ngaire. 'I'm a great admirer of Catherine Goodman and I can't believe she'd be so duplicitous.'

Neither can I, thought Elizabeth, but how far would the Premier go to stay in power?

'Good idea,' said Fred. 'Lay it all out. Stop all this pussyfooting about.' He stood and pointed at Prince. 'Just one more thing, Elliott. If you want my support as chairman then drop your connections to that blasted woman and her stupid task force. I'm sick of it being discussed at every meeting. You've got too many women to keep happy, Elliott, and I hear you've not got a great track record in that department.' He laughed at his own wit and took his jacket from the back of his seat, oblivious to Prince's thunderous look.

'And another thing,' Fred said as he pushed his chair back under the table. 'The Knowledge Conference is coming up and that's where the board should be putting its efforts. Show the big end of town as well as the country folk that we're too valuable to sell off. That's what Dr Wallace has been asking us to do so let's get on with it.'

****

'This building is a disgrace. No wonder Canberra thinks we're a backwater. At least the federal parliament building looks powerful.' The chairman's irritation had been increasing since they arrived.

Elliott Prince and Elizabeth were sitting in the hallway outside the Premier's Parliament House offices. Their appointment had been made for eleven am. Already it was eleven-fifty and the Premier's staff had not called them. Elizabeth had brought some papers to read but the chairman needed an audience for his grievances.

For the tenth time he complained about waiting in a corridor like some minor official, hoping the Premier ran the state better than her diary. For the fourth time, he explained how they should conduct their meeting. 'So just let me do the talking. I know Catherine quite well so I'm sure I can get to the bottom of this.'

Elizabeth was sceptical of gaining any new information but she looked forward to observing Prince and Goodman. His defence of the Institute was unexpected. Prince was no Roger Lui but he was well connected with the old circles of power and might be able to wield some influence.

A secretary approached and ushered them into a room less grand than the Premier's office in the Governor Stirling Tower. Catherine Goodman rose from behind her desk, offering her hand first to Prince then Elizabeth. 'Sorry to keep you waiting but I had to be in the House for that session. Every vote counts these days.'

Elliott Prince folded one leg over another and spoke without any sign of the previous hour's irritation. 'It's good to finally have our first meeting with you as our minister. While we're excited about the Institute's future there are a few issues we need to resolve urgently.'

If the Premier registered any implied criticism, she did not show it. She returned Prince's smile. 'I'm delegated to have the Institute as part of my portfolio. There are some who would say it's the kiss of death having the Premier as their minister, but I do have a deep interest in developing our knowledge industries and I see the Institute as central to that.'

'Glad to hear it and I'm sure my board members will be too, so if I may tell you a few things you may not know, perhaps we can discuss tactics.'

'I'm all ears, Elliot.'

Prince gave Goodman a long-winded explanation of the contact between Cheval and Robinson. The Premier wrote with a red pen in a small Moleskine notebook without interrupting him, even when he shared the information Elizabeth had given him on the suspected links between Vision and the Emerys' business. Elizabeth cringed at Prince's patronising tone as she observed Goodman's poker face. She saw no evidence of the witty convivial woman with whom she had spent an evening.

Prince showed no sign of slowing down. 'So on top of the press coverage and the task force issues as well as these covert threats to the Institute we now have the Commonwealth Government suggesting our funding is at risk.'

The Premier looked up from her notes. 'Says who?'

'Well, the minister, his officers, people who have spoken to Dr Wallace.'

'Perhaps, then, Elizabeth, I might hear from you on this. At the last COAG meeting I heard nothing but good things from the PM. The K2020 Conference is causing quite a stir but Minister Collins might be a bit miffed you haven't asked him to speak. Perhaps you could rethink that.'

Elizabeth knew she must leave Prince in no doubt that he could rely on her but he had exaggerated whatever information she gave him. She had not expected him to be so intense, almost in a panic. It was clear he lacked Roger Lui's quiet confidence. Perhaps he needed a copy of Sun Tzu.

'Yes, I'll look at that,' Elizabeth said. 'I'm hoping the K2020 Conference will be a showcase for Australia's intellectual achievements and we could host such a gathering every year.'

'The list of speakers is impressive,' said the Premier. 'I'm looking forward to hosting the dinner for our international guests.'

'That's generous of you, Premier,' Elizabeth said. 'We've set it up after your speech so we can pursue some of the international agenda over dinner.'

'Excellent. I'm impressed with the draft speech you've sent over and it'll come back with a few suggestions. I'd like to include an explanation of the replacement for the task force.'

'I wanted to speak with you about that,' Prince said. 'As we have delivered our report and I have taken up the reins at the Institute, I think I could safely resign and leave it to others. I have not scheduled another meeting until we receive some guidance from Mrs Emery.'

'No need to resign, Elliott. Just call them together and wind it up.'

Yes, wind it up, Elliott. Elizabeth could not believe her ears. Some good news at last.

Prince squirmed in his chair, taking his pen from his pocket and moving it from hand to hand. Elizabeth recognised the early signs of annoyance. 'Mrs Emery said nothing about this yesterday,' he said.

'No, she wouldn't. She doesn't know.'

'She doesn't?'

'With the unwelcome attention we've been getting on the task force, I've decided it wasn't such a good idea after all. One should never start an inquiry unless one knows one will get the answer one wants. An old political maxim but true. You've probably done the best you could in the circumstances, Elliott, but I can't afford any more headlines like these.' The Premier pointed to _The West Australian_ 's front page on her desk. _Emery Continues to Rub Government up the Wrong Way_.'

Catherine Goodman put on the glasses that were hanging on a chain around her neck. Elizabeth wondered why no one told her how that changed her image from elegant corporate woman into a short-sighted grandmother.

'I have a statement here I intend to read to the House this afternoon,' said Goodman, looking over the top of her spectacles. 'This will be delivered to Mrs Emery's office half an hour before my appearance. I don't want press coverage of this before I open my mouth.' She paused for this message to sink in.

Prince pressed on. 'Mrs Emery is committed to the task force. She sees it as providing a vision for the future ICT infrastructure development of the state. She won't like this.'

'No, I don't suppose she will but it has provided her with a platform for constant criticism of my government. And you, Elliott? How do you see it? You say you want to step down as chairman of the task force but the damage has been done to the very Institute you now tell me you are committed to leading. And, if I accept what you've told me today, her partner in crime has already chosen the corporation to whom your Institute should be sold. What would you suggest I do with the task force's report?'

Goodman stared at Prince. The uncomfortable silence lengthened and still no one spoke. Elizabeth suspected they were both processing their options. She glanced sideways at Prince. His neck was red above his collar but his tone remained conciliatory. 'Could you share your intentions with us? I'm sure we will be happy to support your agenda.'

The Premier tilted her head with a small smile. 'I'm glad to hear it, Elliott.'She looked at Elizabeth as her smile reached her eyes. 'I've been particularly annoyed at the personal attacks on you, Elizabeth. No politician should harangue public servants that way. Your admirable restraint has not gone unnoticed. There should have been more support closer to home.'

Elizabeth nodded, not daring to look at Prince.

'I will announce to the House that I wish to refer a series of matters to a Parliamentary Committee,' the Premier said. 'One of these will be the task force report. I will not expect a report from the committee before the election and I have invited Jeremy Hayes to be the chairman. I'm sure he will be delighted to deal quickly with your task force report.'

Prince took some time to answer. Elizabeth watched him try to find the right response. He was staring at the Premier, his mouth open, looking like the proverbial kangaroo caught in a spotlight.

'Of course, Premier, it's your decision,' he said.

'I know this is unexpected but I will not let this endless uncertainty continue,' Goodman said. 'Needless to say, I doubt the issue will disappear. Having the Opposition join the debate will not diminish the annoyance. By making the topic of the committee the future of WA's knowledge industries, I hope we can have some bi-partisan ideas and put the Institute back into the lead.'

Elizabeth allowed herself the slightest smile and watched Goodman watching Elliott. She hoped the Premier could sense her gratitude. She would love to be in the room when Emery was told and wondered if Prince would hasten to tell her. She ignored Elliott's earlier admonition that he do all the talking. 'Premier, we skipped over the issue of the Commonwealth Government and the federal minister's nervousness about the Institute. Would you consider calling to tell him some of what you've told us? I think that would reassure him. You could invite him to speak at K2020 as well, if you wish.'

'Yes, I know Collins well. It's time Canberra accepted that Mrs Emery doesn't make my government's policy.'

Prince regained his inscrutable demeanour but offered no comment so Elizabeth continued. 'Can we reassure the board that it is not your government's intention to sell off the Institute?'

'Yes, you can. In fact, let's put that in the conference speech but be subtle about it.' Goodman fingered her glasses chain like rosary beads. 'You must understand I get lobbied by industry to sell all kinds of government entities and by the Western suburbs culturists not to sell anything. Of course, they want me to break up the Institute and separate out the collecting institutions again but it's only the Art Gallery they're interested in. Thank God the bureaucrats never rolled that into the Institute or life would be truly hellish. Even so, local government want to take over all the library services and receive more money from the state government and nobody wants to fund the museum although I get a letter a month about building a new one.'

'It's no win all round, then,' said Prince, 'so why keep government in the game?'

'Because the services and collections don't belong to governments. They belong to future generations.' The Premier raised her voice. 'We must have an election within six months and I'm not prepared to give into any of them. I'm tired of restructuring as a smokescreen for a policy desert. I don't have time to rearrange deck chairs. My ship's not for sinking and I want only loyal sailors on board.'

Elizabeth heard Prince's sharp intake of breath but he said nothing. She decided to risk fuelling his anger. 'What do we do about Michael Robinson's call to Martin Cheval? We don't know whether Joan Emery told him to call but we do know her family company's connections are getting close to Vision's interests.'

Catherine Goodman folded her glasses and wrapped the chain around them. She rose from her chair, her unreadable expression again intact. 'Thank you for our meeting. Given you are the recipient of all this information, Elizabeth, I'll leave it to you to explore it further. I think you might enjoy that, just as I will enjoy my interrogation of Mrs Emery about where her future loyalties lie.'

Elliott remained seated as he returned his pen to his inside jacket pocket.

'One other thing, Elliott.' The Premier moved to the side of her desk. 'With all this business about selling the family silver and Michael Robinson's shenanigans, is there anything in your business life that could bite us?'

Elliott bristled as he stood and towered over Goodman. 'What do you mean? My company has no government contracts. All my interests are on the public record.'

'Did you not have an interest in SysWA when it was purchased by Vision a while ago? The same company that is now the object of Michael Robinson's intense attention?'

'What are you implying, Premier?'

'Nothing. Nothing at all, Elliott, but it would not be wise to underestimate my own intelligence networks, past or present.'

The tension in the room was electric. Goodman held her cool gaze. Prince looked away but his tone was seething when he spoke. 'I have no intentions of justifying myself. I had an investment in SysWA. I supported my old friend Gordon Burns when he started it up just out of uni. When SysWA was sold to Vision I received a generous return on my investment. I have no pecuniary interests in relation to Vision Industries nor any business connections with Michael Robinson in spite of our long friendship.'

'Goodness, Elliott, I was just asking. I didn't suggest any connections to Robinson's business interests. Does he have any? Isn't he a simple ministerial adviser now?'

Prince buttoned his jacket and extended his hand to Goodman. 'Thank you, Premier, for your time and support.' His thin lips curved into a smile that turned into a grimace. 'We look forward to further discussions with you.'

'Yes, indeed.' Goodman shook his hand. 'Let's hope we can keep the destruction of my Institute off the media's agenda. I rely on you for that, Elliott. Try using your legendary powers of persuasion on your friend Mrs Emery. You might also explain to your mate Michael Robinson that if he wants to wield political influence he should stand for Parliament.'

Prince strode ahead of Elizabeth towards the door as if he could not escape quickly enough.

'Oh, by the way, Elliott,' the Premier had her hand on the doorknob, blocking their way. 'As you and Michael are such old friends, do you know if he invested in SysWA as well?'

'While it is none of my business, so far as I know Michael followed the same process as I did. Now, if that is all?'

The Premier stood to one side and opened the door through which Prince bolted. As Catherine Goodman shook Elizabeth's hand she spoke in a quiet voice. 'Do let me hear about any more interesting conversations you might have.'

****

Elizabeth sat on a bench by the river at the Matilda Bay café near the university. She was due to meet with Roger and Beverley at the Luis' home. A group of middle-aged cyclists, resplendent in fluorescent lycra, chattered at one table while a group of younger people listened to an older woman at another. The spring day was cool but the sunlight warmed her as she sipped her peppermint tea.

She had passed a restless night, suspecting a migraine lingered somewhere above her, ready to pounce. After tossing for hours, she decided to try the new routine provided by the kinesiologist. Around four a.m. after working on her energy points, she had drifted into a deep sleep. Waking disoriented and groggy at half past eight, she was astonished but grateful to find the fiend gone. Twice recently she had been able to head it off and her spirits lifted with her newfound power. Ironic that she should be discovering such authority over her mind and body while her corporate power diminished.

She was still living in Penelope Lawson's guest wing. While her host had made a full recovery, she persuaded Elizabeth to stay until she found a suitable house. Prices had skyrocketed during the recent boom but with the jitters in global financial systems they were dropping again. Elizabeth knew she should start inspecting properties but she had no energy for it.

Beverley Farrington had called the day before, saying she and Roger had new information for her and that all their plotting had given him a new lease of life.

Elizabeth had become fond of the white-haired tyro who was as sharp and tenacious as her Maltese terrier. Beverley's devotion to Valerie and the philosophical, if sorrowful, way she had accepted Valerie's passing inspired Elizabeth. She had confided her ambivalence over Alex but Beverley dismissed it with the simple question, 'Do you love him? If you do then forgive him and move on. Get over it.'

She thought often of Alex now. Where once she had avoided the thought of Cass and Alex together, now she could face it. Since Hayman Island he had called every Friday evening but forgiveness was proving to be not as easy as Beverley suggested. Did that mean she did not love him enough?

****

Roger Lui showed Elizabeth to a patio at the edge of the reflection pool filled with goldfish and invited her to sit in one of the large wicker armchairs. The weekend newspapers lay at one end of a heavy timber coffee table while at the other had been laid out a large chocolate cake, plates and red silk napkins. Scatter cushions made from the same fabric contrasted with the white linen on the chairs, giving the area an oriental feel.

'Felicity has gone to tennis but as you can see she has prepared the feast for the helpless husband. Please, be seated, and I will fetch the coffee.'

As Roger left, shuffling his sandals on the tiled floor, Elizabeth soaked in the beauty of the side garden with its bed of tall ferns underneath a jacaranda tree. Although she allowed herself to sink into the chair she carried the familiar anxiety on her shoulders. What else had Roger and Beverley discovered? She was still wondering what to do with the admission by Elliott Prince that Robinson had been an investor in SysWA. Did that mean when he was MD he had extended their contracts for personal gain? Clearly, the Premier had been doing her own digging. What else would be uncovered? Sometimes Elizabeth felt like a simple crofter from the Scottish highlands lost in a foreign land.

'Felicity sends you her best wishes and Beverley sends her apologies,' Roger said as he organised their coffee and insisted she accept a slice of cake. 'Beverley has been called to a sick friend who is not expected to live long. She wanted us to go ahead with our meeting anyway.'

Elizabeth wondered who the friend was. The Grim Reaper's having a fine harvest of my people, Beverley had said in their last conversation.

'Beverley said you had some news,' said Elizabeth.

'Yes, indeed. I must say these plots are worthy of an emperor's court. I'm happy to help you keep the Institute alive and well but you cannot always protect the precious things. Even the Roman Empire could not withstand the Visigoths.' Elizabeth suspected Roger was talking about more than the Institute but she let him continue. 'When giants battle, the ground shakes. The innocents die when one falls. David does not always triumph.'

'Indeed. The Americans call it collateral damage.'

'Well, as I have said before, an emperor must have a good general. The first challenge is to know who the real enemy is and seek victory without spilling a drop of blood.'

'I don't feel much like emperor of anything at the moment. I don't want to be a half-hearted leader but I won't keep my position if it means lying or destroying other people.'

Roger sipped his coffee, leaning back in his chair. 'No, for what will it profit a woman if she gains the whole world and loses her soul?'

'So how do we get the Emery/Robinson bandwagon to go off the edge of a cliff? Metaphorically speaking, of course, although some of the things she's said warrant sterner action. Ngaire suggested I sue her.'

'To sue a minister would be unwise. In Parliament they can say whatever they please. I have never understood this strange Western concept of parliamentary privilege. Leaders should be held accountable for their words. Do they not see that words are weapons? Once fired the arrow cannot be returned to the quiver until it has found a target.'

Elizabeth brought him to the point. 'So what did you and Beverley want me to tell me?'

'Ah, yes. Let me combine what she has told me with what I have found out and make some suggestions to you, if I may. We may yet need legal advice.'

Roger set his cup on the table and put his hands together, as if in prayer. Without moving, he presented his analysis. 'I've spoken to a few people, including Jeremy Hayes, and Beverley has spoken to someone close to the Premier. Although the government would deny it, they're already planning for the next election. It has to be in February or March next year. The Premier has more than a few problems with her own people.'

'Like who? Hayes will be back in the fold if he accepts the new committee chairmanship so isn't Emery the only problem?'

'Yes, but a large one. They've put forward a convincing public face but there are at least two others who want to lead the Party to the next election.'

Beverley had been right. Roger had his old energy. The tired lines were gone from his face. 'When Premier Goodman was appointed, she was the compromise candidate in a situation where the government had a majority of one and, as you know, that vanished with the death of Jerard Young, poor man.'

'And then Joan Emery pops up and the Premier had to choose between a deal or an election.'

'Yes, but I'm told she wanted to go to an election when they lost the seat to Emery. She did not want to deal with her but the Party machine went into overdrive and urged against it.'

'Why deal with a viper like Emery?'

Roger smiled. 'Mrs Goodman may be the Premier but that does not mean she is the most powerful person in government. One view is that she was persuaded she could build her own numbers if she negotiated with Joan Emery. I suspect it might be that some do not want a woman to lead them to victory.'

'Except negotiating with Joan Emery has not exactly been a success.'

'No, indeed. Mrs Emery has made the big government issue her agenda and is using the technology sector and the Institute in particular as targets. To be frank, my dear friend Jeremy Hayes has muddied the waters and left the way open for Mrs Emery to do more damage.'

'He's way too emotional to be a politician. It's good to be passionate but you have to learn to work the system.' She did not add that the system's shifting boundaries made it impossible to find solid ground.

'Patience is not one of Jeremy's virtues,' said Roger. 'So, my analysis, and Beverley agrees, is that the Premier will have to show she will get Mrs Emery's seat back at the next election. She must head off internal opposition and create new projects that stamp her as her own person while discrediting Mrs Emery.'

It was a tall order but Elizabeth agreed. She liked Catherine Goodman but it was clear no one knew what the Premier stood for. 'The Knowledge 2020 Conference will give her a platform for a start.'

'You are a step ahead of me, as usual, Elizabeth. The Premier was a frequent visitor to Felicity's Foundation lunches for women leaders when she was but a simple MP. We know that she wants to rekindle the notion of WA as an ideas state.'

'Queensland's miles ahead of us on that one,' Elizabeth said. 'As is Tasmania now they're rolling out the national broadband network.'

'The Premier needs a new angle. That's where Beverley and I come in. And Martin Cheval.'

'What does he have to do with it?' Elizabeth knew she sounded petulant but she was annoyed with Cheval. He had contacted Roger and then Elliott Prince about Michael Robinson's call but had not spoken to her. She chastised herself again for her foolishness in assuming his charm came with professional respect.

'I have never wanted to dabble in politics,' Roger said, 'but this idea of Mrs Emery's that the private sector is more efficient and should be running all government technology systems is just nonsense. Have they learned nothing in the last ten years? Partnering is the way to go, the way we have been doing at the Institute.' He laughed at himself. 'You see, I still want to be chairman of the Institute but I'm afraid I failed there. No,' he said, stopping Elizabeth disagreeing with him, 'I did, but no matter. That is past. Beverley and I have an idea that can help us achieve what we want. More importantly, it will help Catherine Goodman so she will be obliged to protect the Institute. A most satisfactory arrangement.'

Elizabeth knew Roger would get to the point in his own time. As he went into the house she watched Felicity's two Burmese cats supervising the goldfish. They looked at Elizabeth as if to ask her to remove the protective netting.

Roger returned, carrying a large black portfolio. He laid it on the table and opened it. 'Between Beverley's and my connections, I believe we can give Mrs Goodman an agenda and a platform. We can put the Institute on the world stage the way you intend.'

'At this rate my intentions are limited to a small parliamentary committee room next month but do go on.'

Roger looked ten years younger, his expression as animated as his reserved manner allowed. 'Beverley, Martin and I want to found a new company. We are calling it _The Innovation Hub_. It will be a venture capital firm with a difference. It's not about technical invention or business alone. We'll fund projects that bring value to the whole community but the ideas must be new. We want to encourage social entrepreneurship.'

Roger unfolded a series of graphic layouts. They included logos, a website design, and plans for a refurbished building next to Roger's company headquarters. They had been busy. Roger's excitement was palpable as he walked her through each concept and the prospectus.

'So what do you think?' Roger asked.

'It looks wonderful, but I don't see how this helps with the Institute problems. Or the Premier's.'

'We'll put on a big bash and ask the Premier to launch the idea. Then we'll get her to open the building. With the current shaky business confidence no one will be expecting the launch of a new investment consortium. This will be a statement of belief in the state's future and in Catherine Goodman's leadership. Martin Cheval's involvement gives us a global reach. Of course, we'd like you to work with us as well.'

Elizabeth needed time to think. Where was Roger going with this? How would this fit in with the Institute's programs? Did he want her to help? Or was he suggesting a way out for her? And what did he mean by involving Martin Cheval?

CHAPTER FOUR

'Valerie asked me to keep these for you. She was quite specific that I was to hand them to you on her birthday.'

Beverley's voice came back to Elizabeth. Three days before she had dined at Beverley's house. Somehow it had become a weekly occurrence. They did not book ahead but each Monday Beverley rang and invited Elizabeth to dinner on the Thursday. Elizabeth had begun to keep those evenings free in anticipation. For the rest of her life Elizabeth thought she would remember that particular evening. The unusually warm October, the softening glow of cognac and Beverley presenting her with a dozen leather-bound books.

'These are part ofo the life story of Valerie Françoise Petrova McConochie. She kept journals all her life.' Beverley held a volume as if it were sacred. 'I had no idea she was such a prodigious writer. She wanted you to have them.'

Despite Elizabeth's protestations that there must be someone else who deserved them, Beverley was immovable. 'She's written it all down in this letter.' She handed Elizabeth a small thin envelope.

Beverley had been at her bossy best. 'There's quite a few boxes of these. Take them to Crespigny Bay. Don't open the letter till you're there. I know you haven't been there since Valerie died but you must return soon or you may never go again.'

She knew Beverley was right but that did not stop her finding a dozen excuses why it was impossible. The K2020 Conference, the Parliamentary Committee, the need to find some clear space to think about what to do with the dangerous information that was piling on top of her.

'What better place?' Beverley said, triumphant. 'Just hop into that red car of yours and escape. Walk on the beach. Sleep. Read. Rest. Spend time with Valerie.' She handed over the keys to Valerie's house.

So on a Friday night she sat alone on her cliff top, a howling wind rattling the windows and dispelling the spring warmth. She had arrived late afternoon, a heavy fatigue surfacing. Bolstered by a glass of whisky, she opened the polished jarrah box, custom-made to hold twenty journals. Beverley had arranged for four of these boxes to be delivered to Penelope's house. There were more than eighty notebooks in total, witnesses to a life well examined. Elizabeth had brought two boxes to Crespigny Bay.

She remembered with some guilt the promise she made to write in the journal Lynda had given her. Save for a few entries, penned in despair and frustration, the book sat rejected on her desk upstairs. Perhaps she would use it this weekend. The competing agendas might look clearer on paper. God knows they were lost in a fog in her head.

She opened Valerie's letter.

For my 13th birthday, my father gave me a red leather notebook with my name embossed on the cover in large gold letters. I remember staring at it for hours. Did I ever tell you my middle name? In honour of being conceived in France, my mother told me. That's probably why I adore Paris. He wrote on the first page: "This is a place for you to explore the world, my daughter. Write, draw, paste in your pictures or photographs, letters from friends, souvenirs. The world is big but the inner world is vast. Be an intrepid explorer in both."

Each year he gave me another book the same as the first with the same dedication. I discovered he had them made at a tiny shop in London Court, long gone. Wherever I went in the world until he died he posted me my annual gift. He left me thirty new notebooks in a wooden box that he made as well as three other boxes. In his will he said this was to ensure I lived at least thirty more years after he died. The jarrah boxes would protect them forever. Well, I'm on the twenty-eighth of those and I don't think I'll fill another two.

It was almost dark so Elizabeth turned on the lamps. Hamish, who had slept in the car and then settled on his lamb's wool blanket by the fire, stirred, pattered to the kitchen and sat next to his bowl.

'All right, sweetie, let's eat,' she laughed, picking him up and cuddling him. His bath the day before had left his white fur smelling of lavender. He licked her face. She had told Julie Barratt that she would keep the little dog, comforted as she was by his open affection. While he had transferred his devotion from Valerie to her, he was more subdued and slept as much as the cats.

She fed him, microwaved a vegetarian lasagne for herself and tossed a salad. Returning to the armchair by the fire, she eschewed her usual habit of eating before the ABC news and put on an Emmy Lou Harris CD. The distinctive voice filled the house and she gave herself up to the twin pleasures of food and music.

A rhythmic vibration merged with drifting images of black hawks and white winged doves. She thought it was a fault on the CD before realising it was the buzz of her mobile phone. Couldn't they leave her alone?

'Elizabeth Wallace,' she snapped.

'Well, now, that's a ready to do battle voice.'

'Alex! Sorry, I wasn't expecting you to call tonight. Aren't you in Greece?'

'They do have telephones in Greece and I said I'd ring every Friday night.'

Yes, he had. So why did she expect each Friday that he wouldn't?

'I've made reservations at Gleneagles for Christmas because the cottage has been booked already.'

'Oh, what a shame. I'd imagined us there, all remote and peaceful.'

'I know, but Gleneagles will be great. We can wallow in total luxury and then go to the cottage for New Year. Hogmanay with the family's more fun than Christmas anyway.'

Elizabeth heard the enthusiasm in his voice. He sounded more energetic since Hayman Island. She longed for it to be the twenty-second of December, the date on her plane ticket. No matter what happened at the Institute she would be in Scotland, with Alex, for Christmas. There would be no cancellations this year.

'We can shop in Glasgow for presents and have two Christmases,' she said.

'Agreed. Whatever your heart desires. As long as you're here with me.'

'I will be,' she whispered, urging him over the miles to believe her. She had thought often of him in the weeks since Hayman Island. Part of her wanted to make their relationship work, but she knew it would never be the same. It would be strange and new, she told herself, maybe even better. She needed to hope so, just as she did with Cass. In spite of Cass's rescue after Valerie's death, neither of them had been in touch. It was helped, or hindered, by Cass's usual globetrotting.

'Are you there? Elizabeth?'

'Yes, sorry. Just thinking.'

'What about? How to sort out the evil monarch and her consort?'

'No. I was thinking about Cass.'

'Oh, yes.' It was his turn to be silent for a moment. 'How are things there?'

Their weekly conversations followed the same path. Elizabeth feeling grateful for his call, then the awkwardness descending if one of them mentioned Cass.

'The good royal servant has been setting up all kinds of deals that the monarch's omitted to tell Parliament about.' Elizabeth thought that telling him about the machinations of the rich and self-serving powerful was safer ground.

'So do you have any inside info yet?'

Elizabeth spent the next half hour explaining about Brian Emery's merger with a Vision subsidiary, her discovery that Michael Robinson had invested in SysWA and the forthcoming Parliamentary Committee hearings.

Alex's legal brain was engaged and, as an MP himself, he was appalled at the lack of probity in those around Elizabeth. 'You've got some dynamite but you need written statements. Share portfolios, contracts. Can you get anyone to provide an affidavit on some of this stuff?'

'Roger and Beverley have their people on it, but I'm not sure I should be having these discussions with them.'

'Let me see what I can find out as well. You know I like a labyrinthine challenge. Can you email me some company names?'

'Yes, thanks. It's difficult to keep track of which conversation I've had with whom or what to believe.'

'Do you remember what I used to do when I was preparing for a big case?'

'Retreat into the study for days and ignore me?' Elizabeth tried to joke but his withdrawals had been difficult.

'No, but I recommend it. Get some big sheets of paper, stick them on the wall and map out the chains of evidence. Put your lawyer hat on. Who knows what, who knows whom and mark up with coloured stickers what you have proof for. Where you don't have stickers then it's hearsay. Research it or don't use it.'

'I could do that this weekend. I'm at the beach house.'

'I know I asked you this before but are you sure you don't have someone you could go to with this? A professional standards body or watchdog of some sort? What about a public sector ombudsman?'

'After what I've seen of the media attention to anything like that, I don't think I'd cope.' Elizabeth shivered. The day before there had been a report that someone under investigation had attempted suicide. 'I think some of the stuff we're uncovering goes beyond protecting the Institute.'

'Well, do nothing without legal advice and speaking to me first. Promise?'

'I promise. I'm so tired of it all. Between final preparations for K2020 and this looming Parliamentary Committee I have no mental space to think about anything else.'

'Just as well I call you every week, then, or you'd forget all about me.'

'Stop fishing. I do think about you at other times as well.'

'Glad to hear it, but I am worried about you. I'm glad you've gone to the beach to have a rest. You do nothing but work. At least when you were at Next Gen you could relax reading all those great manuscripts.'

'What about you? Pot calling the kettle black.'

'To tell the truth, I'm finding the life of the parliamentarian a right royal pain. You think you'd get things done, make a difference, but just when I think I've got an agreement, some lobby group or public figure speaks out about it and then it's off to some damned committee.'

'Sounds like my job.' Elizabeth had dismissed his Hayman Island disillusion as a passing phase but he sounded serious. She was not ready to cope with what he might say next so she told him about her conversation with Roger Lui and the mooted Innovation Hub. 'It'll have no financial worries and be run by Cheval, Lui and Farrington only. No government interference, no bureaucracy and no politicians.'

'You have a decidedly envious tone in your voice, Dr Wallace.'

Elizabeth paused. Yes, she was envious, but why? Wasn't she doing what she wanted? The intrepid trio's enthusiasm had reminded her of her early days with Fionn. Their company, their decisions. Why had she gone public? That was when everything went belly up.

'You could do something like that,' Alex said. 'You've got the money and the talent. Set up your own company or would you like to join them?'

'No. This is what I want to do. I've got so many ideas. K2020 is going to be a big hit.'

Alex let her talk but she sensed mere tolerance as she heard herself sound like a Harvard Business School case study. He did not challenge her but she knew she what she said sounded contrived. Had Roger and Beverley's new venture become more appealing than being MD of the Institute?

****

As she turned the key in the lock, she wished she had brought Hamish with her. She had thought it would upset him to bring him to Valerie's home but now she was there she dreaded entering alone.

She stepped across the threshold as Valerie's words ricocheted around her mind.

I want you to have my house. Now, I can hear what you say. Why do you need mine when you have your own half a mile away?

The truth is, my dear, try as I might I can't figure out what to do with it. So, if you don't mind, I'll burden you with this. Sell it and give the money to a good cause or rent it out. I trust you to do something appropriate.

It's selfish of me, I know, but my frenetic worrying has abated now that I've decided this.

Forgive an old woman but I'm so sure this is the right thing. I hope I'll be able to watch what you do with it.

Bless you.

The house was cold and musty, peopled by shapes shrouded in dust covers. Elizabeth walked to the glass doors and unlatched them, letting in a weak light that slipped past the blinds drawn over the veranda. Spring had not yet shown its face, the sun held captive by low grey clouds above a listless sea.

She lifted the sheet from the piano. A film of dust had replaced the collection of silver framed photographs. Lifting the lid, she touched the Chinese silk cloth that covered the keys. She fingered the red fringe, remembering Valerie's tale of discovering the embroidered masterpiece in a Shanghai market in 1959. Elizabeth sat on the stool and gazed across the room to the veranda where once conversations on the state of the nation or the afterlife had been equally welcome.

Play something for me. She heard the clear voice. Was someone in the house? No, it was her imagination, her memory playing tricks but she followed the bidding, folding back the silk. She held her hands above the keyboard, waiting for instructions. Some Bach, she heard Valerie say.

She closed her eyes and felt again the warmth of the fire, the brightness of a room illuminated by vanilla perfumed candles. She pressed the keys of the opening bars of Variation 6 of the Goldberg Variations and let the music flow through her. As her fingers found the notes it was as if the music played itself. She let her body merge with the music and gave herself up to a new yet familiar presence.

A sudden gust of wind blew the doors together with a slam that jolted her back to the present. The room was cold and dim again.

Whatever you do with the house, you must keep the piano. Promise me. Even if you foolishly insist on your lack of talent and are too busy to play, promise me you'll keep it. Stop denying your gift and accept that music is essential to you. You need only to play for your soul to come home. I know you think you are a creature of words but you are also music.'

Valerie's piano was a perfect instrument. A much-loved friend. From a much loved friend.

'Okay, Valerie,' she said aloud. 'Whatever I do, I'll keep the Steinway. Thank you.'

****

Unable to face exploring the other rooms, Elizabeth returned to her own house. As she walked along the deserted beach she wondered for the tenth time that day why she had come. Nothing was the same. To another eye Crespigny Bay was unchanged but to her it was all different. Empty. Purposeless. _All changed, changed utterly,_ as Valerie's favourite poet would say.

The relationship with Alex had new challenges. She may never repair her friendship with Cass. How could so much in her life that she thought was certain descend into such chaos in less than six months?

If she were honest, as Valerie would require her to be, it had begun much earlier. The day she plumbed the void of her new irrelevance. Losing Next Generation Publishing as well as the future she expected with Alex. Turning 50. It had been easier to accept the MD job, easier to blame him, easier to flee.

The horizon had been absorbed into storm clouds from which rain leaned into the sea. All day the still greyness had hovered. In Perth, the showers would pour, filling gutters with rain that was always welcome on the edge of the dry continent. Then a golden day would emerge, fresh and clean. Further south the slate-coloured clouds could hover for days. Elizabeth's mood became as heavy and unrelieved as the weather.

Stop it, she told herself. Talk about pathetic fallacy. The weather was not to blame for her mood yet the indecisiveness of the climate reflected her sense of foreboding. As she stepped onto the bottom limestone step leading to her house, she chastised herself for her self-pity. She would follow Alex's advice and map out the territory she was traversing. If she could make some sense of the field then she would know where to fire her guns.

Oh, my goodness, she thought, now I'm channelling military strategy. She was spending too much time with the chaps.

She stopped on the deck, realising she was grasping at a thought. What was it Alex said? Was it true that she was envious of Roger, Martin and Beverley? She sat on the top step and pulled her coat around her, watching the grey waves below. A seagull made no progress as it flew into the wind. Why did it not land and rest on the beach till the wind stopped?

Was that not what she was doing? Persisting against forces that were relentless, believing she would prevail? Envy, maybe not for the venture but for the freedom to do what she wanted. What if she could achieve what she wanted outside the Institute?

CHAPTER FIVE

'When I opened this conference I predicted it would be a significant event and by all accounts it has exceeded our expectations.'

Spontaneous applause from the 2000-strong listeners demonstrated their agreement with the Premier. Sheathed in a yellow silk jacket and floor length black skirt, Catherine Goodman basked in the approbation then waved her hands for silence.

'With the national and international media coverage a few more people are aware of what many of us already know. That we are a country of educated and innovative people and it's time we became better known for something other than natural gas and good beaches.'

There was laughter around the room but Elizabeth saw several people cringe. There had been another report in the morning newspaper reinforcing Perth's _dullsville_ tag.

'What we can do is sell to the world the technologies that have made our primary industries so efficient. This conference has been about knowledge in all its guises. Technological, social, economic, cultural and, dare I say it, even political.'

Standing to the side of the Premier, Elizabeth could survey the audience. There were familiar faces from corporate and social elites but also many who were strangers to her.

'Each Australian State has responded differently to the challenges of the information age.' Catherine Goodman warmed to her theme. 'Smart, Intelligent, Innovative. Those words are bandied about by governments but when you scratch the surface, you'll find it's all about technology and telecommunications. My government has been criticised for dragging its feet, missing the boat and other sundry clichés. One commentator suggested the other day that I should stick to the knitting instead of all these grand ideas. Who does he think I am? Madame Defarge?'

More laughter reverberated around the room. In full flight, the Premier was using most of the speech Elizabeth had provided but the humourous touches were her own. Even the mining industry heavyweights were smiling.

'By 2020, hopefully even sooner, we'll have solved the issues of digital communication even in a continent the size of Australia but we are ignoring what is happening to our society as a result. There are shameful divisions between rich and poor, the digitally literate and illiterate. Our suicide rates, poverty and disadvantage are a scandal for an OECD country.'

Goodman paused to bask in the more muted applause that showed many disagreed. The Premier gazed across the room like an empress but as the applause died down she did not resume her speech. The silence dragged on. Elizabeth wondered if Goodman had lost her train of thought. When the Premier spoke again her tone was more subdued.

'Ladies and gentlemen, in this room are some of the world's brightest and wealthiest people. You represent a wide range of industries and interests and your deliberations this week have produced many ideas. I thank you for them and ask you to remain friends to Australia and to our Institute. We may live in the most isolated city in the world but we are determined to make a significant contribution to solving the world's problems.' She thumped the lectern. 'Ideas! Ideas, ladies and gentlemen. Holistic, systemic ideas that acknowledge the interconnectedness of us all. We need creative options for old and new problems. My government is proud to have the International Institute for Information Services and Research in Perth. I hope you will all consider yourselves our partners. Help us turn the ideas developed here this week into projects to change our world. Together we can make a difference.'

As the room erupted in enthusiastic applause, Elizabeth watched Roger Lui and Jeremy Hayes get to their feet. Others followed, but not all. Elizabeth moved forward, ready to thank the Premier and close the formal proceedings, but Catherine Goodman was not finished. She beckoned her audience to be seated. Elizabeth stepped back into the shadows. What else did the Premier want to say? The provided speech had been delivered.

'There were many people all too ready to criticise my government when I was chosen by my colleagues to be Premier. There are those who would bring us down with petty personal attacks. There are some in the community who thought I should have taken the state to an early election because of various instabilities.'

Elizabeth could see Joan Emery's table. Michael Robinson sat next to his amanuensis. Mrs Emery was wearing a fire-engine red strapless gown that Elizabeth thought was an impressive piece of engineering, capable as it was of restraining its owner's breasts. Emery's black hair was piled high. From her ears hung diamond pendants that reached past her shoulders. Elizabeth found herself thinking of Madame de Pompadour. Perhaps Madame Defarge could deal with her.

As the Premier turned a triumph into a political stump speech Elizabeth begged Goodman in her mind to stop. She had been here before, standing in the shadows like some handmaiden behind a politician who mangled a speech she had written. It had been so much easier as CEO of Generation Publishing when she was her own boss.

Goodman's back was straight and her voice confident. 'I will announce in the next few weeks a date for the coming election and I promise you that the things you have suggested this week will influence our direction. Australia's population may be small by world standards but our hearts are big and our commitment undeniable. We will make a difference and you have shown us how.'

Right, Elizabeth thought, enough. Several overseas speakers were fidgeting and whispering to each other. She moved forward and extended her hand to the Premier. Goodman took it but did not move from the microphone. 'Dr Wallace, ladies and gentlemen, can take much of the credit for bringing us all to this point. I look forward to continuing to work with her and the Institute team as we put WA on the intellectual map of the world.'

Elizabeth directed the Premier to the edge of the stage where Barbara presented her with a bouquet of Western Australian wildflowers.

Elizabeth had her own speech to deliver but the Premier had changed the mood of the room. Catherine Goodman might have implied to Elizabeth that she retained power because of a pact with the she-devil but she had spoken as if winning the election was a done deal.

As Elizabeth expressed her gratitude to the board, the organising committee and her staff, beaming smiles greeted her from Roger Lui and Jeremy Hayes, Beverley and Ngaire. Even Elliott Prince, who stood to welcome the Premier back to her seat, looked master of all he surveyed.

'It was always a risk to bring together strong-willed people, geniuses in their own fields, and toss in a few wicked problems,' Elizabeth said. 'No one is naïve enough to believe we've solved anything. All we have done is talk, say the journalists, but I believe there is not enough conversation in our world. I would say this week we have witnessed real communication and we can truly say new knowledge has been created.'

A movement to her right in the front row distracted her. Had she heard a laugh? Michael Robinson leaned back in his chair. He bent his head to Josephine Baxter and whispered something in her ear while smirking at Elizabeth. There was a familiarity in the way Josephine's body received the words.

Elizabeth dragged herself back to her speech. 'The future of the Institute is assured if we can continue these conversations. Over the last two years we have moved from the simple digitisation of archival material in the _Remembering_ project to the creation of the LOCAL initiative where communities are developing their own stories. This will lead to greater understanding of our unique Australian diversity. We created the conference theme, _Knowledge + Know-how_ because theory and practice go together. So, ladies and gentlemen, I know that we have started on a new journey, a journey that will need a new language. A language of community, of co-evolution, of ecological imagination. Thank you for showing us this week how we can make new connections in our complex world.'

Acknowledging the applause, Elizabeth bowed and moved from the stage. By any measure the week had been a success. Artists and engineers had shared their ideas. Professors of philosophy and heads of global corporations had discovered common ground. There had been 200,000 hits on their website discussion spaces.

She stood for a moment in the shadows. She watched the Premier walk to Joan Emery's table and greet her _bête noir_ with surprising warmth. Of course, it would cause too much gossip if Catherine Goodman were to ignore a member of her government but Elizabeth felt sickened by the hypocrisy. Emery and Goodman stood in a group with Michael Robinson and Josephine Baxter. They looked too comfortable together, laughing at something the Premier said. In his dinner suit, Robinson knew how to play the aristocrat. Josephine's small stature meant he had to bend down to speak to her, his hand at his throat, gold cufflinks gleaming. As she watched Josephine Elizabeth saw the resemblance to Robinson's Vietnamese wife. Why did she never accompany her husband?

A nagging sense of something left undone dragged at her but she was not in the right place to decipher it. It was as if she looked at the world through a veil or a mirror of dark glass that reflected nothing but conflict. The apostle Paul would be right at home in the Institute's world. Would anyone notice if she slipped away to her comfortable bed and a good book? And, if they did, would it matter anyway?

****

'Well boss, you should be on top of the world. The media coverage has been fabulous, if I do say so myself.' George Eton grinned at Elizabeth as she entered her meeting room for their first Executive meeting after the K2020 conference.

Elizabeth returned his smile. 'You may say so, George, and you may take much of the credit for it.'

'Did you know we were on BBC World? And the comments book nearly crashed the website.'

Josephine and Anne joined them and the conversation continued about the Conference. Elizabeth had noticed a decided buzz in the building when she arrived that morning and several staff stopped her on the way to her office. 'Congratulations on putting us on the map,' they said. 'All these famous people, who'd have thought?'

As Mario had not yet arrived, Elizabeth let her Executive relive the week's events. Barbara set a sheaf of papers at Elizabeth's position at the table. 'You might want to look at that top one before the meeting.' She scrunched her nose as if smelling something foul.

Elizabeth picked up the single sheet. It was a copy of a Parliamentary Question addressed to the Premier. She moved to the window to read.

Would the Premier indicate whether she was aware of the following and if so, when :

a) that the Member for Joondalup's family company InnovNext International has recently signed a Memorandum of Understanding with one of Vision Industries International's companies to develop nanotechnogy products?

b) given that Vision Industries International is a major contributor to the Knowledge for Australia Foundation set up to support the International Institute for Information Services and Research, will the Premier as the responsible Minister indicate what connections, if any, she has to Vision Industries International?

c) In particular, will the Premier indicate what was the purpose of her recent meeting with Mr Martin Cheval, the Chairman and CEO of Vision Industries International?

Who could have provided such information? And what did the last part mean? Could it be true that Cheval had met with the Premier?

Josephine Baxter walked up to Elizabeth. 'What's up?'

'See for yourself.' Elizabeth handed her the question.

As Josephine read, Mario Fiori arrived and Elizabeth beckoned her team to the table.

'I wonder what this is all about?' Josephine handed the sheet to George. 'One of the Independents has asked it. Someone's been digging. Looks like a leak of some sort.'

'A lot of backbenchers aren't happy with the Premier but that last part could be from a public servant.' George handed the paper to Anne.

'But who would do that?' Anne asked. 'Maybe it's from Cheval's side but then he would need someone to introduce him to a certain Independent MP.'

'Let's leave this till later,' Elizabeth said. 'There's a few other things to discuss. First, let me thank you for the great effort with K2020. I think our funding from the Commonwealth government is now safe. I took the federal minister and Jean Renfrew to the airport myself and he asked me to come to Canberra to brief Cabinet on our latest international connections. He thought there were a few Departments who should partner with us.'

'That's so good,' said Anne. 'I'm tired of trying to convince people of our value each time we need money. Makes me feel like a starving artist begging for patronage.'

Josephine gave Anne a disparaging look. 'It'd be naïve to think that will ever end. Politicians have short memories and ministers are only ever as good as their last photo opportunity.'

Elizabeth suspected a deepening cynicism in Josephine or was she noticing it more now she had begun to suspect her loyalty? On the morning after the conference dinner she had seen Josephine and Michael Robinson deep in conversation in a Hay Street coffee shop.

'Oh well, we'll just have to make sure there's lots of photo opportunities,' said George.

Elizabeth hated to drag them back to the business of the day but they needed to move on. She chose her words carefully, trying to put the Question out of her mind.

'As you all know, the Parliamentary Committee on Information Infrastructure has started proceedings. I will explain this at the staff meeting tomorrow but I'd like us to discuss tactics.'

'There's lots of rumours,' said Anne. 'Some staff are letting their imaginations run wild.'

While Elizabeth thought Anne concerned herself too much about the staff's worries, this time she agreed with her.

'Some people just enjoy being miserable.' Josephine's tone was harsh and impatient. 'No matter what you say, they want to believe we'll be abolished, they'll be on the street and end up bag ladies. My staff won't listen to what I say. Maybe they'll pay attention to the boss.'

'Josephine, there are real concerns,' Anne said. 'There's been so much in the press about the task force and Mrs. Emery and now all this business about an election. Who knows what a change of government would mean for us?'

'My staff are worried, too,' Mario whispered. 'Lots of them can't see what the K2020 Conference meant to them and they're feeling a bit left out, even although I've explained that without us there would be no content for all these new ideas.' In spite of the time Elizabeth had spent trying to connect with him, she had not persuaded Mario to relax. She had seen him in a huddle with Robinson at the Conference dinner. 'It will help if you can reassure them all that they have a future here,' he added.

'Honestly, Mario, your staff are never going to get into the twenty-first century,' Josephine snapped.

Elizabeth let that outburst go but promised herself she would find out what was behind it.

'The Parliamentary Committee has called an odd group to appear before it.' Elizabeth could feel their earlier enthusiasm dissipate. 'Their first hearings are information gathering from people in industry and professional groups. We hope Jeremy Hayes as chairman will be supportive of the Institute but the other members are more of an unknown.'

'Apart from the Emery Board,' said George. 'What's the point of having her on it? Talk about giving her another platform for her to drivel on about the private sector being more efficient than the public. She needs a new song sheet.'

'Maybe so,' Elizabeth said, 'but I want you all to research what approaches the different members might take, including Mrs Emery. I will work on my submission but I would appreciate a few words on our different achievements.'

They all nodded at her, save for Mario, who was rubbing his eyes. 'There's just one thing.'

'Yes, Mario?' Elizabeth asked.

'I'm not sure this is relevant, but I had a phone call from Michael Robinson yesterday.'

'What does he want now?' Anne wailed.

Mario swallowed. 'He said I might get called to the committee. Is that right? Could I?'

Elizabeth wondered what Robinson was up to. 'It's unlikely, Mario. They've called the chairman and myself. There's no need for more. The Premier made clear that its remit is broader than us.'

Mario looked mollified as he sipped his water. 'It's just that Michael said the Premier might think she's stopped Mrs Emery's task force but one way or another the Institute's going to be carved up.' He bent his head.

'Come on, Mario. Spit it out, mate,' said George. 'What else did he say?'

'No matter how much Dr Wallace thinks she's won this round she's got some surprises in store.' He coughed and spluttered as his courage failed.

Elizabeth's fury was tempered with gratitude. Fearful as Mario was, his preparedness to tell them about Robinson's contact was a declaration of loyalty. 'Michael Robinson's got his own surprises in store,' she said. She handed Mario the parliamentary question.

Mario's arched eyebrows showed his astonishment but he said nothing.

'Why would the Premier meet with Martin Cheval?' Anne rubbed her forehead. 'Did he tell you about it, Elizabeth?'

'No, he didn't. I also know he's also called Roger Lui and Elliott Prince. He didn't tell me about those either.'

'Let's hope this question takes the attention off the Institute,' Anne said, 'and puts it onto Emery's business interests.'

'She'll find some way of weaselling out of it,' George said.

'It's pretty hard to weasel out of a situation where you and your husband get into bed with a company that has a philanthropic relationship with a government organisation,' Anne said. 'There's a lot we don't know here.'

George and Anne continued with their suppositions and interpretations. Josephine kept her own counsel and Mario doodled on his notepad. Elizabeth re-read the parliamentary question and hoped she would not be asked for information. It was becoming impossible to remember who knew what.

****

'I have Michael Robinson on the phone.' Barbara rolled her eyes as she put her hand over the mouthpiece.

Elizabeth and Barbara were working late preparing for the Select Committee.

'He won't say what he wants and he's sounding way too polite for my liking. Shall I tell him you're not available?'

Elizabeth was in no mood for Robinson's games. She had spent the afternoon trying to imagine the worst questions she might be asked and creating answers that would position the Institute well, be truthful and not embarrass or antagonise the government, board members or her staff. It was like swimming underwater in the dark not knowing where the surface was or how much oxygen was left in her tank.

'I'd better speak to him,' she told Barbara. 'You can go home now. Thanks for your help.'

'If you're sure but you knock off, too, after you get rid of Mister Big Note.' She swept her hand across the front of her throat.

'Dr Robinson, how are you?' Elizabeth tried to sound light-hearted. 'To what do I owe this call so late on a Friday?'

'It may be late for some, but my day's got a long way to go yet.'

Elizabeth could not be bothered to reply.

'What I'm calling you about is the Parliamentary Question lodged the other day.'

Silence again from Elizabeth.

'Are you there? Hello?'

'Why are you calling me about that? It's addressed to the Premier.'

'I know that but it mentions the Institute. It's a fair bet you've been asked to provide a response.'

Elizabeth remained silent again. She knew it annoyed him but she had no intentions of giving him any information.

'Well? Have you?' he asked.

'Have I what?'

'Provided a response, of course. What's the matter with you?'

'Dr Robinson, what is the purpose of your call? Ministerial correspondence is confidential so why would you expect me to discuss it with you?'

He sighed and spoke as if to a child. 'In case you haven't noticed I work for Mrs Emery and you for Catherine Goodman. Last time I checked they were both in government and so are we.'

'I work for the Institute and the Premier is my minister. Last time I checked you are a political appointee and I am not.' Elizabeth wondered if she could get some insight into Emery's motives if she strung him along.

'That's why you're having so much trouble. You don't get it, do you?' he sneered. 'Your job is the same as mine. Get the government re-elected.'

More silence from Elizabeth. Robinson had put his finger on the source of her growing discomfort about the parliamentary committee, the suspicion that the Premier would expect her to put a government spin on her evidence to help their election prospects.

'My minister wants to know what information you have given to the Premier in response to the parliamentary question.'

'Let me ask you a question,' Elizabeth said, amused by his frustration. 'Does Mrs Emery's company have a Vision International connection?'

'That's none of your business. The minister's husband runs the company. I want to know what you're going to say to the Premier about Vision and the Institute.'

Elizabeth used her silence tactic again. What was he worried about?

'Hello! Are you there?' He shouted into the phone. 'Oh, stuff this! Look, I'm coming over. I'll be there in five minutes.' He hung up.

'Damnation,' Elizabeth hissed into the dead receiver. She did not want a face-to-face confrontation with Robinson. She began to put her submission into her briefcase, wondering if she could get to the car park before he arrived then thought twice about it. No, she would face him. She dialled security. 'Jock, Dr Michael Robinson from Minister Emery's office is on his way over.'

'Och, that wee pipsqueak. And what will he be bothering you about?'

'Just show him up, Jock, but could you interrupt us after twenty minutes? Say there's something urgent you need me to attend to?'

'I can do that,' he said. [Are you on your own up there, lass? Will you be fine with that devil for twenty minutes?'

Elizabeth reassured him she would be. She knew many people at the Institute loathed Robinson but she had not thought to be afraid of him. Fifteen minutes later, she showed him into her office and sat behind her desk, motioning him to the chair in front of her. She offered him no refreshments. She had no energy to feed his ego. Her office, her rules. 'I have nothing to add to what I said on the phone,' she said.

He was his usual elegant self, dressed in a black suit, with a white shirt that showed no signs of a day's wear. His silver and black tie glittered in the light from Elizabeth's desk lamp. He sank into the chair opposite her, crossing his legs. In spite of his show of indifference he had a new tension about him. He wanted something from her but must hate the thought of having to ask.

'Your continued aggression towards me makes it difficult if you cannot have a civil relationship with the minister's office.' The twitches at his mouth turned into an attempt at a smile.

'And your point being?'

'We're on the same side here, you know.'

'You said that on the phone. Why are you here now?'

'Look, you might think your future's safe with Goodman but there will be an election soon and probably a change of government. You'll need a wider group of friends than you have at the moment. Jeremy Hayes and Roger Lui won't do you any good then.'

Elizabeth pretended interest. 'Given your allegiance to Mrs Emery, if either party gains a clear majority then you'll be out of a job.'

'Oh, you think so?' He looked at the ceiling. 'Just shows how much you know. That's the trouble with bringing outsiders into the public sector, especially from overseas.'

'Whatever your insurance plan, this latest Parliamentary Question could queer your minister's pitch.' She tried to read his emotions and failed. 'It was asked by an Independent but where did he get his information?'

'That's what I'd like to find out, and I think you know.'

'And what makes you think that? I'm not in the habit of feeding MPs with gossip.'

'A little bird told me Beverley Farrington's been ferreting around,' he said. 'Good word for her, ferret. She's a great pal of Roger Lui who's never liked me. Funny she and Roger have teamed up with Martin Cheval to create their new hobby. All about innovation. Sounds like one of your ideas so I suppose you're part of it. Better look to your own conflicts of interest before you throw accusations at other people.'

Roger had said they would speak to the Premier before going public with their new venture. Who could have told Robinson? Surely not Martin Cheval?

'I think you had better worry about Mrs Emery's business interests before criticising any one else,' Elizabeth said.

'You're such a babe in the woods. You'll never figure out how this town works. New money like Farrington and foreigners like Lui and Cheval won't help you.'

Elizabeth put her chin on her hands and stared at him. 'So, enlighten me. What does one have to do to succeed _in this town_?'

He stood and walked to the side of her desk, setting his thigh on it and swinging his leg. He flicked invisible dust from his trouser leg. 'You need friends in the right circles. You might have Elliott Prince on side so he might include you in the business world but you still need someone in politics, not so much a politician but a political player.'

Good lord, did he believe she was susceptible to his flattery? The way he turned his charm on and off was breathtaking. He was an attractive man with his athletic body and rugged looks but the bitter lines on his face were taking over. She tilted her chair to lean away from him. 'And what would the price of such friendship be?'

Examining his manicured nails, he spoke without looking at her face. 'We could start with open lines of communication and a commitment to be more helpful in public situations like the forthcoming Parliamentary Committee. At least look like we are on the same team.'

So he and his sovereign must be worried about her evidence, but why?

'The committee looks at a broad range of issues,' she said. 'I can't see that my testimony will influence the outcome.'

'The Independent Member who asked the question about the minister's pecuniary interests is also a member of the committee. We believe he will poke around in the Institute's history. There's no point to that, is there? Stick to the future.'

Elizabeth almost jumped with glee. There must be dynamite hidden somewhere for him to come to her like this. Should she let him believe he had persuaded her to his cause or send him off with a flea in his ear? 'I can't answer for what happened before my time.'

'No, but they're going to call Roger Lui.'

'Roger? Are they? Well, that's different, isn't it? I understand you had a few difficulties with him.'

'Ha, difficulties!' He walked away from the desk, putting his hands in his trouser pockets. He bent over and examined the Samurai doll in its case in the corner. 'That slit eyed inscrutable shit! He acts like some Shogun. As if he made his millions without cutting a few corners or slitting a few throats.'

Elizabeth was startled by his sudden viciousness. The man was on edge and she was alone with him. 'I don't think there's anything to be gained by slander.' She stood to show him she was finished. 'And Roger's Chinese, not Japanese. He's the least Shogun-like person I know.'

He sat down again in the chair opposite. 'Well, let me tell you this. If either of you think you can dig up dirt on me there'll be some lovely salacious rumours leaked to the press. You and Roger dining alone while his wife's out of town, not to mention the intimate relationships you've had with Minister Hayes or the charming Frenchman.'

Robinson's eyes narrowed. He loosened his tie as if he were choking. She did not know how to calm him down and she was getting as furious as he was. How dare he try to intimidate her?

'I think you should leave,' she said. 'Before you threaten someone you ought to make sure they have nothing they could use against you.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

Elizabeth waited a few seconds. 'You must be relieved the Parliamentary Question did not explore your SysWA investments while you were in the MD seat here.'

Robinson went white for a moment then half-closed his eyes. Elizabeth noticed his clenched fists.

'You could assume that whoever is feeding the MP information on Mrs Emery won't stop there,' she said. 'If they could find out about InnovNext's UK deal they could probably find out that you had a 10% share in SysWA when you were approving $500,000 worth of invoices without a proper contract.'

'Is that right, princess? Or should I say Queen? Queen fucking Elizabeth. You just don't get it, do you? You bring me down, I'll see you tarred and feathered and run out of town!'

'That's a tad mediaeval.' Her need to wipe the smugness off his face overcame her promise to herself to keep silent till she had more proof. 'Would you like to tell me what happened to that 10%, Michael? How much did you gain from the Vision takeover? Does that explain why Martin Cheval takes your calls?'

Robinson stood again and leaned over her desk so that his face was close to hers. He hissed through tight lips. 'You want to take me on, do you? Miss high and bloody mighty, waltzing into town from some piddling publishing company and taking my job? Either you play my game and go with dignity or you'll leave with your tail between your legs.'

'All right, that's enough. Leave my office, or I'll call security.'

'No need. I'm right here.' Jock Stewart stood in the doorway. 'And not before time by the look of it, eh lass?'

****

The river stretched before them with scarcely a breeze to disturb its surface. At eight pm on a Friday evening, the freeway traffic was still heavy, conscientious workers wending their way home and partygoers heading into the city's restaurants.

Elizabeth had had agreed to dine with Cass at the Bellhouse restaurant. Their greeting was strained without their usual embrace. Because of Cass's travels there had been no opportunity to meet since her rescue of Elizabeth after Valerie's death.

'Thanks for agreeing to meet me,' Cass said, avoiding eye contact.

'That's okay.'

Elizabeth watched Cass as the waiter showed them to their table and they ordered pre-dinner drinks. Cass had dark circles under her eyes. She was dressed in a loose black top and black slacks. Her only jewellery was her diamond ear studs.

'It's like being on a boat ready to set sail from the edge of the jetty,' Elizabeth said.

'Would you prefer to sit on this side so you don't have to face the Institute building? Penelope's been telling me about Emery's carry on.'

Elizabeth tried a smile. 'No, I don't mind. In fact, I love looking at it from here. At night it reminds me of a magnificent ship ready to leave for exotic lands.'

'Not the Titanic?'

'No, things are not that bad.' Elizabeth sighed. 'But the exotic lands are looking more and more attractive. Maybe we're landlocked or stuck in the ice and I'm the wrong captain to steer us out of trouble.'

'It's not like you to sound defeated.'

'I'm just trying to be realistic. Roger Lui says a good general knows when to retreat.'

'Roger thinks you should leave?'

'No. We haven't spoken of my concerns, at least not recently, but I'm beginning to agree with him about Sun Tzu. That Chinese guy's pretty smart. Strategic withdrawal is not always humiliation.'

The waitress arrived with their drinks and Cass studied the menu. Elizabeth always ordered the grilled fish so she watched the ferry make its way across the smooth water, the city's lights above it, telling herself to temper her words. There were enough wars going on in the buildings across the water. Time for peace on the home front.

'I'm glad you agreed to meet me,' Cass repeated, after they ordered. She twirled her wine glass, still avoiding eye contact. 'I've missed us. I feel so badly about what I did.'

Elizabeth knew she had to confront the fact of Cass and Alex sleeping together but she found a new calmness as she looked at Cass's bereft face and slumped body.

'It wasn't just your fault. It takes two to have sex.' There, she had said it.

'I know,' Cass said, still not looking at Elizabeth, 'but I was the instigator. I'd had too much to drink and I was so pissed off at Victor.'

'Why?'

Cass's laugh turned into a strangled sob. 'Would you believe he slept with someone else when he was at an overseas conference? How immature am I? I do the same thing, only worse.' She sniffed. 'I sleep with my best friend's lover.'

Elizabeth had rehearsed what she was going to say. 'Cass, you should know that Alex and I have begun to mend things. I don't know whether we can or even whether we should go back to the way we were, but it's a start. I'm not blameless here.'

'You?' Cass stared at her. 'What have you done?'

'Ignored Alex. I left him in Scotland, took the Institute job to spite him more than anything else. I've been angry with him ever since. He chose the Scottish Parliament ahead of our plans.'

'Even so, it doesn't justify our behaviour.'

'No, it doesn't, but just because I've lived like a nun, focusing all my energy on the Institute, why should I expect him to live like a monk?'

'I just feel so bad.' A tear slipped down Cass's cheek. She did not wipe it away. Elizabeth had never seen Cass like this.

'So you should but this is just an inevitable conclusion to events I set in train. I've realised something since Valerie died. I've been angry for years. Angry with my parents for removing me from my Grandma and Aunt Fionn, angry with Giovanni. Oh, so angry with him. Now angry with Alex for letting me down.'

'You? You're the least angry person I know. You've had a lot of things to make you sad but you never get truly angry.'

'Anger, sadness. Two sides of the same coin. I'm tired of being angry. And sad. Valerie helped me see the waste of all that. I don't want to go on being angry at Alex.' She reached across the table to hold Cass's hand, 'I don't want to go on being angry with you.'

'You have a right to be. Now there will always be this unmentionable something between us.'

'There are always unmentionable things in relationships, Cass.'

'Not with us.'

'Yes, with us. I have always kept things back from people, including you, not to mention the things I hide from myself. Valerie showed me that, too.'

Elizabeth felt her own tears come.

'Thank you,' Cass whispered, swallowing, clasping Elizabeth's hand with her two. 'Thank you. I promise I'll–'

'No promises.' Elizabeth retrieved tissues from her handbag and handed some to Cass. 'No more promises. Alex promised a different life when I left Next Generation Publishing. What about all the promises from Roger Lui and Jeremy Hayes about this land of milk and honey? I believed all those because I needed to. I came into this with my eyes shut. I'd accepted working in government would be different to the private sector but I was never prepared for all this viciousness.'

'Wouldn't you have seen it all in a lifetime of egos and prima donnas in the corporate sector?'

Elizabeth sipped her wine and gazed at the tower housing the Premier and several ministers. She wondered if Catherine Goodman was in her corner hideaway, capturing some alone time and contemplating her future that, if the press were to be believed, was limited.

'You'd think so,' Elizabeth said, 'but no. Arguing over the bottom line was civilised compared to the fight to the death for personal power. And arguing over changes to a manuscript was a walk in the park compared to negotiating changes in policy.'

'Perse, you sound so cynical. Come on, that's my role in this team.'

'Well, maybe I'm just being realistic. Maybe it's time my ideals and hopes for the Institute were put to bed.'

'What's brought this on? Did the earth shift on its axis while I was out of the country?'

'Maybe. Or maybe I'm just facing the facts. Michael Robinson could be right.'

'That limp dick! He's a lightweight.'

'No, Cass, he's not. He's a major player in a power game. I'm not sure who's playing, never mind the rules. Either they make them up as they go along or I've got the wrong rule book.'

They leaned back as the waitress poured more wine. Cass examined Elizabeth with a creased brow and set mouth that Elizabeth knew so well. Cass was working on a strategy. There was a glimmer of the old Cass, sure she could win every battle. A twenty-first century dragon slayer.

'Robinson said I was an outsider and he's right.' Elizabeth stopped speaking as the waiter put their food before them. 'He's helped me see that I could negotiate in Glasgow and London because of the long history of the company and the myriad connections Fionn built. What's going on here must be like the early days of Grandfather Campbell in Glasgow or Fionn starting out in London with her first acquisition.'

'So? You can take over this town the way they did.'

'No, I don't have the time or the energy. It takes years. This is like boxing with ghosts. I have less than a year left on my contract. With a change of government Josephine tells me it starts all over again. New chairman, board members, Minister. New deals to be made. New friends to be rewarded. And I don't know who's in bed with whom. Literally or metaphorically.'

Elizabeth willed herself to focus on the succulent tastes of dhufish, peach relish and asparagus. Cass ate her grilled salmon with studied concentration.

Elizabeth struggled to banish yet again the idea of Cass and Alex. 'I went down south last weekend. It's different without Valerie but I reminded myself why I bought the house. Escape to be on my own. Valerie's company was an unexpected bonus.'

'Are you changing the subject?' Cass asked. 'You've just given me the impression you're throwing in the towel, if I may continue your blood sport analogy, so why are you talking about a house?'

'They're connected. At least, I think they are. Valerie has left me boxes of journals and notebooks as well as thousands of photographs. They're astonishing. Apart from walking Hamish and stopping for food and a bit of sleep, and not much of that, I started at the beginning and read through the lot. She kept journals from when she was 10 years old and then travel notebooks and photographs since 1937 when she went to England.'

'She must have become fond of you to leave you all that.'

'Yes, and I her. These journals reveal an amazing life.' Elizabeth paused. How could she explain to Cass what she dimly understood herself? A door had opened? A light at the end of the tunnel? Such triteness did her feelings no justice.

'Imagine, Cass. This is a woman who grew up in Australia, born of Russian emigrés, who makes her way alone to England and builds an international life with a Scottish-born diplomat. She explores her Russian past, his Scottish heritage. They live in strange or conflicted cities, always close to the seat of power. She returns to Australia and reconnects with the country she rejected. Her only son contracts AIDS but she accepts his homosexuality and nurses him till he dies. She's the perfect compassionate observer of more than eighty years of world history.'

'You're more excited about those than the Institute. But that's her life, not yours.'

Elizabeth put her fork and knife on the plate. She needed her hands to explain. 'By Sunday evening I didn't want to leave. I was so absorbed. I haven't had a buzz like this for years. It reminds me of researching the _Women of Ideas_ series, rescuing unheard women's voices. Valerie writes well. She describes the local customs in many countries and you should see the photographs. She could have been a professional photographer.'

'Perse, it's her life. Interesting and fascinating but your life is here.'

'You're right. I'm getting carried away.' Elizabeth hesitated. How could she explain that her own life held none of Valerie's intensity? 'It's strange. I find myself wanting to read Valerie's notebooks rather than go to work.'

'Well, that is earth shattering. Maybe you just need a holiday. Penelope says you're going to Scotland for Christmas.'

'No, it's more than that. I'm beginning to wonder if I can't achieve what I want differently, outside governments or institutions. Internationally, rather than locally. I don't know. They're just vague musings at the moment.'

Elizabeth decided to go no further. She had expected Cass to say, Toss it in. Bunch of wankers anyway. Told you Western democracies are as corrupt as politicians anywhere. Yet here Cass was, resisting Elizabeth's hint she might walk away. She decided to keep the ideas hatched on the beach to herself. Perhaps a film of Valerie's life? A book of photographs? A website to educate young women on how to make their mark in a man's world.

A familiar voice interrupted their meal. 'Well, hello there, you two. First time I've seen you when you haven't both been talking your heads off. The food must be good.'

They turned to see Giovanni standing behind them. He was dressed for a black tie event. Elizabeth was struck by how elegant he looked. Clean-shaven, shorthaired, his black suit and white shirt complemented his dark looks. The lines of his face and grey hair at his temples only made him more distinguished. He was ageing well.

'So, Johnny, what brings you south of the river?' Cass said. 'Slumming it away from the Western suburbs?'

'Cass, that's great coming from you. Isn't your family seat in Dalkeith?'

'Don't start, you two,' Elizabeth said. 'You're still having the same conversations you had at uni.'

'Mind if I join you for a bit? I'm between functions and dropped in for a coffee.' He pulled a chair across to their table.

'And what highly important _functions_ would they be?' asked Cass. 'Gabriella's fashion set or perhaps art gallery cocktails?'

'No, miss smarty-pants. I've just come from Jeremy Hayes opening a new child care centre and I'm going to a dinner hosted by the Premier for some Japanese investors.'

'Ooh, la la,' Cass said, throwing her hands in mock amazement. 'How important you've become. Aren't we impressed, Perse?'

Elizabeth watched the two of them, her only husband and her oldest friend. They'd known each other for more than thirty years and had disliked each other from the beginning. Cass had been as constant and loyal as John had been duplicitous and self-centred. She dismissed again thoughts of Cass and Alex's disloyalty.

'So you're back helping Jeremy Hayes?' Elizabeth asked Giovanni.

'Yes. There'll be an election soon and Jeremy wants to win.'

'Just because he's chairing the Parliamentary Committee doesn't mean he'll become a minister again, even if the government is returned.'

'Who says he wants to be a minister?' Giovanni grinned.

'Well, of course he does,' said Elizabeth. 'Unless? No, he doesn't. Does he?'

'Does he what?' asked Cass.

Giovanni sipped his cappuccino, leaned his head to one side and winked at Elizabeth.

'He does,' Elizabeth said. 'He thinks he can be Premier. So what's he going to do? Back Goodman to get re-elected, then roll her?'

'My lips are sealed. I've said nothing.'

'No, but you wouldn't be wasting your time helping a backbencher get re-elected,' Cass scoffed. 'You blokes are so two-faced you don't know which way's forward.'

Elizabeth ignored Cass. 'Do you know when the election's going to be held?'

'It has to be by February next year,' he said.

'We know that,' said Cass. 'That's not what she asked.'

'It might be before Christmas but it's unlikely because the announcement would have to be this week. Word is maybe January. February is more likely. Get it over with while people are on holidays. More likely to maintain the status quo. And the Premier can't afford much more of your Joan Emery's' carry-on.'

'She's not my Joan Emery,' Elizabeth snapped. 'I'd be delighted for her to vacate my space.'

Elizabeth hoped the election would be called before Christmas. Parliament being prorogued would mean the committees must be disbanded. 'Didn't the Premier give Hayes the chair of the committee because she trusted him to kill off Emery and her task force?'

'You think so?' Giovanni asked. 'You've always been such an idealist, Lizzie. None of them trust each other. Anyway, Hayes will never forgive her for the Emery concession and the attacks on his pet Institute.'

'So you're going to end up as primary head-kicker and muckraker for Premier Hayes?' Cass asked. 'You're a journalist and a photographer. Good at it, I'll grant you, but do you think you've got the balls for a chief spin doctor.'

Giovanni drained his coffee. 'Colourful as usual, Cass, but if I can borrow a phrase from a distinguished Prime Minister, you two belong with the fairies at the bottom of the garden.' He stood and buttoned his jacket. 'Catherine Goodman will probably get re-elected because the alternate government is self-destructing but she got the job because the Premier resigned and no one else wanted it. There's no way she'll last a full term and Hayes will be ready.'

'Because the blokes can't stand it,' said Cass. 'Christ, we'll never get female Premiers or Prime Ministers in this country that are treated with respect. I'd emigrate if I could find somewhere that was any better.'

Elizabeth looked at Giovanni and understood why their marriage would never have lasted, even if there had never been a miscarriage. For a moment she imagined a life with children and this man. Suddenly she was grateful for her life. Not for her lost child, no, but for all she had achieved after that loss. Letting go of her anger at Cass seemed to have left her free of her anger towards him.

'Well, anytime I can help, just give me a call.' Giovanni put a five-dollar bill on the table and turned to go. 'Speaking of helping, I had an interesting session with Brian Emery last week. He's going to give me something tomorrow he wants me to give to you.' He handed Elizabeth his business card with something written on the back. 'You might want to check out that website.'

He left the restaurant, waving as he passed the window, breezy and confident. When had he decided that basking in reflected power was more valuable than his photography? Elizabeth let him go. Fly close to the sun if you want, she thought, but be careful your wings don't melt.

'Asshole,' Cass muttered. 'I don't know what you ever saw in him.'

'I've a good mind to go tell Catherine Goodman what Hayes is up to.'

'No. Sisterhood's well and good but you don't know the Premier. She may suspect all this already. I wouldn't underestimate her. They don't call her Catherine the Great for nothing.'

Elizabeth folded her napkin and reached for her bag. 'Let's call it a night. I want to finish _Running Backwards Over Sand._ Most appropriate in the circumstances, don't you think?'

CHAPTER SIX

'Ozminster. _Oui_ , I am sure that was the word. The Australian version of the British Westminster.'

'Given your Republic's constant puzzlement over the Westminster system,' Beverley Farrington said, 'how would they feel about WestOzMinster?'

' _Mes amis_ , I cannot explain the English so do not expect me to understand Australians.'

Cheval opened his arms wide and gazed at the ornate ceiling of his East Perth mansion. Elizabeth knew he had many close friends in London but played the archetypal Frenchman abroad.

'So how was OzMinster explained to you, Martin?' asked Roger Lui. 'I have not heard the term before.'

'I am not sure. Perhaps it is an _enfant terrible_ born of the Westminster mother of all parliaments and the United States father of all presidents. I could not follow the argument.'

'I've heard the term WestOzMinster used to describe our offspring,' Beverley said, 'and it's not a pretty sight. Neither fish nor fowl.'

'Ah, so what kind of animal would you call it?' Felicity Lui asked. 'A mythical creature, or a unique Australian marsupial?'

'Perhaps a platypus,' Elizabeth said and the group laughed with her.

Martin Cheval and his five friends were ensconced in the opulent dining room of his East Perth mansion. Built in a French Republic style, it would be at home in Paris. The house, dubbed Versailles on the Swan by the local press, instilled strong emotions in some architects. Those who dismissed East Perth as a conglomeration of bad taste sniffed that the house was at home with its pseudo tudor, tuscan and federation style neighbours.

The interior astonished Elizabeth. The high ceilings with doors that stretched the height of the walls, the chandeliers and the parquet floors were of another era. She wondered why Martin wanted to live in Perth if his home had to be so French. The only concession to Australia was the collection of 19th century landscape paintings. As she appreciated neither style she found the dining room overwhelming in its clutter.

The food had been in the French style using local produce, served on ornate silverware and fine china with candlesticks and fresh roses ranged before Cheval's guests.

'Platypus would work but the system's simpler than that,' said Beverley Farrington. 'We pretend that at the top is parliament, supposedly representative of the people but let's not mention that the percentage of women in the parliament doesn't reflect that of the general population. Then we pretend we have an independent public sector that gives full and frank advice when in reality we have a serial dictatorship supported by self-serving serfs. It's no joke that the acronym for Government of the Day spells GOD.'

'How can you say that, Beverley? A dictatorship?' Roger Lui pressed his hands on the arm of his chair as if to rise. 'Our family left Hong Kong because we could see what a dictatorship looked like. There's no comparison. You exaggerate, old friend.'

Beverley pulled her jacket around her neck as if to protect herself. Roger's outburst was so out of character that all four stared at him. Felicity put her hand on his arm and he sank back into his chair.

'You know me,' Beverley said. 'Given to exaggeration but I do believe we're drifting too far towards the American model.'

'In what way?' said Cheval. 'You do not have a president or a république.'

'No, but think about it,' Beverley persisted, glancing at Roger Lui. 'The CEOs in the public sector are all appointed by the Premier. If the Premier doesn't like you, you don't get the job. And there's a tiny number of female CEOs who manage to navigate those waters. The majority of senior people are on short-term contracts and if you look at how long they last, you'll find the average tenure is less than three years. It's like a revolving door. Imagine if we ran our companies that way. Shareholders would never stand for it.'

'There's been so many changes since I started,' said Elizabeth. 'I think there's been six new CEOs in the last year. I'm becoming a veteran after less than three.'

In spite of Roger's solemn face and Martin Cheval beckoning the catering staff to clear away the main course, Beverley pressed on. 'Look at the government. Cabinet makes all the decisions. Do you know that the Cabinet has no constitutional authority? The Premier can just go through the motions of being accountable to Parliament.'

'Your Premier does not look to me like a dictator,' said Cheval. 'As I was explaining to Elizabeth earlier, Madame Goodman was thorough in her questioning of me but she listened to what I said. She strikes me as charming but fearless.'

As Roger asked Cheval about his meeting, Elizabeth reflected on her enigmatic host. He had suggested she arrive early so he could share how the Premier had invited him to her office and quizzed him on Vision's relationship with the Institute. Goodman had said she wanted to assure herself there was no funny business, a phrase that amused him. She insisted the Institute was not for sale, no matter what senior official contacted him. Cheval wanted to convince Elizabeth that he had no plans for Vision to do business with Australian governments. He told her he intended to step down as CEO in the new year but would stay on as chairman. So his promises meant nothing, Elizabeth decided.

'Of course,' Roger Lui addressed the group, 'if we did not have the democracy that Beverley so derides then she would not have been able to discover Mrs Emery's suspect business dealings and provide that information to a certain Independent MP so he could ask a parliamentary question.'

So, it was Beverley's doing. Elizabeth had suspected as much. 'How did Martin's meeting with the Premier get into the question?' Elizabeth asked.

Beverley, Roger and Martin smiled at each other. Roger nodded to Martin to speak. 'A masterstroke, non? By putting it on the public record the Premier would be able to show Mrs Emery that she, the Premier, is in charge while protecting the Institute.'

And it would not hurt the Premier's re-election plans to let it be known she had met with Perth's newest global citizen, Elizabeth thought. Trouble was, there had been no response to the question.

Cheval was becoming restless. He waved his hand to his staff. 'Now we become too serious. Madame Emery's presence will sour the cream and that is not permitted. _Voilà les profiteroles_!' Dessert was promptly served and sauternes poured.

Elizabeth had not met with Felicity for some time and she had noticed Felicity's indifference to the political conversations. 'Changing the subject, Elizabeth, have you been able to escape to your beautiful beach house in the midst of all this drama?'

'No, unfortunately. With the Knowledge Conference no one's had much time off.'

'I thought you had promised not to give your whole life to that organisation.'

Elizabeth accepted Felicity's gentle chiding, suspecting her concern came from long experience of watching her driven husband. As Roger cut back on his business life, Felicity would have expected him to spend more time with her but if the excited conversation about The Innovation Hub was anything to go by, she was heading for disappointment.

'Penelope says you are still living with her. Any progress on buying your own house?'

'Yes, I'm still at Penelope's, and no, nothing to report.'

'You don't find it crowds you?'

Elizabeth laughed. 'No, the house is huge. I have a bedroom, study and sitting room to myself. With Penelope's housekeeper and cook, I don't have to lift a finger. I'm getting spoilt and far too comfortable.'

Elizabeth finished her profiteroles. Roger, Beverley and Martin were engrossed in their own conversation. Words like venture capital, incubator and innovation peppered their excitement.

'Isn't Beverley amazing?' asked Felicity. 'She's handed over her company roles to her children and now she wants to start up this innovation thing with Roger and Martin. No charity social matron role is she.'

Elizabeth thought Felicity sounded envious. Surely she was not judging herself? The energy and goodwill created by the Preston Lui Foundation was legendary. Beverley had told her Felicity had been nominated for the WA Citizen of the Year in recognition of her philanthropy.

'How are your projects progressing?' Elizabeth asked. 'Apart from your grandmotherly international duties, that is.'

Felicity's eyes showed her delight. 'Ah, yes. The Felicity Preston Lui global babysitting service. Singapore, London and New York.' She tapped Elizabeth's arm. 'I adore it. So much less worry than motherhood.'

'You're building quite a dynasty. How many now?'

'Four grandchildren but none in Perth. I'm glad Simon has taken over most of the business but I worry it's stopping him having a life and family of his own.'

Cheval ushered his guests into a large room. The evening air had a touch of summer warmth in it and the glass screens had been pushed back to integrate the room with the patio and garden beyond that stretched to the river path. Elizabeth and Felicity walked outside as the other three settled into couches. Beverley held paper and pencil and was making notes.

'The city is so quiet,' Felicity said. 'After all those years in Hong Kong I'm still amazed by the peace of the river side.'

The river's black surface reflected lights from passing boats and sounds of music and laughter drifted across the water.

'I looked at a house for sale in the next street but the neighbouring houses were unoccupied,' said Elizabeth. 'It felt too peaceful, spooky even.'

'It annoys me the way so much prime real estate gets gobbled up by wealthy Asians who don't want to live here. They send their children to be educated, visit to do business and leave again. They should decide where their loyalties lie.' She put her hand to her throat. 'Sorry, that's such a racist generalisation. Just because we've made our home here, why should others?'

They sat next to one of the white wrought-iron tables and accepted the liqueurs and chocolates from the attentive caterer.

'Do you miss the bustle of Hong Kong?' Elizabeth asked.

'Sometimes, but the Hong Kong of my childhood has gone forever. I prefer it here. And you? Do you miss Scotland?'

Elizabeth watched a motor launch ferry its passengers to the restaurant down stream. 'My childhood landscapes were as different to this as yours. The lifestyle here is wonderful if you live near the river or the beach. A water loving culture in a dry continent.'

'But some things are the same?'

'Not really. I try not to make comparisons.'

'Do you think you'll stay with us, then?'

Startled by Felicity's direct question, Elizabeth hesitated. 'Why do you ask that?'

'Now, don't answer my question with another. That's what Roger does. It's just that I suspect the job is not what you imagined. Beverley tells me you're missing Valerie and you've just said you still haven't bought a house.'

'I have Crespigny Bay.'

'But that's a holiday house.' Felicity fingered the pearls around her neck. 'I know what this place does to outsiders. Being welcomed with open arms into wealthy business circles is not the same as being included by the old families. Not that anything non-aboriginal is old. Ancient cultures like the Celts or the Chinese don't rate a mention so I'm an additional oddity. A European married to a Chinese.'

With her charity work, the Foundation and her support for local writers and artists Felicity had always looked so confident to Elizabeth. She had assumed Felicity had made a home for herself. 'I thought you were settled here.'

'I don't mean to complain. When Roger and I left Hong Kong we knew we were leaving families and friends, perhaps forever. You can't replace that and we do have some wonderful new friends. We live here but we don't belong here.'

An unexpected sadness crept into Elizabeth. She recognised Felicity's restlessnes. 'I think I know what you mean although people have been supportive.'

'Not everyone, if the truth be told. Roger's angry over what he's been uncovering about Emery, Robinson and their ilk. I don't know how you cope with all the media attention.'

'Let's not talk about it. It's too beautiful an evening.' Elizabeth sipped her liqueur. 'Beverley's famous muscat, I see. Valerie and I shared many an evening over a bottle of this.'

'You became close in such a short time.'

Elizabeth stood and leaned on her elbows on the balcony's glass wall, turning her back to Felicity to hide the tears. 'Time had nothing to do with it. The connection was instantaneous that first day on the beach. I can't accept she's gone. I hear her voice in my head. I have conversations with her in ways I can't with anyone else.'

'I know why that is,' Felicity said to Elizabeth's back. 'I felt it the moment I met her. She was an old soul, pure spirit. What you felt was unconditional love. She gave that to so many people.'

No, don't say that, Elizabeth thought. We were special, surely. Don't take that away from me.

The chatter from Roger, Martin and Beverley drifted to the balcony. Return on investment, social capital, equity. Elizabeth had no interest in joining them. It struck her that this was the way many public officials spoke. Not about service or public good, civil society or values. The call for social justice of her youthful university protests had been replaced by this managerialism that they called rational but to her it was reason without compassion. They spoke a pseudo-scientific language of outcomes and adverse effects, treating the general population as ignorant Oliver Twists. She had read an article the day before that referred to artworks in the State Gallery's stores as non-performing assets. That could never be the language of great thought because it closed rather than opened spaces for new ideas.

Elizabeth returned to her seat. 'Valerie's language is like poetry. Do you know she kept journals since 1937?'

'The whole time?'

'Yes. They're amazing.' She leaned towards Felicity 'She's a gifted writer. An acute observer of culture and power but touched by people. She draws, too. Small pen and ink drawings. Colombo, Panama, Calcutta, Tibet, and you should see the photographs. There's thousands of them.'

'So what will become of them?' Felicity asked. 'I'm sure many people would love to read them.'

'Well, that's the amazing thing. She's left it up to me. At first I thought I would just donate them to the Battye Library but then I've been having some different ideas.'

'Like what?'

A new energy bubbled in Elizabeth's chest as Felicity responded to her ideas about publishing electronically, building websites to share Valerie's experiences.

Felicity leaned across to Elizabeth and whispered. There was no need because their companions were engrossed in their own discussion. 'I have kept journals all my life, too. Imaginary conversations with people I have met in real life or in books I have read. I practice my Chinese calligraphy in them and paste mementos of events. I've been writing lately of my memories of what my parents told me about their missionary work. I keep the notebooks in a safety deposit box. I don't know what to do with them. Roger doesn't know about them.'

'Wouldn't your children like them?'

'Maybe some day but I think not. No, my children are all too materialistic for my liking. Oh, they are wonderful. They honour their parents and the circles in which they live but maybe, with all the problems facing the world today, it is not enough. No, it is not enough. Perhaps my grandchildren will come to them in future quieter times. That is what I wish for them. Quiet times. The world is too violent for my liking.'

The two women drifted into a companionable silence. Elizabeth was aware that something had been born, an idea to be nurtured carefully. She knew that this moment of quiet reflection was but the calm before the storm. Her world, too, was becoming too violent for her liking.

****

Elizabeth had been working late reviewing the evidence presented so far to the Select Committee. She had to get to the Lawsons' by 8pm for dinner. It was the ninth anniversary of the death of Penelope's husband. Penelope had failed to recover her sparkle as her leg healed and Elizabeth did not want to leave her alone. Cass was overseas again.

As she moved to turn off her desk light the telephone rang. Jock Stewart told her someone called Joseph Longdon wanted to speak with her. Longdon. The name was familiar but her first reaction was to refuse.

'He says you met at some Writers' Festival and he wanted to give you a donation for this year's program,' Jock said.

Elizabeth told Jock to put Mr Longdon in the lift and she walked to meet it. If he were a philanthropist wanting to make a donation why would he not make an appointment?

The lift opened to reveal a short man, leaning on a cane. He was dressed in a well-cut dark grey suit with a white shirt and silver tie. His features were Asian but he spoke with a broad Australian accent.

'Good evening, Dr Wallace. Thank you for agreeing to see me and sorry about the subterfuge.' He held out a hand with long fingers gnarled with arthritis but managed a firm handshake. On his ring finger he wore a large signet ring, the kind worn by American college graduates.

Elizabeth invited him to sit in an alcove near the lift where there were two upright chairs and a small table. He lowered himself onto the chair with some difficulty and rested both his hands on his cane between his knees. Elizabeth recognised the cane's dragon head with its ruby eyes but could not place its owner.

'You may not remember but we met at the writers festival in Margaret River. I was there with my daughter and her children. We had a conversation about rabbits.'

'Of course. Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddleduck. I am sorry for not recognising the name. How is Beatrix with an x?'

'The future welfare of my Beatrix is why I have come to see you.'

'But I thought Jock said you wanted to make a donation.'

'Yes, I will do that but that was an excuse to get to see you. I want you to help me persuade my daughter to divorce her bastard of a husband.'

Elizabeth remembered with a jolt that she was speaking to Michael Robinson's father-in-law.

'It's bloody embarrassing to have my family's dirty laundry aired in public,' he said. 'I take it you know what I am talking about?'

'Do you mean the pictures from the internet that appeared in the papers last week?' Elizabeth felt sorry for Robinson's wife. The website that Giovanni had told her about had shown a picture of Robinson and Emery in a fervent embrace in the Parliament House car park of all places.

'I prefer to live out of the public glare,' Longdon said, drawing himself as upright as his back would permit. 'When I arrived in Australia from Vietnam I had nothing. My family was killed in the war and I escaped with an uncle who died on the boat. A Christian family adopted me. I won scholarships to Australia and America's finest schools and I have built a successful business. I married a Vietnamese girl and we had our lovely daughter. My wife died when Beatrix was five years old so since then there was only we two.'

'And now you have Peter and Jemima.'

Longdon stared past Elizabeth's shoulders as his tears welled. She did not know what to say. Why was he telling her his life story?

He cleared his throat and clenched his white knuckles on the top of his cane. 'I apologise. I am rabbiting on a bit. Beatrix married Michael Robinson against my better judgment. I could never deny her anything. I have proven to be correct but it gives me no pleasure.'

'Mr Longdon, I'm not sure you should be having this conversation with me. You must know that I have to deal with Dr Robinson on a regular basis.'

'I do and that is why you are the right person. Those photos are the last straw. Oh, he has had his affairs and Beatrix has always forgiven him but this time I have persuaded her to come home to Sydney with me. We're calling it a holiday but I'm determined it will be the last time she sees him.'

'I still don't see what you want from me.'

'I'm not getting to the point, am I? Must be the remains of my nationality's natural reticence, eh? I've not been able to cultivate Australian frankness but I do have a good bullshit detector.' The contrast between his Vietnamese appearance and his Australian accent was disconcerting.

She returned his smile, some of the tension lifting. 'And what particular brand of excrement have you discovered?'

'I need to explain some history. To protect my daughter I set up a family trust. Her house belongs to that trust. I wanted her to have her own money. Michael's family has always struggled. His brother has been successful and is now very wealthy. I know Michael resents this. I've no doubt that he married Beatrix for her money so I made sure he couldn't get his hands on it. At least, I thought I had.'

'I'm not sure this is any of my business.'

'Yes, it is. Bear with me, please. I hired investigators to see why money has been disappearing from the trust. These investigations have shown up the ways Michael has been working against you. With his hatred of losing face he's more oriental than I am, except he's a bloody racist. He lost a great deal of face when he didn't get your job.'

'I do know that.'

'What you don't know is that he's been using my daughter's trust to build his own wealth by cooking government books.'

'How?'

'What do you know of his financial dealings with a company called SysWA?'

'I know that he invested in it but that was before my time.'

'I can tell you he had a 10% share in SysWA with his friends Gordon Burns and Elliott Prince. That money came from the trust. My daughter approved it and the investment was listed in a dummy company set up by Elliott Prince. When Vision Industries International bought SysWA, Prince chose to realise his investment but Michael kept the dummy company going. He converted his investment into Vision Asia shares. Made a tidy profit.'

'Vision Asia? I haven't heard of that.'

'It's the holding company that Vision set up for Asian acquisitions based in Singapore. Martin Cheval is the majority shareholder, as he is with all his businesses. Like me. Clever man. I had a good meeting with him.'

'You met with Martin? When?' Yet another meeting Cheval had failed to mention. Did that man trust her with anything?

'Four weeks ago. I wanted to confirm what I had found out was accurate.'

'Did Martin say anything about Michael and the Institute?'

'Not at first but, like I said, bullshit detector.' Longdon winked at her. 'There were some strange deposits in Michael's bank statements in the two years before your appointment as MD. He received direct payments from SysWA but I can't find out what for. So I asked Cheval to get his people to check SysWA books.'

'Did they find anything?'

'Yes, they did, but it's suitably vague. Called services rendered but it looks like each time there was an invoice raised for work done at the Institute a cheque was drawn for Michael to his private account.' Longdon reached into his jacket and drew out a folded yellow envelope. 'This is for you. Use it as you wish. It's proof of what I've just said. It also contains an audit of my daughter's trust. In the last six months he has had her authorise the transfer of $1 million into his private account. And $600,000 has been spent on buying packets of Vision Industries International shares in several countries.'

Elizabeth flicked through the pages. 'Good lord, this is astonishing. Shouldn't you take this to a lawyer or some kind of regulator?'

'Strictly speaking none of this is illegal. My daughter has been foolish and I should have paid more attention. However, as a public servant, he's behaved corruptly. Given he's now trying to persuade Martin Cheval to buy your Institute, isn't he in even more hot water?'

'God, yes, but I'm not too keen on being the one to argue the case.' Elizabeth thought that yet again she had had a meeting alone with someone who gave her information that would make her sleepless nights even more restless.

'This may be breaking Cheval's confidence,' Longdon said, 'but I'm not sure he isn't playing both sides of the fence. Michael offered to broker the deal between the government and Vision for $5 million and an agreement he be made CEO of whatever new Vision division was created as a result.'

Bloody Martin! What had his protestations of friendship, even flirting, been about? He had as many faces as Robinson. The two of them made Medusa look like a den mother.

Joseph Longdon struggled to his feet. 'I have watched you since we met at the Festival. I have read your speeches and papers and share your commitment to knowledge, Education is always the answer. May I also commend you for your grace in the face of these attacks.'

He shook Elizabeth's hand again and turned to press the lift button. 'Use what I have given you as you wish. It has all been verified. If you can keep my daughter's name out of it, fine, but do what you can to discredit that bastard of a son-in-law of mine. Beatrix may forgive affairs but, like me, she will not forgive corruption. Like you, we both value integrity.'

As the lift arrived, Longdon turned to her and gave her his business card. 'If you decide you must leave the cesspit, call me. There's always room in my company for another honest visionary.'

CHAPTER SEVEN

Giovanni waved to Elizabeth as she entered the committee room in Parliament House. He stood at the head of the table in conversation with Jeremy Hayes.

Beverley Farrington and Barbara Smith accompanied Elizabeth. Beverley said she wanted to watch the soap opera that was Joan Emery but declared also that if she was going to join Cheval and Lui in their high tech venture she had better get a handle on the politics of the sector. Elizabeth suspected these were excuses to offer her support but Beverley would never suggest it was needed.

'I see Jeremy has his chief spy and gopher back in harness,' Beverley said. 'Shades of the mafia about him, if you ask me.'

Elizabeth suppressed a desire to giggle. With Giovanni's fervent rediscovery of his Italian heritage he might see membership of the Cosa Nostra as a badge of honour.

Barbara had asked Elizabeth if she could accompany her because she had never attended a Parliamentary Committee. Elizabeth was grateful for Barbara's reassuring presence. No one knew more than her assistant what nonsense she had encountered. Today was no exception. Another missive from Michael Robinson had crossed Barbara's desk that morning. Hand delivered, marked _For Dr. Wallace's eyes only_.

Elizabeth watched Joan Emery strut into the room with Robinson at her shoulder. The sight would be amusing if it hadn't become so personal. _The Minister has asked me to remind you_ , the morning's letter said, _that appearances before Parliamentary Committees have the status of a court of law. It is a requirement that you tell the truth. There are severe penalties for lying to a committee. Should you require any clarification of your evidence, I would be happy to assist._

'What planet is he on?' Barbara fumed. 'He's the liar in all this. I wish you'd let me tell Gerry about his fingers in the till. Have you told anyone else what Mr Longdon said?'

'No, I haven't,' whispered Elizabeth. 'I can't believe it. I've gone over my notes a dozen times and I can't see how I can use it. I don't think I should have told you, either.'

An usher showed Elizabeth to a small table from which she would make her submission. Barbara and Beverley whispered good luck and sat in the visitors' chairs behind her.

Jeremy Hayes tried to draw the committee to order. Giovanni took a seat at the left side of the committee table. On the right side sat the Hansard staff, ready to capture each word. Michael Robinson whispered something in Emery's ear. She laughed as he moved to the seat next to Giovanni and shook his hand. The committee table and the side tables formed a U around Elizabeth.

She watched Giovanni and Robinson speak to each other. So much for Giovanni's offer of support. There he was, conversing with the enemy. Of course, what else could he do? It was essential to appear civil even while scheming to drive the political knife into the correct vertebrae for maximum paralysis. She breathed deeply and focused on the state's coat of arms on the jarrah-panelled wall behind the committee table, recalling her teenage puzzlement at the combination of black swan and crown, kangaroos and boomerangs as well as her amusement at finding the flower called a kangaroo paw.

'Ladies and gentlemen, may I call you to order. I declare open the fifth meeting of the Select Committee on the Future of Information Technology and Innovation in Western Australia.' Jeremy Hayes beamed at his audience as he introduced the four other members of the committee. 'Immediately to my right is the Member for Perth, Mr. Frank Aniston, and on his right is the Member for Joondalup, Mrs. Joan Emery. On my left is Ms. Amanda Sorenson, Member for Fremantle. On her left is the Member for Geraldton, Mr David Bailing, Opposition Spokesperson on the Information Economy.'

Information Economy. Elizabeth despaired of getting politicians to see beyond the economic paradigm. It was as pervasive as the religious paradigm had been in the sixteenth century and pursued with the same singular devotion. _Homo economicus_ , some wag had called the twenty-first century species that dominated the earth. Now, Elizabeth thought, the world is reaping the whirlwind of their financial and environmental pillage.

'I remind you our hearings are open to the public and are being recorded. We have begun with a series of formal submissions from invited experts. Today we will hear from Dr Elizabeth Wallace, Managing Director of the world-renowned International Institute for Information Services and Research.'

Elizabeth noticed Joan Emery was reading while Bailing and Sorenson whispered to each other. Hayes scowled at them and turned to Elizabeth. 'Dr Wallace, if you could make your presentation.'

'Thank you, Mr Chairman. I'm delighted to have the opportunity to address the committee,' Elizabeth began. 'As you have my written submission, I will speak to several points that I believe will address your terms of reference. I'd like to speak of the role I believe public policy can play in encouraging innovation using information technologies; of the strategies WA will need to follow if we are to become a serious global player in what I prefer to call the knowledge society; and suggest the radical shifts we must make in our assumptions about what constitutes a fair and civil society.'

Elizabeth's enthusiasm for her ideas replaced her unexpected nervousness. She had been unable to shake a deep unease for days but she bracketed her apprehension in the corner of her mind and spoke for thirty minutes.

'We believe we live in the most geographically isolated capital city in the world yet as a sophisticated first world country we have access to telecommunications, airline travel and a global consciousness that belies our isolation. I suspect homeless people in the streets of London's West End would feel more disconnected than many people in Perth.'

Elizabeth noticed Joan Emery roll her eyes and lean to speak to Frank Aniston. He pulled away from her and smiled at Elizabeth. No love lost between these two, then.

As she approached the end of her presentation Elizabeth wanted to encourage debate. 'Some might argue that more technology leads to improvements in educational standards and social cohesion. I believe we need to challenge that assumption as well as the notion that the greater the GDP the richer all citizens become. Australia is a sophisticated society in many ways. We eagerly adopt new technologies, government departments build websites, our schools and universities look like fields of computers rather than learning communities. We have more than 70% of homes with access to computers. More than half the population are registered borrowers in public libraries but what of those who have access to neither? What of the homes where there is insufficient disposable income to buy clothes, far less technology? Our public policy on technology infrastructure cannot be developed as if it were solely a business tool. It is both a social and cultural one.'

'Ms Wallace needs to be reminded she is a public servant,' Joan Emery interrupted. 'Is she suggesting a failure of public policy?'

The atmosphere in the room chilled but Jeremy Hayes came to Elizabeth's assistance. 'Let's hear the rest of Dr Wallace's presentation before questions.'

Elizabeth watched Joan Emery consider arguing but she said nothing. Elizabeth's uneasy feeling returned but she was encouraged by other committee members' obvious interest. She was about to resume when Hayes nodded to someone at the back of the room. Elizabeth turned to see James Creedy walk towards the seat next to Michael Robinson. Elizabeth now had Creedy, Robinson and Giovanni lined up on her right side.

'There are two schools of thought about how much public policy can achieve,' she continued. 'On the one hand, let the market decide. After all what would public servants know about information technology or telecommunications?'

'Bloody little,' Emery muttered.

'On the other hand, these technologies are not value-free. Without government leadership we cannot ensure equity of access or skill. Technology is a misleading term. It implies a tool or technique that we use. Many people feel it is the other way around. I've met senior executives who spend millions on new systems without understanding a word of what their Chief Information Officers tell them.'

'Utter rubbish,' Emery hissed, ignoring Hayes who glowered at her.

Elizabeth ignored the muttering of those behind her. 'May I conclude by suggesting that governments can set the framework for the kinds of society we want. Australia has achieved a great deal but I believe we could be more innovative in the public sector if we put the principles of inclusion and community at the forefront of our decision-making. Information systems are not an end in themselves. They exist to serve a wider system. If we do not appreciate the complexities of that wider system then we are doomed to continue spending billions of dollars without defining the kind of society we seek to build. We have seen this year the unintended consequences of insufficient controls. We can do better.'

Elizabeth decided to finish there. Joan Emery was writing on the copy of Elizabeth's submission. Aniston was beaming while Sorenson and Bailing conferred with each other yet again.

'Thank you, Dr Wallace. A most eloquent submission,' Hayes said. 'I'd like now to invite each member of the committee to ask questions. If you would like to begin, David?'

'Thank you, Mr Chairman,' David Bailing said, 'and thank you, Dr Wallace, for enunciating so well the alternative government's policy directions.'

Bailing was an ambitious young man in his early thirties who had been elected on a wave of opposition to a multinational company's resort development in the northwest. A darling of the media, his blonde good looks and expertise with the twenty-second headline kept him in the public spotlight. 'You spoke earlier of the need to be more creative in the way government interacts with the information industries,' he said. 'Given that the current government has failed miserably in its attempts to generate such a policy why should we listen to your advice? Presumably you gave the same advice to the task force. Did they pay attention to you?'

Before Elizabeth could decide how to answer, Jeremy Hayes spoke. 'I think the Member for Geraldton would serve the committee better if he were to ask a specific question. We need not be adversarial here.'

'I think my question is relevant but let me rephrase it more to your liking.' Bailing smiled but his tone was sarcastic. 'Do you believe, Dr Wallace, that government should be in the business of owning information infrastructure? Is this not better left to the private sector?'

Emery's smirk showed she agreed with Bailing. Same old song sheet, Elizabeth thought. 'As I said in my submission, the focus of the Institute that I lead is the delivery of information services to Australians and the policy research to support government's decisions. Whether government owns the satellites and wires or contracts private companies to do that, my success measures will always be whether people's lives are improved by the information services we provide.'

Bailing tapped his pen on the desk in front of him. 'But you must have an opinion, Dr Wallace. After all, you do head up a one hundred million dollar organisation.'

'I'm sure Dr Wallace has opinions on many things, but I'm going to move on,' Hayes said. 'Frank, your question, please.'

Frank Aniston was a corpulent wheat farmer who looked uncomfortable in a business suit. He had a particular interest in the Institute's regional programs and had raised private sector funds in three towns in his electorate to create LOCAL virtual communities. Elizabeth suspected most people underestimated him.

'I congratulate you, Dr Wallace, on your commitment to people,' Aniston said. 'There's too much talk about bits and bytes, wires and boxes. No point in having the world's greatest equipment if folk don't know how to use it, is there?'

Emery snorted. 'And we'll not get _folk_ using it if we don't have the infrastructure.'

'Mrs Emery, please. Mr Aniston has the floor,' Hayes said. 'Your question, Frank.'

'I'm getting to that. No need to rush. Now, we could spend a lot of time rabbiting on about bandwidth and connections in the bush. We don't need to go over successive federal governments botching that, not to mention the amount of money Australians have lost in Telstra shares. What I want to ask Dr Wallace is: if we were to get all the network stuff right, and God knows that's a big if, what do you think we would need to do to become a seriously smart country?'

Elizabeth thought her submission contained those ideas but thought it better not to say so. She knew Aniston was interested in lateral thinking, a quality she had found to be rare in his fellow politicians. She spoke without referring to her notes. 'Recently, the Institute hosted the Knowledge 2020 Conference. Several international speakers have committed to partnering with us. Now, we know there are more than one million Australians working overseas in the sciences, business, research and the arts. How can we use all this talent in a world that's changing so rapidly? We should develop a new approach to public policy, an approach that's global, entrepreneurial in a social sense, inter-generational and inter-cultural.'

Hayes and Bailing nodded to her to continue.

'What if we created spaces where we could bring the world's best brains together? In cyberspace we have social networking and other spaces, true, but what about face to face? Let's build actual spaces in the community, buildings like the Futures Space of Skandia. Offer them for social good, for anyone's use. Australia could take a lead. We could involve our embassies to bring ideas home from around the world. Indeed, our embassies could host such spaces.'

'Exactly what I'm always saying,' Aniston said. 'People in the bush have always done this. If we've got a problem, we just get together round the bar or the barbecue and talk about it. We work on it together. If we could support all this with better access to knowledge, imagine what we could do. We might encourage more people to live outside cities.'

'Well they won't stay there without industries, good education and well paying jobs,' quipped Joan Emery.

'As usual, that's the bleeding obvious,' growled Aniston without turning to look at Emery. 'Our government has done a great deal already. If we didn't think it was necessary to do more, the Premier wouldn't have established this committee.'

'This is a waste of time,' Emery grumbled at Hayes. 'My task force has been all over this ground already. All I've heard this morning is socialist claptrap.'

Elizabeth heard a sharp intake of breath behind her as Beverley hissed about bad manners and closed ears. Jeremy Hayes raised his voice to silence the muttering. 'Mrs Emery, I remind you that Dr Wallace is giving us her expert opinion. There is no need for insults. I'm sure we all want the best policy agenda for our state.' He turned towards Amanda Sorenson, the second Opposition MP on the committee. In her thirties, and her first term in Parliament, she had no profile in the community other than her colourful clothing that she designed herself. Hayes invited her to ask her questions.

'Thank you, Mr Chairman,' she began, flicking her long blond hair behind gold hoop earrings. 'I'd like to focus on education for innovation. As a former academic in art and design, I believe we must develop creative abilities in all our children, but most importantly, if we are to be a truly innovative nation, we must foster adult learning. Teach people creativity because that is the precursor of all innovation. We need to spend less time in front of televisions and unproductive computers. Innovators are active participants, not passive observers.'

Joan Emery closed her notebook and thumped her hand on the table, making the water glasses tinkle in unison with her silver bangles. 'Oh, for god's sake Jeremy, we're getting a bit off the topic. We'll be talking about quilting groups, devonshire teas and séances next.'

Elizabeth watched Amanda Sorenson turn an astonished face to Emery. Hayes was losing patience but before he could speak, Emery continued. 'It's almost eleven o'clock and I have to be elsewhere in thirty minutes. I'd prefer to put my questions now.'

'Ms. Sorenson has the floor.'

'No, Mr Chairman, let Mrs Emery have her say and leave,' Sorenson spoke softly. 'We can continue with my questions afterwards. Uninterrupted. Mrs Emery's departure will be a blessing.'

Hayes stifled a laugh. 'Very well. Proceed, Mrs Emery.'

'Right. Let's get to the real business of this committee and stop pussy footing around.' She leaned into her briefcase and extracted a stack of papers. She beckoned to Robinson to distribute copies to the committee. 'This is my task force's report. It ought to be the starting point for this committee. I'd like to hear your views on this report, Dr Wallace. I assume you have read it.'

As Robinson sauntered past Elizabeth she reminded herself of her determination not to respond to Emery's aggression. 'The Premier has indicated she will ask the Institute Board to comment on the draft report. As a wide ranging discussion paper it does contribute to an exploration of some of the issues.'

'It's not a _discussion_ paper and it's not a _draft_.' Emery lifted her copy of the report and dropped it onto the table with a thump that rattled the water glasses. 'It is a comprehensive set of recommendations for the future information infrastructure needs of WA. We should get on with it.'

In the face of Emery's antagonism Elizabeth chose yet again not to respond.

'Do you or do you not agree that the Institute you pretend to lead is too big and wishy washy in its objectives to be functional?' Emery did not wait for an answer. 'I have it on good authority that the museum curators and the collection librarians consider your so-called vision to be both misguided and destructive of best practice in cultural institutions. What do you have to say to that?'

Nothing you'd like to hear, Elizabeth thought, but she was thrown by Emery's sudden interest in the collections. She glanced at Robinson who leaned back in his chair with legs stretched before him. He exuded a disinterested nonchalance as he spoke to James Creedy. Elizabeth's unease increased as she puzzled over why the Premier's Chief of Staff would attend her presentation.

'If you could tell me who your good authority is then I could answer you,' Elizabeth said.

'It's a well-known fact around town that the last eighteen months have been fraught with indecisions and confusion over the role of the Institute. Why, even your minister and chairman don't want to work with you.'

'Mrs Emery, you go too far.' Hayes's red face showed his fury. 'Please stick to our terms of reference.'

Joan Emery continued as if Hayes had not spoken. 'I'm not saying you haven't tried to make it work, Ms Wallace. Some projects like _Remembering_ have been successful but then you inherited that. We wouldn't expect an outsider to achieve such results.'

Elizabeth clenched her toes, willing her irritation into her feet. Beverley had coached her to expect such goading. Any untoward response would only draw more media attention. Yet Emery was attacking Elizabeth's team and her words were on the public record. Elizabeth wanted to defend her colleagues but could see that a public brawl would not help. 'We need to remember that the Institute is a national body with a brief to lead the policy agenda for the knowledge society. Our recent discussion papers on the use of multi media products for remote learning and the creative ageing agenda to target older workers as entrepreneurs and mentors for start ups both contribute to that discussion. I could provide the committee with copies.'

Emery scowled at her but did not speak as Michael Robinson stepped up to her and handed her a piece of paper. Emery took her time reading it.

'Mrs. Emery? Are you finished?' Hayes asked. 'Our session time is coming to an end.'

'No, Mr Chairman, I haven't. I have other areas to explore so I suggest we schedule another session with the eminent Ms Wallace.'

Hayes sighed. 'We have strayed from the point too often and Ms Sorenson has yet to put her questions. If you would meet with us again, Dr Wallace? And, for the record, Mrs Emery, please use Dr Wallace's proper title.'

Elizabeth nodded her thanks to Hayes feeling some sympathy for the way he was losing control of his moment in the sun.

'Please state your questions, Mrs Emery,' he said, 'and you, too, Ms Sorenson. For the record, so that Dr Wallace will have no more surprises and it might make our next session more productive. Mrs Emery first please.'

'I have several questions about the ability of the Institute to play a leading role in the development of what our task force called the e-economy. Cultural products and navel-gazing about our history may be entertaining for the chattering classes but the real policy work needs to be done on start ups, fostering entrepreneurs and encouraging global mindsets.'

'That's not a question and Dr Wallace has already covered that,' Aniston said.

'The question is how can we move forward with this non-performing Institute dragging us down? We should abolish the thing and release serious money and space for some adventurous thinking.'

Hayes rubbed his left hand across his eyebrows, head bent. Frank Aniston came to his rescue.

'Mr Chairman, I think we should close. Once we start insulting our expert witnesses we can't expect an intelligent conversation. I suggest you counsel Mrs Emery on proper parliamentary behaviour. In fact, if I were you, I would consider referring her outbursts to the Parliamentary Ethics Committee.'

Hayes nodded. 'I suggest we adjourn and I apologise to you, Dr Wallace. Would you like to say anything to close our meeting today?'

Elizabeth looked at the panel. Emery embarrassed them but she could not assume they disagreed with all of her views. Was Emery flying a kite or firing the first bullet on someone else's behalf?

Joan Emery looked like she was about to leap to her own defence but Jeremy Hayes closed the meeting with an energetic blow of his gavel.

****

Barbara showed James Creedy into Elizabeth's office, laughing at something he said.

'Give my best to Gerry, then,' Creedy said, 'and tell him to ease up on the wise man from the east jokes.'

'You can tell him that yourself at the club,' Barbara said with an easy familiarity, closing the door.

'Mr Creedy, how are you?' Elizabeth held out her hand.

Creedy's fingers slipped past hers but his gaze was steady. 'Dr Wallace. Good of you to fit me in at such short notice.'

They both knew that the Premier's Chief of Staff would be fitted in, no matter how tight her schedule. His secretary had called an hour before, insisting he must meet with Elizabeth that same day.

'This is a pleasant office.' Creedy walked across the room to the windows facing the river. 'Not too many public servants have their own private balconies.'

Creedy looked as if he would step through the open door but he turned and strolled around the office, inspecting the framed photographs on the wall facing Elizabeth's desk.

He was a short man. Standing beside him in her heels, she looked at the top of his bald head. He leaned into each print as if were shortsighted. 'Are these Western Australian?'

'Yes, they're of Crespigny Bay, taken in each of the four seasons.'

'Where's that?'

Elizabeth had forgotten he was from New South Wales. Catherine Goodman had employed him for reasons the rumour mill dubbed variously as head-kicking, whipping the public sector into line or making the Premier look like the best man for the job. His nickname was Jesus Christ, with whom she shared his initials. A local wag had said that was appropriate in Western Australia as he worked for CG who needed to Call on God because no one else was going to save her.

'It's down south, north of Augusta,' Elizabeth said. 'I have a house there and these are views from my deck.'

'Did you take these?'

'Yes.' Elizabeth moved towards her meeting area where Barbara had laid out morning tea but he did not follow her.

'Well, Dr Wallace. Hidden talents. I'm a bit of a photographer myself. Did you hang them here as a reminder of where you'd rather be?'

Elizabeth turned back to him. His acerbic tone was not matched by his open expression as he waited for an answer.

'Would you join me in coffee and a cheese muffin? Barbara's homemade cakes are famous around here and I've not had breakfast yet.'

He took a few seconds to answer. 'Good idea. Why don't we have it on the balcony? Share your luxury with your visitor.'

'Certainly,' Elizabeth said, expecting him to help himself but he walked out and sat on a chair facing the river, his back to her. She poured coffee for them and delivered it to the table. As she returned for the muffins she reminded herself of her midnight promise. Sitting in Penelope's conservatory with the doors open to the warm December night, she had faced facts. Whatever dreams she had brought with her were buried beneath slag heaps of disappointment. Something about the cold lashing of that three a.m. reality told her it might be time to go. It wasn't as if the universe was being subtle about it. She was done with their games.

'Quite an impressive building this,' Creedy said as Elizabeth set the plate with the muffin before him. 'I had a wander round it the other day. Would have cost a fortune to build. Of course, it always helps when government and big business get together.'

Elizabeth buttered her muffin and focused her attention on eating. As Creedy sipped his coffee his little finger stuck out at an odd angle. It gave him an effeminate air but it looked more damaged that an affectation. Probably broken in the same way as his nose. His short boxer's body was hunched over the table like an animal ready to pounce.

'So how have you found the transition from the European private sector to the WA public sector? Bringing all that wisdom to the colonies?'

'The Institute is a clever organisation. The visionary national and global aspirations behind its creation attracted me.'

'Diplomatic answer. Maybe that's the problem, all this global stuff. What about the local benefits?' Creedy popped a muffin piece in his mouth and licked his fingers.

'Aren't they the same? Our recent conference put Western Australians in touch with some of the finest minds from all over the world.'

'Oh, come along, now. What benefits do you get from some talkfest?'

Elizabeth needed to discover why the Premier's main man was in her office so she would gain nothing by annoying him. 'The New South Wales government has become a great supporter of the Institute,' she said. 'It must have been exciting working in the Premier's office there. I hope we are not too dull for you.'

Barbara's husband had told Elizabeth that Creedy had overstepped the mark in his dealings with a senior public servant who had challenged his bullying ways so the offer from Catherine Goodman was not only too good to refuse. It was the only offer he was going to get.

He pulled in his lower lip and shrugged. 'Your Premier is persuasive.' He held out his cup to her.''Some more coffee? And another muffin. No wonder Gerry's putting on weight.'

As she poured his coffee, Elizabeth told herself not to be annoyed by Creedy's ham-fisted attempts at flaunting his power. His black shirt and trousers, his silver grey tie and shiny shoes might be the garb of the younger set but on him it looked menacing, even foolish.

'I wanted to talk to you about your second appearance before the committee next week,' Creedy said when she returned. 'We need to talk tactics. Best to avoid a repeat of this.' He unfolded a press clipping from his pocket and smoothed it on the table. It was the editorial from that morning's paper. Elizabeth took her time re-reading it.

Joan of Arc meets Queen Elizabeth! What's Catherine the Great doing? Yesterday at the Select Committee on Information Technology and Innovation Mrs Joan Emery, Member for Joondalup, mercilessly attacked Dr Elizabeth Wallace, MD of the International Institute for Information Services and Research. The aggression and at times rudeness to the point of slander is usually reserved by politicians for each other.

Mrs Emery, who holds the balance of power in the Legislative Assembly and forced the Premier to give her a ministerial post in return for her support, has been an embarrassment to the Government from the beginning. Given the job of consulting the community and industry on information infrastructure, a job some say was invented to keep her occupied since it is well known Catherine Goodman is not interested in technology, Mrs Emery has been anything but a quiet achiever.

She has relentlessly attacked Dr Wallace and the Institute for more than 12 months, claiming it should be sold off and the work done by the private sector. Her logic is flawed in that the Institute contains the previously independent State Library and Museum.

While many in the community, especially the powerbrokers of the western suburbs, have pressed the Premier to restore the cultural institutions to their former glory, she shows no sign of doing so.

Yet she offers meagre support to the Institute. Dr. Wallace was harangued for two hours yesterday and, despite the Chairman Jeremy Hayes's attempts, Mrs Emery prevented Dr. Wallace from presenting her ideas on the state's development. Let's hope Mr Hayes does a better job when the Committee resumes. It would be a sad loss if Dr. Wallace simply got fed up and went back to Scotland.

Jeremy Hayes may aspire to be Premier but at the moment the only person in the limelight is Mrs Emery. Rumour has it she is universally disliked but neither Hayes nor Goodman have been able to neutralise her.

Elizabeth looked out to the river, popping the last of her crumbs into her mouth.

'Did you speak to a journalist after the committee?' Creedy asked.

Elizabeth counted the black swans next to the jetty to stop herself exploding. How dare he imply she had a hand in this debacle?

'It's a reasonable question,' Creedy said. 'Between Barbara Smith's husband and your ex-husband you have ready access to the press. I wouldn't blame you for using it. Joan Emery needs taking down. Indeed, we'd be grateful if you could do that for us.'

Wondering which _we_ he meant, Elizabeth picked up her coffee cup and stood. 'Would you like more of anything?' She felt the rage take up residence in her throat as she walked back into her office without waiting for an answer. Who did this interfering little man think he was speaking to? Why would the Premier's Chief of Staff meddle with a parliamentary committee?

Creedy followed her into her office.

'Mr Creedy, I'm sure you're a busy man,' Elizabeth said. 'I would be grateful if you could clarify the reason for your visit.' She heard the irritation in her voice and did not care.

He answered her as if he were speaking to a child. 'Goodness, I'm not trying to upset you, Dr Wallace. May I call you Elizabeth? You're not in the old country now. I'm here to help you get through the next parliamentary committee meeting better than last one. No need to get snitchy.'

'And how do you propose to help me? We have no idea of the questions.'

'Whatever is asked you can, of course, answer as you please.'

'Or answer as you please.'

'They have to be your answers but perhaps I can give you some context. Some additional background, so to speak.'

He leaned on her desk and sipped the remainder of his coffee, the amber stone in his silver ring glinting. It was similar to one worn by Roger Lui but Elizabeth doubted Creedy would see himself needing the courage that Roger said was the mythical meaning of the stone.

'We all know the committee is pointless in terms of outcomes,' he continued. 'Parliament will be prorogued soon when the Premier calls the election. She set up the committee to kill off Emery's task force, not to give it more life but all we're getting is bad publicity.'

'Perhaps you should be having this conversation with Mrs Emery, then. Political decisions about elections have nothing to do with me.'

Creedy let out a belly laugh. 'Oh come now, Elizabeth. You're not trying to tell me senior public servants are apolitical, are you? That's a bit naïve in this day and age.'

'I've been called naïve by several people since I took up this job. I've come to think of it as code for being principled.'

'I rest my case. Naïve.' Creedy looked at Elizabeth through squinting eyes. 'Look, the point is we're putting an excellent candidate up against Joan Emery. Young bloke. Good connections. We're confident Emery will lose her seat but we'd like to be sure. Discredit her so either she doesn't stand or she's too wounded to win.'

'Well, Mr Creedy, I don't think this has anything to do with me.'

'I think it does. As you know so much about Mrs Emery's conversations with people like Martin Cheval, we thought we should work up a strategy to reveal some of it.'

'I mean it.' Elizabeth walked towards her office door. 'I will not have this conversation.'

'Oh, sit down, Elizabeth,' Creedy hissed. 'I'm not going anywhere and if you want to keep your precious fucking Institute, you'd better listen.'

Elizabeth stared at him and he stared back. She positioned herself behind her desk and waited for him to continue. She did not sit. He remained standing.

His tone was a low growl. 'The Premier shared with me what you told her at the meeting with Elliott Prince. Don't trust him by the way, he's no friend of yours. I'm going to meet with Amanda Sorenson tomorrow and I am giving her the information about Emery, Robinson and their attempts to do deals with Martin Cheval. The only way she can introduce this material is when she questions you at the committee. Hayes will try to protect you and Emery will try to divert you but we want this information on the record.'

'Why aren't you having this conversation with Jeremy Hayes? Sorenson is a member of the Opposition. Why would she cooperate with you?'

'Big note herself. We'd rather deal with her than Bailing. He's too clever by half. And Hayes? I think we both know where his ambitions lie.'

Elizabeth looked down at Creedy. He was a small man in so many ways, she thought. They were beyond the pretence of cordiality. 'So you're not only trying to manipulate a public servant and a Parliamentary Committee,' she said. 'You're seeking to embarrass a member of your own government while manipulating the shadow ministry. And you expect me to go along with this?'

Creedy's words held the menace of a sheathed knife ready for use at any moment. 'Yes, I do. Answer the questions Sorenson puts to you in such a way that goads Emery into making a complete arse of herself. And, in return, after the election the Premier will leave the Institute as it is and you can stay on as MD. You can have Hayes back as minister and maybe you can even have Roger Lui back. I'm told you're quite the happy threesome. Dinner at each other's houses, friends with the wife.'

Elizabeth stared at Creedy's puffy face and hooded eyes, evidence of too much alcohol at too many scheming lunches. He was so sure of his power. If he had the information given to her by Joseph Longdon he would have no need to pull her strings. She was tempted to hand it over but she had not decided yet what to do with it.

'And what if I don't go along with this? If I answer honestly the questions put to me? Isn't that what is expected from a public servant? Full, frank and fearless advice.'

'Oh, come on, Elizabeth, don't make me laugh. Naïve is one thing. Don't play stupid as well. You know damn well what's expected. Unflinching, unquestioning loyalty to the government of the day.'

Elizabeth wondered how it had come to this, standing in her own office being patronised by some little Hitler. She decided to test how far he would go. 'Well then, let's look at possible scenarios. The government rules by dint of Joan Emery's largesse. The Premier's own position in her party is not strong so she tolerates behaviour from Joan Emery that is beyond belief. She tolerates it even when presented with evidence of potential conflicts of interest that some might see as corruption. Some might even argue the Premier is complicit because she has taken no action.'

Creedy's smile vanished. 'Go on.'

'The Institute cannot be abolished, merged or split up without legislative change and without significant loss of Commonwealth funds and a public explanation to COAG. The Opposition won't go along with this since they're from the same party as the federal government and I can tell you Victoria, Queensland and Canberra are onside.'

Elizabeth took a deep breath.

'That's one way of looking at it.' Creedy folded his arms. 'In case you haven't noticed, we're in deep shit financially. I think the regional towns would love us if we sold your precious bloody Institute and invested the money in something useful like hospital upgrades. Maybe we'll just tell the feds they can have it. The Premier's sick of Canberra's interfering. We could rent out the building to a resource company for a fortune with these views.'

'So if you do that, I have no job. You want Joan Emery to vanish but what you're suggesting is exactly what she wants. So, in essence, you want me to help you abolish the Institute so she can look like she's achieved her aims?'

Creedy's lips were so tightly drawn his mouth had disappeared. He looked at Elizabeth from under his bushy eyebrows. 'You need to get real, girl. The Premier knows more about Emery and Robinson's business deals than you think. She'll move against both of them when it suits her. Don't pretend to me that you don't have the same information, maybe even more given your close friendship with the Frenchman. If you are in possession of information about corruption you should be reporting it to the appropriate authorities.'

Elizabeth clenched her fists on the edge of her desk. 'Are you threatening me?'

Creedy reorganised his face into what must be his idea of a smile. 'I don't know where you're getting the idea that I'm threatening you, Elizabeth. We're just exploring alternate strategies for the future of your beloved Institute. It will all be academic after we win the election with a clear majority.'

'And if you win and have to depend on some renegade Independent again? If Joan Emery is that same person?'

'I think none of us want that, do we? Least of all you.'

'And it's your job to make sure it doesn't happen?'

Creedy gathered his superiority about him again, thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and walked to the door. 'Oh, I think we've just established it's your job.'

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Institute coffee shop was dark and cool at 8 a.m. with no hint of the promised 40-degree day to come. Elizabeth chose a table outdoors on the west-facing patio leaving the already intense easterly sun to finish its task of turning the spring grasses to the colour of wheat.

She had driven from Crespigny Bay that morning after a weekend escape to think about her hectic week and the looming second appearance at the Select Committee. Instead of that she visited Valerie's house on Saturday. At times through tears, she spent hours packing up Valerie's clothes as Beverley had asked. She marvelled over the collection of saris and pashminas as she settled them into flat boxes with tissue paper between each one. She could not bring herself to remove the hundreds of books but she dusted them pausing often to browse again the astonishing collection until darkness fell.

Pointless as it was, she cleaned the house and washed the windows to remove the built-up salt. Julie Barratt had kept the garden in its full glory and Elizabeth wanted the house to feel the same way. As she worked, memories of Valerie returned and she laughed aloud as she remembered the stories from all over the world that now made more sense because they were also recorded in Valerie's journals.

As Elizabeth thanked the waiter for her coffee and scrambled eggs, she imagined herself heading off to her own far place. In five days she would fly to the cool of a Scottish glen. Being snowed in at the cottage had become her Christmas wish although Alex had said they were having their mildest December in many years.

'Even a mild winter will be freezing compared to this,' she had told him, cocooned in her beach house with the air-conditioning on full blast, the curtains drawn against the glare.

For the first time since Hayman Island, she had telephoned him instead of waiting for his Friday night call. They had spoken for more than two hours. It had been good to talk about the parliamentary committee and Creedy's visit. He questioned her, responded without judgement, leaving her to find her own way. She loved him for that. There was no I told you so. Not even a come home.

After some time he moved the conversation to their future. 'I've had the Glasgow house painted and bought some new furniture. I hope you'll like it. The interior designer assures me it's fresh and minimalist. It's forcing me to be less untidy.'

It would be a miracle indeed if changes had been made to Alex's habit of never being able to find his keys, glasses and briefcase in the morning. Elizabeth let her mind drift across shared memories as she watched walkers and runners at the edge of the river. Strange how she could feel at home at Crespigny Bay but the city spaces still looked alien to her.

Over the weekend she had faced down some of her demons. What was the real reason she had accepted the Institute job? There had been an emptiness that she thought the job would fill. A new challenge? An opportunity to lead a new organisation? Something about feeling jaded, unfulfilled. A need to believe she was making a difference. And here she was, jaded and unfulfilled. Waiting to do battle with politicians whose agendas had nothing to do with making a difference other than to build their own power base.

She was still seething from the conversation with James Creedy. It was one thing to understand MPs' besottedness with numbers, pre-selection and party factions but the political adviser was a mysterious breed. Creedy's threats were obvious. You've got less than a year left of your contract and if you don't do what I ask, I'll make sure you get no more. What was it he wanted her to do? Make sure Emery embarrasses herself? Emery wouldn't need help with that. Make sure Hayes is discredited so he doesn't get the numbers to topple the Premier if they win the election? How could anything Elizabeth might do or say affect that?

Trying to explain these machinations to Alex had been difficult. His legal male mind leapt to black and white solutions but what she needed from him was unconditional support and a safe haven. He had offered both but he also offered her new information. He told her that Martin Cheval had been toppled as chairman of Vision. There had been a complicated share buyout and various audits of subsidiaries and he had been persuaded to step down. It had all been done under the radar so as to protect his reputation and the company. Alex had called a London investment banker for whom he had done some legal work. That would explain why the wealthy Frenchman would prefer to live in Perth but Alex had also said that Cheval continued to play in the internal politics of Vision.

****

'Can I join you?' Anne Oldham stood next to Elizabeth with a tray in her hands. 'Barbara said you were here.'

Elizabeth would have preferred time alone but she could not refuse Anne. They ate in silence in the cool air and watched the tourists crossing the lawns to the ferries, many without hats. Elizabeth remembered Alex's Hayman Island sunburn and wondered how anyone would consider spending a day outdoors in such heat.

'Let me come with you today,' Anne said. 'You shouldn't have to deal with that committee on your own. _Inside Cover_ just gets worse and worse. It's not as if we can fight back. I've often thought of writing to the editor under an assumed name.'

'Don't tell me there's something in today's paper?'

'You haven't seen it? Well, don't read it. It's just more of the same.'

'Tell me.'

Anne bit a fingernail. Her wayward hair was pinned back with plastic clips, she had no makeup and her blouse looked unironed. 'It's sickening how they make the grand things you are trying to do into a catfight. The cartoon is so insulting.'

'Don't tell me. Given your reference to a cat fight, the cartoon is feuding felines with Emery and my faces.'

'Oh, they included Catherine Goodman as well, with a crown. Queen Cat.'

'I don't know who said any publicity is good publicity but I don't agree. Never mind, Anne. The same person said today's news wraps tomorrow's fish and chips.'

'Let me come with you. Please. There's safety in numbers. Barbara and George want to come too.'

'No, Anne. I have to do this alone.' Elizabeth fought back unexpected tears at Anne's kindness. She wanted to share with Anne the information she had gleaned, in particular Brian Emery's affidavit, but she did not want to put Anne in such a position. The less any of them knew the less they could be accused of keeping evidence of corruption to themselves.

'Barbara said you want to speak with us when you come back from Parliament.' Anne examined her battered nails then pushed her hands under the table. 'Josephine says it's because you're going to resign. She says you've had enough.'

'Josephine's imagination is running away with her.'

As usual, Josephine was reading the tea leaves with some accuracy. Elizabeth wondered if it might be wishful thinking. Josephine was a consummate political animal and would survive whatever regime change was coming. 'Did Josephine say she wanted to come to the committee meeting?'

'No. She said we shouldn't. It wasn't our job.' Anne looked into Elizabeth's eyes. 'I want to say something. Whatever you decide to do I want you to know you have my total support. If you decide to leave, I will understand. I will also resign. This job is nothing without you.'

****

The first half hour of the committee's deliberations passed amicably enough. Jeremy Hayes took charge of the questioning and enabled Elizabeth to present the rest of her ideas.

The members of the committee paid attention to her, making notes as she spoke. Joan Emery was unexpectedly subdued, gazing at papers in front of her rather than glowering at Elizabeth who wondered if Jesus Christ had paid her a visit too. The committee members occupied the same places as before but Joan Emery had an empty chair between herself and the others as if she were already isolated.

'You paint a rosy picture, Dr Wallace,' said Amanda Sorenson, 'and I'm sure you believe what you have outlined for us is possible but let's be frank here. You have not been able to take the Institute far down this path because of constant government interference.'

'Do you have a question, Ms Sorenson?' Hayes interrupted. 'You cannot expect Dr Wallace to comment on that.'

'Why not, Mr Chairman?' Sorenson feigned innocence. 'You and Dr Wallace and others who have made submissions tell us interminably that the Institute is an independent statutory authority. Surely, if Dr Wallace cannot offer us independent advice there is no point in having her here.'

Hayes sighed. 'Please put a question that relates to our terms of reference. Let us at least attempt a bipartisan approach to this important topic.'

'Hear, hear,' said Aniston.

Amanda Sorenson's cool blonde demeanour remained unruffled. Elizabeth watched with some dispassionate amusement as the young woman preened herself to make her political debut. The rest of the panel looked confused but Elizabeth waited for Creedy's tactics to bear fruit.

'My point is relevant, Mr Chairman. The Institute was established to offer independent, I repeat independent, advice. You would agree with that, Dr Wallace? Indeed, you would pride yourself on your independence, given the multiple sources of the Institute's funding, wouldn't you?'

Hayes scowled but remained silent.

'Yes, I would,' Elizabeth said.

'Yes, you would,' Sorenson said. 'So why do you think you can give this allegedly independent advice while at the same time negotiating with your wealthy friend, Martin Cheval, to sell him your precious Institute?'

'What?' shouted Aniston.

'Don't be ridiculous!' yelled Hayes.

Mutters of protest from the observers saved Elizabeth from answering. She closed her eyes for a moment. What new game was this? Had Creedy told Sorenson to say this or had the cocky young parliamentarian misunderstood? In any other forum this would be defamation but under parliamentary privilege neither her good name nor Martin's was protected.

Hayes tried to bring the room to order. 'I would remind you that we are here in a public forum to receive advice from a distinguished professional on the future of our knowledge based industries. I see no point in this line of questioning and would be happy to excuse Dr Wallace right now, if she wishes. Some MPs may see the public service as a punching bag but I do not.' He offered Elizabeth an embarrassed smile. 'Please accept our apologies, Dr Wallace. Ms Sorenson, take care you do not make accusations you cannot substantiate.'

Amanda Sorenson looked sideways at Joan Emery who was frowning at Michael Robinson in the front row. From the smug look on Sorenson's face Elizabeth assumed they were not in cahoots.

'Mr Chairman, as my question offends your sensibilities so much, let me approach the issue another way.' It was clear Sorenson was enjoying the attention. 'You would be aware, Dr Wallace, of a recent Parliamentary Question in which mention was made of a meeting between the Premier and a Mr Martin Cheval. I understand you are aware of the purpose of that meeting, namely to discuss how to break up the Institute you say you are so proud of and sell off considerable portions of the state's technological and cultural assets to a multinational company.'

Elizabeth took her time answering. Sorenson must have got Creedy's instructions mixed up, or did he set her up to slur Elizabeth's name because she had not agreed to do his bidding? But Sorenson was casting aspersions on the Premier. Why would Creedy want the Premier to look bad? Was he as loyal as the Premier assumed?

'As I was not in any such meeting it is not appropriate for me to provide an opinion,' Elizabeth said.

Sorenson flicked through her papers as if she had lost her place. 'So let me ask you this, Dr Wallace. Are you aware of anyone who wants to sell the Institute? Mrs Emery, for example. Would she have such an intention?'

'Mr Chairman, I suggest you control Ms Sorenson. This is ridiculous.' Joan Emery sounded more bored than annoyed. 'I won't stand for malicious point scoring.'

Hayes glowered at them both. He had to let the proceedings continue. To gag the questions now would fuel the speculation unless, Elizabeth thought, he wanted to throw petrol on the flames. What if Creedy had also paid him a visit?

'Please answer my question, Dr Wallace.' Sorenson said. 'To your knowledge has there been contact between Mrs Emery in her capacity as Minister Assisting the Premier on Information Technology and Monsieur Martin Cheval of Vision Industries International with a view to selling Australian taxpayers' cultural assets?'

Elizabeth breathed in. She could continue to say that was irrelevant or none of her business. Each member of the committee looked interested save for Joan Emery whose undisguised contempt helped Elizabeth decide. Time for phase one of her strategy. 'I have been reliably informed that an officer in Mrs Emery's office contacted Monsieur Cheval. The facts may be as you outline them but it is not for me to say what Mrs Emery knows or does not know.'

Joan Emery glanced at Michael Robinson who turned his head to stare at Elizabeth. He sat with his arms along the tops of the chairs next to him. He looked unperturbed but Elizabeth felt soiled. Now she had begun, there was no turning back.

The room waited for the next development. Sorenson smiled like a cat with a half-dead mouse. She bared her claws again. 'I think we can also assume that person is Michael Robinson, can't we? And I think we can assume Mrs Emery knew about it. Indeed, I'd suggest she instigated it.' She looked sideways at Emery who was doodling on the page before her. Elizabeth wondered if Emery's silence meant indifference or shock that she had been sideswiped.

'What's more to the point, Dr Wallace,' Sorenson continued, 'I am well informed that you not only knew this but you and your chairman drew it to the Premier's attention and nothing was done about it.'

The room exploded again. Hayes banged his gavel and demanded order that would not come. 'We'll take a recess for thirty minutes,' he shouted and walked from the room.

Elizabeth wondered if they were expecting her to leave. She could find Hayes and excuse herself. He must be livid at these attacks on the government he hoped to lead but on the other hand, the Premier was the one in Sorenson's sights so it might serve his agenda. Elizabeth was fond of him in a way and had shared his enthusiasm for their ideas but discovering his support for Catherine Goodman was predicated on self-interest till he could grab power made Elizabeth wonder how expendable she herself was in the face of his ambition.

Sorenson and Bailing went into a huddle at the end of the table, a picture of conspiratorial glee. Michael Robinson approached Joan Emery who positioned herself with her back to the room. Elizabeth could not hear what was said but Emery was waving her hands while Robinson bent to speak. It looked as if he could not get a word in edgeways. He looked beyond Emery to Elizabeth. The naked hatred in his eyes made her wonder what he would do if she used the rest of her ammunition.

****

She stepped into the courtyard. Her flushed face welcomed the cool air of the sea breeze. Was it right to bring the information she had into the open? What if no one believed her? She removed her jacket and stretched her neck and shoulders.

'Enough to give anyone a pain in the neck, isn't it, love?' a voice from the shadows said. Frank Aniston sat on a stone bench smoking a cigarette. That explained his husky voice.

'Yes, it is. It's all getting a bit tortuous.'

'Torture? That's right. That's what it looks like. Didn't always used to be like this, you know. Glad I'm retiring at the next election. Go back to the cattle and sheep. Get more sense out of them than some of today's politicians.'

Elizabeth sat down next to the corpulent pastoralist, famous for his long serving dedication to country people.

'I don't know whether it's an age thing, but it's become more and more difficult to deal with personal attacks,' he said. 'You see politicians getting slandered all the time but I've never seen a public servant on the receiving end like this.'

Aniston stubbed out his cigarette and proceeded to roll another. His fingers were nicotine stained, his huge hands those of a workman. 'It's not right. Not right at all, love. You don't have to put up with this. No one does. Hayes should stop it. He could close down this committee. It's all just for show anyway. Serves him right, I suppose. He thought he was going to big-note himself so he could knock off the Premier but now he's allowed the government to look like a bunch of fools.'

Elizabeth examined the white walls of the tiny courtyard. In spite of new paint and plants, the building looked as tired as the politician next to her.

'Jeremy thinks he's so clever but we can see it's all self serving,' Aniston continued. 'Came into Parliament as this hotshot corporate type with all his money and big ideas. The minute things didn't go the way he liked he went to the backbench. Said it was all about principle but it was just a hissy fit. Can't stand having women tell him what to do. Between Goodman and Emery he's surrounded. The Premier's a good sort but she's made a few mistakes. Emery's the worst one and we're paying through the nose for that but expediency rules, eh? Emery's a laughing stock in some circles but it's not a sure thing we'll get her seat back.'

Elizabeth sighed. 'I don't see the point of wasting all this time on these games. Why drag public servants into them?'

Aniston's loud laughter brought on a coughing fit. 'You still haven't figured it out? I've been watching you and you are wasting your time. Apart from being the wrong sex. Sorry, love, but you've got to know how many blokes object to female CEOs. You've come from the private sector and another country. You could try for another twenty years and still not understand the ins and outs of the movers and the shakers. I'm from the country and I don't understand the half of it. You just don't belong, love. No offense. Not your fault.'

Aniston stubbed out his cigarette with his finger and shuffled off in the direction of the bar.

You just don't belong. That was what she had grappled with as she sat long into the night after speaking to Alex. She had poured a whisky and settled into the large chair on the deck, gazing at the dark sea and dipped into Valerie's journals. As she stroked Hamish who slept by her side, she read again Valerie's account of Jock introducing her to his house in the Grampians.

Jock showed me around his family home with a pride I have never known. Perhaps it is because I have lived in so many countries. Perhaps it is because my parents lost their home. I suppose that is the lot of the migrant, the diaspora. Always to see home as elsewhere. Always to feel like the outsider. The Other. For Jock, this house in the heather by the loch and the trees is home. He is different here. I can see he wants me to feel at home here. I do, but not the way he does. I do because he is here. He does because it is who he is.

All day Sunday, as she packed Valerie's things, went to lunch at Gulgunyup and then for a long walk on the beach she was troubled by restless thoughts. It was not till she read Valerie's words at 2am that she made sense of them. The Institute was not a home, not the way Next Generation Publishing had been. Yet she could not leave without letting down the Institute staff as well as admitting it had all been a mistake.

'Oh, good, there you are. I thought you'd run out on us.' Jeremy Hayes stepped into the courtyard.

Now there's an idea, she thought. That's what he had done. Run out on her.

'No, I'm still here,' she said. 'I've been wondering whether there's a point to all this. Your colleagues could have their slanging match without me in the room.'

Hayes sat next to Elizabeth and rubbed at his chin with thumb and forefinger. He tapped his right foot on the ground. 'It's not going well, I'll grant you that. You shouldn't be attacked like this but Sorenson caught me on the hop. Do you know what she's getting at?'

Elizabeth was in no mood to explain things to Hayes if he had his own agenda. She suspected his agitation had more to do with how un-Premier like he was looking. She was not going to be his stooge any more than Creedy's but if Creedy was trying to protect the Premier and destabilise Hayes's chances, why would he have Sorenson include Catherine Goodman in her sights?

'We knew that Michael Robinson contacted Cheval,' Hayes said, 'but did the Premier know about it? She hasn't answered the Parliamentary Question yet.'

'I'm fed up with trying to figure out everyone's agenda. God knows who's playing what games. I certainly don't.'

Hayes stopped fidgeting. 'Games? They're not games. The future of the state's knowledge industries are at stake here.'

'No, I don't think they are. If developing knowledge industries and our cultural institutions mattered at all, we'd have bipartisan support instead of a policy vacuum and inadequate budgets. If Australian politicians didn't think knowledge and education were important in boom times, I don't think they're going to give a damn if another financial tsunami hits us. This is exactly the time to invest in new ideas but it's not going to happen. I can see that now.'

Hayes looked at her as if she were a stranger. 'But you believe in the Institute. I know you do. Like I do.'

Elizabeth stood, picking up her bag and jacket. 'I don't think you do, or you would never have left the field to Joan Emery. Because of her too many people think the Institute's a liability. After this committee and the press coverage do you think we'll keep our national funding? To coin an eloquent Australian saying, we're stuffed.'

She walked back into the building, followed by Hayes. She knew exactly what she was going to say. If the press sharks were going into a feeding frenzy she might as well give them something to sink their teeth into. She would use Jack Longdon's information and be damned.

****

'Ladies and Gentlemen, I do not propose to reopen the lines of questioning before the recess,' Hayes boomed. 'I remind you that we have specific terms of reference and I insist we adhere to them.' He stood and surveyed the room. 'I will rule out of order anything I deem irrelevant.'

Amanda Sorenson and David Bailing sniggered to each other. Elizabeth wondered whether it was Hayes's restrained panic or their next questions that they found amusing.

'Ms Sorenson, you may continue, but take care, please.' Hayes banged his gavel.

'I would remind you that this is a Parliamentary Committee, Mr Chairman.' Sorenson basked in the attention. 'Not the board of one of your companies. I expect the community interest to be our first concern. I will not repeat my question. I think those assembled will draw their own conclusions.'

'So do you have another question for Dr Wallace?' Hayes spat.

Sorenson nodded. 'It is clear from the task force report that the Institute has failed to fulfil its purpose. One way to fix this is to restructure and have the private sector perform its functions. Do you agree with this contention, Dr Wallace?'

'I have answered similar questions earlier. I have nothing to add,' Elizabeth said.

'Hypothetically, then, if government were to accept the report's recommendation to privatise the Institute would you agree that proper tendering processes should occur?'

'Of course.'

'So you would agree that it is highly improper to canvas corporations to buy portions of a government entity before such a policy has been agreed?'

Elizabeth did not answer. Joan Emery was trying to get Hayes's attention to speak but he shook his head and scowled at her. He let Sorenson continue.

'So were a minister attempting such negotiations and that minister had an interest in the company that was going to buy it and you found out this information, it would be your duty to inform the Premier so she could do something about it? Indeed, you would be obligated to contact the appropriate corruption body.'

'Mr Chairman, enough!' Emery shouted. 'Let's return to the matter in hand. I have a far more relevant question.' She spoke through gritted teeth. 'Ms Wallace, I have a proposition to put to you. I suggest that, far from assisting government to develop meaningful long-term policies on information infrastructure, the Institute has in fact hindered such progress. In my opinion, an opinion shared by many companies in Western Australia I might add, the Institute is a conglomeration of warring factions. It should never have been created and its ongoing failure to deliver coherent services and new policy frameworks is a national disgrace. The whole concept was flawed from the beginning.'

Emery delivered her tirade with increasing speed and volume, shouting over Sorenson's protests. When she stopped, no one spoke. Elizabeth knew they were waiting for her response. To leave such an attack on the Institute and her staff unanswered would make her look foolish. She settled her features into what she hoped was attentive respect and waited for Emery to continue or Hayes to explode. Given the redness of his cheeks Hayes looked as if he was going to oblige but he did not speak.

Somehow Elizabeth felt above and beyond it all. Into her mind came a memory of James Joyce's idea about the artist being refined out of existence. She sensed a finer space through the fog of the pressure around her to respond. Sounds and surfaces faded and she understood why she felt uncomfortable in Emery's presence. If she had called it evil, people would call her mad, melodramatic at the least, yet there was something driven in the woman's desperate need to attack. This has nothing to do with me, she thought, this desire to dominate and control. For some reason Joan Emery and Michael Robinson had decided Elizabeth was the one blocking their path to power. What did they want the power for? To convince themselves they were important? People of significance? If it was about nurturing their huge egos then it wasn't working. Emery's and Hayes's egos looked close to disintegration. She did not look at Robinson. From a centre of calm certainty, she made her move.

'I agree with you,' she said.

'You agree? You agree?' For the first time Elizabeth saw Emery look puzzled. 'After all this time, you actually admit it? The Institute is dysfunctional. A total waste of time.'

'Yes.'

Sorenson and Bailing frowned at each other. Hayes's face was beetroot.

'And I also agree with Ms Sorenson,' Elizabeth said, 'that it is entirely inappropriate for any public officer, politician or public servant, to engage in discussions with private sector corporations without due process.'

As Elizabeth watched them, she felt time slow. She opened her portfolio and spread her notes before her. Time to clear the slate. She imagined her grandmother, Valerie and Fionn next to her. Those strong women had forged their way in different times without compromise.

Hayes put his chin on his hands. 'Dr Wallace? Are you sure of that answer? Would you like to clarify it?'

'Yes, I am sure, and yes, I would like to clarify it.' She centred herself and knew what she had to do, whatever the consequences. 'Three years ago, Mr Chairman, you and the then Chairman of the Institute Board, Mr Roger Lui, invited me to take up the Managing Director's post at the International Institute for Information Services and Research, a grand name with an even grander vision. Several things attracted me: the opportunity to bring an international perspective to knowledge and information policy; research into new technologies; and the chance to generate commercial opportunities where the income benefited the community at large. Independent statutory authority. How often I have heard those words. I understood them to mean working for the service of the public but not in a government department.'

Elizabeth sipped some water. 'If the situation had been as you described it then we would have succeeded but the pretence of independence coupled with constant interference from all sides of politics and overweening bureaucracy have made my job impossible. I use the word interference advisedly. Interference with the board and the position of chairman. Interference from Mrs Emery's Chief of Staff as well as threats to slander me if I did not do his and his minister's bidding.'

She waited for the muttering behind her to subside. She could see that several more press people had slipped in through the side door. 'Let me confirm that Michael Robinson did contact Martin Cheval and offered, yes he offered, to sell the commercial operations of the Institute to Vision Industries International. He said it could be arranged without tendering, as if the Institute were his personal plaything. As far as the state's cultural collections were concerned, they too could be handed over for private sector management and their exploitation for profit.'

She looked at her notes then at Hayes. He did not stop her. Joan Emery had shrunk in her chair.

'If we can contract out managing water and electricity, what's wrong with a few books, paintings and stuffed animals?' Elizabeth paused to let her sarcasm sink in. 'Martin Cheval has given me permission to tell you that Michael Robinson made clear he was calling on behalf of the junior minister. I quote from an email Dr Robinson wrote to Monsieur Cheval. _Mrs Emery will be able to get Catherine Goodman to dance to any tune her fiddle plays. The Premier can't scratch herself without Mrs Emery's permission_. If it had not been for Monsieur Cheval's integrity we might not know any of this. Imagine if a less ethical corporation had been approached.'

'You're a liar!' screamed Emery. 'I had nothing to do with that. I don't have to listen to this rubbish.'

'Well, you can leave or shut up,' Aniston grunted. 'The rest of us do want to listen.'

'Thank you,' Elizabeth said. 'My staff and I have been subjected to constant vilification by the independent Member for Joondalup and her Chief of Staff but we might have been able to continue had this committee dealt with the main issue: how to make Australian governments lead the world in the digital knowledge age. This committee has been set up for no other purpose but to deflect Mrs Emery from pursuing her task force report, a report that was never needed as the Institute research staff had already done the work. I have no confidence that any of my ideas will see the light of day, given this committee will be prorogued when the election is called. Between the task force and the committee a considerable amount of time has been wasted.'

The room went into uproar. Press photographers pushed against the security guards. Hayes ordered the media to quieten or he would close the session. 'Elizabeth. Dr Wallace. I think you need to be careful. You are getting well beyond our Terms of Reference, not to mention your position as a CEO. I understand your frustration. Indeed, I share it, but such comments may not be in your best interests.'

Elizabeth cleared her throat. 'Thank you, Mr Chairman. I do understand the implications.' She offered a slight smile to Hayes. He had tried to look after the Institute in his own limited way and he might do so if he became Premier but she would never trust him again.

'I recommend that the independence of the Institute be clarified once and for all,' she said, 'so that the dedicated staff may plan with confidence. It has become clear to me that government support is lukewarm at best and antagonistic at worst. For my own position I have found it increasingly difficult to negotiate with private sector partners and interstate colleagues when subjected to the constant barrage in the press, much of it unchecked or disavowed by the previous and current responsible ministers.'

Elizabeth stopped to catch her breath. There was no going back now she had criticised the Premier. 'I accepted a short-term contract from the other side of the world because I was impressed by the challenges and opportunities. I have been told more than once that there were doubts about appointing an outsider to Western Australia and to the public sector. The Premier's Chief of Staff made me aware of this. He sought me out to persuade me to make my submission to this committee in ways that would advance the Premier's agenda. He made it clear that if I did not do so then my employment would be terminated.'

'Dr Wallace, I think that's enough,' said Hayes.

'Yes, Mr Chairman, it certainly is. Enough to make me suggest that the chances of Western Australia and the Institute succeeding in the electronic and knowledge sectors are severely hampered by personal and political agendas. I hope your committee can find its way clear to make recommendations to rectify this situation.'

The room burst into voices all talking at once while Hayes banged his gavel to no avail. Elizabeth could not believe her ears as one or two people clapped their hands and the room erupted into general applause. Several people behind Elizabeth leaned over the barrier behind her and patted her back.

'Silence! Silence!' Hayes shouted. 'Please, order. Order, or I will clear the room.'

'I hesitate to ask this, Mr Chairman,' said Fred Aniston,' but, Dr Wallace, do you have more you would like to say?'

Hayes's ashen face begged Elizabeth not to speak.

'Yes, thank you,' she said. 'In addition to notes from Monsieur Cheval I have here a signed affidavit from Mr Brian Emery, CEO of TechNext and I also have a financial audit of Dr Michael Robinson's family trust.'

Emery and Robinson both stood and yelled at Hayes who told them to sit down and shut up.

'I have some other words from Monsieur Cheval that I read with his permission.' Elizabeth knew her next words would slam doors for her. 'I confirm that Michael Robinson contacted me personally and asked if I would be interested in purchasing all or part of the organisation known as the International Institute for Information Services and Research. I knew this organisation well through my sponsoring of the Knowledge Australia Foundation and my company's purchase of SysWA which had had contracts with the Institute. I made clear to Dr Robinson that I was not interested. Some weeks later I was approached by Mrs Joan Emery and asked to meet with her and I did. At that meeting she made the same offer, assuring me that she could bypass a public tendering process. The next day Michael Robinson called me and said he would broker a deal for me. All he wanted in return was a $1 million commission and to be head of the new division. He also said that Mrs Emery's company TechNext would be happy to join Vision Industries as a silent partner to buy the Institute.'

No one spoke. The silence felt to Elizabeth like the room was holding its breath. Joan Emery stared at her papers, her lipstick a red slash across her white face. Perhaps even she realised she was finished. Elizabeth felt some pity for her, knowing what she was going to read next.

'I also have an affidavit from Mr Brian Emery. It is lengthy and he has asked me to table it.' She paused, expecting an outburst from Joan Emery. Elizabeth glanced at her but what she saw was a blank stare. Had Brian Emery not even warned her?

'Mr Emery explains that his company TechNext has a business partnership with a UK company. Recently Vision Industries International bought that UK company. Mr Emery bought his wife's share of the business last month and he wishes to assert that TechNext has not made nor will make any purchase of any government entity. He writes: _I am aware that my wife from whom I have separated has attempted to negotiate with Vision Industries International in her capacity as a minister but I can assure the Committee that at no time did I agree to her acting on behalf of our company. I have had no discussions with Mr Cheval on any matter related to the Institute.'_

Elizabeth waited for questions but none came. Regret that it had come to this settled in her stomach and she sipped more water to quell her rising nausea. Vicious as Emery and Robinson had been, they were human beings. Elizabeth could walk away, leave Australia again, but those two would drown in family messes for a long time.

Hayes bit his lip then looked at Elizabeth with trepidation. Perhaps he was worried about being named next yet he must be pleased at Emery's embarrassment. 'Do you have any other cats in that bag of yours?' His voice was croaky as his eyes scanned the room.

'There is one thing, and I mention it with some regret.' Elizabeth hated to hurt Joseph Longdon's beloved daughter but she believed she would be helping her. 'You may have heard of Mr Joseph Longdon. He is a successful businessman who fled Vietnam as a child and has built a major corporation in New South Wales. He has close connections with Perth and he is Dr Robinson's father-in-law.'

'Mr Chairman, you can't be serious.' Michael Robinson was on his feet. 'I won't have my family dragged into all this. At all times I acted on Mrs Emery's instructions. I am a public servant. I did nothing without my minister's agreement.'

'You bastard,' Emery hissed at him, but without much energy.

'Dr Wallace, is this necessary?' Hayes looked as if he could hardly wait.

'I will be brief, Mr Chairman, but it goes to the heart of the questions about selling the Institute and who would benefit.'

'Very well, but be careful.'

'Mr Longdon set up a family trust in his daughter's name when she married Dr Robinson. Mr Longdon oversees the trust while Dr Robinson and his wife are signatories. When Dr Robinson worked at the Institute the trust made a 10% investment in SysWA. When SysWA was sold, Mr Longdon assumed that the money was repaid to the trust. However, because of the Internet and press coverage of the relationship between Dr Robinson and Mrs Emery, Dr Longdon called in expert auditors to review the trust.'

Michael Robinson walked towards the side door. 'I'm not listening to this shit,' he shouted as he walked past Hayes but the media crowd blocked his path. Hayes demanded silence above the noise of the reporters' questions.

'What Mr Longdon found,' Elizabeth said, 'was that the money did not go into the trust. It had been invested in a Singaporean company jointly owned by Dr Robinson and Mr Gordon Burns, formerly of SysWA. The company is called _Digital Remembering_ and its prospectus which has been sent to national libraries in Asia and Europe explains that they are experts in digitising cultural artefacts, have software proven at the Institute and that the Institute commends their work. They have a quotation in their prospectus from the current chairman. I can tell you that the software of which they speak is called _Valkyrie_ and it has been stolen from the Institute.'

As the room erupted again, Robinson strode towards Elizabeth with clenched fists. She stood and took a step back, thinking he was going to hit her but James Creedy stepped in front of him.

'You have no idea what you've just done.' Robinson hissed at her, trying to reach over James Creedy's head. 'You'll pay for this, you bitch.'

'Not now, Michael,' Creedy said, putting his hand on Robinson's chest. 'Get out of here. You're making it worse.'

Robinson strained against Creedy then shrugged him off. Scowling at Elizabeth over his shoulder he stomped towards the back exit.

Hayes had no chance of restoring order. He looked towards Elizabeth and shook his head. Frank Aniston chuckled and put his hand to his forehead in a salute. Sorenson and Bailing huddled in muttering confusion as Aniston nodded to them and left.

Joan Emery remained in her seat, putting a hand over her eyes for a moment. The remainder of the journalists swooped on her. She stood, pulled down the bottom edge of her jacket and stretched herself to her full height. She pushed her bracelets past her wrists and set her face in a proud smile. So, Elizabeth thought, the lady's not for banishing.

Over the noise, Hayes continued to shout for attention.

'Can I assume you have finished now, Dr Wallace?'

Elizabeth lifted her briefcase to the table and dropped her papers in it.

'Yes, Mr Chairman, I have well and truly finished.'

As she turned to leave, James Creedy blocked her path. He smirked up at her, touching the side of his nose then stepped back and bent into an exaggerated bow.

Straightening, he buttoned his jacket then winked as he stepped around her.

'Thanks,' he said.

####

A message from the author

If you are happy with this ending then I am glad you enjoyed the book.

If you would like an epilogue with the next part of Elizabeth's story then email me at LAllenIllusion@iinet.net.au

If you would like a list of books, film and music mentioned in the novel then email me at LAllenillusion@iinet.net.au

About the author

With over 20 years experience as an executive in the information services sector and 12 years as a government CEO, Lynn Allen has written many papers on leadership, strategy and the use of technology.

She has studied and loved the novel all her life, believing in the power of story to illuminate and explore the human condition. Her particular interests are women's novels and feminism.

Lynn is currently writing her second novel which explores what highly educated, professional baby-boomer women might do after they leave paid employment. Is the world ready for this group of women and their wisdom? Are the women themselves prepared to generate another feminist agenda?

