Part 5 (1/2)

'An office romance?'

'Good grief.' He was mortified. 'I'm straight as a rod. Not that kind of rod.' His colour returned and darkened. 'Straight as a cricket bat, a really manly cricket bat. It's the suit, isn't it?'

'No, the suit has the opposite effect.'

'Thank Christ-this is my only clean one,' he said, mistaking my insult for a compliment. 'I'm going to need another gla.s.s of wine.'

We moved to a table writhing with property developers, each of them rocking back on their chair to get closer to Max. This left Luke and me to chat about the Australian wine industry over dinner. He talked me through the various challenges it faced, courtesy of both the wildfires and the global financial crisis, for which he blamed 'my people'. When a pair of leggy lobbyists strutted towards him, Luke had me call his mobile just in time to excuse himself from an odious entree of name-dropping.

As I cracked the surface of my creme brulee, I gave him my precis of what was happening to the economy back home. Then we discussed everything from the timing of the Australian federal election, due the following year, to our host's wine selection; our brutal tasting notes included 'chewy' and 'hints of wet dog'.

A few raffle draws later, Luke stopped mid-sentence and stood up. 'I just got the nod-he's ready to go.'

'The nod?'

'When he's ready to go, Max gives me a sign so that I can pave a smooth exit. Otherwise, he'd never leave these gigs-everyone wants a piece of him.'

'So you're going too?' His departure would take the fun out of fundraiser.

'Yep,' he said, 'we've got an interview first thing in the morning, so I'll be up at sparrow's fart to read the papers.'

'It's been a pleasure meeting you.'

'You too, Ruby.' He reached into his pocket for a card. 'If you've got time to come up to Melbourne next week, I'd like to have a chat with you about working as a financial policy advisor on our team.'

I choked on a sip of sickly sticky. 'You're kidding.'

'Here's my card,' said Luke. 'Come to Melbourne for a coffee.'

I smiled awkwardly, partly because I didn't know what to say and partly because a globule of dessert wine was tickling my trachea. Tears welled in my eyes as I tried not to cough.

Luke stared. 'You're choking, aren't you?'

I nodded. Max joined us.

Excellent, my head enthused.

'Max Masters.' He shook my hand.

'Ru...' My lungs failed. I reddened like a chameleon at La Tomatina.

'Nice to meet you, Roo,' he said, moving towards the door.

'Are you all right?' asked Luke, torn between his boss and me.

I nodded.

'Awkward,' Luke observed, then he winked. 'See you later.'

I tried to wink back, but it felt more like a glistening, one-eyed squint, followed by a loud bark and pig-like snort. Thankfully, Luke and Max were disappearing into the back seat of a white saloon.

On the driveway as I waited for a lift, in a jet-lagged haze at the end of my first day in Australia, I stood beneath the vivid night sky and tilted Luke's card towards me. The moonlight hit each embossed letter. Luke Harley. Chief of Staff. Office of the Leader of the Opposition. My head caught me considering his offer. What are you doing, Ruby? it asked. I couldn't answer.

The morning after.

Feeling seedy thanks to the putrid blend of day-old jet lag and matching wines, I awoke the next morning to the sound of oven trays clas.h.i.+ng. I peeled myself off the hot couch.

'Hope I didn't wake you, darling,' said Daphne, tying a white ap.r.o.n over her lilac nightgown.

'Not at all.'

Debs was on the deck reading the papers. I wandered out to join her in my pyjamas and sungla.s.ses. She folded the corner of the Herald and craned her long neck to greet me. 'Morning, kiddo.'

'Thought we might have a little Turkish bread for breakfast,' said Daphne, bringing a steaming rustic loaf to the table. 'Go and grab the poached apricots and ricotta from the fridge, darling.'

'That's my girl,' beamed Debs.

I followed Debs' billowing silk gown into the kitchen.

'So, how was the s.h.i.+ndig?' she asked.

'Weird-it was a political fundraiser.'

's.h.i.+t, yeah, I should've told you.'

Yes, she should have, said my grumpy head. I carried a cafetiere back out to the deck.

'Should have told her what?' asked Daphne, serving the hot bread on earthenware plates.

'That it was a fundraiser for Masters.'

Daphne sighed. 'Anyway, as it turns out, Ruby was offered a job.'

'No I wasn't; he was just suggesting a coffee.'

'Don't be bashful, Ruby. He said he could use someone like you.'

'Jesus Christ, that's bols.h.i.+e,' said Debs. 'I had a feeling Benny would have a crack at keeping you around.' She shot me a cheeky wink.

'It wasn't Benedict,' Daphne said. 'It was Max Masters' Chief of Staff.'

'You're s.h.i.+tting me.' Debs' lips were encrusted with ricotta. 'Isn't little Lukey Harley working for Masters now?' 'You know Luke? He's the one who asked me for a coffee.'

'Luke's a good bloke. He used to be my clerk when I was senior a.s.sociate. Bright kid: cute one, too. Terrible suits. He was a Melbourne Uni medallist, worked for me while he finished his degree, then as an a.s.sociate to a High Court judge. When he finished his a.s.sociates.h.i.+p he got a gig as a policy advisor to someone. That must've been about ten years ago.'