Part 21 (1/2)

'Absolutely.' He didn't seem angry anymore, which was fortuitous because I couldn't have coped with that in addition to everything else.

We made our way through the market, Max and Fred shaking hands and tasting local produce, Sh.e.l.ly complimenting handicrafts.

Under the cover of my dark gla.s.ses, I hadn't been able to gauge whether Oscar saw the night before as a slip of the tongue, so I was relieved when he approached me with a cup of home-brewed ginger beer. 'It's supposed to be excellent for hangovers.'

'Thanks.' I took a quick sip and checked my periphery for onlookers.

'I had fun last night, Roo.' It was barely audible, but resonated.

'I did-'

Flack the Cop startled me with a tap on my shoulder. 'A word, Roo?'

'Excuse me, Oscar,' I said in my most professional voice and followed Flack to a quiet spot behind a Malaysian laksa stall.

'Territory Police have informed us there's a small group of protesters approaching the market.' He removed his curly earpiece. 'They're demanding to speak with Max.'

'What are they protesting?'

'Apparently they're unhappy with the Opposition's immigration policy. We think they're possibly dangerous- they're linked to a white supremacist group and have a history of violence. We're getting Max and Sh.e.l.ly out of here in two minutes.'

'Maybe he should confront them,' I suggested. 'I mean, it wouldn't do us any harm to be tough on these a.r.s.eholes.'

'With respect, I'm not asking your opinion, Roo.'

'Thanks for the heads up,' I said. 'Let's keep this low key-let me tell Max and Sh.e.l.ly what we're doing.' He nodded.

I pushed through the friendly crowd. Max was sampling chicken satay when I reached him. 'We've got to head to the cars now,' I said calmly, smiling. 'Violent white supremacists are on their way. We need to get out of here for everyone's safety. Follow Flack the Cop.'

As he posed for a camera phone with a local supporter, I could see the curiosity in Max's eyes as he weighed risk against political opportunity, then Sh.e.l.ly gave him the sort of look that only a spouse is ent.i.tled to give, a look he reluctantly obeyed.

'Thanks for showing me around, Fred.' Max shook his hand.

'There's plenty more to see,' said Fred, confused.

But Max had already veered off the agreed course and was making his way, smiling and waving, surrounded by cops, towards the cars. They sped off into the sunset as soon as he and Sh.e.l.ly were safely inside.

It was obvious to the media contingent that something was up.

'What's going on, gorgeous?' asked Oscar.

'Do you mind holding this for me?' I handed him my ginger beer. 'Duty calls.'

I found Fred and whispered in his ear. 'I'm Ruby Stanhope from Max's office. On advice from the police, I need you to head back to your office.'

'These are my const.i.tuents, mate,' he declared, raising his voice a little. 'They're expecting me to walk the length of this market, so that's what I'm going to do-with or without Max and his missus.'

We were surrounded by cameramen and hungry boom mikes. Oscar moved closer, his eyes pleading for an explanation. I was stuck. I couldn't tell the world the LOO skedaddled because we got a tip-off that a squadron of skinheads was on its way. I couldn't try to get the media back onto the bus because it would look like a cover-up. It was a case of waiting for the inevitable.

We didn't have to wait for long. Minutes later, a seething mob of crazies marched towards us, surrounded by uniformed police. Carrying vile banners, the protesters chanted maniacally. Cameras lapped up the commotion while journalists emptied their pockets in search of pens and dictaphones.

Too short to see past the onlookers, I watched a sequence of stills on the digital display of a Herald photographer's camera in front of me. One man's back was tattooed blue with a white cross in the centre. A middle-aged woman's face was painted with the Australian flag, but the blue and red had combined in the tropical humidity, turning her an unpleasant shade of violet. I'd seen these sorts of demonstrations back home. Seething haters are the same the world over: ugly. The laksa lady pulled down a roller door to shut up shop, and Fred the MP stood paralysed at the sidelines for a moment before fleeing to his car.

Oscar's satellite truck pulled up on the footpath. With the protest as his backdrop, he used the camera to pick his teeth and readied himself for a live cross.

'Thanks, Peter, I'm reporting live from a Darwin street market in the seat of Forster, where anti-immigration activists are protesting the Opposition's new immigration policy, announced yesterday.' He had to yell above the din. 'The policy would see an increase in skilled migration as a means of boosting economic activity if the Opposition was indeed to win...'

The aubergine extremist bounded into shot. 'Masters wants to let 'em take our jobs,' she howled, 'so we'll make sure he won't get the job he wants.'

'I guess that says it all,' said Oscar, who was very pleased with himself for being in the right place at the wrong time. 'Back to you, Peter.'

My BlackBerry buzzed in my bag.

'h.e.l.lo?' I shouted.

'I just saw your lover boy and his purple friend on telly,' said Di, 'and now my phone's going ballistic.'

I let the lover boy remark slide. 'I know. It's frantic here. Fred fled. What should I do? I can't very well bundle everyone back onto the bus-they're all trying to get as much of this story as possible.'

'Tell them the bus is leaving in five minutes and if they're not on it they'll need to find their own way back to the hotel. And don't answer any questions-not even from your boyfriend. After Dark wants an interview with Max.'

I bit my tongue and did as I was told.

My relentless phone rang.

'Wooby Stanhope?' said a little voice.

'Clem?'

'Yes, this is Clementine Genevieve Gardner-Stanhope calling.'

'Happy birthday to you,' I sang, 'happy birthday to you, happy birthday-'

'Please stop singing, Wooby.'

'So now that you're five you don't need to call me Aunty anymore?' I felt the beginnings of a sore throat.

'No,' she said, 'I'm not talking to you, but Mummy made me call you to say thank you for the balloons.'

'Why are you cross? Didn't you like them?'

'No, I did not like the balloons you sent me.' A foot stomped. 'I did not like them one little bit.'

I could hear Fran in the background urging her to show some manners.

'Thank you, Wooby. There, Mummy, I've said it, now can I hang up?'