The Importance of Ernestine

by Elizabeth Dunk

  It had been worthwhile—it always was to get to talk to the constituents without the local member there, because people were less likely to rant and get angry and more likely to give the sort of details that really pinpointed the heart of the issue and what could be done to fix it.

  Unfortunately, most of the time the issues were local ones that Federal Parliament didn’t have jurisdiction over. But Mrs B was immensely popular with the party here in the electorate and she had connections everywhere. A word from her could accomplish a great deal.

  Friday morning John had gone into the electorate office. Mrs B was at breakfast with the office manager, Clarice Henderson, who had worked here forever and knew everything about everyone. She was utterly devoted to Mrs B and worked her arse off for the old battle-axe. That meant that John was able to leave a lot of the electorate based stuff for Clarice to handle, but he needed to keep on top of what was happening. It was his job to get Mrs B re-elected, after all.

  So he spent the day with people traipsing in and out of the office, having their whinge about what was or wasn’t being done. Some were organised campaigns, such as the two opposing sides on the Badgery’s Creek airport and the impact it would have on western Sydney. Others were citizens who needed Mrs B’s assistance with issues with government departments, most particularly Centrelink.

  Friday night had been a late, boozy dinner with donors. John himself didn’t drink much at these events—he needed to say sober because Mrs B tended to get absolutely plastered and then promise all sorts of things that she had no intention of following through on. It made for a tense time, trying to follow her around and stop her from doing damage without appearing to be following her around. He’d missed one and now had to figure out how to ensure one donor’s application to turn his suburban home into a cattery was approved. That was enough to cause a headache.

  This morning Mrs B had insisted on a walk around the largest mall in the area. She’d bounced back from the night before strong and chipper—the woman’s liver was a wonder. John was tired, and the noise of the mall had really bugged him.

  Then the barbecue lunch at the bowling club, with dozens of retirees ready to have their piece of Mrs B. Mrs B had this strange idea that all retirees loved her. While it was true that many did, there were just as many who couldn’t stand her. But whatever they said to her, she heard it as a compliment and it left dozens of people walking away from her, shaking their heads and muttering about what an idiot she was.

  Sometimes, Mrs B was her own worst enemy.

  After the lunch, they were supposed to have a break before the performance but Mrs B decided to go find another bowling club to drop into. The oldies did love her so. Only the first one they found was empty, because the lawns had been damaged by some flooding during the week. So they kept driving until they found a bowling club with enough people to satisfy Mrs B.

  Thank goodness Clarice was driving, because by the time they reached the club, John’s head was starting to throb. This club had the heating up high, and the pokie machines up loud, and the throbbing turned into a deep thudding pain.

  So when he’d pleaded a headache and said he couldn’t go to the show, he had actually looked pale enough to have Clarice clucking her tongue.

  ‘You need to take better care of yourself, John,’ she’d said. ‘We can’t afford to have you getting sick.’

  ‘Indeed we can’t,’ Mrs B had said, then she’d turned to Clarice. ‘It appears we women must be the strong ones and go on tonight.’

  ‘As always,’ Clarice said.

  Thinking about it was making the headache worse. John rubbed his temple and banished all thoughts from his mind. It was rare, to have a moment of peace on visits to the electorate. He should enjoy it. He would enjoy it. He’d get room service, and he’d stream a movie to the television (he had everything Cecily had suggested—this wasn’t his first work trip and it wouldn’t be his last) and he’d relax.

  As soon as the bloody headache was gone.

  ***

  John was filling out the paperwork to tender for ten thousand toy terriers when Doris Blakely swept into his office Tuesday afternoon.

  ‘Good question time?’ John said.

  ‘Terrible. The opposition just will not support any of our positions. Why are they so against what is best for the Australian people? It beggars belief.’

  ‘Some people can only see what is best for their party, not the people,’ John said.

  ‘Such people should be weeded out,’ Blakely said.

  And leave Parliament House an empty shell. ‘I understand that the questioning tomorrow may reflect your area of defence. I have been working on some points for you and will have them ready for you to look at after lunch.’

  ‘It is about time. The lack of interest in defence from the opposition is extraordinary. Do they not understand the tremendously dangerous time we live in? Terrorists are everywhere.’

  ‘I daresay they have not been game to take you on, Mrs Blakely.’

  She smiled. ‘I daresay you are right, Mr Worthing.’ She stood. ‘I didn’t see Helen when I came in.’

  ‘She has gone to have your purple dress laundered. We thought that the best outfit for you to wear tonight.’

  Blakely frowned. ‘Tonight?’

  ‘The Doctors’ Association dinner. You were going to avoid attending the Defence White Paper meeting.’

  ‘Goodness, Mr Worthing, I can’t attend the dinner. I have important business. One of my constituents has come to Canberra expressly to assist me in building my case about taxation reform. You will have to go to the dinner on my behalf.’

  John really wished he could be more surprised by the turn of events. ‘Of course, Mrs Blakely.’

  ‘Call Helen back, and have her pick me up something for lunch. Something hearty. It will be a long day.’

  Something hearty was code for a Brod Burger. ‘Of course, Mrs Blakely.’

  Blakely went into her office, and John contacted Helen. He directed her to his place, to pick up his tux and have it dry cleaned, and then to bring back the awaited Brod Burger. Then he picked up his phone.

  ‘Guess who has to go to the dinner tonight?’

  Alec’s response—‘Want to borrow Bunbury?’

  ‘After the lies I told this weekend, my conscience couldn’t bear another. I will have to go.’

  ‘There is no limit to the lies a conscience can bear.’

  ‘There is a limit to the number you can keep track of before you screw up.’

  ‘Which is why Bunbury is so perfect. One lie, but so many uses. You need your own Bunbury.’

  ‘Well, at least I’ll get a free meal and drinks aplenty. What will you do this evening?’

  ‘Go see a band. A comedy gig perhaps. Whatever I can find that will make you the most miserable when I tell you about it tomorrow.’

  ‘Fuck off.’ John put the phone down. He really wished he could be as loose with the truth as Alec—it certainly seemed to make Alec’s life easier. Well, he would just have to find a way to make tonight great, so tomorrow it would be him making Alec jealous.

  The ridiculousness of the proposal made him laugh out loud, and he returned to his work with a smile.

  ***

  There must have been close to three hundred people milling in the marble lobby of Parliament House as John came down the stairs in his tux. Men in suits and tuxedos, women in cocktail dresses. Colour and movement the likes of which parliament didn’t normally see.

  Hosting social events was one of the main streams of income for the building. It helped with upkeep of maintenance and kept the cafes running. People even got married here. Personally, John couldn’t think of a worse place to commit yourself to the person you love, but then he doubted anyone ever got married in their workplace.

  As he reached the bottom of the stairs, a waiter with a tray of drinks went past and John snatched up a beer. Despite a great deal of thinking during the afternoon, John hadn’t managed to think of way to make
this event great to beat Alec. So he was going to have to get drunk. After getting the duty bit done as quickly as possible.

  Looking around, he spotted the director of the Doctor’s Association and went over. ‘Dr Chasuble.’

  ‘John.’ The two men shook hands. ‘I’m sorry Mrs Blakely wasn’t able to make it.’

  ‘She sends her apologies, but an important constituent problem arose that she had to deal with.’

  ‘Of course. It’s nice to hear that some politicians still care so much about their constituents.’

  ‘Doris is very committed. But is sad she could not attend tonight. She understands what a vital role doctors play in society.’

  ‘Then perhaps she’ll be willing to look more closely at the current legislation. Dropping those items from Medicare is going to cause some long-reaching problems.’

  ‘I’ll make sure she does.’

  ‘Excellent. Have a great night.’

  John walked away, looking for the next person he must talk to. His eye was caught by a familiar figure and he approached. ‘Lobelia. Looking lovely.’

  ‘John. It’s quite unfair how you men can just put on a tux and look great.’ They shook hands.

  ‘I’m surprised to see a tobacco lobbyist at a medical event. Don’t your sides disagree with each other?’

  ‘Maybe I’m trying to convince the doctors to return to the good old days when they prescribed cigarette smoking.’ They both laughed. ‘I managed to score a ticket and any free meal is a good meal. So I’m staying very quiet and out of people’s way.’

  Well, Lobelia Prism was pretty good value. Hopefully he could wrangle a way to sit with her and at least have a passable night.

  ‘So who is Doris meeting tonight instead of being here?’ Lobelia took another drink from a passing tray.

  ‘She’s on important electorate business.’

  ‘So, dinner with a donor?’

  ‘Mrs Blakely is committed to the medicine faculty and would be here if she could.’

  ‘Of course. Chinese?’

  ‘Moroccan, I believe.’

  ‘Very dashing of her.’

  John was about to suggest that he and Lobelia sit together for the meal when there was a parting of the crowd and there she was, talking to Harry Chasuble. He could only see her back—golden hair pulled into a stylish updo, body poured into a red dress that clung in all the right places before dropping to the floor—but he had no doubt he was looking at the most beautiful woman in the room.

  Thoughts of sitting with Lobelia drifted away. This goddess was the woman he must sit with.

  Then the crowd moved and she was gone from sight. Well, John wasn’t going to let that be the case for long. ‘Sorry, Lobelia, I just spotted someone I must speak to. Catch up later?’

  John didn’t wait for the reply and started to make his way through the crowd. Then the bell rang and the crowd began to shift, moving like a slow tide toward the now open doors to the Great Hall. John fought against it and finally reached the spot where she had been standing, but the woman was gone.

  Dammit—into the hall. John dived in, entering the large room with more enthusiasm than he ever had before. He started walking the tables, looking for her, having to stop and chat to people he knew otherwise he’d look ridiculous. There was no sign of her.

  Had he imagined her? Not possible, but she was definitely not in the room. Maybe she was still outside and he’d missed her. But when he returned to the doors, he saw the lobby was empty.

  Damn. She must have just come for the pre-dinner drinks. John sulked over to his table and sat down. He skulled the rest of his beer, and then poured himself a glass of the red wine that was on the table. He was going to get really, really drunk.

  Someone sat beside him and a soft female voice said, ‘Hello.’

  John turned to briefly acknowledge his companion and froze. It was her. The goddess. Even more beautiful from the front. Large blue eyes. Round red lips. Fabulous breasts.

  John smiled. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Can I have one of those?’ The goddess nodded to the bottle of wine in his hand.

  ‘Absolutely.’ A bit of alcohol would do them both the best.

  ‘Thank you.’ The goddess smiled. ‘I’m Gwendolen Fairford.’

  Gwendolen Fairford. Fairest of the fair. ‘I’m John Worthing.’

  ‘The famous John Worthing. I’m glad to finally meet you.’

  ‘I’m famous?’

  ‘In our office you are. Alec was crowing about how he was going to make you miserable tonight. I spent an hour this afternoon finding somewhere for him to go.’

  Alec had kept this treasure from him? Alec must die. ‘I hope you actually sent him somewhere awful.’

  ‘Unfortunately not,’ Gwendolen said. ‘He’s at a burlesque retelling of the Howard Government. He’s going to be talking about it for weeks. So you and I will just have to make tonight even more fabulous.’

  John wanted to laugh. He wanted to jump to his feet and dance. Instead, he lifted his wine glass and held it up. Gwendolen lifted hers and they toasted. ‘To a fabulous night,’ they said in unison and then laughed.

  It really, really was going to be.

  Gwendolen

  Gwen had been having the most up and down evening. It had started when Barry had come into the office around five and said, ‘Book me a table at Rubicon.’

  Gwen had frowned. ‘You’re going to the Doctors’ Association Dinner tonight.’

  ‘No, I’m not. Totally the wrong time of the electoral cycle to go to an event like that.’

  ‘They’re expecting you.’

  ‘Then you go. It will be good for you, to get out and meet people.’

  Alec, of course, had the tickets to the burlesque so he couldn’t go, and Hamish (Barry’s policy officer) had a new baby so last minute changes were out of the question.

  Gwen had rushed home, done a terrible job on her hair, put on the only dress that fit her at the moment because of the monthly cycle and then rushed back.

  There had been a bright spark when her father had called her in the car and she’d told him what she was doing.

  ‘Representing the party at a big event. Barry must think you are doing well. Good work, girl.’

  Gwen had almost floated into the party, she was so happy. She went looking for people she knew, planning from there to start meeting people she didn’t know. She was going to prove her father right. But she’d forgotten the Alec factor. Everyone she talked to was more interested in using her to try to get access to Alec than in getting to know her. And to think—he was going off to an evening of beautiful women and handsome men dancing and making everything look sexy. She really was going to kill him.

  Then Leon de Belle had appeared at her side. The opposition leader’s chief of staff. He was handsome, in a dark, smarmy sort of way. His first act was to kiss Gwen’s cheek and then leer down the neckline of her dress.

  ‘Gwendolen. If I had known how beautiful you are in formal wear, I would have declared it de rigueur in all our offices long before now.’

  ‘Thank you, Leon.’ Creep.

  He leant in closer and she almost drowned in his cologne. ‘Let me save you from these plebs.’ Louder he said, ‘There’s someone you must meet.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Gwen said.

  Of course, in directing her across the room, he had to put his hand on her back. Of course, once they reached their destination, he kept it there.

  Gwen couldn’t decide whether it was appropriate to slap him now, or later.

  ‘Gwendolen, this is Harry Chasuble, the head of the Doctors’ Association. Harry, Gwendolen Fairford is the newest jewel in the party’s crown. She works for Barry Fisher.’

  Gwen extended her hand for the shake and in doing so, deftly stepped away from Leon’s touch. ‘Dr Chasuble.’

  ‘Ms Fairford. Lovely to meet you. Can I assume your presence here means Mr Fisher isn’t joining us?’

  ‘Unfortunately not. He was called away on an
important constituency matter. But he did ask me to give you his regards and he hopes to catch up with you soon.’ A bit of punishment for Barry didn’t seem too far astray.

  ‘I hope so too. Barry is a tireless advocate for causes he believes in, and I know he believes in fairness and equity for all. There are several matters I’d like to discuss with him.’

  Gwen pulled her phone out of her handbag. ‘Do you fly out early tomorrow? Perhaps we can arrange a morning meeting.’

  Chasuble got his phone. ‘I don’t leave until early afternoon. I’ve time around eight.’

  ‘Then let’s make it eight.’ Gwen put it in the calendar and sent invites to both Barry and Alec. Barry would undoubtedly say no, and make Alec do it. Ah, revenge was sweet.

  ‘You don’t need to check it with Barry?’ Harry said.

  ‘I know how much he values you, Dr Chasuble. I am sure it will be fine.’ Gwen smiled as she put the phone away. ‘Is there anything in particular you like for a very early morning tea? Croissants?’

  ‘Lovely,’ Harry said. ‘Leon is right, you are a jewel and your boss is a great man.’

  At that, Leon had cut in. ‘I am sorry the OL can’t squeeze in a meeting with you, Harry. But you do understand that the leader of the party doesn’t have the free time that a simple MP does.’

  Gwen had been unable to not stare at him. Since when did a political staffer cut down another politician like that?

  ‘Of course,’ Harry had said. ‘I have no doubt that Barry and Alec will be able to assist me. I will see you tomorrow morning, Gwendolen. It was wonderful to meet you.’

  ‘And you, Dr Chasuble.’ She shook his hands and he walked away.

  ‘I would advise you against making appointments your boss doesn’t know about, Gwen,’ Leon leant close and hissed. ‘That’s the fast track to dismissal.’

  Gwen smiled. ‘Barry is happy for us to anticipate his needs. He will be extremely grateful I didn’t bother him with this.’

  Leon blinked and then smiled, back to being smarmy again. ‘Well, Gwen, I think that you and I should get to know each other better. I will organise for you to be moved to my table.’