‘Go on,’ said Lauren. Now she was interested. ‘What did she say?’
‘No details, really.’ Ro looked crestfallen.
Lauren was reminded of someone telling a shaggy dog story and forgetting the punch line. ‘Is that all you’ve got? Not very convincing, just a titbit, really.’ She remembered Ro’s urgency on the phone. ‘I can see that if it were true, it would be pretty amazing–but what was the big hurry to tell me?’
Ro ignored the question, and carried on. ‘You wouldn’t say it wasn’t convincing if you’d heard her, Lauren. She’d been enjoying telling stories about her time in office, but when she got onto this topic you could see the emotion bubbling up. First she said something about a plot and then she clammed up. I was taken aback. It was distracting, because her revelation was off the point, in terms of my project. I pulled myself together and did try to get more out of her, but then she was off on another anecdote and I couldn’t divert her back. Soon after she slowed right down and looked so tired that I had to stop the interview.’
Ro sank back in her chair, took a forkful of the lemon meringue pie. She said, ‘I tell you what, Lauren. I’m getting desperate about my book, there’s a deadline coming up. This plot business has surfaced and I’m very distracted. I’m not sure whether to put it in or not. It’s so dramatic it could draw attention away from my focus on the experiences of women in Parliament.’
‘And it might turn out to be completely wrong, if that’s all you’ve got to go on. Imagine the bad press you’d get, the damage to your reputation.’
Ro shrugged. ‘I’m sure there’s something there. I could go back to her later and try to get more. Perhaps work it up into a separate piece, maybe for a magazine. But she isn’t getting any younger. It would be awful if anything happened to her, or if she got too forgetful. And of course, there’s lots from her story that would need checking out, more interviews and fact-checking.’
‘Yes, I should say so. Perhaps you should get onto it straight away. Put your book aside for the moment?’
‘No, I can’t do that. The publisher is really hassling me.’ Ro hesitated, took another mouthful of pie and then came out with it: ‘Would you be prepared to do some work on the plot for me?’
‘Certainly not!’ Lauren didn’t hesitate for a moment. ‘So that’s why you wanted to tell me. I wondered what was so urgent.’ She softened her tone. ‘Ro, research isn’t really my thing.’
‘But you did that oral history course a couple of years back, when you were wondering how to fill in time when you retired. You enjoyed the course. So, you have the know-how and you must have plenty of time now.’
‘I’m not retired,’ snapped Lauren. ‘I have my editing work. I guess I’d describe myself as semi-retired but I’m busier than ever.’
‘Right, like going to the movies in the daytime.’
Lauren glared at Ro, who tried to look contrite. ‘Most of my friends, the ‘retired’, as you call them, are in the same boat. When you stop full-time work you think of all the things you’ve ever wanted to do and then you start doing them. Sometimes all at once. It makes for a very busy life.’
Ro stared at Lauren and raised an eyebrow. Lauren defended herself. ‘I’m doing lots for the election campaign, now that I’ve joined up with Labour. It took me a long time to get over the eighties! And I’m helping with Pam’s community garden and I have to get ahead with my editing hours because I’m thinking about a trip overseas in September.’
‘Oh, are you? You hadn’t told me about that.’
‘It’s just come up. Two things actually. Kirsten’s been talking about a trip to Greece with some of her Auckland friends. They’re a younger crowd. I feel as if she’s invited me as an afterthought, but …’ she hesitated–Ro was a good friend but single and obsessed with work–‘…it’s been tough on us since Kirsten moved to Auckland. Getting away together might help.’
‘That’s what you get for robbing the cradle,’ replied Ro knowingly.
‘Not helpful!’ Lauren tried to smile.
‘Sorry,’ said Ro, ‘I know you fell pretty hard when you met her. She was doing some interesting work promoting public health, wasn’t she?’
Lauren was grateful that Ro didn’t go on about cradle-snatching. Now, she replied, ‘That was when she was in Wellington. In Auckland, she’s working as an account executive for Barton and Mackie. A good career move for her, but commercial advertising is a bit different.’
She sighed. She and Kirsten had met when Kirsten’s agency commissioned a story for a school publication about brushing teeth, as part of a campaign around dental health. Lauren had been in a meeting where the commission was discussed, since she was to edit the piece. Kirsten’s agency had persuaded a noted children’s author to write to the brief, and the story was charming. Only a few days later, Lauren ran into Kirsten at a lesbian drinks function. They’d given a mutual smile of recognition…and there it all began.
Lauren realised Ro was staring at her. ‘Sorry, wool-gathering,’ she apologised. ‘Anyway, now there’s another complication. I got a letter this morning from my old Cambridge college. They’re calling in former students from the years I was there to take part in some research on ageing.’ Her blue eyes twinkled. ‘Perhaps they made a mistake. Me, ageing?’
Ro didn’t voice the hoped-for compliment, so Lauren went on. ‘But the dates overlap with the Greek trip. I’d love to see my old student friends, it sounds like interesting research, and it’s free. I’ll talk to Kirsten about it when we have our phone call tonight.’ She frowned. ‘Weird, though, the Cambridge trip is being funded by someone I think I know. Brett Wilson, he must be the Australian who was my year in Cambridge. I didn’t care for him much.’
Ro jerked, dropped a piece of pie on her front. ‘Shit!’ she said, and dabbed at it. ‘Did you say Brett Wilson? The Brett Wilson? The money man?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Lauren. ‘I believe he has made lots of money, but I don’t see how that makes him a money man?’
‘Lauren, you were here in the eighties: he was one of the wheeler dealers busily buying assets off us–he was in and out of New Zealand, fraternising with the free marketeers, giving talks courtesy of the Roundtable and so on.’
‘In that case, it’s hardly surprising he didn’t look me up. Well, perhaps that settles it,’ said Lauren. ‘Maybe I’ll just go to Greece as planned, not Cambridge. I don’t want to play a part in any of his enterprises, even if they are philanthropic.’
‘No, you should go and corner him when you get the chance, you might be able to find out more about any high finance skullduggery from that time.’
“Ro, how often do I need to say it? I really don’t have time to be your research assistant!’
Ro shrugged, tried to look conciliatory. ‘Okay, okay, I understand. You can’t take on anything big. But how would you feel about doing just one thing, a really urgent job?’
‘What’s that?’ Here she goes, Lauren thought. She’s incorrigible.
‘Lauren, you’re very good at winkling things out of people.’ Ro cocked her head and smiled. ‘Not that you give much away yourself. But could you do another interview with Judith Butler? She’s the woman in the rest home, and I’m telling you her name in confidence. See if you can find out more about the plot, like who was the guy she was having an affair with, what did he actually do, who else was involved and so forth? And record it?’ Ro contrived to look hurt. ‘And that’ll give you the chance to see that it’s true.’
‘Judith Butler? She was the one who was a mayor somewhere before she got into parliament?’ Then Lauren sighed, ‘Oh, Ro, I suppose I could.’ The agreement was grudging, but Ro was delighted and the talk turned to practicalities. They finished their coffee and cake and took their leave of each other.
As Lauren headed out of the car park, she was thinking so hard about Ro’s extraordinary claim that she didn’t pay attention to her driving. There was a scrunch as she grated the rim of her back
wheel along the high gutter edging the exit. A couple standing across the road grinned and gave her the thumbs up. Damn and blast. She was glad to turn the corner and leave them behind.
She drove more carefully, but was still trying to get her head round a plot to kill a prime minister. The tale was hard to credit, but what if it were true? That would go down in history. Ro was a good scholar. She clearly believed she was onto something big and she wouldn’t make up a story from nothing. But someone else might have–if Lauren talked to Judith Butler, she might expose it for nonsense, get Ro back on track. Anyway, it would be churlish not to help her out. One interview, how much trouble could that be?
3
‘O conspiracy!’
Lauren pulled into the visitor car park at Karori Gardens. She groped in her handbag for the voice recorder Ro had lent her. It had been a couple of years since she last used such a device and she had spent time the night before familiarising herself with the controls. An interview would not go well if she was fumbling with the equipment. So she sat in the car for a few minutes and practiced hitting record, pause, rewind and play before walking over to reception.
‘I’m here to visit Judith Butler,’ she informed a harassed woman who emerged from a back room some time after Lauren pushed the buzzer.
‘Sorry, I was signing off something, it’s always a rush around here. Judith Butler, let’s see. Room 23, it’s on the top floor of the next block.’ She gestured vaguely towards a swing door. ‘Just sign the book first and remember to sign out before you leave.’
Lauren made her way through the swing door into a rabbit warren. A corridor led to a passageway joining two blocks, where there was a fire door leading to a stairwell. Then it was up some stairs into another corridor. There must have been lifts somewhere but Lauren didn’t notice any. As she walked past open doors she glanced into rooms which revealed residents resting in bed or sitting listlessly in armchairs. An occasional aide made her way past Lauren, bustling along the corridors, clutching linen or pushing a trolley.
Judith Butler was sitting in an armchair by her bed, her eyes closed and a book upside down, almost sliding off her lap. Afternoon sunshine streamed in the window making the room very warm. The elderly woman was wearing makeup, her eyeshadow and lipstick a little smeared, as if shakily applied or smudged.
‘Mrs Butler…. Mrs Butler!’ Lauren raised her voice and the woman startled, looking around in an unfocused way. It took a moment before her gaze alighted on Lauren.
‘Hello, I’m Lauren Fraser.’ She smiled. ‘Do you remember Rowan Wisbech coming to see you? She’s the historian working on a book about Labour women.’
Judith nodded. ‘Oh yes, that’s right.’ She looked quizzical and Lauren wasn’t sure if she really remembered, or was just being polite. ‘Rowan has asked me to do a follow-up interview. Is that all right with you?’
‘You may as well, dear, not a lot happens in here. I really enjoy having someone to talk to.’ She was becoming more alert. ‘What did you say your name was again?’
They made conversation for a few minutes. Lauren established that Judith, while perhaps forgetful in the present, was easily able to talk about the past. She began reminiscing to Lauren about her first election campaign for local government, when she was a stay at home mum with preschoolers, up to her elbows in the kitchen sink.
Then Lauren asked, ‘Do you mind if I record our conversation?’ and receiving a nod, switched on the machine. The red ‘record’ light glowed and she felt confident that everything was working as it should. Now the test would be to get Judith onto the topic of real interest. It was important not to hurry her, but Lauren didn’t want her to tire of talking before they got to the plot. So after some more inconsequential reminiscence, Lauren took the plunge. ‘Rowan told me you’d said something about someone trying to kill David Lange when he was prime minister.’ Judith looked up, as if examining Lauren carefully. Lauren went on. ‘We’d be really interested in hearing more about that.’
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘Yes, it was,’ Lauren agreed. ‘But I’m sure your memory is really good.’ Judith nodded. ‘What can you tell me about that time?’
Judith closed her eyes. Was she struggling with herself? Drifting? Then she looked up sharply. ‘I haven’t really talked to anyone about it before. You have to learn to keep secrets in politics.’ She placed her book carefully on the tray table beside her and examined the silver and gold rings on her fingers.
Lauren cursed inwardly. This was going to be difficult. ‘As you said, it was a long time ago. So it’s history, now. Rowan is a very good historian and she wants to get things right. She thinks you can help by telling us more about what went on in the eighties.’
Was Judith convinced? She appeared to concentrate and then began to speak. ‘It was a very confusing time. I came into Parliament when Labour became the government, and the government was really getting things done.’ She hesitated and Lauren smiled encouragement, hoping that Judith wasn’t going to lapse into political speech mode. But she went on, ‘I was spending the weekdays in Wellington. The kids were in their teens, dear Tom was managing all right, and I’d be home at weekends. I was sharing a flat in Thorndon with Catherine Harris. We had late nights in Parliament, a lot of legislation being rushed through. It was a government in a hurry!’
She paused again, before continuing, ‘As backbenchers we didn’t have much say in anything, so there was a lot of hanging about.’ She stopped and looked hard at Lauren. ‘It wouldn’t surprise you, dear, would it, if there was a bit of hanky panky?’
Lauren smiled. ‘I’m sure that’s very understandable, given the circumstances.’ Privately amused, she thought that “hanky panky” was an innocuous phrase to describe the hotbed of infidelity Parliament was reputed to be in those times, and perhaps even now.
Judith seemed to be gathering pace. ‘Tom and I had a very solid marriage, and I wasn’t into flirtations. But towards the end of the second term, it was getting hard to be away from home so much of the time. So one night, when a lot of us backbenchers were hanging about…’ She hesitated, ‘I guess I’d had a bit too much to drink… anyway, I ended up in bed with Kevin.’ She wrinkled her nose at the memory.
‘Who was Kevin?’ Lauren hoped that Judith would get to the point and not come up with a long story about her extra-marital adventures. Pursing her lips, Judith made a little moue, ‘Let’s just call him Kevin for now. He was another backbencher. Catherine was quite shocked to see him sneaking out of the bathroom the next morning, but she didn’t say anything.’
‘Was that when he told you about David Lange?’
Judith looked disconcerted and Lauren thought she had been too direct. Not good interviewing practice. But the older woman got back to the thread of her story.
‘We had a brief affair. It was all very clandestine. Kevin turned my head at first, he was quite a bit younger than me. But I felt very guilty about Tom and I worried we might get caught. There were lots of journalists nosing around, politics was very exciting then. Mind you, they didn’t go in for dishing the dirt on who was sleeping with whom in those days.’ She paused and frowned. ‘He really was a bastard, that Kevin, I found out he was two-timing me with another MP and she tipped me off to what he was really like.’
‘So where does David Lange come into it?’ Lauren risked trying to get her back on track.
Judith looked startled. ‘David? Oh, that’s right, you did ask about him. What was it you wanted to know again?’
Lauren tried to arrange her face to look sympathetic. She managed not to sigh as she prepared to go back to square one. But then Judith continued. ‘Oh, yes, that’s right, extraordinary really. Kevin had an obsession about Lange. He was always criticising him. I thought Lange was a good leader, he’d definitely won us the election. But Kevin was in thick with some business associates and they were getting really fed up. They were angry because there were signs that Lange might put the brakes on the asset sales.’ She looked
at Lauren inquiringly. ‘You do know what the asset sales were, don’t you?’
Lauren nodded and Judith went on, ‘I found it difficult to know what to think. The government’s reform programme was really exciting, but perhaps it was going a bit far. Kevin and his mates didn’t think so, though.’
‘So, Kevin? What was his last name again?’ Lauren’s ploy was successful. Judith looked at her sharply, ‘Kevin Driscoll, I thought I told you that. You really do need to pay attention, dear.’
‘Sorry, so Kevin and Lange…?
‘Well, one night Kevin had far too much to drink and he started bragging to me about how he’d nearly managed to see David off for good and all.’
‘Do you mean he said that he tried to kill him?’
‘Oh yes, that’s definitely what he meant. Apparently some of the business guys had been saying they needed to see the fat man off and Kevin must have decided he’d take it into his own hands.’ Judith seemed to have forgotten her earlier doubts about disclosure and was now enjoying the story.
Lauren, though, was finding it horrific. She told herself to stay professional and make sure she got all the details straight. ‘So it was a plot? The businessmen put him up to it? Or was it just Kevin acting on his own?’
‘I think they egged him on, one or two of his business cronies. But what he did, he did on his own, as far as I could make sense of what he said. Wanting to please them, that’s my bet. I suspect he might have been on the take.’
The One That Got Away Page 2
