Fishing for Stars

by Bryce Courtenay

  Against vociferous opposition from returned-services organisations and labour unions our pragmatic government issued residential permits for Japanese businessmen lasting seven years. This allowed the establishment of Japanese companies in Australia and granted them equal rights to shipping and transport. It also meant that Anna had additional Japanese clients for Madam Butterfly who appreciated that she spoke a very good style of Japanese and observed the courtesies of their culture. I am not implying that most Japanese businessmen are sadomasochists, but there is perhaps a greater predilection for formal sexual punishment in some circles of Japanese society than in most Western societies.

  Anna’s new clients proved to be a marvellous source of information and opportunity for her, and not surprisingly she was unwilling to give up Madam Butterfly, despite my pleading and argument.

  ‘Nicholas, I own only thirty-nine per cent, a police commissioner’s wife owns another ten per cent, Stan McVitty has the majority. He would continue to run Madame Butterfly alone. I have personally trained sufficient girls for there to be dominatrices who can carry on without me.’

  ‘Well then, sell that sanctimonious shit the rest of the joint. You don’t need the money.’

  ‘Ah, but I need the information, and the girls don’t understand business, so they can’t stand in for me, nor do they speak Japanese. Nicholas, the big Japanese banks and investment companies are anxious to buy into Australia. They need a go-between to broker partnerships and facilitate introductions with the local big-money players.’ She laughed excitedly. ‘Fortunately some of these movers and shakers are among my customers and they trust me. Who better than little Madam Butterfly to flutter in and skim off a small introduction fee or brokerage percentage?’

  ‘Anna, how much is enough?’ I cried in frustration. We were the only couple in first class so it didn’t really matter if I raised my voice. ‘You already own – how many? – nineteen lots surrounding Madam Butterfly, each, as you’ve told me, worth a potential fortune when the Paris end of Collins Street is eventually redeveloped. Several of your other projects have already made you a tidy profit. How much more do you need?’

  ‘More! Lots more!’ she said in a low urgent voice. ‘Nicholas, Stan McVitty’s brother, Peter, is a senior public servant in Canberra and a section head in the Department of External Affairs. He’s responsible for dealing with the Pacific Islands . . .’ She paused, leaving the sentence unfinished, then asked, ‘Wasn’t Peter McVitty your commander in New Britain?’

  Anna’s memory was prodigious. I had mentioned Peter McVitty to her almost ten years previously. ‘Yeah, when I was a coastwatcher, towards the end of the war. He was a major and pretty senior in the Australian New Guinea Administration Unit. Then after the war he was responsible for issuing the contracts for war salvage in the islands.’ I grinned. ‘Good guy. He was the lucky break for me, I guess.’

  ‘Nonsense, Nicholas, it’s wheels within wheels, it’s who you know and exactly what we’ve just been talking about. Anyway, he has told Stan that the British Phosphate Commission can’t hang onto the rights to mine phosphate in Nauru much longer and are being pressured by the UN to hand the rights back to the people. The BPC has been paying the Nauruans next to nothing for phosphate and selling it to us and to the New Zealanders at an artificially low price.’

  ‘Yeah, the Brits are well known for their altruism,’ I observed wryly.

  Anna, whose sense of humour still suffered a little from her Teutonic past, missed my irony. ‘Yes, well, they’ve made a pretty sum; now it’s our turn.’

  ‘Our turn? What precisely do you mean by that?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, McVitty, Swan & Allison have been appointed as the lawyers to oversee the establishment of the new Nauru Phosphate Company. Stan is the lawyer chosen to personally represent the company in Australia.’

  ‘Poor bloody Nauru! How very convenient. Brother Peter certainly doesn’t miss a trick. Take my advice, darling, have nothing whatsoever to do with fat, unctuous brother Stan. There isn’t a straight bone in his smarmy, larded body. A snake doesn’t turn into a tortoise even though they’re both reptiles. Anna, don’t get involved a second time with the fat bastard. I fear for you, darling. In the long run, whenever it’s convenient or there’s a quid to be made, that slimy bugger is going to drop you like a hot potato. He’ll dob you in to the police for possessing heroin or some other trumped-up charge where his name won’t come up. The best day in the life of our company was when Kevin fired his law firm and we stole Janine de Saxe as our personal lawyer.’

  ‘Don’t think he’s forgotten that either,’ Anna warned. ‘Nicholas, I’ve dealt with worse than Stan McVitty.’

  ‘It depends what you mean by worse. How can you trust a man who presents himself as a moral beacon in society, church deacon, assistant magistrate, chairman of the Save the Children Fund, on the board of the Yooralla Children’s Home . . .’

  ‘Nicholas —’

  ‘You probably don’t listen to Sir Irving Benson on the radio, do you. “Pleasant Sunday Afternoons” it’s called.’

  ‘Sir Irving Benson? Stan McVitty once mentioned his name. He said he’s a great friend, and that Sir Irving is a confidant of Mr Menzies.’

  ‘Yeah, he’d say that. The point is that McVitty sometimes goes on Sir Irving’s Sunday radio program, where he invariably rails against the evils of gambling and prostitution, and advocates harder sentences for crims and drug traffickers. The bloody sanctimonious hypocrite is your partner in Madam Butterfly! And he did a lot of legal work for John Wren, the city’s biggest illegal gambling operator! It wouldn’t surprise me if he came creeping into Madam Butterfly to be bound and whipped, and no doubt to check the take in the cash register. Didn’t you say he is partial to a snort of cocaine? And he owns those two brothels in North Melbourne —’

  ‘Nicholas! You must never say a word to anyone. I told you that stuff about the brothels and cocaine when I was discussing Stan as a partner. My client list is secret and that would include him, if it were relevant. The names of the people who come to Madam Butterfly I’ll take to the grave with me. Besides, we don’t have a cash register!’

  ‘Ha, you don’t have to be Einstein to know he’d like being tied up and whipped!’ I snorted. Anna, who can disguise her feelings perfectly, allowed herself a smile, so I knew my guess was spot on, although she’d never openly admit it.

  ‘Besides, there’s a financial killing to be made,’ she announced, changing the subject.

  ‘What? With the odious Stanley?’

  Anna laughed. ‘Yes, but not in a partnership. Once is more than enough.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Nauru. When they assume control of their phosphate, ultimately worth billions, Nauru will be the richest of the islands by far.’

  ‘Until it runs out.’

  ‘Precisely! How clever of you, Nicholas. So, the plan is to invest as much of their cash flow from phosphate as possible in income-earning assets overseas. In Australia and America, and Honolulu, for a start.’

  ‘And you can be the skimming butterfly again?’

  ‘Well, kind of.’

  ‘How are you going to do it? Stan’s law firm is entitled to its legitimate fees from the Nauruans. What else is there?’

  ‘The Australian report, written largely with the help of Peter McVitty, has suggested the erection of a major building in the Melbourne CBD. It will be Melbourne’s tallest building, fifty-two levels above ground, five parking levels below. The reasons are compelling,’ Anna continued. ‘Melbourne needs the space, the income from rents is ongoing and the asset has long-term potential.’

  ‘So where’s the money to be made, other than from lawyers’ fees?’ Then it struck me. ‘Anna, this isn’t the American Navy’s Supply Department and you’re not Kevin Judge and there isn’t a war going on, where anything goes and nobody is looking! Taking a percentage from would-be contractors as a front for Stan McVitty is insane. Don’t do it! You’re going to get caught!’ />
  ‘Nicholas, Nicholas, don’t get upset, darling,’ Anna cried. ‘As you say, why would I do something as stupid as that?’

  ‘Anna, listen to me! Stan McVitty is not under any circumstances to be trusted!’ I continued despite her reassurance.

  ‘Nick, will you shut up and listen!’ Anna hissed. She only uses ‘Nick’ when she’s cranky or impatient with me.

  ‘Yes, well . . .’ I grunted, only partially mollified.

  ‘Nicholas, you forget, he’s been my partner for nearly twenty years. I know him far better than you do. I agree he’s a snake, a greedy one and a sly one and certainly not to be trusted. He unabashedly charges nearly five times the going rental rate for Madam Butterfly and increases it every year. Technically that takes his fifty-one per cent ownership to almost eighty per cent of the profits, leaving the shareholders of the remaining forty-nine per cent actually receiving only about twenty per cent of the profits.’

  ‘So, by owning the building he’s got you between a rock and a hard place. Bloody typical of the sly bastard!’

  Anna shrugged and nibbled on a canapé. ‘It’s a cash business and while Stan’s fifty-one per cent has done very well, my thirty-nine per cent has done a great deal better and the cop’s wife’s ten per cent has shown a nice regular little income, sufficient to pay the mortgage on a new double-storey house in her brother’s name on the beachfront at Brighton. Over the years we’ve been in business my slightly augmented portion of the profits has gone into the surrounding real estate. As soon as a building has come onto the market at the Paris end of Collins Street, or Little Collins or Exhibition streets, I’ve snapped it up, although snapped isn’t quite the word. I’ve mortgaged, borrowed, begged and, as I’ve just explained, technically stolen the cash from Madam Butterfly.’

  Anna sighed. ‘I try not to cheat and not to lie, which I find is almost impossible in the world of business. But I’ve also discovered it’s futile to feel guilty. He technically steals from me and I claw back what I can. Now I own most of the immediate area – nineteen lots.’

  ‘But, darling, why haven’t you talked about any of this?’

  Anna gave a tiny sigh and said quietly, ‘Nicholas, you were never interested in my property developments, remember?’

  What could I say to that? After a moment’s silence I asked, ‘But surely somebody was bound to notice you buying up on such a scale? Stan McVitty for a start. Property sales are pretty public affairs; they all have to be registered with the Titles Office.’

  Anna smiled. I know she sometimes finds me a bit backward, but she tries to conceal her impatience. ‘Each of the buildings is owned separately by a two-dollar shelf company via nominees owned by my umbrella company registered in Port Vila.’

  ‘Anna, you didn’t tell me that,’ I said, surprised.

  ‘Didn’t I? Never mind, now you know. Perhaps the islands will never prove a good investment, but there are distinct advantages to this one being a tax haven.’ Anna took a sip from her gin and tonic, her eyes shining and a grin forming at the corners of her mouth. ‘The total area I own at the top of Collins Street forms one of two possible sites for what is to be known as Nauru House.’

  Despite myself I lifted my glass in a toast and said, ‘Well done!’ Then quickly added, ‘Hey, wait on. What if the Nauru government chooses the other site?’

  Anna grinned. ‘Here comes the real fun.’ She looked at me and put down her glass. ‘Nick, I think I’ll change to champagne. Can you ask the hostess? Perhaps some blinis to go with it?’

  I had no idea what blinis were. The air hostess brought a bottle of French champagne, poured it and apologised that they didn’t have any blinis. A plate of smoked salmon appeared instead.

  ‘Pity,’ Anna remarked. ‘I love those tiny pancakes with smoked salmon.’

  So now I knew, small pancakes. ‘What’s the real fun?’ I asked after the hostie had departed.

  ‘Fun?’

  ‘You said, “Here comes the real fun”.’

  ‘Oh, why yes . . .’ Anna took a breath. ‘Well! Stan McVitty has formed what he calls a secret consortium to buy the properties he doesn’t know I own. In fact, the only building he owns in the immediate area is Madam Butterfly. You know that’s how he originally got his fifty-one per cent share in Madam Butterfly. I tried to rent the building when I first arrived and he offered to fit it out and turn it into a high-class establishment. We agreed I’d pay him rent by cheque each month and he’d take fifty-one per cent of the profits as well, but in cash, of course.’

  ‘Didn’t you move from the original building in Spring Street shortly after I met you in Australia?’

  ‘Yes, it became too small, so he bought our present place in Little Collins Street.’

  ‘He bought it alone? Why not be partners in the building as well?’

  ‘He wouldn’t hear of it.’ Anna shrugged philosophically, then as an aside, added, ‘I have since learned that in life, real estate always beats know-how. In the long run bricks are more permanent than tricks,’ she added cleverly. ‘I should be grateful. He taught me that.’

  ‘Stan’s secret consortium,’ I reminded her, anxious to get back to the development site.

  ‘Yes . . . well, quite obviously, the Nauru government can obtain a loan from any major bank backed by their phosphate assets to buy the real estate they need to erect the building, so there’s no need for a consortium to buy it. McVitty, Swan & Allison are responsible for overseeing the sale so they can’t be seen to be double-dipping. It would amount to what the law calls a secret commission, to say nothing of the legal ethics regarding conflict of interest. You can’t be seen to be making a profit by exploiting confidential information from your own client.’

  ‘Which is what Stan McVitty hopes to do. Isn’t he taking a tremendous risk?’

  Anna nodded. ‘Yes. If he is discovered it would destroy him, as well as his brother in Canberra.’

  I had a sudden thought. ‘Hang on, what’s to stop you doing the same thing? You can’t be accused of insider trading.’

  ‘Go to the top of the class, Nicholas. But there’s one catch. Stan McVitty owns the Madam Butterfly building. And that just happens to sit in the heart, almost in the dead centre, of the development site.’

  ‘Damn! What will you do?’

  Anna giggled. ‘He may call it a secret consortium, but that’s a euphemism for greed. Stan wants to keep all the profit for himself.’

  ‘Why are you grinning?’ I asked, somewhat bemused.

  ‘He wants me to front for him, be his straw man.’

  ‘Good God!’

  ‘He told me after almost twenty years in partnership he knows he can trust me. But what he’s really saying, or believes, is that he’s always got the heroin thing, and the fact that I am the madam of a house of ill repute, to keep me in line.’

  ‘But you’ve got his partnership with you to throw right back at him. Imagine what such exposure would do to his sanctimonious public image. It would ruin him!’

  Anna looked at me somewhat scornfully. ‘Nicholas, you really are a babe in the woods. He’d simply say he rented the building to Madam Butterfly without knowing how it was being used. The rent was the only thing that wasn’t cash. He’s a bastard, but he’s not a fool.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. I can hear him saying it, sotto voce, on Sir Bloody Irving’s “Pleasant Sunday Afternoon” radio program. Probably have Bob Menzies following, saying what a sterling chap he is, pillar of the establishment.’

  Anna laughed. ‘It’s the Melbourne Club. They stick together.’

  ‘Okay, if he isn’t going to offer to share the profit he hopes to make, what’s he offering?’

  ‘Well, thank God he didn’t!’ Anna exclaimed. ‘I would have been hard put to explain that I didn’t want to make what would otherwise amount to an enormous killing.’

  It was getting complicated.

  ‘Greed, it can be a friend.’

  ‘Anna, what sort of money is involved? I mean,
what did you pay for the properties in the first instance?’ I then realised that I might be prying into her private business, something I’d never done. ‘Don’t tell me if you don’t wish to, darling.’

  Anna laughed. ‘How much? It’s not always about money. Mostly sweat, sometimes blood and occasionally tears. Every property was paid for with endless lengths of bondage rope and a great number of carefully tied knots. I’d work on a client for two hours and when he was both exhausted and satisfied, I’d say to myself, “Well, that paid for half a kitchen or possibly the outside toilet.” In dollar terms? I’ve paid around half a million dollars in our new decimal currency for the nineteen lots I own at present. Not too bad. I’ve been lucky – nobody wants property at this end of the city. We are not the only brothel on the block, even though Melbourne sees itself as a choosy and refined city.’

  ‘The brothels, they still going?’

  Anna shrugged. ‘I don’t own them, it’s rent.’

  ‘And now, what’s the whole shebang worth as a development site?’ I knew I was prying, but Anna didn’t seem concerned.

  ‘How long is a piece of string? If a high-rise developer comes along, possibly more than ten times what I originally paid.’

  ‘Phew! Nice work. And now one has come along – Nauru House!’ I paused. ‘Hang on, how are you going to overcome the little matter of the Nauru government choosing your site, and further, the problem of the Madam Butterfly building?’

  ‘By accepting Stan’s offer to be his straw man.’

  ‘But you already said that didn’t make sense.’

  ‘No, I said a partnership sharing the potential profits didn’t make sense. Stan has agreed to pay brokerage fees of five per cent for the use of my name on the contract. And, because the assistant police commissioner retires from the police force this year, in addition he’s offered me a forty-nine per cent share of a new Madam Butterfly to be established elsewhere in Melbourne. “A nice tidy little package, Anna,” is how he put it to me.’