long has he been there?’ Jerome asked.
‘Don’t know. How long have you been standing there, Harry?’
‘I just got here. How long have you been here?’
Stuart ignored him.
‘Don’t worry about Harry,’ he said to the others. ‘He’s harmless. He never does anything.’
Rather than be shut out of his own living room, Harold walked in and sat down. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said.
This was greeted with silence. Stuart made no introductions. All three had stared at Harold as if he was the intruder. The wind was shaking at the curtains while heat and dust hung in the air. Jerome glanced at Natalie and Stuart and then got to his feet.
‘Time to get out of this dump. We’ve got a plane waiting on the airstrip.’
‘Don’t forget your keys, Jerome,’ Stuart said. ‘You don’t want to leave those behind.’
Jerome laughed. He picked up a complicated set of keys attached to a keyring in the shape of a heavy bronze football. Nattie and Stuart stood up too, also collecting their wallets and keys.
‘Dinner at Pittwater for the contract-signing, people,’ Nattie said. ‘I’ll get it catered. I think we should celebrate.’
‘Turn on the champagne,’ Stuart said. ‘It’ll be worth it.’
‘You can pay for that, Stewie. Your share will stretch to it.’
After pocketing his keys, Jerome had picked up the whisky bottle and screwed the lid back on. He made to walk out with it. Harold reached over and pulled it out of his hand.
‘That’s my whisky, mate. I’ll keep it, thanks.’
‘Keep it,’ Jerome said. ‘It’s rotgut.’
‘You’re a possessive little man considering all you own is dirt,’ Nattie said in passing.
Now, some six days later, this woman was dead but for what reason Harold couldn’t know. He looked at the Cage’s high fences, strung along the top with electrified wires marked by signs that read Danger. There were no strangers here to warn off, just the birds who couldn’t read and whose bodies lay scattered at intervals along either side of the fence. There was nothing he could do about this. He called Rosie to him and drove away.
6
T he sound of Harrigan’s mobile penetrated his sleep. He woke to the sense of Grace’s body curled next to his. Otherwise, the room was airless, oppressive. Already it had started to grow hot. He fumbled for the phone.
‘Commander Harrigan?’ He recognised the voice of Chloe, the commissioner’s personal assistant. ‘The commissioner has sent you an email, one that’s been generally distributed to the public. He would like you to look at it and call him back.’
Harrigan glanced at the clock. It was later than he normally slept; the room was bright with morning sunlight. Grace turned towards him, smiling, sleepy-eyed, her hair falling in thick, dark strands across her bare shoulder.
‘I’ll call within the hour,’ he said.
‘The commissioner said as soon as possible.’
‘Wait for the call.’
‘What is it?’ Grace asked.
Harrigan lay back on his pillows. ‘The commissioner’s sent me an email. He wants me to look at it.’
‘You’d better do what he wants in that case,’ she said dryly.
That was the worst of mobile telephones. They let people like the commissioner invade the privacy of your bedroom. If Harrigan had still been a smoker, he would have lit a cigarette. Instead, he pulled on a pair of shorts and went down to his study. Grace appeared in the doorway behind him while his laptop was firing up, wrapped in her red kimono.
‘Why don’t you come in and have a look?’ he said. ‘I don’t think this is just “Good morning, how are you?”’
‘I’ve never been in here before,’ she said. ‘It’s always looked too private.’
‘This is where I keep myself to myself. Come in. Take the weight off your feet.’
‘Do you mind if I open the window?’
‘Go ahead.’
The morning air carried into the stuffy room the sweet smell of jasmine from an ancient vine that covered the length of the garden
‘Don’t know. How long have you been standing there, Harry?’
‘I just got here. How long have you been here?’
Stuart ignored him.
‘Don’t worry about Harry,’ he said to the others. ‘He’s harmless. He never does anything.’
Rather than be shut out of his own living room, Harold walked in and sat down. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said.
This was greeted with silence. Stuart made no introductions. All three had stared at Harold as if he was the intruder. The wind was shaking at the curtains while heat and dust hung in the air. Jerome glanced at Natalie and Stuart and then got to his feet.
‘Time to get out of this dump. We’ve got a plane waiting on the airstrip.’
‘Don’t forget your keys, Jerome,’ Stuart said. ‘You don’t want to leave those behind.’
Jerome laughed. He picked up a complicated set of keys attached to a keyring in the shape of a heavy bronze football. Nattie and Stuart stood up too, also collecting their wallets and keys.
‘Dinner at Pittwater for the contract-signing, people,’ Nattie said. ‘I’ll get it catered. I think we should celebrate.’
‘Turn on the champagne,’ Stuart said. ‘It’ll be worth it.’
‘You can pay for that, Stewie. Your share will stretch to it.’
After pocketing his keys, Jerome had picked up the whisky bottle and screwed the lid back on. He made to walk out with it. Harold reached over and pulled it out of his hand.
‘That’s my whisky, mate. I’ll keep it, thanks.’
‘Keep it,’ Jerome said. ‘It’s rotgut.’
‘You’re a possessive little man considering all you own is dirt,’ Nattie said in passing.
Now, some six days later, this woman was dead but for what reason Harold couldn’t know. He looked at the Cage’s high fences, strung along the top with electrified wires marked by signs that read Danger. There were no strangers here to warn off, just the birds who couldn’t read and whose bodies lay scattered at intervals along either side of the fence. There was nothing he could do about this. He called Rosie to him and drove away.
6
T he sound of Harrigan’s mobile penetrated his sleep. He woke to the sense of Grace’s body curled next to his. Otherwise, the room was airless, oppressive. Already it had started to grow hot. He fumbled for the phone.
‘Commander Harrigan?’ He recognised the voice of Chloe, the commissioner’s personal assistant. ‘The commissioner has sent you an email, one that’s been generally distributed to the public. He would like you to look at it and call him back.’
Harrigan glanced at the clock. It was later than he normally slept; the room was bright with morning sunlight. Grace turned towards him, smiling, sleepy-eyed, her hair falling in thick, dark strands across her bare shoulder.
‘I’ll call within the hour,’ he said.
‘The commissioner said as soon as possible.’
‘Wait for the call.’
‘What is it?’ Grace asked.
Harrigan lay back on his pillows. ‘The commissioner’s sent me an email. He wants me to look at it.’
‘You’d better do what he wants in that case,’ she said dryly.
That was the worst of mobile telephones. They let people like the commissioner invade the privacy of your bedroom. If Harrigan had still been a smoker, he would have lit a cigarette. Instead, he pulled on a pair of shorts and went down to his study. Grace appeared in the doorway behind him while his laptop was firing up, wrapped in her red kimono.
‘Why don’t you come in and have a look?’ he said. ‘I don’t think this is just “Good morning, how are you?”’
‘I’ve never been in here before,’ she said. ‘It’s always looked too private.’
‘This is where I keep myself to myself. Come in. Take the weight off your feet.’
‘Do you mind if I open the window?’
‘Go ahead.’
The morning air carried into the stuffy room the sweet smell of jasmine from an ancient vine that covered the length of the garden
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