Read Online The Washington Club by Peter Corris - Free Book Online

looking at?’ she said sharply.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I broke up with the woman I’d been with for a few years not solong back. I was probably staring at you. It’s so good to have such attractive company.’
    â€˜Thanks. I’m glad to be here with you, too. You’re holding together pretty well. You’re what—late forties?’
    I nodded. ‘Fairly late.’
    â€˜Good bones,’ she said. ‘And hair. They’ll see you through.’
    The food came in bowls and dishes and an insulated bucket along with chopsticks at which I’ve never been a master. We worked our way through it, communicating well it seemed to me, but talking about nothing in particular. About halfway through Claudia reached across the table and touched my arm. I’d rolled up my sleeves—the sambal was having an effect on the sweat glands.
    â€˜Look,’ she said. ‘It’s Malcolm Turnbull.’
    It was. He arrived with a woman and another man and they fell into intense conversation, only briefly interrupted by the ordering of food and drink.
    â€˜A republican cell without a doubt,’ I said. ‘I kicked in some money to that cause. They’re probably eating it right now.’
    Claudia laughed. ‘So you’re a republican. Well, well.’
    I was onto my third glass of wine and emboldened. ‘I bet you are too. Admit it.’
    â€˜Of course I am. I . . .’
    It wasn’t the wine or the food or the atmosphere. Her every movement—the deft use of the chopsticks, the curve of her widemouth, the lift of her heavy eyebrows—was having an effect on me. ‘Claudia, why . . .?’
    In one smooth movement she put her chopsticks down and placed her right index finger over the slightly raised scar that runs from the left side of my chin up to my lower lip, the result of an uppercut delivered with a split glove by Clem Carter at the state junior amateur boxing titles. ‘No questions,’ she said. ‘Not now. Questions later. Drink some mineral water and eat some vegetables. The sambal’s a mite too hot for you.’
    I gripped her hand and felt that it had a film of sweat on it like mine. I grinned at her.
    â€˜We’re both sweating and the place is air-conditioned.’
    â€˜It’s good for us. Clears the toxins from the system.
    â€˜Do you believe that?’
    She laughed. More wisps of hair escaped. I wanted to tuck them back, and to touch that down running to her jawline.
    We left at least one standard drink in the bottle, maybe two. We walked through the courtyard in front of the restaurant and sauntered up the main street towards the all-night parking station where I’d left the car. The cool air cleared my head and after a few metres I was alert and watchful. Claudia, walking very close, occasionally brushing me with her shoulder or hip, could feel it in me.
    â€˜What’s the matter, Cliff?’
    â€˜Just being careful. We’ve had a few incidents, remember?’
    â€˜Mm. I was trying to forget all about it. All of it. But I suppose that’s impossible.’
    Tentatively, I put my arm around her and squeezed gently and briefly. ‘Stay where you are as long as you can. I’ll do the worrying.’
    She reached around and patted my chest. ‘Where’s the gun?’
    It was back in the holster, near my left armpit. ‘Where it belongs.’
    â€˜Have you used it much?’
    â€˜No. As seldom as possible.’
    â€˜That’s good. I hate guns.’
    â€˜Me too.’
    We reached the car park. It was one of the few places still around where you handed in your ticket and an attendant fetched your car. That’s why I’d used it. The Camry came up the ramp and I forked over some more money. The outing would be paid for by Cy Sackville who would in turn charge it up to Claudia. It presented me with a nice conundrum of etiquette that Emily