Campaign Ruby (6 page)

‘Luke Harley. You'll have to excuse my colleague, Ruby; he was just checking you're not press, which you're not, are you?'

‘No. Recovering investment banker, actually.'

‘Good.' Luke walked me under an arch crawling with star jasmine and along a candlelit path towards a suited congregation in the vineyard. It looked like a vine-side funeral.

‘Nobody told me the dress code was lounge suit,' I said, embarrassed by my tropical goddess outfit.

‘It's not supposed to be,' said Luke. ‘It's just that most of us don't own anything else.'

‘The man at the door said this is a fundraiser. What's the charity?'

He laughed; then his phone rang. He gestured towards a Clooneyesque man, with substantially more salt than pepper, and centurion pecs. ‘GI Joe senior over there is Jones. I'll be back in a minute.'

The only other person at the function in civilian clothes wove through the vines towards me.

‘I don't think we've met.' Benedict Jones extended his hand.

Pants man plus jet lag equals regret
, my head reminded me.

‘I'm Daphne Partridge's niece, Ruby.'

‘Pleased to meet you.' He shook my hand. ‘Welcome to Benedict Estate.'

‘Thank you, it's lovely to be here.'

‘Your accent is cute,' he said. ‘Let me guess—English?'

Psychic,
groaned my head.

‘Yes, I'm from London.'

‘I'm told I have a very good ear.' He lowered his voice. ‘Shall I show you my vines?'

I tried to keep my eyes from rolling and accepted his arm. ‘So what do you grow here?' I glanced around at the tailored monochrome and wished I didn't look like a big blue parrot.

‘Pinot,' he said, ‘and a little chardonnay.'

‘I hear pinot's plagued with problems. Or is that just a vinicultural legend?'

‘It is tougher to grow than any other grape,' he said, ‘but it's worth the chase.'

Groan.

He picked a single grape for me from a perfect bunch. ‘Eat it,' he directed, dropping it into my mouth. It didn't taste like I'd imagined. I could taste the spices, but not the fruit.

I unhooked myself from his arm. ‘Tell me, do you often have parties like this?'

‘Just for Max. We go way back.'

‘Is it his birthday?'

‘You're charming, Ruby,' he chuckled, until he realised my question was genuine. ‘Max Masters is the Leader of the Opposition.'

‘As in a
politician
?'

I felt like a dill. There I was assuming I would meet a bunch of grape-lovers. Instead, I would spend the evening with a bunch of apes in suits expecting me to know who they were. The only politicians I knew were the ones I detested for taxing luxury goods and capping bankers' bonuses.

‘Mingle!' directed Benedict, looking over my shoulder at a short-skirt suit. I found the bar in the marquee and mingled with the wines, where I was rudely interrupted by a woman sporting big teeth and a too-tight ponytail— think rabbit with an up-do.

‘Christine,' she announced, thrusting her hand into mine.

‘Ruby.' I felt her hand deftly deal me a business card.

‘I work for the property development industry.'

‘I see.' I skimmed her card. ‘In what capacity?'

‘Well, you know, helping them out here and there with a few bits and pieces.'

‘No,' I said, ‘I don't know. What kinds of bits and pieces?'

‘Well, when there's an issue that is dear to the industry, I represent its viewpoint.'

‘So you're their lobbyist?'

‘Not exactly,' she said impatiently. ‘Tell me about you, Ruby. What do you do?'

‘I'm an astronaut.'

‘Aviation, then?'

‘No, that was a joke.'

She cocked her head to one side and scrambled for the abort button. ‘It was lovely meeting you, Ruby.'

‘And you, Christine.' One down, seventy to go. I went back to a fresh and zesty sauvignon blanc, hoping it might wake me up a bit, but the hum of dull conversation lulled me. My body slumped against the cushioned bar.

‘Ruby?' said Luke, rescuing me from an imminent bout of narcolepsy.

I smiled, trying to wake myself up.

‘What brings you here?' He loosened his tie, which reminded me of a banana tree on account of its yellow, brown and green stripes. It was a poor match for his illfitting, three-button charcoal suit. Come to think of it, banana trees make a poor match for most things. I wanted to flip it over and note down the maker. Nut-brown socks didn't inspire hope, especially when tucked into scuffed black shoes with plastic-tipped nylon laces: the kind I'd worn at school. Aside from that, he was pleasant to look at. Kind green eyes, a square jaw, albeit in need of a razor, like his overgrown buzz cut.

‘My aunt's dog went into labour this afternoon just as I arrived. She and her partner were down to go to this function, so they asked me to go on their behalf.'

‘I meant, what are you doing in Australia?'

‘Oh, I'm pinot-hunting through the Yarra Valley.' It sounded so much better than the long version.

‘So you're in the wine business as well as an investment banker?'

‘No,' I said, ‘three days ago I was an investment banker— in emerging markets, actually—and I was made redundant. Economically speaking, things are a bit grim. I got riotously drunk on an incredible Toolangi pinot noir—'

‘Good choice,' he interrupted.

‘I know,' I said, ‘and, in the midst of my inebriation, booked myself a ticket to Melbourne. My aunt and her partner have a place in Warburton. So here I am.'

‘So all in all, a sizable couple of days.' Luke sipped his wine, then gestured towards a man in the corner. ‘That's my guy.'

Luke hadn't exactly struck me as gay, what with the banana tree. I took a closer look at his partner. He occupied visual space as if he was spotlit. It wasn't that he was attractive: average height, thin grey hair, an ecru complexion. He wouldn't have looked out of place at an auditors' convention, and yet there was something magnetic about him. He was the guy you listened to at a dinner party or who caught your eye at a gallery.

Benedict Jones took to a stage made of upturned wine crates and tapped his glass with the end of a fork. ‘Friends,' he said, ‘we're here tonight to show our support for Max Masters.'

People clapped politely.

‘Max is a great friend of ours. A proud Melbournian. Max has been engaged in this community and others all over Australia for most of his working life. He has been a military man, a small-business owner and a mayor, and now he's in Canberra working in some building with a flag on top.' People laughed.

‘What many of you probably don't know is that he was once a grape-picker, but in the Barossa, which is probably where he went wrong.

‘Unlike most pickers, Max isn't just here for the harvest; he's here when it's tough too. After the bushfire season when we lost some of our vines, Max was the guy who'd call every week to offer his help. Come to think of it, he's not just a friend of the wine industry; he's a friend of all Australian businesses. He understands us. He understands that some times are great and others are a real struggle. But he's there with us, all the time, to help make it better.

‘So, it's my privilege tonight to host this function for the man I hope will add another line to his CV at the election next year. Give it up for Max Masters, Leader of the Opposition and next prime minister of Australia.'

Profuse clapping filled the open space and Luke's guy took to the stage.

‘Thank you all for coming, not that many of us needed encouragement when we heard our wonderful host would be putting on a dinner with matched wines from all around this beautiful valley.'

Benedict Jones nodded appreciatively to more applause. Max continued: ‘But this valley, which is full of great Australian businesses, has had its fair share of turmoil. When bushfires swept across it, we all wanted to do something to help. And we did. Many of you here—in fact, probably all of you and the businesses you represent—have made some contribution to help this community pick itself up and dust off the ashes.

‘I'm proud to see how far the Yarra Valley has come. I am proud to see businesses, homes and lives rebuilt. Because
we
did this. All of us.'

Approving nods moved like a Mexican wave across the room.

‘That's a nation I want to lead. That's an energy I want to harness. That's a community I want to serve.

‘Now, as I walk around this room tonight, I look forward to hearing from you about how we can make this nation even better. That's enough from me; enjoy the wine—in moderation, of course!'

More applause fizzled, replaced by loud, individual conversations as Max worked the room, followed closely by Luke.

No one will notice if you leave now,
said my head. Edging closer to the loos, I looked to see if there was a side door somewhere.

‘Trying to escape?' asked Luke.

‘Yes, but it's difficult when you're dressed as a Smurf.'

‘I can imagine,' he said. ‘Look, I'd be a little offended if you left now. I've rearranged things so we can sit together. I've had a gutful of fundraisers—one every night this week—so it'll be fun not to talk shop.' He paused. ‘If you're willing to stay, of course.'

‘Why not? All that waits for me at home is a couch and a pair of lesbians.'

‘I wish I could say the same for my hotel room,' he laughed.

‘So you're, as it were, ambidextrous?'

‘Huh?'

‘It's quite unusual to meet a gay man with a penchant for girl-on-girl action,' I pointed out.

‘Huh?'

‘Didn't you say the Opposition Leader is “your guy”?'

‘He's my
boss
,' he said, losing colour.

‘An office romance?'

‘Good grief.' He was mortified. ‘I'm straight as a rod. Not that kind of rod.' His colour returned and darkened. ‘Straight as a cricket bat, a really manly cricket bat. It's the suit, isn't it?'

‘No, the suit has the opposite effect.'

‘Thank Christ—this is my only clean one,' he said, mistaking my insult for a compliment. ‘I'm going to need another glass of wine.'

We moved to a table writhing with property developers, each of them rocking back on their chair to get closer to Max. This left Luke and me to chat about the Australian wine industry over dinner. He talked me through the various challenges it faced, courtesy of both the wildfires and the global financial crisis, for which he blamed ‘my people'. When a pair of leggy lobbyists strutted towards him, Luke had me call his mobile just in time to excuse himself from an odious entree of name-dropping.

As I cracked the surface of my crème brûlée, I gave him my precis of what was happening to the economy back home. Then we discussed everything from the timing of the Australian federal election, due the following year, to our host's wine selection; our brutal tasting notes included ‘chewy' and ‘hints of wet dog'.

A few raffle draws later, Luke stopped mid-sentence and stood up. ‘I just got the nod—he's ready to go.'

‘The nod?'

‘When he's ready to go, Max gives me a sign so that I can pave a smooth exit. Otherwise, he'd never leave these gigs—everyone wants a piece of him.'

‘So you're going too?' His departure would take the fun out of fundraiser.

‘Yep,' he said, ‘we've got an interview first thing in the morning, so I'll be up at sparrow's fart to read the papers.'

‘It's been a pleasure meeting you.'

‘You too, Ruby.' He reached into his pocket for a card. ‘If you've got time to come up to Melbourne next week, I'd like to have a chat with you about working as a financial policy advisor on our team.'

I choked on a sip of sickly sticky. ‘You're kidding.'

‘Here's my card,' said Luke. ‘Come to Melbourne for a coffee.'

I smiled awkwardly, partly because I didn't know what to say and partly because a globule of dessert wine was tickling my trachea. Tears welled in my eyes as I tried not to cough.

Luke stared. ‘You're choking, aren't you?'

I nodded. Max joined us.

Excellent,
my head enthused.

‘Max Masters.' He shook my hand.

‘Ru…' My lungs failed. I reddened like a chameleon at La Tomatina.

‘Nice to meet you, Roo,' he said, moving towards the door.

‘Are you all right?' asked Luke, torn between his boss and me.

I nodded.

‘Awkward,' Luke observed, then he winked. ‘See you later.'

I tried to wink back, but it felt more like a glistening, one-eyed squint, followed by a loud bark and pig-like snort. Thankfully, Luke and Max were disappearing into the back seat of a white saloon.

On the driveway as I waited for a lift, in a jet-lagged haze at the end of my first day in Australia, I stood beneath the vivid night sky and tilted Luke's card towards me. The moonlight hit each embossed letter. Luke Harley. Chief of Staff. Office of the Leader of the Opposition. My head caught me considering his offer.
What are you
doing, Ruby?
it asked. I couldn't answer.

The morning after

Feeling seedy thanks to the putrid blend of day-old jet lag and matching wines, I awoke the next morning to the sound of oven trays clashing. I peeled myself off the hot couch.

‘Hope I didn't wake you, darling,' said Daphne, tying a white apron over her lilac nightgown.

‘Not at all.'

Debs was on the deck reading the papers. I wandered out to join her in my pyjamas and sunglasses. She folded the corner of the
Herald
and craned her long neck to greet me. ‘Morning, kiddo.'

‘Thought we might have a little Turkish bread for breakfast,' said Daphne, bringing a steaming rustic loaf to the table. ‘Go and grab the poached apricots and ricotta from the fridge, darling.'