Dark Palace (38 page)

‘And you handle Australian matters in the League?'

‘No.'

Then she added, ‘There are not that many Australian matters.'

That sounded a little
wrong
.

‘I suppose, in another role, I could be considered
Chef du Protocole
. And I act sometimes as a sort of Inspector-General—seeing things are done properly in the Sections and so on.'

That was stretching it a bit.

There was a brief silence. She broke it. ‘The Public Service is taking on university graduates at last, I understand?'

‘At last. The returned servicemen are starting to retire. Making room for us younger ones.'

They didn't seem that ‘younger'.

But she recalled the resentment of some of her university friends at missing out on jobs after the War because they hadn't served.

‘How do you feel about the High Court ruling that Australia, and not London, should now handle its relations with the International Labor Office?' the not-so-thin one said.

‘I have always thought that Australia should handle its own relations with the world.'

‘Everything?'

She thought about this. Before she could answer the thin one said, ‘Obviously relations with the other Empire countries
should be coordinated through Westminster, for example? And when the Empire should go to war?'

She sensed it was a controversy within the new department and she was being asked to take sides.

‘I realise that we need the protection of the Empire. I realise that it's very much to our advantage to sidle up to London. But ultimately, we alone should decide if we go to war.'

‘You think the Chanak matter cleared that up?'

She did not know what the Chanak matter was. She kept coming across references to Australian issues and personalities which she did not know. She had to admit she was somewhat out of touch. She'd tried to catch up by browsing in back issues of newspapers at the Mitchell Library but one couldn't anticipate everything. She'd learned the names of the state premiers and the cabinet ministers.

She hated admitting ignorance but there was no way out. ‘Chanak?'

‘Back in 1922, Great Britain nearly went to war with Turkey and simply assumed we would go up the hills of Gallipoli again without consulting us.'

She felt caught out. And she had been in Australia when that had happened, working with John on his campaign for a seat in the House of Representatives. How could she not remember this Chanak matter?

Then it came to her—she realised that it was resolved by the Treaty of Lausanne. It came to her now from her League experience. Out of another box entirely. She knew the matter by another name.

‘Oh yes, of course, the Treaty of Lausanne. I know it as part of the Treaty.'

They exchanged glances. ‘For us here—known more as the Chanak matter.'

‘Do you believe the League is “the great shipwreck of Wilsonian ideology, only fit for the scrap heap?”,' the thin one
said, laughing off the question to show he wasn't expressing his own opinion.

Or was he?

How bizarre. Was everyone quoting Mussolini? Was it fashionable?

‘I do know who said it,' she said. ‘And no, I don't believe it's a shipwreck.'

They were stuck on this shipwreck metaphor.

Edith looked out the window and across the paddocks to the arcaded buildings of what she thought must be the Civic Centre shops. How nice to have the arcades rather than country town verandahs.

Or was it?

‘And you agree or disagree?'

She brought her mind back to the room.

It was hard for her to say it, but she did. ‘I agree with Mussolini that if there is to be peace now it has to be an armed peace. We can assume that the Disarmament Conference has failed.'

‘We should be glad that Italy is with us, I suppose,' the one who wasn't thin said.

‘If she, in fact, stays with us,' she said.

‘She was with us in the last war against Germany,' said the thin one.

‘You have doubts?' said the other.

‘I have doubts,' she said.

‘They may have enough on their hands with Ethiopia,' one said.

Since returning, she had learned that the labour movement, for one, was opposed to sanctions against Italy. It was said that it was because of the Roman Catholic bloc within the Labor Party and in some of the unions. The unions were split.

She knew that the Department was not RC so she took a risk and said, in a clubby way, that she would, herself, rather
‘be an Ethiopian of whatever religion ruled by Ethiopians, than a Roman Catholic under Mussolini'.

They guffawed.

Obviously Protestant. She'd got it right.

They then asked her about Japan, now sounding somewhat more friendly after her daring revelation of her religious preferences.

She said that she had doubts that Japan could be brought into a non-aggression pact in the Pacific, which Prime Minister Lyons was urging.

She said she did not trust Japan since Manchuria.

‘Some in the unions here argue that it's the workers of the world who will stop war.'

‘I suppose I believe that loading ships should be left to those who load ships and diplomacy to those who practise diplomacy,' she said glibly. ‘And I've noted that the labour movement is split on the issue. Who speaks for the workers? Who speaks for Australians?'

They smiled in agreement.

The Diplomats' Union.

‘What hours do you work at the League?'

‘Eight to six, different in winter—some of us work all the time, it seems to me. We do have one-and-a-half hours for lunch.'

They nodded. ‘We work 8.30 to 4.50 p.m. With half an hour for lunch.'

‘We have the long French lunch in Geneva.'

‘Lucky you.'

She thought she would amuse them. ‘I've heard that the British Foreign Office enjoys a rather long lunch too—they are like the fountains in Trafalgar Square, they play from 12 to 3 p.m.'

They laughed. The atmosphere had melted.

The thin one looked at his watch.

She thought she might use up the remaining thoughts in her head.

Push her barrow. Get in Eden's name.

‘I still believe sanctions are the answer to war. I worked with Eden on the Committee of Five and the Committee of Eighteen. I found it very illuminating.'

They asked about Eden and she told them snippets of information and gossip. They lapped it up.

The interview seemed then to be over, if interview it was, and the men were standing as if by mutually agreed signal.

She placed her napkin back on the table, and stood.

‘You mentioned sinking ships once or twice,' she said, smiling at the thin man. ‘But you did not mention rats. Thank you.'

They laughed loudly. The thin man blushed.

She felt the three of them had ended up liking each other.

She could see herself working with them.

But would she forever be seen around the Department as the ‘rat who jumped'?

On Sunday, a young officer from the Department, Noel Deschamps, took her to play tennis at the residence of the Secretary to the British High Commissioner, who had a tennis court.

This Noel Deschamps was the secretary of the tennis club, she learned. And had read politics at Pembroke College, Cambridge.

He seemed to get that into the conversation rather too soon. He also pointed out to her that he was christened ‘Noel' because he was born on Christmas Day. ‘As in “Nöel”,' he added, in a passable French accent.

She found she liked him almost immediately. She supposed he told her so much so quickly because he was young.

‘I've come good at tennis rather late in life,' she said. ‘However, not
that
good,' she lied.

‘Oh, you'll find some good players here,' he said. ‘You'll get a run for your money.'

‘We'll see about that,' she said to him.

He laughed.

The two men from the Department greeted her like an old friend but said nothing about any response from the Department to her fishing for a job. Would not be proper, she supposed.

She met the British High Commissioner and managed to get Eden's name into the conversation and had what she considered to be a genuine conversation on genuine matters with him.

She knew that he was the only diplomat yet to be appointed to Canberra.

Maybe she stood a better chance of a job with the British Foreign Office?

In the general chat at the Residence, she remarked how much the setting up of Canberra reminded her of the setting up of the League.

‘How so?' said Watt's wife.

‘The working out of things for the first time. It was still like that when I arrived there. Allocating rooms. New appointments. All that sort of thing. We then went through it again last year moving into the new
Palais des Nations
.'

Someone picked up the conversation. ‘The photographs of the Palais look very grand. Sad that the Palais is completed just when the League itself is so shaky.'

‘I do wish people would stop saying that,' Edith said, laughing, ‘or I will be talked out of a job.'

‘I am sorry—I shouldn't be so negative.'

‘I see the Palais as a re-commitment to the League in a way. A re-dedication,' she said, sounding pompous. ‘Or it's the world's last great folly,' she added, saving herself. Winning a few laughs.

Throwing it back at them, she asked about the newspapers
who said that Canberra was a failure and doomed. ‘Menzies doesn't seem to believe in it,' she said.

‘Too late now,' someone said.

‘Menzies got us the golf course,' someone said.

Another laughed, and said, ‘You must come to a meeting of the Kangaroo Club.'

‘And what is the Kangaroo Club?'

‘Our citizens' committee—its job is to “keep Canberra hopping”,' the wag said.

She laughed along with the others. She sensed it was a joke they had enjoyed before.

She positioned herself out of the sun and became an appreciative and noisy spectator of the tennis until it was her turn to play.

She was fitting in all right, she felt.

She played very well. The sun—the whole atmosphere—made even the playing of tennis something of a struggle against nature and against the rawness of it all, but this brought out new power in her.

She beat Noel 6-2, 6-4 in a singles game. He took it rather well.

And later over cakes, tea and barley water, she overheard that someone else had been appointed editor of
Current Notes
.

She swallowed her disappointment and showed no emotion.

Unless something else was offered, she was to return to Europe. And, if everyone was right—to return to the maelstrom.

And to Ambrose.

They would get a dog.

She received a long-distance call from John Latham in Melbourne, which she took in the telephone booth in the foyer of Beauchamp House.

‘Recovered from the train journey to Canberra?' he asked.

‘It was worse than the whole trip back from Europe. And seemed to take longer.'

‘They leave the road bad and the rail link impossible as a way of stopping people leaving. How did it go at the Department?'

‘Hopeless,' she said.

‘You didn't drop your champagne glass?'

‘Who told you that?!' She was glad he couldn't see her blush. ‘Did Bruce tell you that? Or Frank McDougall?!'

‘A Little Bird.'

On no, why did they gossip like that?

She kept her end up, ‘I haven't had a glass of champagne since arriving in Canberra. But how dreadful that they brought that gossip back.'

‘My Little Bird said that you handled the situation with aplomb. He was impressed. Has happened to everyone. I think you got marks for your handling of it.'

She hoped that were true. ‘I suppose they remembered the dropping of the glass but didn't remember any of my remarks on matters of import?'

‘As a matter of fact, one of your opinions has travelled around the world.'