CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DAY SEVENTEEN – LATE SATURDAY

As Melbourne woke from its cold winter slumber with the two-week Spring Racing Carnival, Anita mused almost daily how she could relocate to this handsome European style city. As the days progressed during the campaign, Anita enjoyed wandering the city’s laneways, past cafes and restaurants, savouring coffees while observing rushed cityfolk and sauntering tourists.

The prospect of having a stable relationship with the handsome Barton Messenger was often on her mind, and she thought about how she felt whenever they were together. Maybe she enjoyed his company a little more than she would care to admit, especially to him.

She couldn’t explain it, but he had her dropping her guard a little too much. They had shared a clumsy, drunken embrace at the parliamentary mid-winter ball while waiting for a taxi. She didn’t like to admit to herself she may have been the initiator and didn’t want the dashing shadow minister to think of her as anything other than a competent and respected journalist.

Yet, since that time, he had persisted in breaking down her professional resistance. It meant a lot for her to provide him comfort at his most vulnerable point after his party killed off James Harper’s leadership just a few short weeks ago, when he had been unexpectedly elected deputy to Peter Stanley in the alternate government. He was comfortable and agreeable, but she remained anxious about stepping into a relationship with him, and harboured reservations about getting involved with a politician.

They met for a quiet cocktail before dinner at the Riverland Bar beneath Federation Square. It was across the bridge from her Melbourne office and she simmered with anticipation for most of the afternoon, distracted from her work after her interview with Rukhmani.

Barton leaned forward, quietly confiding, ‘You know what it is? I just worked it out,’ Barton smiled. ‘You’re hesitant about us getting involved because I’m deputy leader and a heartbeat away from being leader.’ His cheesy smile broadened further. ‘I could be prime minister one day, and that scares you a little.’

‘What worries me?’ Anita coyly asked, leaning into the table on her crossed forearms.

‘You, dating the future prime minister,’ declared Barton. ‘I mean, if I was not a politician, would you date me?’

‘Hmm,’ smiled Anita, lowering her head before chewing on her cocktail straw. ‘Maybe.’

‘You see!’ acclaimed Barton proudly, slapping his fingertips across the edge of the table. ‘If we had met prior to me being a politician, this impasse we now have before us would not be an issue.’

Anita looked away, seeking comfort by snuggling her chin into her shoulder, noticing a rowing eight stroking gracefully along the river. ‘It must be beautiful to be out on the river exercising every day.’

‘You would have known me, as me, and not as a politician,’ Barton persisted, ignoring her attempt to distract him.

‘Barton, I would never have dated you before you were a politician. I hate lawyers.’

‘Ah.’ He was a little crushed. ‘So, you prefer dating a politician?’

Anita peered over her glass as she held it to her lips. ‘Are we dating?’

‘I would have thought we might be given the current position of our chairs, your knee against mine, the fabulous twilight sky and the sound of romantic music playing quietly in the background.’

Anita pricked up her ears to pay attention to the music, smiled and then said, ‘You think the Rolling Stones are romantic?’

Barton sat back and gazed at her. She shifted in her chair, smiled a little self-consciously, and then drained her glass.

‘I can’t get no … satisfaction,’ Barton followed the lyrics along with Mick Jagger. ‘No, no, no.’ He grinned at her, resisting a smile, and held out his hand, ‘Shall we go have dinner?’

‘Sure,’ laughed Anita as she stood collecting her satchel bag and following Barton toward the bluestone stairs to Swanston Street.

Antony Lorenzino’s Bulgarelli restaurant, opposite Victoria’s grand Parliament House, was a refreshing ten-minute walk from the river. Antony came rushing forward to warmly welcome his guests as they stepped through the wood and glass door.

‘Mr Messenger, so very good to see you again, and who is this lovely lady you have brought to see me?’ Antony was being the gracious host.

‘This is Anita Devlin, she’s from Canberra.’

‘Ah, so beautiful.’ Antony clicked his heels and bowed. ‘If I’m not mistaken, you are the leading political commentator for the Hancock Media Group, am I right?’ He took her hand and placed a charming light kiss on her knuckles.

‘I’m not sure I’m their leading commentator,’ Anita said, nodding her head with a smirk that belied she was impressed by his gracious generosity.

‘Not yet,’ Antony reassuringly patted her hand. ‘Come, I have the best table for you this evening, Mr Messenger.’ Antony led them back to the window alcove so they could look out on to Spring Street. ‘All good retailers have their very best products on display in their shopfront, and as you are a very good-looking couple, no doubt you will attract more customers for me this evening.’

‘Thank you, Antony. This is a first for me,’ grinned Barton and winked at Antony.

‘Mr Messenger, if you brought a beautiful woman like Ms Devlin to my restaurant, you would always be getting the best seat in the house. Unfortunately, you only ever bring ghastly politicians, so I do not want to scare people away.’ Antony fussed over seating Anita, drawing the serviette from the table and draping it over her lap. ‘Now madam, a drink? Allow me to get you a glass of our finest champagne. And for you, Mr Messenger, I have your usual waiting.’

Antony stepped away and Anita cupped her face in her hand, moving closer to Barton. She smiled, and he leaned over. Kissing her on the cheek, she gave a small sigh before saying, ‘You are quite the political hotshot, aren’t you? And he has you wrapped around his little finger with his European chivalry.’

‘It’s close to the parliament and the Federal Parliamentary Offices are just down the street a little, so I come here a bit. But you’re the first lady I have brought to dinner and he seems impressed.’

‘Sure, Bart,’ scoffed Anita. ‘As if you haven’t brought a girlfriend here.’

‘Anita?’ Barton sat back a little offended. ‘I can absolutely assure you, I’ve never brought a female date here.’

‘A female date?’ chided Anita. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’

‘I mean girlfriend,’ said Barton, a little embarrassed, he looked out into the street.

Antony arrived with drinks and they clinked glasses. ‘I had an interesting meeting with Professor Rukhmani today, what an interesting woman she is,’ Anita said as she leaned closer.

‘Oh yes, what did she have to say?’

‘Plenty. I was utterly surprised by her background, such an impressive story. She also has a few weird ideas on immigration.’

‘Let me guess,’ Barton took a sip from his glass. ‘Like keeping the peasants out?’

‘Exactly!’ Anita exclaimed. ‘I must say, I was a little surprised,’ she said taking another sip of champagne then rubbing the tip of her nose. ‘She would create a media storm if I printed what she said. I’m not sure we’re ready for an immigrant criticising immigrants. There seems something decidedly odd about it.’

‘She’s probably right in a lot of ways,’ said Barton. ‘Our whole immigration model is very dated and needs reframing.’

Anita slunk back into her chair mouth agape. ‘I don’t believe you just said that.’

‘What?’ mocked Barton. ‘I can’t have a view on immigration?’

‘No, of course you can,’ apologised Anita as she straightened up. ‘I mean, I can’t believe you think we have a problem with who we bring in.’

‘Some aren’t going to adapt to our culture, our laws and the manner in which our society operates, consequently they really are unsuitable as immigrants.’

‘So where do they go?’

‘If they’re in trouble or danger and safety is a concern, then of course they come here or another UN signatory country,’ Barton responded cautiously. ‘If they are economic refugees, that is another matter and we should shut the door. It’s better for them to stay in a community they know rather than come to a country where they will not be able to participate.’

Not saying anything, Anita just grimaced at Barton.

‘What’s wrong, did I say something inappropriate?’he asked.

‘No, I’m just thinking through the issue. Maybe I’m missing something. I must be if a professor of politics at a prestigious university and a federal politician, the alternate deputy prime minister no less, share the same view on immigration, which is totally different to my own thinking.’

‘Anita, don’t get me wrong. I care about the plight of folks, but I also retain a responsibility to the nation. This means making tough policy decisions on provocative issues like immigration when they could in fact be contrary to the way I think.’

‘That’s interesting,’ mused Anita, a little sarcastically, her head resting in her hand. ‘I know politics is all about the art of compromise, but how can a politician make a decision on policy that goes against their personal values?’

‘It’s never about me,’ Barton said glumly. ‘It’s about what is best for Australia.’

‘So, you’ll make a decision that you don’t believe in?’

‘It’s not as simple as that, but yes, if I need to compromise my beliefs for the betterment of the country, then I will.’

Anita took a drink then said, ‘Crumbs, I’d be a hopeless politician.’

‘It’s not as if it’s every decision,’ justified Barton. ‘It just means that sometimes, particularly on social issues, we have to be flexible in our own beliefs.’

‘Conviction politician without any convictions?’ Anita cynically asked.

‘Let me give you an example.’

‘I hope this is good,’ smiled Anita, attempting to relax Barton.

‘I hate war and all its symbolism. I hate it. I’ve had family affected by it, maimed by it, even killed by it. I would speak against it and seek peace at every opportunity,’ Barton slowly, persuasively, punctured his words. ‘But I would support increasing our defence force, and if my country was at threat, I would have no hesitation in defending it.’

‘Crumbs, I must be going around in some sort of ignorant haze,’ chortled Anita, trying to lighten the discussion. ‘I’ve never considered the pressure our politicians must be under when it comes to making decisions. No wonder they age so quickly.’

‘Do I support euthanasia? No, I don’t.’ Barton’s voice trembled slightly. ‘Would I have requested assisted death for my mother to ease her pain, contrary to my beliefs? Yes, I did.’

Anita looked at Barton and watched as he struggled to regain his composure. She slid her hand across the table and squeezed his. He gripped it hard in response. He was a man with commendable beliefs that attracted him to the parliament, and yet he seemed so very conflicted, and right now, exposed. Anita pondered if the rough and tumble of politics was truly a vocation for such a sensitive man and stroked the back of his hand with her thumb.

After a few moments, allowing the charged lingering emotion to subside, Anita softly said, ‘So, I was wondering—’ Barton looked up. ‘I was wondering how the election campaign is going and what the current polling is suggesting?’

Barton laughed at her attempt to lighten the mood, quickly dabbing his eyes with his napkin and smiling at her. ‘If I told you, I would have to kill you.’

‘Ah, but I thought you were against domestic violence?’ Anita suggested coyly.

‘Domestic? What are you suggesting?’ Barton smirked and dabbed his eyes again. ‘Let us achieve couple status first before we talk anything domestic.’

‘How long will that take?’

Barton’s eyes widened, and he openly bit his tongue within a broad smile. ‘Well, Miss Devlin, you’re being quite forward at the moment and you’re terrifying me a little. I’m not sure how to take you.’

‘Oh Barton, you kill me,’ laughed Anita. ‘Come on, let’s eat and get out of here.’

As if on cue, Antony appeared and served a bountiful antipasto plate. After checking their preference for wine, he suggested a chef specialty of crackled pork ribs for main course. He bowed and withdrew, leaving them to eat and enjoy traditional Tuscan pickled foods, dips, olives and prosciutto-wrapped asparagus.

Having slowly worked their way through their sumptuous meal, a bottle of red from the Mornington Peninsula, and shared laughs following audacious declarations, the couple settled into a final coffee and chocolate.

‘So how is the campaign actually going?’ Anita asked again.

‘Not well, we’re slipping in the polls and I suspect there is no way back.’

‘How do you feel about that?’

‘Disappointed, of course. This is our best chance in years to win government, and I fear if Gerrard wins the election, it may be years before we get another opportunity,’ said Barton pessimistically. ‘Which means, if that happens, I may give it away and go do something else.’

Anita was surprised. ‘Seriously? You would give it up?’

‘If I want a life, to have a family and do the things others do, then yes, I would give it up.’

‘But you can make a difference.’

‘Maybe I can do more to get things done outside of the parliament,’ Barton said. ‘I mean, perhaps I can influence policy and legislation more if I wasn’t a politician.’

‘Like Jameson?’

‘I reflected on what you were asking yesterday, so I did a little research.’ Barton smiled and tapped his nose with a finger as Anita stopped enjoying her chocolate for the moment. ‘I’ve never really thought about it, but there have been all sorts of groups throughout history who have influenced laws and demanded change.’

‘What sort of groups?’

‘Unions are the most obvious. Churches have a significant influence as well, so do many industry groups. But there are so many now it’s hard to know who represents who. In newer democracies like us – and the United States, for that matter – there is less emphasis on established culture and more focus on community groups that impact society. This may indicate we’re not subjected to cultural and class influences, ignoring tradition and the practices of—’

‘Barton?’ interrupted Anita.

‘Yes?’ Barton stopped talking and looked about expecting a surprise.

‘Get to your point will you, you’re mansplaining.’

‘Oh sorry …’

Anita smiled. ‘So cute.’

‘What I was saying was, even during the development of Federation, there were special interest groups developing the hegemony, protecting their interests.’

‘Do you think they still exist, like the unions?’

‘Industry groups? Yes, they do exist.’

‘Who is the most influential?’ Anita asked. ‘Groups or individuals? Where would I go to get this sort of research?’

‘Ask the Parliamentary Library, they should be able to help.’

‘That’s a great idea, I’ll check it out,’ said Anita sitting back. ‘So, listen, how is your campaign operative going, this Sinclair-Browne chap?’

Barton shifted in his seat. ‘How do you know about him?’

‘I’m an investigative journalist, it’s what I do.’

‘He’s very well organised and has most electorate campaigns running around frenziedly following his plans,’ Messenger sucked his teeth slightly. ‘But the good news is he’s getting results – although not in the polls at the moment.’

‘There is only one poll that counts,’ laughed Anita. ‘So, is he worth the money?’

‘We’re not paying him, a printing company is. It’s a win for us no matter what happens. Hopefully he gets us across the line. Totally off the record, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Anita stretched and held Barton’s hand. ‘Off the record, why don’t we go?’