Duplicity

Meredith Bruce, the elegant government Education Minister and – if things went to plan after the election – the next deputy prime minister, slowly stalked the foyer waiting to meet with Kerry Jameson. She hadn’t made an appointment and hoped an audience would be granted spontaneously, although it had been a while since the receptionist had left her. She ignored the Whiteley again as she circled the room.

‘Minister, Mr Jameson will see you now.’ The tall woman had returned and was holding the door for her to enter. Bruce walked through to be greeted by Jameson, standing shakily by a leather lounge setting.

‘Meredith, what a surprise. So nice to see you again.’ Jameson ushered her to a lounge chair. She sank into the soft leather while he struggled to sit in a rigid wooden chair opposite. ‘I didn’t think I would see you again after last week’s meeting with your boss. How can I help you?’

Jameson didn’t answer, instead considering her for some time. Bruce shifted in her chair as if she might have said something wrong. ‘I’m intrigued,’ he smiled thinly. ‘I’m always interested in political propositions. Please, go ahead.’

‘I want you to get the outcome you want, as we discussed last week,’ said Bruce, looking straight into his eyes. ‘And in return, I want you to give me what I want.’

‘You want influence, and you want a responsive government,’ Bruce replied. ‘You also want to get a number of your projects up, and you’re concerned the prime minister will not support you.’

‘Go on.’ Jameson relaxed back into his chair, crossing his legs, his lean arms draped along the wooden chair arms, his hands drooped at the wrist, one bouncing his cane.

‘How would you manage to do that young lady when Gerrard has already clearly indicated he does not share our views?’

‘We win government.’ Bruce smiled as if about to tell a secret. ‘There are two possible options – one is that Gerrard is no longer prime minister.’

Jameson didn’t respond immediately, tapping the silver knob handle of his cane against his chair as he looked at Bruce. ‘This is an interesting idea, but your party colleagues will endorse him as prime minister after the election, will they not?’

‘They can’t elect him leader if he is no longer a member of parliament.’ Bruce was almost smug with her reply, crossing her legs and relaxing a little.

Jameson slowly got up and hobbled as if in pain to the window. He looked out onto the city as Bruce waited patiently for his response. ‘So how does this very unlikely plan get me what I want?’ he finally said, eyes fixed firmly out of the window.

‘That’s the second option, and it doesn’t need the first option to succeed. With your influence, I stand as deputy leader. I win the ballot and you get your confidante back into the leadership group.’

‘This sounds very enticing Meredith, but it is only the dream of a political lightweight,’ Jameson turned to look at Bruce. ‘You offer me nothing I don’t already have. You have no influence, you have no political aggression, and in the past, you just say and do what you’re told. You talk a big game, but you are not in the big league.’

Bruce was slightly unsettled by the analysis. ‘That’s a little unfair, I’ve achieved a lot since coming into the ministry.’

‘No, you haven’t. There are others more qualified than you. You are only there because you’re a favourite of the prime minister, a pet if you like. Let’s not overstate your worth.’

Taken aback by Jameson’s comments, Bruce retorted. ‘That’s a little sexist, don’t you think?’

Bruce was unsettled and pulled herself forward in the chair. ‘Why do you think we are having a general election right now?’

‘The parliament was prorogued, something to do with the speaker not allowing questions. The prime minister didn’t act fast enough to stop the clerk from shutting the parliament down.’

‘I’m the manager of government business, you’d think I should have known what the clerk was doing.’ Bruce gazed at Jameson, who felt a little uncomfortable and pushed off the windowsill.

‘You knew the parliament would be sent to an election?’ Jameson resisted the idea, thinking it couldn’t be that simple. ‘So why didn’t you stop it or inform Gerrard?’

‘Interesting.’ Jameson turned and shuffled back to his chair. ‘So you consider your ambitions will be enhanced by an election?’

‘We win and then all positions in the government are up for negotiation. But if Gerrard is elected as prime minister then it’s the same misogynistic rubbish it has been for years. More importantly, your grip on government influence is lessened even further.’

‘You knowingly sent the government to a general election? I find that hard to believe.’

‘Let’s just say I facilitated it.’ Bruce waited for a response but received none other than a withering stare from the old man. ‘So, you see, perhaps the opinion you have of me is a little skewed by the veneer of my long legs and pretty frock.’

Jameson gently rubbed the silver knob of his cane against his cheek. ‘Gerrard has let you down, hasn’t he?’ he eventually said. ‘After fucking you senseless for a few months, and you getting nothing from him, you’ve decided he’s not going to satisfy your ambitions and give you what you want so now you seek your retribution, is that it?’

‘Bullshit lady!’ barked Jameson provoking a cough. He then took a few moments to calm his breathing and softly added. ‘If we are to be friends, Meredith, you must always speak the truth.’

Bruce flicked her eyes about and considered a response. ‘Okay, if we are to be open and honest – we may have had a relationship, but that is now over. Yes, he may have promised me a promotion and now he says nothing about my future,’ Bruce seethed through gritted teeth. ‘I can’t trust the bastard and it seems neither can you – so let’s get rid of him. We’re a good government, so let’s win the election and get rid of him at the same time.’

‘Defeat him in his seat,’ Bruce said. ‘We politicians must win a seat to retain our position in the parliament, after all. If Gerrard loses, you have nothing more to worry about.’

‘He has a large majority in his electorate. This is a silly idea. I would have expected better from you.’

‘He has won elections in the past because no-one of consequence stands against him. Curiously though, the informal vote is around twenty per cent, almost three times as much as any other seat.’

The old man smiled at Bruce’s analogy. ‘So you think he can be beaten in Melbourne?’

‘If there is a credible independent candidate against him, then yes. I think we can mount a good campaign and he can lose. If the independent can get second on the primaries and Gerrard’s vote is taken to preferences, then he most certainly could lose.’

‘I like your optimism, Meredith.’ Jameson smiled. ‘So how can you help me?’

‘With Gerrard out of the way, I stand for deputy leader and be your eyes and ears in government,’ Bruce responded. ‘You must recognise if Stanley gets elected it’ll be bad for the economy. We would be at another election sooner rather than later.’

‘You have to admit, it’s only time for Stanley’s mob if the prospect of Gerrard as prime minister is real.’ Bruce pulled herself further forward in her chair. ‘I need your help to get rid of him and I know you have the resources to make it happen.’

‘You know and I know the influence you wield. If you make it happen, the country will be a better place, you must know that.’

‘It’s an idea worthy of further consideration, I grant you that, but I’m unsure if I can do anything. Let me think about it and I’ll call you in a few days.’

‘Mr Jameson, I can promise you this—’ Bruce stood, making ready to go. ‘I will do whatever it takes to ensure Gerrard is not elected.’

Jameson paused for a moment, looking up at Bruce who stood before him. ‘Anything?’

‘Goodbye Meredith, thank you for coming to see me.’ Jameson held out his hand. ‘I shall consider your proposition and be in touch.’

‘Thank you, I look forward to hearing from you,’ Bruce said, softly shaking his hand before leaving the room, confident the meeting influenced her leadership ambitions.

After Bruce left the room, Jameson waited for a few moments before speaking. ‘What do you think?’

An amplified voice answered. ‘I think she’s genuine and not a Gerrard stooge. I think her idea has some interesting merit and might be worth considering. I’ll crunch some numbers this morning. I also think she is a little young to be deputy prime minister.’

‘How old should a deputy be?’ queried Jameson.

‘She’s early forties, that is too young.’ Wolff’s reply came from a speaker in the ceiling. ‘She’ll be useful in the future, but I suspect she’ll need to operate to our timetable rather than her ambitious goal.’

‘According to the polls, they’ll win,’ declared Jameson. ‘We may need to groom her if they do.’

‘They won’t win; the campaign is back on track. Polls have improved significantly because Stanley is not in the public eye as much as he was a week ago.’

‘Can you investigate the nominations for Melbourne and determine if we can alter the result? It would be difficult to oust him, but it’s a truly wicked idea.’ Jameson smiled, reflecting on the prospect.

‘Anything is possible. We have done it in the past, but we may be running out of time,’ Wolff responded.

‘Let’s do whatever we can to get rid of that bastard,’ Jameson scornfully whispered.

‘You’re the boss. I’ll be in touch.’

‘Let me know by tomorrow, nominations are declared Wednesday.’

‘Leave it to me. Speak soon, bye,’ Wolff said, and then a dial tone echoed through the room.

Jameson sat quietly for a moment, already regretting he would have to stand and creak to his office. Finally, he muttered, ‘I’m getting too old for this bullshit.’

Jonathan Wolff ended his call to Jameson and walked from his small office toward the back of campaign headquarters to talk with Harry Lester. ‘Henry, do we know the candidates in Melbourne yet?

‘Please don’t call me Henry,’ Lester said, looking up from his research.

‘Just a little fun Harry, lighten up, for heaven’s sake. This is serious shit we’re dealing with. We need a little humour every so often to break the tension.’ Wolff smiled as he stood in the doorway of Lester’s office, leaning on the metal frame. ‘Now, do we know the candidates in Melbourne, do we have one?’

‘Yes, we do, she’s a university professor and I have a list of the other nominations. The Greens are running a candidate for the first time.’ Lester passed him a file.

‘Thank you, Harry,’ Wolff patronised him. ‘I’ll get this back to you.’

Wolff walked back to his office, stopping by various busy staff, mostly volunteers, discussing any campaign issues they had, answering questions, providing direction. He was pleased with the energy and although Lester still resented his authority and influence, the campaign was gaining community momentum just as he had anticipated. He squeezed into his desk and flicked through the file looking for a potential winner.

It’s time for a change of government, thought Wolff, who agreed with Jameson and remained disappointed in the competence of the leadership group surrounding Stanley. Wolff was annoyed with himself for hesitating when Jameson asked if Stanley was up to being prime minister. He always wanted the best for his country and agreed Gerrard was past his use by date to lead the nation, but he remained unconvinced the alternative prime minister was made of the right stuff.

He grimaced when he flicked to a campaign photo of Jaya Rukhmani. She has no chance. He quickly dismissed the Family First Party candidate and didn’t think much of the Shooters and Fishers aspirant. The Greens had a likely choice and wondered if he might be able to get the candidate to say and do what he wanted. He doubted it. If this idea of Gerrard losing was to gain momentum, he would have his work cut out for him to convince voters to change their vote. He needed an issue that would polarise the community so they would question if Gerrard had their best interests at heart. He speculated his local community organiser in the seat could make a difference but was dubious the professor could attract enough votes.

Nothing in the file excited him so he swept it up and walked from the office, needing to talk strategy with someone who could make a difference. He stepped out on to Exhibition Street and made his way to the cafes on Bourke Street so he could have a private conversation. He thumped his file on to the street side table and settled into his favourite seat, admiring the girls walking past in their summer frocks. He called for a peppermint tea and pulled his phone from his jacket, punching in commands to connect his call.

‘Hancock? It’s Wolff. I need to talk to you about a shift in strategy.’

‘I thought we were glued to Stanley?’

‘We are, but Jameson wants a little insurance, so we need to discredit Gerrard. What have you got?’

‘Why do we need to do that?’ Hancock had been feted by the prime minister for twenty years; they were friends. He felt anxious about taking a personal attack position against the godfather to his daughter.

‘We need to discredit him somehow. Does he have a shady past with the ladies?’ Wolff asked. ‘Has he been up to anything irregular?’

‘He’s had many dalliances, but little evidence. Rumours persist about his promotion and patronage techniques for ministers and appointments, but I don’t have any hard evidence to support them.’

‘Has he said anything that could be misconstrued or are there any inconsistencies in his speeches?’

‘We’re talking about the most accomplished politician ever to enter the Federal Parliament. He is the consummate performer and oozes confidence from every pore on his body,’ Hancock replied.

‘He must have a weakness somewhere. Surely.’ Wolff brushed a hand across his bald head.

‘His wife is in Europe, which could imply a strained relationship between them?’

‘Why is she in Europe?’

Hancock sighed, not wanting to continue to discuss his friend. ‘Margaret Gerrard is a Francophile and is reportedly spending Christmas and New Year in Paris. We’re yet to confirm if the prime minister will join her. He probably will after the election.’

‘What?’ Wolff pulled a pen from his jacket and doodled a note in the file. She just up and left him during an election campaign? That’s weird.’ Wolff watched a young woman walking toward him, the morning light was behind her and he smiled when she caught him gazing at her silhouette. ‘Why would he let her leave? She should be here.’

‘She left the day the parliament was prorogued. One of my journalists floated a theory she was going to Europe to open a bank account.’

‘Did she go to Switzerland?’

‘No, she flew to Milan, just a few hours from Zurich by train. There was talk of her opening an account, but nothing can be confirmed.’

‘Interesting,’ mused Wolff. ‘Why would they do that?’

‘My journalist wrote a solid piece on it. She insinuated the prime minister was about to complete a funding deal with the Indonesians that would deliver him a secret commission.’

‘He was about to do a deal with the Indonesians, with what?’

‘Offshore immigration detention centres. Ten of them, apparently.’

‘Is he tough on immigration?’ Wolff said, flicking open his file and pulling out the professor’s candidate profile. ‘Is he a racist? Does he have an immigration problem?’

‘You mean, does he have a Muslim problem?’

‘No, I don’t. Does he have a thing against blacks and Indians?’ Wolff asked, toying with an idea. ‘Has he said anything controversial about Indians?’

‘He loves them. He loves curry and loves to beat them at cricket. He did the uranium deal with them when no-one else would,’ Hancock said. ‘But he won’t do or say anything about their human rights, especially child marriage laws, which has caused a few problems here in the past.’

‘Really?’ Wolff looked through Rukhmani’s profile sheet. ‘If I suggested he might be a racist, would that work?’

‘No, he isn’t.’

‘Okay, if I ran a racist against him, would that drag votes away from him?’ Wolff asked.

Hancock didn’t answer immediately. ‘The seat is full of progressives. He could probably extend his margin, but the demographics are swiftly changing so a candidate against him would need to be a nationalist.’

‘Interesting.’ Wolff sipped his tea. ‘If a populist ran against him, leveraging nationalist policies, could we gain traction against him?’ Wolff turned to watch a woman continue her journey over his shoulder.

‘The greenies and the hipsters have mostly left his seat. It’s been gentrified with new immigrants, mostly from Asia. We could run a campaign focusing on open borders.’

‘So why the offshore detention centres?’

‘We asked that question of him. He gave us the standard security answers and a willingness to end the people-smuggling trade. The way he sells the perils of people smuggling, there’s never a dry eye in the house.’

‘Are you prepared to run the story your journalist put up?’ Wolff finished his tea and pulled the Shooters party candidate profile from the pile. ‘Can we run it next week?’

‘It would create a shitstorm if we do and the Mercantiles could be vulnerable.’

‘Let me worry about that. Just be ready to run it when I have set the conditions for it. I want it on page one.’

‘Shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘And can you get the journo you have working on Stanley’s campaign to shift focus to Gerrard’s local campaign? What’s her name?’

‘Devlin. She did a profile on Stanley’s candidate last Sunday. She’d prefer to be in Melbourne anyway.’

‘Okay, gotta go. Talk soon.’ Wolff prodded the stop button. Company had returned.