Premier Kate Logan tossed the keys of her sleek bronze Mercedes to the valet, and took the lift to the seventeenth floor of Pierpont Casino. She was not in a good mood. This morning, as she walked through Salamanca Market, a street performer had called her a bitch. Just like that, for no reason at all. He spat out the insult with such venom it quite unnerved her. Of course plenty more people had stopped to shake her hand and tell her what a terrific job she was doing. But that one fool had left a foul taste in her mouth, and she’d decided to hide behind too-large-to-be-fashionable shades. Then she’d listened to a race call on her way in, and her hot tip had come last.
Paul waddled over from the bar, florid face beaming and double chins wobbling. His Italian suit struggled to bridge the obstacle of his stomach. He looked like a fat, red toad. ‘Good to see you, Kate.’ A handsome young waiter, dressed in a dinner jacket, escorted them to a table complete with French champagne and harbour views.
Kate sipped her wine and watched the waiter strut away. ‘When did we lose our youth, Paul?’ She raised her glass and frowned. Was that a new age spot on her hand? She’d need to get her dermatologist onto it.
‘Stop it. You’re still a beautiful woman, Kate.’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere, Paul. So, how many new gaming tables are we looking at?’
‘Two hundred, for now.’
‘And you currently have?’
‘Three hundred.’
‘And poker machines?’
‘Let’s double them.’
Kate gazed out the window. It really was a spectacular view, looking north up the sparkling Derwent river to a flotilla of yachts bobbing on the picture perfect harbour – her harbour.
‘And the quid pro quo?’ she asked.
‘We’ll pay a 5 percent higher tax rate on our profits.’
‘The anti-gambling lobby will demand more,’ she said. ‘A social or economic impact study perhaps?’
‘Even with our tame research groups that will take weeks, and I’m in a hurry. Tell you what, I’ll throw in a fifty-thousand-dollar anti-gambling package. It won’t make much difference, but it will look good. I’ll also support your re-election campaign with a free media blitz, and host your victory party here on the night. What do you say?’
‘I think that will be sufficient,’ said Kate, coolly, looking first at the menu, then to catch a waiter’s eye. The good-looking one appeared by her side. ‘I’ll have the twice-roasted duck. And for dessert … bitter chocolate tart.’ She favoured the young man with her most dazzling smile. He winked. Kate blushed just enough to be charming.
‘If Madam Premier is free after lunch, it will be my pleasure to escort her to the Diamond Room.’ The waiter spoke with an intriguing, faintly European inflection.
‘That bloke fancies you,’ said Paul with a lewd grin. ‘Of course he does. Everybody loves you. Beats me why they bother with elections at all. They should just crown you Queen of Tasmania and be done with it.’
Kate tried to ignore Paul’s dancing chins.
‘I’m afraid the electorate is not as convinced as you are, Paul. Do you know how much I’ve spent on consultants this year? Nine million. Boost employment, they said, and my government has tried, we truly have. I’ve mightily subsidised the big employers, thrown hundreds of millions at the timber and hydropower companies. Telcom threatened to close its call centre, so I gave them five million to stay. Saved four hundred jobs right there, but do you think I get any credit?’
Paul swilled his champagne and regarded her with shrewd eyes. ‘Cashing up call centres is a mug’s game, Kate.’ The meals arrived. Paul took a forkful of spaghetti and continued talking with his mouth full. ‘Ireland gave billions of tax breaks and subsidies to call centre operators, who then went off-shore anyway and left the country broke. They’ll bleed you dry and send your jobs to Manila.’ Kate rolled her eyes. ‘Didn’t any of your flash advisers tell you that?’
No, but plenty of people from her own finance department had. Kate had brushed off their protests, their warnings of budget disasters and credit rating slides. She’d chosen to believe her army of costly private consultants over a few disgruntled treasury officials. If she’d been wrong, she did not appreciate Paul pointing that out. ‘Careful, Paul. My gaming commission is more than generous to this casino. I wouldn’t bite the hand if I were you.’
Paul guffawed and Kate glared at him. There was nothing to laugh about. The latest polls confirmed she was out of favour with the voters.
Kate picked at her duck. It was a little dry. ‘Let us finish our meal with no more talk of politics,’ she said. A mistake. Paul droned on instead about some boring holiday he’d had in Bali.
Kate interrupted. ‘I’m off myself soon – two weeks of sunshine in Antigua.’ She put a hand to her heart, closed her eyes and sighed. ‘Bliss.’
‘The Caribbean?’ Paul raised his brows. ‘I saw Gerard at the club last night. I’m surprised he didn’t mention it.’
‘My husband will not be joining me.’
Paul couldn’t conceal a small smirk.
‘What? You know Gerard can’t stand humidity.’ Could Paul be any more tiresome?
Kate’s phone rang. She pushed away her half-eaten duck and answered it. More trouble. ‘But, Drake, darling, you absolutely must come. It’s our biggest fundraiser for the year. Go play in the forest another day. Your father and I will be expecting you.’ Kate waved her dessert away. Paul called the waiter back and added Kate’s portion of tart to his own plate. ‘Drake is irresponsible,’ she said. ‘Why can’t he understand how damaging his little causes are to my re-election prospects.’ Kate smoothed her blouse, hands lingering over her breasts.
‘Is madam ready for the Diamond Room?’ asked the waiter.
‘Madam is, Karl,’ she said, reading his name tag. ‘The state may govern itself for a while.’ Kate took Karl’s arm and gave Paul a peck on the cheek. ‘You shall have your expansion, and I shall have my fun.’
‘Enjoy,’ said Paul, with his mouth stuffed full of tart. Kate left and he snapped his fingers. An assistant hurried to his side. ‘A penthouse for the Premier,’ he said. The penthouse suite was quite a freebie, with its gold taps and personal butlers, but then Kate was worth her weight in gold. ‘And tell Karl to keep her chips flowing.’