Cold Light (36 page)

‘This is not an argument over politics. This is a polite interview to alert you to risk.’

He then seemed to think before he spoke, and said, ‘Look, we know you’re dinky-di. Would you be prepared to tell us anything you pick up that could be of interest?’

She sensed that this was the real purpose of the meeting and that the questions were a way of revealing to her that they
knew much about her.

She found that she had not asked this question of herself. She had read recently that an American writer, Lillian Hellman, had told an American committee inquiry into communism – called HUAC – that ‘to hurt innocent people whom I knew many years ago in order to save myself is, to me, inhuman and indecent and dishonourable. I cannot and will not cut my conscience to fit this year’s fashions.’

She wondered if that were her position. It wasn’t her position during the war. Anyone with any information that would help the war effort was passed to the authorities. But this was not a war. Yet. Although the government was terming it a war.

She looked at him. ‘I will take that under consideration.’

‘Thank you.’

She looked over at him. He looked back and held her gaze for an instant. It was not hostile. How odd. What was she to make of that? Was it amorous? She decided to make no reading of its meaning. Too much ambiguity.

She sat back down, unsettled, thinking,
I must lay off the scones and cream
. She then gestured to the waiter and when he came she ordered a large Scotch.

Was this the ASIO humiliating her? Was it testing her?

That evening, Edith reported it all to Ambrose. ‘I have been warned not to see my brother and Janice.’

‘Would that be a great social penalty?’

‘I like Janice and I am beginning to like my brother, even if we do not share politics. Who knows, they may come around to a different way of thinking through mixing with us. And I can tell you liked them, for whatever perverse reason.’

He looked at her over his drink. ‘Do you like her enough to bring about an international incident and have us returned to foggy England in irons?’

‘I will get Latham to put a stop to this.’

‘Be careful about talking to a High Court judge about it. That, too, could have its consequences.’

‘Be damned if my personal life will be dictated by a government agent. He asked me about a man called Throssell. Do you know him?’

‘External Affairs.’ Ambrose laughed. ‘I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but it seems that he is on their books because he failed to wear a black tie mourning the death of Queen Mary.’

‘Dear God. I’m sure your files and their files are full of failures to wear black ties at the deaths of kings and queens.’

‘There’s a little more to it than that.’

‘Of course. I am sure there are other sartorial offences.’

‘Oh, I suspect that the ASIO was playing some sort of game – maybe tweaking the lion’s tail.’

If he knew, why didn’t he tell her? She found herself angry with him, but she was more unsettled by not having an answer to the agent’s question about passing on information that concerned national security.

The following day, Edith stopped by Mr T’s office and asked him to come and chat with her. She had felt bad about not revealing Frederick was her brother. Somehow, Mr T had the right to know that, but she had not known when to reveal it. She did not want to be sneaky with Mr T.

She told him about the Security Intelligence Organisation man and said, ‘I think you know my brother – he works for the Communist Party and you have talked with him.’

Mr T nodded.

‘Did you know he was my brother?’

‘I did.’

‘How could you possibly know he was my brother?’

Mr T pondered his answer. ‘There’s a resemblance. And he sometimes sounds like you.’

‘I would not have thought he sounded like me.’

‘Oh, not what he says – more tone of voice. He’s also a bit plummy – no offence – although he tries to conceal it. He might have said his sister worked here. Something like that. Nothing sinister.’

‘I wanted you to be in the picture. In case you are at risk.’

‘Thank you. After our other talk I went to the library and read the Universal Declaration. I might have it framed.’

She reached over and put her hand on his in a companionable way. He was a
confrère
.

That week there was a Civil Defence nuclear-attack drill, and Mr T and another clerk, as part of the exercise, gathered in her office, each with a red fire bucket filled with sand, a first-aid kit, an ex-army helmet painted white, and a lever-pump fire extinguisher, which fitted on the back.

They sat there as the siren wailed.

The other clerk said they should crouch under her desk.

She looked at Mr T and said, dead-pan, ‘I think we can take that as read. You agree, Mr T?’

He nodded and said, ‘As read.’ He asked her permission to tell a joke.

‘Go ahead.’

‘You know what the actual instructions are about what we should do in the case of a nuclear attack?’

‘Tell me, Mr T.’

‘It’s a little rude.’

‘I don’t think I will faint.’

‘The real instructions are: take off your helmet; put down your bucket; bend over and kiss your arse goodbye.’

He faltered on the word arse.

‘I think that may very well be the best advice we have, Mr T.’

The other clerk blushed, but laughed.

H
aving a residence meant that Edith no longer had to put up with the ethical discomfort of watching Janice clean their rooms, but she also missed chatting and, to put it candidly, appreciating the physical presence of Janice, as the
essence
of a young woman. To be even more candid, there was some degree of doting in her feelings for Janice, perhaps even a ‘crush’, as the Americans would say, although she hoped she never made it obvious in any way, shape or form.

There was also melancholia in her appreciation of Janice, seeing in her the passing of her own youth. Perhaps she was secretly stealing Janice’s youthfulness – the age of thirty seemed to her now to be youthful.

If youthfulness could be stolen, no youth would be safe.

Janice and she still had morning coffee or afternoon tea over at the Liberty Café in Manuka or at the Blue Moon – sometimes with assistance from her hipflask. Sometimes Frederick would join them. Sometimes they had toasted sandwiches, which Janice always insisted must have the crusts removed.

Frederick always arrived after Janice to check whether they were being followed. She had laughed at his histrionic caution. How would you ever know whether you were being watched? He had said that after a while the same faces showed up. Edith did not mention to either of them her meeting with the intelligence agent. She was not sure why.

Probably because of her teasing, Frederick had stopped dressing like a Welsh miner and was now more regular in his dress.

Although Ambrose sometimes suggested that the four of them have a meal together – perhaps he was being the dutiful brother-in-law or perhaps the spy – she noted that she sometimes didn’t tell him about these café twosomes and threesomes. Perhaps the security reports that came onto his desk said, ‘Wife of Major Westwood seen at Liberty Café with known communists.’

‘Why aren’t you down in Melbourne at the Peace Congress?’ she asked Janice.

Janice shrugged. ‘I know it’s silly, but I didn’t want to leave the hotel short-handed with all the people coming to Canberra for the sitting of parliament. If I’m not there, the work falls on the others. The Party always says that to be effective, communists had to be very good at their workplace. Anyhow, I’m flat-out organising the demonstrations for the night of the bill.’

Janice looked directly into her eyes and asked her if she were going to join in the protests outside Parliament House.

Wanting to be on Janice’s side, she was a little fazed by Janice’s effort at recruitment and had to say, a little shamefacedly, that Ambrose and she had been given reserved seats in the diplomatic gallery. ‘I’m afraid, dear Janice, we will be on opposite sides of the barricade.’ She looked away from Janice’s stare.

Janice laughed. ‘Traitor.’ She poked her tongue at Edith and they smirked at each other.

Edith was relieved.

‘You’d be well placed, then, to throw rotten eggs,’ Janice said. ‘We can’t get seats in the House. The Libs are getting all the tickets. Stacking the gallery. Perhaps the Major would get Frederick and me seats. As friends and relatives.’

Edith then wondered whether they could get seats for them in the public gallery. They were hardly bomb throwers or even rotten-egg throwers. Or perhaps they were rotten-egg throwers? No, that was too much to ask Ambrose-of-the-Homburg-hat-and-umbrella.

Janice said, ‘I thought you might protest. You came to the meeting at the Causeway.’

‘I am against the bill. Even Ambrose is against it. He calls it the “banishings and huntings bill”. But he has to be there representing the HC. He still thinks there could be a world war, but doesn’t think banishing you communists here will stop it. Will there be riots?’

‘The police may riot
against us
. Someone in the force told us that all police leave in New South Wales has been cancelled.’

‘Really?’ Edith thought that Ambrose would probably be interested in this sort of information. Was she herself, then, now an assistant spy for the HC? Perhaps, as the agent had suggested in her interview, she passed on information unwittingly.

How many things did she – did we all – do unwittingly? What if much of human conduct was unwitting? Inadvertent.

Janice was high-spirited about it all. ‘Country police and many Sydney police are being driven up here in government buses. Do you know which entrance you will go in?’

Edith hesitated. ‘Honestly, no. There are special passes and most doors to Parliament House will be barred.’

‘May I see one of the passes? Perhaps we could forge some.’

Edith was a little piqued by Janice’s request. Given the unusual circumstances of their friendship, Janice should be more discerning. She laughed it off. ‘That would be giving away state secrets.’

Janice seemed to become serious and went into developing a plan. ‘If we had an official pass, we could print up a few hundred and infiltrate. Or cause havoc.’