Fishing for Stars (15 page)

Colonel Konoe had shaped her to his own ideal of womanly perfection, which included an aristocratic appreciation of Japanese art, the exacting disciplines of ikebana and formal manners. In fact, Anna was a throwback to the pre-Meiji ideal of courtly behaviour, almost certainly unique outside the small remaining Japanese aristocratic elite of which Konoe Akira had been and perhaps still was a part.

In so many ways she was intrinsically more Samurai than anything else, despite the fact that she functioned as a contemporary woman with a sharp mind, ready wit and formidable will. I was to learn that she continued to live by many of the intellectual tenets of Samurai philosophy, for example, their formal politeness in addressing an enemy and the exquisite manners involved in the creation of an insult.

In doing business, Anna was said never to lose her politeness or gentle and courteous manner, even when faced by daunting male opposition, or by taunts or improper remarks designed to upset her. Even when she had her opponent thoroughly beaten, she would allow him to leave the contest with his head held high. If she was herself defeated, she would bow and smile politely without any outward sign of anger, frustration or remorse. If someone lied to her or cheated she would wait. ‘Nicholas, as long as you remain in the game, those who play it will return and you will not have forgotten.’ It all added up to a redoubtable opponent who many an arrogant male had cause to remember after assuming she was just a pretty face and could be taken for a ride.

When I put to Anna the notion that we should visit Japan together she was so quick to respond that I knew the suggestion did not come as a surprise. I also knew that we had both thought about Konoe Akira, but perhaps she imagined a different outcome from the hopes I entertained.

‘Nicholas, that would be wonderful!’ she enthused. ‘I know so much and yet so little about Japan and the Japanese. Now you can show me where you were born and share your experience of the people with me,’ she added gracefully.

‘Anna, the pre-war Japan of my childhood is long gone, as is the autocratic and esoteric world of your Japanese colonel,’ I added somewhat slyly, watching her carefully.

But if Anna had plans to meet Konoe Akira she gave no indication of this. ‘It will be fun to be with you when you buy your ship, Nicholas. I too would like to do business with Japan – it would be a pity to waste my knowledge of the language – but what form that business might take I’ll have to wait and see.’

She was in so many ways smarter than me. Besides, I’d long since discovered that second-guessing Anna Til was an exercise in futility. I am ashamed to say that I thought she might well use the trip to enlarge her knowledge of sadomasochistic techniques by visiting places whose reputations she had learned about from her clients.

On the jet to Japan, one of those new 707 Boeings that made flying long distances a damn sight more comfortable than the lumbering Super Constellations, Anna and I had a conversation that I recall to this day with total clarity.

Her establishment, Madam Butterfly, a source of constant disagreement between us, was now being used by many of the Japanese businessmen who were once again allowed to trade with Australia. Public hatred of the Japanese was slowly fading, no doubt due to passing time and, more importantly, the desire to make a big quid. Our inestimable leaders plainly saw that exports of raw materials, coal and iron ore in particular, to a rapidly growing Japanese economy could balance the books, and our new-found prosperity would soon assuage the national conscience.

Like many of us involved at the sharp end of the war, I had come to accept that the average Japanese soldier was almost as much a victim as we had been – mere cannon fodder. Our wartime propaganda had turned them into bestial torturers, whereas this description more often fitted the
kempeitai
, selected for and trained in brutality. As well, it described many in the officer ranks, such as the beasts who had ordered the murder and torture of our prisoners of war at Changi, Sandakan and the Burma–Thailand Railway. These were the vile creatures who deserved to be exterminated and I would have been the first to volunteer to give each and every one of them a double tap from an Owen submachine-gun.

Against vociferous opposition from returned-services organisations and labour unions our pragmatic government issued residential permits for Japanese businessmen lasting seven years. This allowed the establishment of Japanese companies in Australia and granted them equal rights to shipping and transport. It also meant that Anna had additional Japanese clients for Madam Butterfly who appreciated that she spoke a very good style of Japanese and observed the courtesies of their culture. I am not implying that most Japanese businessmen are sadomasochists, but there is perhaps a greater predilection for formal sexual punishment in some circles of Japanese society than in most Western societies.

Anna’s new clients proved to be a marvellous source of information and opportunity for her, and not surprisingly she was unwilling to give up Madam Butterfly, despite my pleading and argument.

‘Nicholas, I own only thirty-nine per cent, a police commissioner’s wife owns another ten per cent, Stan McVitty has the majority. He would continue to run Madame Butterfly alone. I have personally trained sufficient girls for there to be dominatrices who can carry on without me.’

‘Well then, sell that sanctimonious shit the rest of the joint. You don’t need the money.’

‘Ah, but I need the information, and the girls don’t understand business, so they can’t stand in for me, nor do they speak Japanese. Nicholas, the big Japanese banks and investment companies are anxious to buy into Australia. They need a go-between to broker partnerships and facilitate introductions with the local big-money players.’ She laughed excitedly. ‘Fortunately some of these movers and shakers are among my customers and they trust me. Who better than little Madam Butterfly to flutter in and skim off a small introduction fee or brokerage percentage?’

‘Anna, how much is enough?’ I cried in frustration. We were the only couple in first class so it didn’t really matter if I raised my voice. ‘You already own – how many? – nineteen lots surrounding Madam Butterfly, each, as you’ve told me, worth a potential fortune when the Paris end of Collins Street is eventually redeveloped. Several of your other projects have already made you a tidy profit. How much more do you need?’

‘More! Lots more!’ she said in a low urgent voice. ‘Nicholas, Stan McVitty’s brother, Peter, is a senior public servant in Canberra and a section head in the Department of External Affairs. He’s responsible for dealing with the Pacific Islands . . .’ She paused, leaving the sentence unfinished, then asked, ‘Wasn’t Peter McVitty your commander in New Britain?’

Anna’s memory was prodigious. I had mentioned Peter McVitty to her almost ten years previously. ‘Yeah, when I was a coastwatcher, towards the end of the war. He was a major and pretty senior in the Australian New Guinea Administration Unit. Then after the war he was responsible for issuing the contracts for war salvage in the islands.’ I grinned. ‘Good guy. He was the lucky break for me, I guess.’

‘Nonsense, Nicholas, it’s wheels within wheels, it’s who you know and
exactly
what we’ve just been talking about. Anyway, he has told Stan that the British Phosphate Commission can’t hang onto the rights to mine phosphate in Nauru much longer and are being pressured by the UN to hand the rights back to the people. The BPC has been paying the Nauruans next to nothing for phosphate and selling it to us and to the New Zealanders at an artificially low price.’

‘Yeah, the Brits are well known for their altruism,’ I observed wryly.

Anna, whose sense of humour still suffered a little from her Teutonic past, missed my irony. ‘Yes, well, they’ve made a pretty sum; now it’s our turn.’

‘Our turn? What precisely do you mean by that?’ I asked.

‘Well, McVitty, Swan & Allison have been appointed as the lawyers to oversee the establishment of the new Nauru Phosphate Company. Stan is the lawyer chosen to personally represent the company in Australia.’

‘Poor bloody Nauru! How very convenient. Brother Peter certainly doesn’t miss a trick. Take my advice, darling, have nothing whatsoever to do with fat, unctuous brother Stan. There isn’t a straight bone in his smarmy, larded body. A snake doesn’t turn into a tortoise even though they’re both reptiles. Anna, don’t get involved a second time with the fat bastard. I fear for you, darling. In the long run, whenever it’s convenient or there’s a quid to be made, that slimy bugger is going to drop you like a hot potato. He’ll dob you in to the police for possessing heroin or some other trumped-up charge where his name won’t come up. The best day in the life of our company was when Kevin fired his law firm and we stole Janine de Saxe as our personal lawyer.’

‘Don’t think he’s forgotten that either,’ Anna warned. ‘Nicholas, I’ve dealt with worse than Stan McVitty.’

‘It depends what you mean by worse. How can you trust a man who presents himself as a moral beacon in society, church deacon, assistant magistrate, chairman of the Save the Children Fund, on the board of the Yooralla Children’s Home . . .’

‘Nicholas —’

‘You probably don’t listen to Sir Irving Benson on the radio, do you. “Pleasant Sunday Afternoons”
it’s called
.
’

‘Sir Irving Benson? Stan McVitty once mentioned his name. He said he’s a great friend, and that Sir Irving is a confidant of Mr Menzies.’

‘Yeah, he’d say that. The point is that McVitty sometimes goes on Sir Irving’s Sunday radio program, where he invariably rails against the evils of gambling and prostitution, and advocates harder sentences for crims and drug traffickers. The bloody sanctimonious hypocrite is your partner in Madam Butterfly!
And
he did a lot of legal work for John Wren, the city’s biggest illegal gambling operator! It wouldn’t surprise me if he came creeping into Madam Butterfly to be bound and whipped, and no doubt to check the take in the cash register. Didn’t you say he is partial to a snort of cocaine? And he owns those two brothels in North Melbourne —’

‘Nicholas! You must never say a word to anyone. I told you that stuff about the brothels and cocaine when I was discussing Stan as a partner. My client list is secret and that would include him,
if
it were relevant. The names of the people who come to Madam Butterfly I’ll take to the grave with me. Besides, we don’t have a cash register!’

‘Ha, you don’t have to be Einstein to know he’d like being tied up and whipped!’ I snorted. Anna, who can disguise her feelings perfectly, allowed herself a smile, so I knew my guess was spot on, although she’d never openly admit it.

‘Besides, there’s a financial killing to be made,’ she announced, changing the subject.

‘What? With the odious Stanley?’

Anna laughed. ‘Yes, but not in a partnership. Once is more than enough.’

‘What then?’

‘Nauru. When they assume control of their phosphate, ultimately worth billions, Nauru will be the richest of the islands by far.’

‘Until it runs out.’

‘Precisely! How clever of you, Nicholas. So, the plan is to invest as much of their cash flow from phosphate as possible in income-earning assets overseas. In Australia and America, and Honolulu, for a start.’

‘And you can be the skimming butterfly again?’

‘Well, kind of.’

‘How are you going to do it? Stan’s law firm is entitled to its legitimate fees from the Nauruans. What else is there?’

‘The Australian report, written largely with the help of Peter McVitty, has suggested the erection of a major building in the Melbourne CBD. It will be Melbourne’s tallest building, fifty-two levels above ground, five parking levels below. The reasons are compelling,’ Anna continued. ‘Melbourne needs the space, the income from rents is ongoing and the asset has long-term potential.’

‘So where’s the money to be made, other than from lawyers’ fees?’ Then it struck me. ‘Anna, this isn’t the American Navy’s Supply Department and you’re not Kevin Judge and there isn’t a war going on, where anything goes and nobody is looking! Taking a percentage from would-be contractors as a front for Stan McVitty is insane. Don’t do it! You’re going to get caught!’

‘Nicholas, Nicholas, don’t get upset, darling,’ Anna cried. ‘As you say, why would I do something as stupid as that?’

‘Anna, listen to me! Stan McVitty is not under any circumstances to be trusted!’ I continued despite her reassurance.

‘Nick, will you
shut up
and
listen
!’ Anna hissed. She only uses ‘Nick’ when she’s cranky or impatient with me.

‘Yes, well . . .’ I grunted, only partially mollified.

‘Nicholas, you forget, he’s been my partner for nearly twenty years. I know him far better than you do. I agree he’s a snake, a greedy one and a sly one and certainly not to be trusted. He unabashedly charges nearly five times the going rental rate for Madam Butterfly and increases it every year. Technically that takes his fifty-one per cent ownership to almost eighty per cent of the profits, leaving the shareholders of the remaining forty-nine per cent actually receiving only about twenty per cent of the profits.’

‘So, by owning the building he’s got you between a rock and a hard place. Bloody typical of the sly bastard!’

Anna shrugged and nibbled on a canapé. ‘It’s a cash business and while Stan’s fifty-one per cent has done very well, my thirty-nine per cent has done a great deal better and the cop’s wife’s ten per cent has shown a nice regular little income, sufficient to pay the mortgage on a new double-storey house in her brother’s name on the beachfront at Brighton. Over the years we’ve been in business my
slightly
augmented portion of the profits has gone into the surrounding real estate. As soon as a building has come onto the market at the Paris end of Collins Street, or Little Collins or Exhibition streets, I’ve snapped it up, although snapped isn’t quite the word. I’ve mortgaged, borrowed, begged and, as I’ve just explained, technically stolen the cash from Madam Butterfly.’