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“And?”
“And there was a lot of significant eye contact.”
Hugh said nothing.
“You’ve heard the rumours. When Gabriella’s council had that problem with the squatters in the derelict cricket clubhouse, they called the police, they confiscated possessions, they played hardball. They got rid of their homeless. They all moved here.”
“That’s hearsay. We don’t know that’s what happened. The clubhouse was unsafe.”
Hugh’s mouth gave Foley the official line, but his expression wasn’t kissing up to his lips. There was a reason Gabriella’s old council had been amalgamated and her old mayor was back to doing people’s taxes, and it had to do with shifty practices the state government had eventually put its foot down on.
“You’re speculating. Give me something solid and I can do something with it,” he said.
Foley nodded. She picked up her cup but the coffee had gone cold. She could trust Hugh. Within the bounds of his job, he’d have her back, but he was right, she needed to do her job, and do it well, so there was no excuse for anyone else to think they needed to act.
“No one else is authorised to do anything about Drum unless they come through you. The issue is yours, Foley and if anyone interferes without your say-so, they’ll answer to me.”
She took a sip of room temperature coffee and grimaced. “You’re such a control freak.”
Hugh relaxed into his chair back. “You never used to complain about that.”
She stood and stepped away from the chair. “Do you want people to think we’re on?”
He laughed. “What are you going to do with all the oranges?”
“Not sure, but I need to find a way to make juice that Drum will drink.” She turned the ugly lump of perspex around so it faced the right way.
“If anyone can do it, you can.”
She opened the door. Said, “Thanks, Oh Superior Being,” overly loudly so it could be heard in the corridor.
“Well, hey, minion, I want an update on the Beeton house before you go.”
She flinched. There was no good news about her other main project, the fight over the heritage-listed Beeton house named Sereno.
She picked up a photo of Hugh and Roger at a ribbon cutting with the prime minister, turned it face down and fled to the tune of Hugh’s, “Hey, put that back.”
She smiled all the way to her desk. Orange juice was best served fresh-squeezed and chilled. It was time to put the squeeze on Drum and the chill on her feelings about Gabriella. Meanwhile there was a visit to Cooper Park on her agenda.
She grabbed the oranges, her bag and car keys and headed out. At the park she went to the rotunda where Enid, the resident bag lady, was usually found. Enid and her supermarket trolley were home and delighted with the oranges. She said she’d share them around with the others who slept rough in summer.
Foley got back in her car and drove home. She was going to the cliff and waiting for Drum if it took all night. But first she needed a change of clothes.
She could hear the TV before she got in the front door. Nat was home, standing in front of the screen, the remote in her hand, flicking between one network news program and another.
“Hey.” Nat’s attention didn’t leave TV.
“Hey yourself.” Foley looked at the screen, looked at Nat. The buttons of her shirt were done up crookedly. It was more than likely she’d looked like that since she got dressed this morning. “Interesting day?”
“Slow news day. Didn’t leave the office.”
“Your colleagues hate you, don’t they?”
That got Nat’s attention. A quick head turn. “Why would you say that?”
Foley grinned. “No reason?” She went to the kitchen and rummaged in the fridge for a snack.
Nat abandoned the TV and followed. “Why would you say that? What’ve you heard?”
