The Washington Club by Peter Corris Page A

for the coffee and killed some time by strolling on the concourse. The whole area has been beautified since the old days and they’ve done a pretty good job of it. But the sea and wind will fight back and some of the shrubs won’t flourish and some of the grass will die and some of the paint will flake off.Bondi
wants
to be a bit shabby and there are quite a few of us who like it that way.
    I arrived early at Kirribilli to see if I could spot the man Marinos had put on Claudia. It wasn’t easy. The cars parked along the street were either empty or occupied by people going about their ordinary business—a man was listening to a stock market report on the radio in an Audi; a woman was behind the wheel of a Corona station wagon waiting impatiently for someone to come out of a house, probably her husband; a man was working on the engine of a Hiace van and the sweat on his face and anger in his movements couldn’t have been anything but genuine.
    Eventually, I located the watcher and I had to give him high marks for ingenuity and agility. He’d climbed a fence opposite the apartment block and taken up a position, well-concealed behind shrubbery. One long step up would put him on the brick pillar where the dividing fence between two properties ended and a manageable jump would leave him on the footpath just across the street from the security gate. I had to assume that one of the cars parked nearby was his. I only spotted him when he swatted at an insect. I’ve done a fair bit of shrubbery sitting in my time and my guess was a fly somewhere near the ear—no man alive can withstand that.
    I strolled up and leaned against the post. ‘My name’s Hardy,’ I said. ‘I asked Pete to putyou on. You can knock off now. I’m going to be spending the next few hours with the lady myself.’
    A voice came from the foliage. ‘Right. I’ll just wait until you’re in there and then I’ll disappear.’
    â€˜Been having fun?’
    â€˜I’ve got a Walkman. Been listening to the races.’
    â€˜Good luck. Many callers over there?’
    â€˜I’ll report to Pete, Mr Hardy. Check with him.’
    â€˜You’re a pro.’ I went across the street and pressed the button for the Fleischman apartment.
    â€˜Yes?’ The almost-lisp.
    â€˜It’s Hardy.’
    â€˜So it is. Come on in.’
    I hadn’t realised, but should have known, that Julius would have good security—closed-circuit television giving the resident a good look at the caller. Essential. I went through the garden and pressed another button to gain admission to the building. Halfway up the stairs I realised that I’d come empty-handed—no flowers, no wine. Living without a woman had eroded my sense of gallantry.
Just have to rely on the good old Hardy charm.
I rang the bell beside the door and there was a pause after I heard the approaching footsteps. I guessed she was looking at me through the spyglass. That made three levels of securityJulius had installed between them and the street and I wondered how she felt about that.
    The door opened wide and welcoming. Claudia stood there in a tight black dress with a short skirt. She wore high heels and dark stockings and her hair was piled up with some wisps free and hanging down. At that moment I thought I understood Julius’ strategies—I’d have wanted to give her Fort Knox style protection too, if she’d been mine. She examined me as if I was a painting on a wall.
    â€˜You’re all right? You’re not hurt?’
    I shook my head. She reached out and took me by the arm, drew me inside. ‘It was on the TV news. They showed a picture of your car and I nearly died. Come and have a drink and tell me what happened.’
    We went out onto the balcony where she had a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label, ice, soda and low-calorie ginger ale. The air was still warm after a warm day but the light breeze