The Washington Club by Peter Corris Page B

was fresh. Good drinking conditions. I had a generous whack of the Scotch over ice while she had half my amount drowned in ginger ale. We sat, pointing ourselves towards the bridge. I told her about the grenades and how by good luck I’d managed to keep my arms and legs attached to the other bits.
    â€˜Jesus,’ she said. ‘Does that sort of thing happen to you often?’
    â€˜No. And not lately. I’m not working on anything else important, Claudia, and I don’thave a backlog of desperate enemies. It has to be to do with you.’
    She sipped her concoction. I realised how much I’d needed a drink when I saw that most of this one had gone. I swirled the ice cubes.
    â€˜I suppose you feel you have a right to ask me anything now that you’ve risked your life for me?’
    â€˜I wouldn’t put it like that.’ I reached for the bottle, poured myself a judicious measure and added a little soda water. ‘But I’ve done a little preliminary work and all I’ve come up with is questions, about you, about Wilson Katz, about Judith Daniels. I’ll be needing answers and you must have some of them.’
    â€˜I’m sure I do. I’ll tell you everything I can, but can we go out for a while first? It’s been so long since I’ve done anything normal like going out for a meal.’
    â€˜Of course we can and let’s keep it normal. I won’t ask any questions while we’re out.’
    She stood up and plucked at a few of the hanging wisps, making them wispier. ‘That’s good, because you’re in for some surprises, Cliff.’
    â€˜I like surprises,’ I said.

7
    We went to the Malaya restaurant in North Sydney. Claudia said the other similar establishment in Broadway was one of her favourite places when she was a student and she wanted to try the north-of-the-harbour version. I’d been there once or twice and liked it well enough although South-East Asian food isn’t the delight to me that it is to some people. We sat on the mezzanine floor where we could look down at other diners and out a big window towards buildings where the lights were just beginning to show up as darkness spread over the city. Claudia had put on a white silk jacket over her dress. Now she slipped it off and arranged it carefully on the back of her chair so it wouldn’t crease too much. It looked like the gesture of a person used to taking care of her clothes rather than one who had so much money it didn’t matter.
    â€˜I want short soup, prawn sambal and boiled rice,’ she said.
    â€˜I bow to your expertise. What d’you want to drink?’
    She shrugged. I noticed how smooth and shapely her shoulders were, not bony, not fleshy, just right. It’s rare to see perfect shoulders. ‘Doesn’t matter. Any dry white wine with mineral water to dilute it.’
    â€˜Okay. I can remember when we used to order a couple of bottles just to save the waiter the trouble of coming over again. Now we have to think, what is it? Two standard drinks per hour or whatever?’
    â€˜You can drink as much as you like. A couple of spritzers’ll do me. I can drive the Camry. I’m not sure about that Falcon of yours. Was it a manual?’
    â€˜Yeah. It was.’
    I put the .38, which I’d oiled and cleaned, in the pocket of my jacket. I took the jacket off and hung it on my chair like Claudia. The lightweight harness I slid round further under my armpit. At a glance it wouldn’t look much different to a pair of rather unusual braces. Claudia watched but said nothing.
    The drink waiter came and I ordered a bottle of Chardonnay and the mineral water. Claudia ordered the food and she added mixed vegetables. The wine arrived. Claudia gazed around the room and down below. She took her first drink and it seemed to relax her. She smiled, or maybe just relaxed her mouth and the forward thrusting teeth did the rest.
    â€˜What are you