moved to the door. He opened it to scan the corridor.
‘Would you believe it,’ he said, returning. ‘The whole floor’s out. We’ll um … Sorry, Cressida. We’ll have to reconvene.’
There was a collective groan, and then the Partners started getting up. Jackets were shouldered amid talk of retirement to the nearest bar for a beverage. Cressida looked on incredulously.
‘What?’ said Cressida. ‘But …’
It will take weeks to do that, she wanted to shout! Eleven years it had taken to get to this meeting. Eleven years of virtual imprisonment in the four walls of her office, day in, day out, whether in Sydney or Vientiane or Sweden or bloody Szechuan Province, through weekends and public holidays and even, two years running, Christmas Day. Of a Senior Associate’s courting and kowtowing, eating food and drinking wine she didn’t want, just to be drunk enough to laugh at the jokes of corporate clients she couldn’t stand, in everything from girlie bars in Singapore to interminable yacht cruises in Sydney Harbour she couldn’t escape (which was almost worse). And here they were, acting like the cancellation of her promotion to Partner was nothing. How could they be so indifferent? Then the room was empty, Debra and Andrew trailing out.
‘Better luck next time, Cressida,’ said Debra. Andrew smirked and drained a schnapps from the sideboard, regarding her, then followed.
Cressida grabbed a glass of the champagne and downed it in three gulps. The bottle’s ornate gold label shone in the half-light – Châteauneuf-du-Pape; it retailed for six hundred dollars a bottle, she knew. Well at least I’ve cost you all an hour or two’s billing, she thought, collaring a glass of the schnapps. Or just an hour’s if you’re doing motor accidents. Sucking down half, she pushed herself away from the table and looked out the window, trying to dispel her rage. Hang on. Beyond the harbour’s sheet of moonlit water the entire North Shore was black, the only lights those lining the base of the Harbour Bridge or the headlights of cars crawling across it. How quiet it was, she thought. And when had she ever in her life sat in a room by herself in the dark? In the silence she could feel the surge of her heart in her chest. For once in her life there was nowhere to go, nowhere to be; it was almost restful. Then a door slammed outside in the silent corridor and she jumped. With a shiver she swallowed the schnapps, collected her gym bag from behind the shadowed reception desk, and followed the Partners into the fire escape.
3
The hip. It was always the hip Robert loved the most. That sweeping curve, giving itself to the lean of his inked brush like a lover; the torso, almost perfection; the nipped waist reaching down, with its muscular invitation to grasping and grip; those too – but the hips – how he loved the sweet release of them – he would poise with his brush on the paper, waiting, waiting – and then—
‘What the?’
The ceiling light had gone out.
Colin’s Estuary brogue came from across the darkness. ‘That’s a turn-up.’
Robert cringed and reached for the light switch.
‘Wait a sec.’
But when he flicked it, nothing happened. With an exasperated sigh he found the door handle. In the corridor, shadowed figures were emerging from their offices. He stepped back into the room, quickly, before anyone saw him. Dammit. A second later there was a knock at the door and a muffled voice called in.
‘Mr Premier?’
‘Fuck me,’ said Colin, as something fell over with a crash.
‘Just a minute,’ Robert called, trying not to sound panicked. ‘Colin darling, can you get your clothes on?’
‘I’m trying, I’m trying …’
The door opened and a flashlight bounced in, catching the white flash of his lover’s thigh in its glow. A stream of words and justifications flooded to Robert’s throat but stuck there, while Colin continued to swear in Cockney. A security guard in a dark suit stepped in and cleared his throat. It wasn’t one Robert recognised. That wasn’t unusual though: they always seemed to be new.
‘Evening, Premier. There seems to be a bit of a power issue. Help you out of the building, can I?’
‘Um, yes please.’ Robert turned, awkwardly. ‘This is my—’ Oh God, why could he never find the words. ‘My, er …’
‘Your drawing model, sir. Yes. Hi, Colin.’
‘Evening.’ Colin grimaced and waved as the officer turned the torch back on him, continuing to pull his jeans on over one bare muscular leg.
The officer sighed.
‘Would you like this?’ The guard handed him the torch. ‘I’ll wait outside.’
Robert’s cheeks burned. Oh God, the drawings, he suddenly remembered. He reached out for the easel and it collapsed, the A0 size sketchpad crumbling to the ground in a flurry. He gathered it up but couldn’t find the inkwell or the brush. Great. That’ll be a nice black stain on the carpet to explain later.
‘Come on, Colin,’ Robert muttered through gritted teeth. ‘Darling, I’m sorry,’ he said, as Colin struggled into the other pants leg, ‘appearances – I’ll wait for you in the corridor.’
Robert shoved the drawing pad behind a filing cabinet and threw his shoulders back, donning the glamour of his office like armour, and thrust open the door. Outside, three security detail stood unreadable in the dimness.
‘Evening, sir.’
Down the corridor another guard in hi-vis was cheerfully directing people towards the green exit sign.
‘Just make your way to the exits, Members,’ he was saying, ‘fire exit that way …’
Robert stepped closer to one of the guards and spoke to him, inches from his ear.
‘We’ve been working together for some time now – night classes, you know,’ he said. ‘It helps to have a hobby I’ve found, don’t you think? A man needs a hobby.’
‘Sign him in, did you, Mr Premier?’
Robert swallowed.
‘All visitors have to be signed in, don’t they. Very important security policy,’ the guard said, face deadpan as he glanced at the other two. The silence lengthened.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’ Robert pulled out his wallet and handed the officer a hundred-dollar note. The other two stood motionless. ‘Colin,’ he bellowed back into the room. The guard smiled and took a step in, just as Colin emerged.
‘Right then, are we?’ the guard said, ‘This way. Mr Charleton, if you’ll follow security that way—’
‘What’s going on?’ Robert demanded, trying to get his gravitas back. ‘Power out in the whole building?’
The security guard looked sideways at Colin, considering.
‘Seems so.’
‘Where’s
