Free Helga's Web by Jon Cleary Page A

respect for their State representatives.
    Then he was aware of a woman standing beside him and he turned to her, the smile automatically on his face before he recognized her. “You wanted to see me—oh, Mrs. Plummet.”
    “I’m sorry to keep troubling you, Mr. Helidon. I know
    you’re busy and all that—” She was a pretty woman whom worry had made plain; she carried scars that no beautician could ever erase. “It’s about my son—”
    “Mrs. Plummer, you know I am only in parliament to do what I can for you and people like you. I am never too busy to listen to your problems. A politician has no problems of his own, only those of his constituents.” He was fluent in banality, his cliches honed by constant use. “In your case I am here to see that justice is done—”
    “That’s it, but, Mr. Helidon. Justice hasn’t been done. Oh, I know you’ve tried. But couldn’t you try again? Bud, that’s my son, he never hit that policeman at all—”
    Helidon stifled the sigh that welled up in him. He had already made inquiries and been assured by the police that the woman’s son had been particularly violent in a recent demonstration. But you couldn’t tell a mother, especially one from your own electorate, that her son was a liar and a beater-up of policemen. Perhaps the police had told a lie or two, too, but you never queried the police too closely about things like that. You never knew when you might need them on your side. “All right, I’ll look into it again, Mrs. Plummer, indeed I will. It’s not for want of effort on my part, I assure you—”
    The woman went away, half-convinced, not from any reassurance on his part but from the stubbornness of her own hope. Helidon looked after her, feeling sorry for her; thank God he and Norma didn’t have any delinquent kids to worry about. That would shake up the old urbanity a bit, to be a Cabinet Minister and have a son up on a charge of belting a policeman.
    He walked down to the Members’ car park, acknowledging the nods of the Assembly staff as he passed them. It had been a dull day in Assembly and he knew he had done nothing to relieve the boredom. He had the reputation of being one of the dullest speakers in the State parliament and today he had been below his usual form. But it didn’t worry him; no politician was ever elected on his performance in parliament. He had once bought a book of Churchill’s speeches, studied them and then tried a new approach on his own speeches. It had got him nothing but laughter and suggestions to “Cut out the bull, Wally, and give us some facts.” Oratory and rhetoric were no longer fashionable in Australian politics; speeches were made for today’s newspapers, not for history; a populace attuned to the brassy bibble-babble of disc jockeys was not likely to be patient with a speaker who tried to show the values of a silver tongue and golden phrases. But Helidon sometimes bored himself with what he had to say and how he said it, and today he had been desperately bored. He needed a pick-me-up.
    He got into his car and switched on the air-conditioning. He had sold their Pontiac and bought the Mercedes 300SE last year when Norma, an.arbiter in such matters, had told him that American cars were no longer right for the Right People in Sydney. He sat for a while, cooling himself and drying off the sweat he had raised in his short walk. Then he headed the car towards Double Bay. Rather than use an official car he always drove himself on Mondays and Thursdays: those were Helga’s days. When he reached Double Bay he pulled into the car park behind the main section of shops; from here he could slip out of the car park into a side street and walk the short distance to Helga’s flat. Before he got out of the car he substituted dark glasses for his usual pair, wondering just how much of a disguise they were.
    He had not gone ten yards from his car when a woman’s voice shrilled, “I thought it was you, Walter! What on earth