Free Cold Light by Frank Moorhouse Page A

subordinate themselves to her. And that had suited her.
    ‘I would think that is something else,’ Janice said as she went about making the tea. ‘The difference is that you felt yourself part of the officer class, even if junior.’
    ‘Tell me about Frederick.’
    Janice pretended to think, finger to her forehead. ‘He is very thorough. He accounts for every penny of petty cash. He will walk miles rather than spend Party funds on transport. He does it all by bus, train and borrowed car.’ She laughed. ‘In his library he turns the unread books spine to the wall, in case people think he’s claiming them as books he’s read.’
    There was something delectable in hearing details about one’s family from a stranger; it was like listening at a keyhole.
    ‘But you don’t live at this camp on the hill – with all the men?’
    ‘I have a room here. Servants’ quarters.’
    Janice served the tea. ‘Sugar, ma’am?’ She parodied her servant voice, holding a sugar cube with tongs. ‘He sneaks in for nocturnal visits.’
    ‘One, thank you, Janice. You do the voice very well. Is Frederick scared about the banning of the Party? Are you scared?’
    ‘We are all scared, but we are prepared. Preparations are being made to go underground.’ Janice glanced at her uneasily.
    ‘I won’t tell.’
    ‘They may torture it out of you.’
    They laughed.
    And then Edith thought, This is not a game, these are not playground secrets . ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t tell me too much.’
    ‘I’m sure they know about it, even if they don’t know the where and how. The Party had a rehearsal of working underground at the start of the war – before we were all on the same side – hidden printing presses in caves and so on. Back then it was the Labor Party that was after us. Evatt was hunting us down.’
    They sipped their tea.
    Janice said, ‘I suppose I feel you are more or less on our side.’
    ‘I don’t know about that. I am a humanist. I was for disarmament. I think that could be achieved – down to the level of police forces. But no, I’m not a communist. I admire the entrepreneurial spirit.’
    ‘You’re a bourgeois liberal.’ She laughed. ‘I was one once. And, I suppose, so was Fred. You must come and meet some of the others in the branch; the Canberra branch is somewhat cerebral. And we have a couple of reformed bourgeois liberals.’
    ‘I am thinking that I will make a rule that you and Frederick may each use the word bourgeois once a month.’
    Janice took a piece of the Belgian chocolate and put it in her mouth, closed her eyes and exclaimed, ‘Divine.’
    There was a moment of silence while they ate their chocolate, making large eyes at each other.
    Janice then asked, ‘Are you someone who eats their chocolate slowly or the person who gobbles it? I’m a gobbler. But I won’t gobble yours.’
    Edith smiled. ‘I’m a gobbler who tries not to be. It’s amazing that we have any of the chocolate left. You went on to university? You must wish for a career?’
    ‘I did law in the lazy way, reading books not on the course, going to too many meetings, hanging out at Manning. Drinking pots and pots of tea. Eating too much raisin toast too thickly buttered.’
    ‘Raisin toast. I would love some raisin toast. Haven’t had it since uni. I must buy some. And you have career plans?’
    ‘I didn’t qualify as a solicitor, just the degree. My dad’s a lawyer. The Party wants me in this sort of job for a while – in the Miscellaneous Workers Union. I see that as my career – as an agitator . A miscellaneous agitator.’ Janice gave the word dramatic volume. ‘The MWU represents the lowest-paid workers of all and the most badly treated – caretakers and cleaners and waiters and servants and gatekeepers. I’ll run for a position in the union.’
    ‘You believe socialism will win out?’
    ‘It seems to be winning out in the world. And this country is dividing into two – those who get the best because they’re