Free Trilemma by Jennifer Mortimer Page A

a smart-ass, especially New Zealanders. “And, of course, not long ago women held most of the senior posts in this country: prime minister, governor-general, chief justice, CEO of the second largest company—”
    He nods, happy to hear about Kiwis leading the world in something or other. Then he assumes a serious expression. “Why do you think a foreign company should be allowed to be part of New Zealand’s new network?”
    The image of me again smiles politely. “Hera is a New Zealand company, Barney, staffed mainly by New Zealanders.”
    Barney looks at me sternly. “But partly owned by foreigners. How do we reconcile selling our assets to overseas companies?”
    â€œHera is looking forward to investing in building those assets in the first place, Barney. We’re very excited about the chance to be part of another world-leading initiative by New Zealand.”
    He leans forward and fixes me with what he probably thinks is an eaglelike stare. “Your appointment took many commentators by surprise. Why do you think an American got the job instead of the position going to a New Zealander?”
    â€œWell,” the image of me is saying, “my father taught at one of the universities here and he told me so much about this beautiful country, that when the opportunity arose, I jumped at the chance to see New Zealand for myself.”
    I didn’t admit he’d got one of his students pregnant. I certainly didn’t tell them he was a hothead, a drunkard, and a philanderer.
    â€œYour dad lived here? That’s fantastic!”
    â€œAnd, actually, Barney, I was even born here.”
    I didn’t mention that after I was born, his wife killed herself, and my mother went back to Macau.
    Barney’s eyes goggle. “Linnet! That makes you a Kiwi!”
    â€œI’m not sure if it does or not. I left when I was a child.”
    I didn’t describe how he was accused of murder and, although the coroner concluded Rose’s death was suicide, he was sacked and hounded out of the country by the media, his academic career in tatters.
    Barney is now beaming at me. “So our very own Linnet Mere has been chosen to head up Hera. How are you enjoying being back in New Zealand?”
    â€œI love being here. It’s such a beautiful country, and everyone is so friendly.”
    Barney turns back to the camera and says, “Well, we’re certainly pleased to have heard from Linnet Mere, the new Kiwi chief executive for Hera. Thank you, Linnet.”
    And the cameras cut and the light was turned back on, and Barney dropped his smile and I rubbed the space between my eyes where the spectacle frames were pinching, and then everyone smiled again and someone said “that went well” and I vanished behind the scenes while Barney interviewed the aunt of some murder victim bewailing—whatever.
    I lie in the Jacuzzi, smoking and sipping Sauvignon Blanc, still feeling charged about being on TV.
    Look at me now, Steve and Hilary; not such a sad little cuckoo after all, huh? Look at me now, Ralph, Mike, Ted, and Sean. I’m famous. Don’t you wish you’d stuck with me?
    But I can’t tell the person I most wish to about my success. She wouldn’t understand.
    When Mom stopped replying to my e-mails, I assumed it was because Steve and his young wife, Mary, had just presentedher with twin grandchildren and she no longer had room for the little cuckoo she’d nurtured for so long. When my birthday passed and no present arrived, I thought she’d finally decided I was too old for gifts. When I telephoned and she didn’t answer, I assumed she was away visiting Steve or maybe staying with Hilary in New York. I left a message, but she didn’t call me back. To my shame, three months passed without hearing from her before I contacted Steve to ask if she was okay.
    Nah, he’d said. She’s lost it.
    I flew over to see her in the home