Free The Marmalade Files by Steve Lewis & Chris Uhlmann Page A
Authors: Steve Lewis & Chris Uhlmann
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Dunkley had suspected he would have to delve way back into Paxtonâs past if he wanted to solve this puzzle, and Mr DFAT had just confirmed it. Happily the looming five-week winter break meant he would have more time to pursue the Defence Minister. He was going to have to wear out some shoe leather â and he would take leave to do it. He would work in the old way, check every detail. This yarn was not grist for the 24/7 mill. He checked his watch: 3.13 p.m. That made it lunchtime in Perth.
2004-2007
Elizabeth Scott had not just broken the glass ceiling â she had destroyed it. Born into a wealthy family on Sydneyâs moneyed North Shore, she had the talent to make the most of her privilege and, by forty-two, had amassed a personal fortune topping $100 million. Business Review Weekly tagged her âAustraliaâs most formidable business figureâ and splashed her arresting image across its cover, her athletic body wrapped in figure-hugging fencing gear. With her chestnut hair spilling to the shoulders of her white jacket she looked dazzling and dangerous.
The business world was staggered when, in 2004, she turned her hand to politics. Everyone immediately assumed she was on a relentless path to the Lodge.
A seat in Parliament did not come easy. Sheâd had to blast out a sitting member from the blue-ribbon electorate of Warringah on Sydneyâs northern beach strip. So by the time she arrived in Canberra, Scott already had more enemies than most.
It was in the spring of 2006, a year before his demise, that John Howard had elevated Scott to the newly created portfolio of Water and Climate Change, pleading with her: âElizabeth, just get me back in the environmental game.â
The nation was in the grip of a crippling drought, water restrictions bit deep into every bathroom and garden and the bushfires came savage and early. The steady pulse of suburbia quickened as fear grew that climate change posed a real and present danger. John Howard, tapped into the values and aspirations of middle Australia, recognised the political dangers of doing nothing. The doctorsâ wives were in revolt and he needed a safe pair of hands, a believer in climate science and, critically, someone the public would trust.
Elizabeth Scott fitted the mould perfectly. But the Libs were starting well behind Labor, and its crafty new leader, Catriona Bailey, was using climate change as a totemic part of her pitch for the future. She had handed responsibility for the portfolio to one of her best, Martin Toohey.
There are many quirky relationships in politics, none more so than those between Ministers and their shadows. One has all the resources of government at his or her disposal and their job is to manage a particular area of state. The other, with the aid of a handful of staffers, spends all their waking hours stalking and trying to destroy the Minister.
Yet the incestuous nature of politics means they spend a good deal of time in each otherâs company, attending the same events or trudging to the same dismal dinners in all parts of the country.
Tooheyâs close study of Scottâs character convinced him that, despite her obvious brilliance, she would never cut it in politics. Her two fatal flaws were a lack of political judgement and impatience.
Their first meeting was at the reception desk of the Embassy Motel, in the inner-south Canberra suburb of Deakin. Scott could have easily afforded to buy a luxurious home, but instead preferred to let it be known that she stayed in cheap digs. But she had another, purely sentimental, reason for choosing the Embassy. She had once attended a dinner there hosted by Bruce Ruxton, the curmudgeonly head of the Victorian Returned Services League. After a word in his ear, she had been seated next to Dame Pattie Menzies, the widow of Australiaâs longest serving Prime Minister and the founder of the Liberal Party.
And what a night theyâd had, the two
Dunkley had suspected he would have to delve way back into Paxtonâs past if he wanted to solve this puzzle, and Mr DFAT had just confirmed it. Happily the looming five-week winter break meant he would have more time to pursue the Defence Minister. He was going to have to wear out some shoe leather â and he would take leave to do it. He would work in the old way, check every detail. This yarn was not grist for the 24/7 mill. He checked his watch: 3.13 p.m. That made it lunchtime in Perth.
2004-2007
Elizabeth Scott had not just broken the glass ceiling â she had destroyed it. Born into a wealthy family on Sydneyâs moneyed North Shore, she had the talent to make the most of her privilege and, by forty-two, had amassed a personal fortune topping $100 million. Business Review Weekly tagged her âAustraliaâs most formidable business figureâ and splashed her arresting image across its cover, her athletic body wrapped in figure-hugging fencing gear. With her chestnut hair spilling to the shoulders of her white jacket she looked dazzling and dangerous.
The business world was staggered when, in 2004, she turned her hand to politics. Everyone immediately assumed she was on a relentless path to the Lodge.
A seat in Parliament did not come easy. Sheâd had to blast out a sitting member from the blue-ribbon electorate of Warringah on Sydneyâs northern beach strip. So by the time she arrived in Canberra, Scott already had more enemies than most.
It was in the spring of 2006, a year before his demise, that John Howard had elevated Scott to the newly created portfolio of Water and Climate Change, pleading with her: âElizabeth, just get me back in the environmental game.â
The nation was in the grip of a crippling drought, water restrictions bit deep into every bathroom and garden and the bushfires came savage and early. The steady pulse of suburbia quickened as fear grew that climate change posed a real and present danger. John Howard, tapped into the values and aspirations of middle Australia, recognised the political dangers of doing nothing. The doctorsâ wives were in revolt and he needed a safe pair of hands, a believer in climate science and, critically, someone the public would trust.
Elizabeth Scott fitted the mould perfectly. But the Libs were starting well behind Labor, and its crafty new leader, Catriona Bailey, was using climate change as a totemic part of her pitch for the future. She had handed responsibility for the portfolio to one of her best, Martin Toohey.
There are many quirky relationships in politics, none more so than those between Ministers and their shadows. One has all the resources of government at his or her disposal and their job is to manage a particular area of state. The other, with the aid of a handful of staffers, spends all their waking hours stalking and trying to destroy the Minister.
Yet the incestuous nature of politics means they spend a good deal of time in each otherâs company, attending the same events or trudging to the same dismal dinners in all parts of the country.
Tooheyâs close study of Scottâs character convinced him that, despite her obvious brilliance, she would never cut it in politics. Her two fatal flaws were a lack of political judgement and impatience.
Their first meeting was at the reception desk of the Embassy Motel, in the inner-south Canberra suburb of Deakin. Scott could have easily afforded to buy a luxurious home, but instead preferred to let it be known that she stayed in cheap digs. But she had another, purely sentimental, reason for choosing the Embassy. She had once attended a dinner there hosted by Bruce Ruxton, the curmudgeonly head of the Victorian Returned Services League. After a word in his ear, she had been seated next to Dame Pattie Menzies, the widow of Australiaâs longest serving Prime Minister and the founder of the Liberal Party.
And what a night theyâd had, the two