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One

It was a rabbit warren - interesting but still a warren - of long cool corridors open to the breeze, with steps leading up and down to another of the three floors or else branching off into dark alcoves and verandas overlooking the two pools and gardens in the centre of the white Spanish-style complex.

More than two hundred rooms each with air conditioning, en suite and private balcony shaded by palms and tropical plants, three bars, two restaurants and a convention centre, which easily accommodated the eighty delegates, their partners and accompanying clerks. And, if your fellow parliamentarians’ wheeling and dealing and networking got too much, the Port Douglas shopping centre in Macrossan Street was ten minutes easy walk.

Or so he’d been told, because John Order, Deputy Speaker of the Australian Capital Territory parliament, had but recently arrived at the hotel and was now staring disbelievingly at the shattered smooth stone at his feet dropped through the stairwell while he waited for his luggage and obviously intended to kill him.

“Bloody kids I expect, sir,” said the tanned young porter when he delivered the bag sometime later and after Order had made a fruitless visit to the empty corridors above. “It looks like part of the waterfall feature. I’ll have it cleaned up.”

Except children were excluded from these parliamentary conferences and Order understood the organisers had reserved this entire wing under tight security for local and overseas delegates.

Order knew this because his presence here in balmy North Queensland was in a supervisory capacity, representing the ACT government as co-hosts of the annual meeting of the Commonwealth Parliamentary Association, which this year was being held in Australia.

The CPA as it was familiarly known among politicians was made up of parliaments of member nations of the old British Commonwealth, most now independent republics, and several more recent additions. The yearly talk fest consisted of meetings of its executive, its women’s group, its small countries and finally, the big plenary when all representatives, now reinforced by the larger delegations, met together.

The plenary was to begin at the end of the week in Canberra; Port Douglas was the venue of the small countries’ conference, open to delegates of parliaments of any member nation, state or territory with a population of less than those identified as big countries.

Order’s attendance was by accident. Harold Chambers, the ACT Speaker, was to attend but illness saw him cancel and the bachelor Deputy Speaker took his place. Order had arrived a day late in consequence and, as had been explained to him by a Lucy Latham during the spectacular drive up the coast from Cairns airport, the delegates had a free day.

“They’re either up in the rainforest behind us looking at the birds, Mr. Order,” the younger woman said, using the power of the automatic Camry to overtake a truck on the single lane carriageway, her skirt riding high above her long legs, “or out on Agincourt Reef looking at the fish.”

This didn’t leave too many behind to try to kill him, Order reasoned, nor as far as he knew with a motive to do so.

He hadn’t officially checked in and, as he made his way to reception, notwithstanding his near death experience he felt a sense of being free, liberated.

He couldn’t explain it but this relaxed attitude had something to do with the drive up the coast, azure sea glimpsed between spider-legged mangroves to the right, steep wooded hills studded with ancient rocky outcrops mottled with weathered lichen beside the winding road to the left. Everything looked lush and abundant, a tropical lotus land in which the hotter temperature encouraged a more laid-back approach to life than was possible in the urgently paced be-suited big cities to the south.

Order registered at the table set up in the foyer and collected his soft vinyl briefcase stocked with writing pad, pen and conference outline, along with a colour coded necklace which named and identified him as an observer. Not that this status mattered because there were no votes taken at CPA conferences; everyone knew the sensitivities between say, India and Pakistan and of the constantly changing loyalties of the turbulent self-governing Commonwealth member countries of Africa. So nobody wanted a family brawl which would inevitably become public, no matter how studiously the media ignored publishing positive consensus-reached outcomes of such conferences.

The registration desk was manned by two bored young women: the previous days’ flood of delegates signing in now reduced to a trickle, that is, himself.

“Ms Latham around?” he enquired.

“Lucy? Delegate wants you,” the smaller brunette called, with more truth than she realised, through an open door into a room adjacent to the registration desk.

Lucy Latham was tall and slim with long black hair and butterfly-shaped glasses. She wore a light blue skirt and white blouse and between her smallish breasts hung the identifying coloured label of a parliamentary staffer. The long legs, which had attracted him in the first place during the drive from Cairns, were still invitingly on display.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Order?” she asked with a slight smile, which he thought might have recognised his personal interest in her.

Mid-thirties, wearing no wedding or engagement ring, Order decided she was a career officer, principally because she was too attractive and now too old, not to be already taken.

And he’d seen it before: pretty young women drawn by the excitement and power of politics being gradually sucked further into the bizarre world of long days and nights, impossible working hours and sometimes exhausting travel, until the havoc this lifestyle created upon an ordinary working and social existence saw the life outside parliament entirely replaced by the life inside. Your friends and your lovers were only within this incestuous world.

“I’m wondering if you have a spare delegates’ book - the one with the photos an’ biographical details,” he began, “I’ve left mine behind. An’ I’m also wondering who might still be here at the resort now? People who didn’t go on the tours?”

“I can arrange the delegates’ list, although it won’t be complete, but I’ve no idea how we’d find out who didn’t go on the tours. People might have gone swimming or into town instead. The only people I know for sure who are still here are the clerks writing up the reports of yesterday afternoon’s session discussions.”

Even at the small countries’ conference topics were allocated for debate. Usually each took a half-day and delegates were encouraged to participate, because at the larger plenary meeting the big countries dominated. The smaller countries were entitled to only one delegate, who was expected to perform and this was where a detailed report of the proceeding of each of the sessions became important. Two clerks, quaintly called rapporteurs, provided the written evidence of such involvement by noting down every delegate’s contribution, which explained why they were working when everyone else had the day off.

“Anyone I’d know?”

Like the delegates themselves some countries and all Australian parliaments applied a roster system for staff they sent to these conferences.

“Doubt it,” the woman said confidently. “Apart from me from the Commonwealth, everybody local is from the Queensland parliament staff.”

And Order knew this to be true because the States were sensitive to Federal intervention upon their patch, even as generous co-hosts: the small countries’ conference was in Port Douglas, Port Douglas was in Queensland, so the Queensland State Parliament was the principal host.

“I’ll send the delegates’ biogs book to your room,” Lucy Latham confirmed. “You’ll be attending tonight’s reception?”

Was there a hint of interest in the question, Order wondered later, as he sat, unpacked, flipping through the pocket-sized book of biographies Speaker Chambers hadn’t passed on.

As the woman had cautioned, the record was incomplete, with many photographs missing and written information sketchy - the latter so much so he suspected it had been hastily cobbled together to meet a printing deadline when the requested detail hadn’t arrived. And it would still be incomplete, because in his experience as the official ACT delegate to the conference in Canada last year, some delegates listed to attend never turned up.

Banff, Canada. He still recalled the breathtaking elation on first sight of the Banff Springs Hotel, the Scottish baronial castle two hours bus drive from Calgary, rising like a Disneyland set from the forest-covered Rocky Mountains in Alberta Province. Over 900 people - delegates and staff and their partners - eventually would gather from all over the world: Europe, Africa, Asia, the Americas, Australia, the Caribbean, the Pacific, for seven or eight days to debate and to network.

Networking which he was doing again now as he turned the pages of the delegates’ record.

He was thankful some countries, Canada for example, adopted a policy of sending their dominion and provincial Speakers to all CPA conferences, so that he knew a few delegates from last year - indeed, he had their business cards. He thought he might know some of the Australian State representatives too from previous interstate committee visits when he was in opposition and then there was Hetty Oxley, an ex-Minister of transport and now Opposition spokeswoman on the environment. She was the ACT parliament’s official representative, in conformity with the annual rotational system which was employed of sending a government then an opposition member as delegate.

Order thought Hetty had drawn the short straw by attending most of the conference in her home town rather than somewhere exotic like Banff, but maybe with young children she preferred to stay close …

There was no photograph and scant detail but the name had him recalling the myriad nooks and crannies of the Banff Springs Hotel and the rumours circulating through male members of the various delegations. He punched his office number on the mobile.

Liz, John Order’s middle-aged, efficient, divorced secretary, confirmed Harold Chambers was much better in health and was taking the Chair as usual at the sittings of the House. That the CPA conference fell during their sitting period was inconvenient but any difficulty was overcome because Order could be paired off with Hetty Oxley, from the Opposition.

“Liz,” he continued, casually he hoped, after she had assured him his electorate was managing without him, “could you check the biogs from Banff last year, yes CPA, for a Celeste Macaulay? Yes, a delegate, I think from one of the small new parliaments. Angel or something like that. An ‘a’ sounding name anyway. Yes, I’ll hold.”

Voluptuous was obvious, he remembered, promiscuous was rumoured. One of the lays of modern Banff, as one wit had unchivalrously described her in parody of Thomas Babington’s famous work …

“Yes? She was? Okay, thanks. Phone if anything - no, I know you can. Bye.”

He wondered why he hadn’t mentioned the falling stone. It could have been an accident, of course, although why anybody would remove a large polished pebble from a water feature and carry it up several flights of stairs only then to decide they didn’t want it, strained credulity. But if you wanted to kill someone with security so tight around the conference you’d have to find the means from inside the complex. Question was what was the motive and why was he the target?

* * *

Order was no closer to an answer to either question when he arrived at the Executive Committee’s reception for delegates that evening.

In a comfortable twenty-eight degrees the drinks took place poolside, beneath palms and beside bougainvillea, however the crowd was slow to arrive, the salt air of the reef visit or the long journey to the rain forest had tired them out, so apart from the hosts Order guessed most of those initially present had not taken the day excursions. Even so, not all of the stay-at-homes were here either: Lucy Latham, for instance, was disappointingly absent.

It was while looking around, silently fighting the rising fear he knew nobody present, that he saw the man, also standing apart and looking a little lost.

“Evening, John Order,” he began, hand outstretched, followed by the traditional ice-breaking question at CPA meetings: “Weren’t you in Banff?”

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” the man said haughtily. He was of average height, black hair and olive complexion. His badge was twisted, obscuring name, colour code and thus CPA role.

Order’s temper rose. That wasn’t what I asked you, he thought, his Deputy Speaker’s position asserting itself. “Maybe not, but weren’t you in Banff last year?”

“I don’t recall having met you, Mr. Order,” the man said, again avoiding the question and then: “Excuse me.”

A wine waiter’s timely passing covered Order’s anger and embarrassment at being so summarily dismissed.

Was he being snubbed as a no account observer from a small and insignificant Australian legislature low upon the parliamentary pecking scale, even in his own country, as Bernie, his balding, chain-smoking cardigan-wearing local Party secretary and mentor had warned him? Or was there a more personal reason, because Order was sure he’d met his rude colleague last year amid those forested mountains in the dream castle of 875 rooms that was the Banff Springs Hotel?

People were arriving now, including Hetty Oxley, and he moved across to say hello. It was a perfunctory courtesy because neither of them wanted to waste useful networking time talking to a colleague seen every sitting day, albeit in their case from the other side of the Chamber.

As they turned away from each other, Order spotted Lucy Latham, looking as lost as he had been when he first arrived. But not for long, not with those legs, and he made a determined move to join her.

Politics is a lonely calling. You have many acquaintances but few friends, as Bernie ceaselessly reminded him, but at least in the cocoon of your own parliament you could not be ignored: your support was canvassed for a Party Room vote or help over a constituency matter, maybe a favour sought by attending an electoral function …

At a political talk fest like this conference where no decisions were taken and therefore no votes were required, not even the selfish needs of ambitious colleagues were in play. You were on your own, which is why so many delegates chose to bring their spouse, partner or significant other, often at considerable personal expense depending upon the world-wide venue. It stopped you being lonely and ignored, especially as the sole representative of your parliament.

“D’you know many people?” Lucy Latham asked.

“I’m expecting to meet a few from last year’s conference an’ maybe some Australian members from interstate committee work. How about you?”

“I know the names but not many faces,” she replied with a smile. “Thanks for talking to me like this.”

“My pleasure,” he said with genuine feeling. The black cocktail outfit might have been a bit sombre for the tropical setting, but it looked cool and complimented the long black hair. “I thought you’d be with the Queensland staffers?”

“They keep to themselves - and they’re younger.”

“So what are you doing after this?” He moved his eyes around the chattering multicultural groups, some in colourful national costume, and with no further official activities many of whom would be taking advantage of the dine-around opportunity for independent eating away from the conference centre at local restaurants and paid for by the CPA.

But before the woman could reply there was a call to order to allow the President of the CPA Executive Committee and host for the function to address his guests. By the time the long-winded comments were delivered, the opportunity had passed because Hetty Oxley joined them with the Maltese delegate and his wife, people his colleague obviously wanted to off-load. Fortunately both were weary and retired after a brief conversation.

Trying to regain the initiative with Lucy Legs, Order drew her attention to his rude colleague of earlier in the evening, who was standing silently with some dark-skinned delegates nearby. This time his identification badge showed: orange, the same colour as his.

“D’you know that man?” he asked, nodding in his direction.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she replied, “because apart from you, he’s our only observer. He’s from New South Wales, I think, an’ he’s paid his own way.”

Provision was made for observer status to be afforded any parliamentarian to attend a CPA conference provided they paid for themselves. It was an expensive option rarely taken up unless it could be combined with say, a study trip in the vicinity.

“D’you have a name?”

“Of course. With only the two of you. Paul Hardy, Mr. Order.”

“John, please.”

“Lucy. But I thought you’d know him? He was at Cairns airport when you arrived, staring at you all the time we were waiting at the carousel for your luggage. Didn’t you notice?”

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data:
Creator:	Cornwell, Greg, author.
Title:	Order and the Parliamentary Conference / Greg Cornwell.
ISBN:	978-1-925846-09-6 (ebook)
Series:	Cornwell, Greg. John Order politician & sleuth series ; Book Six.
Subjects:	Detective and mystery stories. Canberra (ACT)--Fiction.