Orangey stood but seemed reluctant to approach the dispatch box to reply. She was confused by the fact that a Greens member had asked such a question. Weren’t they against all mining?

‘I have made comment on what I have been advised,’ she replied and was howled down.

The speaker called for another question. It came from another Greens member.

‘Is the minister aware that her false comment, and obfuscation as seen here, has ruined an environmentally sound mining operation that could bring great wealth and benefit to the state?’

Orangey noticed Al Haut in the public gallery behind the House members.

‘Al … bloody … Haut,’ she mumbled. She tried to catch the eye of the Speaker to help her out by shutting down further questions. But he was distracted by a note passed to him, and was oblivious for the moment of the minister’s embarrassing predicament.

A third Greens politician stood and asked, ‘Have you an answer to the disparity of what MRT says and your suspect behaviour in making such damaging, untrue claims about the company?’

Orangey, puce, clung on to the side of the dispatch box, her white knuckles making a noticeable contrast with her face and hair. The Speaker became aware of the minister’s glares, indicating a need for help. The Speaker called for a Liberal, Malcolm Hodges QC, to ask a question.

‘Mr Speaker, when is the right honourable lady going to answer the question?’

A roar of ‘Here! Here!’ went up from the assembly.

‘The minister has the floor,’ the Speaker said, knowing that he would receive a fearful blast from the fiery Orangey when the parliament was in recess.

‘Mr Speaker,’ Orangey said, shaken, ‘I shall ask for a full explanation from the relevant department.’

This brought derisive howls of protest from the floor.

30 CONQUER’S CONQUEROR

30

CONQUER’S CONQUEROR

Not long after Orangey’s rebuke of Haut’s oil operations, the Tasmanian Mines Registrar, Denis Guy, invited him to his Hobart office for a meeting. Haut was surprised to see 45-year-old Harry Jonas, the 200-centimetre beanpole former newspaper editor there as well. Jonas, an experienced reporter who had attacked Haut in articles over the years, was a big-drinking bespectacled character on a retainer doing public relations for a gambling company. He shook hands with Haut as if they were acquaintances. They had only ever spoken over the phone when Jonas had tried to interview him.

Guy—fifty-three years old, short and rotund—removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and looked at his watch.

‘Nearly five,’ he said, ‘yard-arm time. Beers?’

The others nodded. Guy took three bottles of beer from a small office fridge, kicked it shut and handed them around. He indicated seats, while he sat down at his desk, put his feet up and took a swig of his drink.

‘I brought you two together for a good reason,’ Guy said. ‘Al, Harry here has been at you for a decade, right?’