Eden by Dorothy Johnston Page A

right to be there as anyone.’
    I agreed that she had, then asked her what she thought of the interview Gail had rung me to say she’d recorded.
    â€˜It was okay,’ Margot said carefully.
    â€˜Someone broke into my house and trashed my office,’ I told her. ‘They’d already tried hacking into my computer.’
    â€˜What were they looking for?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜Maybe it was the challenge. Like breaking into NASA?’
    â€˜Only harder,’ I said. We laughed. Margot relaxed with a sigh, and replaced her wig carefully in its box.
    â€˜Here’s the funny thing,’ I said. ‘I’ve got my sights on Ken Dollimore.’
    Margot’s face showed no more than a neutral kind of interest.
    â€˜Are you sure he never came to see you?’
    â€˜Quite sure.’
    I took advantage of her lighter mood to ask, ‘Did you and Eden Carmichael have sex?’
    â€˜Many times.’
    â€˜Here in Canberra?’
    â€˜In Sydney.’
    â€˜Where did you work in Sydney?’
    â€˜It’s closed now.’
    â€˜Where was it?’
    â€˜The building’s been pulled down.’
    â€˜How did it start, you and Eden?’
    â€˜He turned up one day. I got him.’
    â€˜How old were you?’
    â€˜Nineteen.’ Margot’s expression hardened, and she stared at me as though I needed to be taught a lesson. ‘Men get obsessed,’ she explained. ‘Men in their fifties. With young women. Girls.’
    â€˜Carmichael was obsessed with you?’
    Margot narrowed her eyes and looked superior. ‘You can make a lot of money out of them. Canberra’s perfect for it. Middle-aged men away from home on a regular basis. Three months here, three months gone. They think that going home will cure them.’
    â€˜But Carmichael was a local politician.’
    â€˜Oh, Ed wasn’t like them. He was young when we met. And it wasn’t me he asked to see either. It was a blonde with big tits.’
    â€˜But he noticed you.’
    â€˜We had a line-up.’
    â€˜You don’t do line-ups here?’
    â€˜I always hated them. Most clients accept what they’re given.’
    â€˜And the ones who don’t?’
    â€˜Go somewhere else.’
    â€˜How did it start?’
    â€˜The blonde left. He ended up with me.’
    â€˜He wanted to dress up in women’s clothes?’
    â€˜Oh, no. That came later. Ed was very shy. I tried to remember what I’d been told about—when they were having trouble.’ Margot laughed again, recalling her mistakes with something like affection. ‘I was hopeless.’
    â€˜But he asked for you again.’
    â€˜I nearly refused. If I’d been older and surer of myself, I would have.’
    â€˜The dress and the wig were—’
    Margot interrupted. Again, I felt that she was teaching me a lesson. ‘Like most men, Ed didn’t want to talk about his problem,’ she said briskly. ‘He just wanted me to fix it. I was wearing a blue dress one night. It was summer, hot and humid. I tried to put it on him for a joke. Ed had had a few drinks, and so had I by then. I pulled the dress over his head. I couldn’t do the buttons up, and the stitching at the waistband broke. He looked ridiculous. We laughed, and couldn’t stop. It was so hot, and—’ Margot paused, her expression far away.
    â€˜What happened then?’
    â€˜Ed had his own dress made. Like mine, only bigger.’
    â€˜How long did it go on?’
    â€˜Until I left.’
    â€˜Where did you go?’
    â€˜I’d had enough. I’d saved quite a bit of money.’
    â€˜Did you tell him you were leaving?’
    â€˜What could I have said?’
    â€˜Goodbye comes to mind.’
    â€˜I gave Ed a lot, more than any client has a right to ask for.’
    â€˜How did you feel when he turned up here?’
    â€˜I’ve been in the business