The nicest woman in banking returns to Australia this month after five years heading Westpac in New Zealand. But will Ann Sherry stay a banker or take up a career in politics? Greg Bearup reports.
For once, Auckland's summer weather is behaving, and men in deck shoes are strolling down to the harbour.
"Highest boat ownership in the world," says the proud cabbie as we pull up in the driveway of a grand timber house overlooking one of the yacht-dotted bays.
Up the drive, I can hear a woman belting out Kiss' trashy anthem I Was Made for Lovin' You.
"I just can't get that song out of my head," says a beaming Ann Sherry as she throws open the door, a towel turbaned on her head and lipstick plastered on her big broad smile – even at this early hour.
The song is a remnant from her office's 80s-themed Christmas party the night before, where she made an appearance as a Dynasty-era Joan Collins, complete with big hat and taffeta frock.
Ms Sherry, 52, Westpac New Zealand chief executive, may be one of the highest- paid executives in New Zealand ($2.7 million a year) and one of Australia's most successful businesswomen, but she is no bland banker.
Born in Gympie, Queensland, where her parents were pharmacists, she rebelled at school, she says, about hem lengths and the like.
At university in the 1970s she railed against everything that Joh Bjelke- Petersen's Queensland stood for. She marched for abortion, against uranium mining and against the ridiculous ban on marching itself.
She worked as a union organiser, a prison social worker in the borstals of Britain, and as a senior bureaucrat in the Victorian public service in the areas of childcare, health and women's policy. She was then head-hunted during Paul Keating's prime ministership to lead the Office of the Status of Women.
Just 18 months into one of feminism's dream gigs, she sensed that federal Labor's time had run out and jumped to Westpac, rising to become its most senior Australian female executive and pushing through reforms under which the bank became the first to offer paid maternity leave.
In 2002, she was sent to head the show in New Zealand and the Pacific.
Somehow she managed all this and maintained a family life. She married Michael Hogan a week before her 21st birthday and 18 months later, while still at university, gave birth to a boy with Down syndrome.
The marriage is still going strong and son Nick is now 30 and has a full-time job, a girlfriend and a passion for the Sydney Swans.
People like and respect Ann Sherry, and it is difficult to ferret out those who don't. Even union leaders who dealt with her during the difficult merger of the Bank of Melbourne and Westpac in 1997 – which resulted in 1400 job losses and more than 100 branch closures – describe her as frank, pragmatic and honest.
"She always delivered on what she promised," says Paul Schroder of the Finance Sector Union. "I would rather be told to get stuffed to my face, and know where I stand, than have someone go behind my back – and with Ann you always knew where you stood."
One of Mr Keating's former senior advisers, Mary Ann O'Loughlin, says she would make her prime minister in an instant – "not because she is a sheila, but because she would do a great job".
"To understand Ann," says one of her friends, "you only have to look at how she dealt with Nick, the way she and Michael dealt with it. Can you imagine having a Down syndrome baby while at university? Everything after that has been a breeze."
Later Ms Sherry and I are sitting in a lounge at Auckland's airport, about to fly to Christchurch for a staff presentation, and talking about the birth of her son.
She is wearing a pinstriped suit and pearls, with a couple of super-sized diamond rings on either side of her wedding band. Her wavy blonde hair is swept back and she has alluring blue-grey eyes. She laughs a lot but for the moment is serious.
"It had been a perfectly normal pregnancy and it wasn't until Nick was born that they whisked him away and said, 'Oh, we think there is a problem.' I was devastated – it was as if the sky had collapsed."
The young couple were pressured to put their son into an institution – it was the done thing in those days. "But I thought, 'Why would you give your baby away?' "
Amid all the chaos, and with friends and family giving conflicting advice, she had a crystal-clear moment in which she realised that all she wanted for her baby was for him to be the best he could be and to be given every opportunity to thrive.
"We had to flip from pain and sadness to say, 'Okay, what does this mean?' People sometimes describe me as tough, but it is those sorts of experiences that teach you what tough is."
A month after Nick was born, she was back at university, often with him in a bassinet in classes.
"I didn't want to be sentenced to a life of servitude, so it was a matter of finding a balance where Nick had care and was stimulated and had opportunity and Michael and I could also have a life."
They took Nick backpacking through Africa and India when he was a toddler, and fought to have him admitted to regular schools. On his second day at preschool, a group of mothers confronted her at the school gate, saying, "Your child doesn't belong here."
"I turned and glared at them and said, 'He belongs here as much as your child does.' I was so angry during that period, wanting to fight for Nick's rights."
Nick has grown into a confident and likeable man with a good sense of humour. Ms Sherry calls him her greatest achievement.
When she got the job in New Zealand, the family were sitting around discussing all the options and Nick declared he didn't want to go.
"I want to breathe my own air," he said. "Ha," laughs Ms Sherry, "He'd been watching too much bloody Oprah."
A friend and carer who had helped out with Nick for many years moved from Melbourne to Sydney and into their house in Balmain to be flatmates with him and to allow Ms Sherry and Mr Hogan to move overseas.
"It will be funny when we move back, as Nick has grown up a lot in those few years. He's learnt how to cook – a chef from one of the pubs has been giving him lessons – and is buying his own food, although budgeting is still a problem."
Ms Sherry is returning to Australia at the end of this month to an as-yet "undefined role" at Westpac because Nick's carer is moving back south.
Ms Sherry is constantly in the news and sits on various national boards and committees, and people like what they see.
David Tripe, director of Massey University's centre for banking studies, says Ms Sherry has greatly improved Westpac's image in New Zealand as well as staff morale. "Bank staff everywhere can be made to feel like lepers," Dr Tripe says. "But if you have a CEO who is out there with a positive image and who takes a genuine interest in the staff then that makes you feel better as an employee."
But what about her management of the business? Generally it is seen to have been fair, though she was criticised for failing to enter into a fierce home mortgage rate war in 2004, when Westpac lost market share.
Ms Sherry fronted up to the market, at a meeting of analysts, and accepted blame – an unlikely admission from a chief executive these days.
"People know when things aren't right," she says. "You are better off admitting the mistake, and working on the problem, otherwise people will think you are a liar. There was no dressing it up – we made a mistake."
I ask her if she thinks the bad publicity about the mortgage war may have affected her chances of becoming Westpac's Australian chief executive when David Morgan retires at the end of this year.
"It could have, yeah. But at the end of the day it is not an issue I control, so it is not an issue I angst about."
But when I ask if she actually wants the job, she is silent for a moment, then lets fly with her trademark laugh. "Well, if you are offered a job, that's when you would decide if you want it."
So would she be willing to hop into the political saddle? In the three days I spent with her, the only time she became uncomfortable was when this subject was raised. She folded her arms into a defensive position across her chest.
"There is almost an indenture system in Australia with politics where you have got to come up through the ranks," she says, deflecting the question. "John Key, who has become the leader of the National Party here after being a really successful merchant banker offshore, decided that he wanted to come back to New Zealand and that he was interested in engaging in politics. He got a seat, he got a run and a couple of years later he is the leader of the party."
She has been working in a country where the prime minister is a woman, as are the chief justice and the chief executives of numerous corporations. Her take is that being a small economy "not reliant on digging stuff from the ground", New Zealand cannot afford to ignore talent.
"There is an issue in New Zealand about being the best that you can be," she says. "It cannot afford to be closed to Maori success and it cannot afford to be closed to Polynesian success and it cannot afford to be closed to women." Australia, she believes, is still pretty much a closed shop both for women in business and women in politics.
Later, she sends an e-mail saying she is "too long in the tooth" for a career in politics.