‘I didn’t want to tell anything. I wanted to save you from having everything you’ve said you’ve worked for for years taken from you.’
‘That was kind of you. But the kindness is misplaced. I’ve got along pretty well all these years without you, and guess I’ll continue to do so. In fact, things’ve only got messed up since I was silly enough to get mixed up with you.’
She was silent again, till he said, ‘Well?’
She cleared her throat: ‘What you say you’ve done pretty well all these years is now on photographic record for publishing to the Nation. They did an aerial and ground survey yesterday. They landed at the Compound.’
Now it was he who was silent. Then he said, ‘Anyone who was on the Compound reserve without my permission will be prosecuted. I’ll see to that as soon as I get into the office.’
‘I guess they’d rather like that as further evidence of the whole crux of the matter.’
‘Which is?’
‘I’ve told you before . . . your own official arrogance.’
He drew a deep breath and exhaled it in a word: ‘Madam!’
She went on, somewhat breathless again: ‘It’s that that’ll bring you down. It’s that I wanted to make sure of. And your callousness . . .’
‘Would you mind letting me get to the bathroom?’
‘It’s the callousness they want me to speak of . . . about Lucy Snowball and Jumbo Delacy . . .’
‘I don’t want to be rude and ring off in your ear, Madam . . .’
‘I happen to know that it was through you that Captain Shane was able to hold his tide flats and turn them into valuable property, while poor Jumbo Delacy, whom you’ve declared insane, is having his, the only thing he thought he owned in the world, and under your protection by the law, taken over by the Shell Oil Company.’
He was silent again.
She went on: ‘Captain Shane told me all about it . . . how you overheard what the Imperial Brass Hats were going to do, while you were supposed to be an Officer of the Garrison, and you tipped him off. He told me that night of the Anzac Day party. He was bragging about his cleverness. That was the first shock I got about you. I trusted you up till then. I believed you when you said you were trying to do something for the Aborigines but had been prevented. When I heard that you were going to declare Jumbo insane because he made that scene at the Coronation Levee that embarrassed the rich relations who treated him like a blackfellow . . .’
He cut in: ‘Would you come up to my office and make these allegations in front of witnesses?’
‘Gladly . . . provided I’ve got someone to see that you and Dr McQuegg don’t declare me insane!’
‘We might find ground for that, too . . . the way you’re behaving.’
‘It must be very convenient to be able to declare someone insane who’s a nuisance to you and have them put away.’
‘Madam . . . I’m going to ring off. I’ll be seeing you in court.’
‘That’ll be fun . . . because Truth’s lawyers are noted for their cross-examinations of people who try suing them for libel. I’d like to hear them beating the arrogance and callousness and conceit out of you . . . Goodbye, Doctor . . . I’ve learnt a lot about Australian Bureaucracy since meeting you. I wouldn’t have believed it . . . Goodbye!’
Alfie sank down into a chair beneath the wall telephone and stared at staring Frank. Her lips were quivering. She tried to smile, muttering, ‘Same old arrogance . . . oh, ah!’ She dropped head to an arm. Frank leapt to soothe her.
Down at Cobbity’s the doctor was standing by his telephone, staring out across the harbour at Old Tchamala’s Shade rising from the jade sea, but very evidently seeing nothing of it. So for several minutes. Then he swung to the telephone, cranked, snapped at Kitty’s breathless acknowledgement, ‘Get me Captain Shane . . . his residence.’
Shane was a long while coming, and none too pleasant even when he learnt who it was: ‘For crissake, man . . . I’ve got the world’s worst bloody hangover, and you got to drag me out of bed this hour! Send me over something to put me right. What is it, anyway, what is it?’
‘I want to see you about something right away.’
‘Nobody’s seein’ me about nothin’ all this day . . . or I’ll shoot ’em!’
‘Listen, Vic . . . this’s serious . . .’
‘I’m dead serious, too. I think the ol’ liver’s goin’ on me. I never felt so sick before . . .’
‘Listen, you bloody fool!’
‘Who you callin’ a fool?’
‘You . . . with your big mouth. You’ve started something, with your bragging and magging . . .’
‘Here . . . mind what you’re saying, Cobbity . . .’
‘I want you over here, I said . . . right now. It’s urgent.’
‘Then tell me what it is.’
‘Not over the phone.’
‘S’like that, eh? Wife left you? Ha, ha, ha! Come over here’n tell me . . . an’ we’ll shelebrate some more.’
‘Listen, you bloody old fool . . . Truth’s onto the Oil Tank site business. Now . . . get your pants on and get right over here . . . to my residence.’
‘Truth . . . Truth . . . you mean newspaper Truth?’
‘I’m not saying any more . . . except get over here at once!’The last of it was shouted.
Skinny, unhappy-looking Mrs Cobbity spoke to her husband as he left the phone: ‘Something wrong, dear?’
He snapped, ‘Nothing!’
‘It’s that woman. I knew she’d cause trouble.’
‘Aw, shut up!’
‘Why don’t you give up this horrible job . . . and be a proper doctor again. You’ve been in nothing but trouble ever since you took it. You’re not an administrator . . . you’re a doctor . . .’
‘Didn’t I tell you to shut up?’ Cobbity marched through from the hall to the dining-room, took a whisky bottle from the sideboard, poured a stiff drink.
Alfie had just seen Frank off to work at eight-thirty, he with the laughing remark that he should be home again within the hour and for good, she saying that she would ring Fay after nine — when there was Fay hammering at her door again, and not alone, but, to Alfie’s evident surprise, with a fat old clergyman wearing grubby tusser silk and a grubbier panama hat. Fay said hastily, ‘Monsignor Maryzic, Alfie . . . Mrs Candlemas, Your Reverence. Can we come in, Alfie . . . it’s urgent . . . about the Truth business . . . you’re alone?’
Alfie let them in, eyeing the odd-looking cedar box that Fay was carrying. Quickly Fay explained what was going on, asked a question or two about the Oil Tanks business, remarking that it was wonderful to have Cobbity tied in with Shane and this on top of all the rest, said, ‘Monsignor here’s known old Shane for more years than he cares to remember, and’s convinced that he’ll come here from Cobbity and try either to bluff you into saying something silly or bribe you to shut up. He’s seen him in action. He’s had trouble with him over his pearling crews’ stealing black women from his missions . . . bluff or buy . . . that’s old Vic Shane. Now, we’ve got here a dictaphone, with microphone attached. We’ll plant the mike in here, and the dicto somewhere it can’t be heard working. Also, if you’ll let His Reverence hide somewhere. Doesn’t matter if he hears anything, because the dicto’ll do all that. But he thinks it’d be a good idea for him to show himself at the end of it. That’d sink Shane if he’s made anything like an admission. What I mean is if there were any court action. Monsignor Maryzic is a man of great standing . . . and Shane as crooked as they come. See what I mean? We don’t want court action. The less chance there is of it, the more of the truth we can tell. Now, I leave it to you two. I’ll duck out the back, in case he may be coming. I left my car round the corner. Right?’ Fay didn’t wait for answer.
Monsignor Maryzic chuckled, ‘How zat voman keeps zat condition and yet rushes about as she does isht to me a mystery.’
Alfie eyed him shyly, while he was smilingly bold in his appraisal of her. He said, ‘I can joost zee zat si
lly old man givink avay his secrets to impress a pretty young voman like you. But ve moost make der preparations. Vere der microphone? Vere vill he sit or stand, or votever? Can you manoeuvre him into position? Are you anyzing of an actress, mein dear?’
‘I’m afraid not, Your Reverence,’ she said. ‘I’m scared.’
‘All der better. It vill look more natural . . . and he’ll be less on guard. Let us put der mike behind zis cane lounge, yes? Fortunately he isht a loud-mout’ed man. Now you vill show me a place to hide der mechanical eavesdropper, and meinself, der common-or-garden human type?’
They chose the bedroom, with the wardrobe for the dictaphone and the adjacent corner, screened by the furled mosquito net of the bed, for himself. If and when the Captain came, he would start the machine, close the door on it, and get out of sight. They were still in the bedroom, the old man asking Alfie about herself, she answering absently, when she heard a car stop. He motioned her back to the lounge-room.
Sure enough, it was the gallant captain, in gleaming fresh whites and topee, wielding an ebony stick and carrying a lidded picnic basket out of which poked a couple of gold-foiled corks, but looking anything but fresh-faced, despite the toothy smile he gave in greeting: ‘Ah, my lovely little friend, Alfie! Just dropped by to have a word with you. D’you know I still owe you a case of champagne? Why haven’t you collected it? Why haven’t you been out in San Toy? In fact, why, why, why everything? May I come in?’
As she stood back to admit him, looking very flushed and scared and lovely, he turned towards his great car outside, with an Asiatic of some sort at the wheel, adding, ‘Take you for a spin afterwards, if you like. You’re alone, I take it? Don’t mind having a gentleman caller this time of day . . . ha, ha!’
Setting the basket down on the table, he said, ‘Some bubbly in there. Shall we have a drop?’
She murmured, ‘Oh . . . it’s a bit early.’
‘To tell you the truth, I’m perishing. Quite a day and a night, yesterday.’
‘I’ll get you a glass . . .’
‘No, two . . . I make it a rule never, never, never to drink alone. I’ll need a napkin or something to open the bottle. Mind if I come into the kitchen with you?’ He simply followed her with a bottle, opened it wrapped in a tea-cloth, let the first of it bubble into the tumbler she offered saying she was sorry they had no champagne glasses. ‘Must make you a present of some,’ he said. ‘Got to have ’em for that case, eh . . . ha, ha, ha!’
She led him back to the lounge. He dropped into a cane chair, raised his glass to her: ‘Here’s to your bright eyes!’ He took it in one swig, sighed: ‘Ah . . . that’s better!’
She took only a sip of hers. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘drink up!’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Too early for me.’
‘Well you won’t mind me, will you.’ He poured another tumber, half emptied it, sighed again, then smiling at her, said, ‘I’ve just been talking to Cuth Cobbity. I thought you two were great pals. How come you to fall out like that?’
She took a deep breath to answer, ‘I just don’t like the things he does.’
‘Lots of us don’t like the things he does. But he’s really a great chap. He says you’ve even threatened to make trouble for him in that dirty rag Truth. That can’t be true, can it?’
Alfie took another deep breath: ‘Are you suggesting that your friend lied to you about me?’
Shane guffawed, but was watching her cloosely with meaty, baggy eyes: ‘Lord no! But women do strange things when they like a man.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well, you and Cuthbert were thick as thieves . . . then you fall out for some reason or other best known to yourselves, and you threaten him.’
‘I didn’t threaten him. I asked him to stop persecuting Jumbo Delacy . . . and if he did, I wouldn’t take part in the newspaper campaign already started attacking him for his callous and bureaucratic handling of the Aboriginal Problem.’
‘That constitutes a threat, my dear. And take an old hand’s advice . . . getting mixed up with Fay McFee and her gang will get you into serious trouble.’
‘For telling the truth?’
‘The greater the truth, the greater the libel, they say, you know . . . or don’t you?’
‘I know.’
‘Here . . . let me fill your glass up.’ Alfie had drunk half of what he’d given her. She didn’t hand him the glass. He reached over with the bottle and filled it, then filled his own. He swigged, then asked, ‘Why in the name of thunder did you want to drag me into your row with him?’
She didn’t touch the glass. She answered breathlessly, ‘Because you were involved with him in the matter of the persecution of Jumbo Delacy.’
‘Now you sound as crazy as Jumbo, m’dear. What’d I have to do with persecuting that lunatic . . . for godsake?’
‘You told me that night of your Anzac Day party that you’d beaten the Imperial General Staff and Shell Oil for that tidal land of yours because someone in their confidence had tipped you off . . . and so poor Jumbo had to suffer . . .’
The Captain guffawed again: ‘You are crazy, lady . . . like Cuthbert said. As if I’d tell a total stranger a thing like that . . . even if I’d done it!’
‘You admitted just now that you told me.’
‘What’s this . . . am I hearing right?’
‘You admitted that you owe me a case of champagne for a bet we made. You even said you’d get me glasses to drink it.’
‘What if I did?’
‘The bet was that I didn’t know who it was tipped you off about resumption of that land . . . you made it yourself . . . a kiss to a case of bubbly, you said. I told you it was Dr Cobbity gave you the tip . . . and you conceded defeat. I gave you the kiss . . . and just now you admitted you hadn’t paid your part of the debt.’
He finished the glass, filled it again, swigged again, then said, shaking his head, with a wry grin, ‘There’s no doubt about women!’
‘You admit it?’
‘I admit nothing. I’m just astonished that you should take a little bit of fun like that, between a man and a pretty girl at a boozy party, and use it to such an end.’
‘The end was to stop Dr Cobbity from persecuting that unfortunate man. I used every weapon I had . . . for the common good, which cancels out libel, in case you don’t know.’
‘You’re not going to give Truth this yarn about reclamation of the land, are you?’
‘I certainly am.’
‘But it was only a comical yarn . . . told to amuse you. I’m notorious for my yarns, don’t y’know?’
‘You admit telling me about being tipped off by someone you later conceded was Dr Cobbity, and so outwitted the Imperial Brass, as you called it?’
‘I told you I admit nothing. Anyway, what good’ll it do to this cause of yours? Cobbity didn’t take your threat, did he now.’
‘No.’
‘Well then . . . you’ll only lose my friendship, and everybody else’s round here, because they’re all my friends. Your husband’ll lose his job . . .’
‘Why should he? He’s done nothing to offend anyone.’
‘He hasn’t given you the damn good hiding I think you need. Look, little lady . . . be your age. I’m the most powerful man in this community. If I say a man’s to lose his job he loses it . . . Government Service or no. If the Administrator himself was to go against me I’d have him out. Do you realise that? Answer me?’
She swallowed, nodded: ‘Yes . . . I think I do.’
‘Well, there you are, then. Cross me and you’re ruined. Come on my side . . . and, why, I’ll even make Cobbity release your crazy yeller-feller, Jumbo Delacy.’
She stared at him: ‘You could do that?’
‘I could . . . and what’s more I would.’
‘You’d put it in writing?’
‘I put nothing in writing but what’s legal. But you have my word as a gentleman. Cobbity knows how close he is to being pushed out . . .’
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‘He didn’t give in to me.’
‘He will to me . . . if you come in on my side.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Simply forget that silly business about the bet. You haven’t told anyone but Cobbity?’
She hesitated, then said, ‘No.’
He suddenly glared at her, half rising, snarling at her, ‘You have, you bitch!’
She gasped, ‘Only my husband.’
He was on his feet, advancing on her with long thin finger outstretched, bellowing now, ‘You’ve told those newspaper bastards already . . . I can see it in your eyes . . . by Jesus, you bitch, if . . .’
A huge figure lumbered in from the bedroom. Shane turned to it, gaping. Monsignor Maryzic’s square face split in a wide grin: ‘By Jesus vot, Capitan?’
Shane turned goggling to Alfie, who looked almost as astonished herself, but shouted, ‘You bastards . . . this is a trick!’
‘It vos yourself who turned der trick, Capitan. I zink der little lady in her compassion for poor Jumbo might haf made a bargain mit you . . .’
Shane swung quickly on Alfie again. But the old priest went on before he could say anything, now addressing Alfie: ‘Vich vood haf been tantamount to makingk a bargain mit der Devil, my dear. I beg your pardon for startlingk you by intrudingk not accordingk to der plan.’ He looked again at the panting captain: ‘You may go now Capitan Shane. Ve haf finished mit you . . .’
Old Vic was purple, struggling for breath: ‘By God, but I haven’t finished with you . . . either of you!’
Maryzic smiled: ‘Better to svear by your old frient der Devil, Vic. God isht not goingk to take mooch notice of you. Shane’s Luck, you know. Zat is der Devil’s Luck. Vun day he vill be along to claim der price of it . . . Take your basket and your ozzer bottle. I don’t like champagne myself . . . ha, ha, ha!’
The laugh was for old Vic’s snatching up his things and rushing to the door and out. For a moment there was the boom of his gubbernautical voice addressing his chauffeur. Then the slam of a metal door, muffled thunder of a starting engine. The old priest turned his grin on Alfie, to see her face crumple, her eyes swim. She came towards him. He put out his arms. She fell against his protuberance weeping wildly. ‘Zere, zere!’ he crooned, raising a hand to stroke her dark curls: ‘Zere, zere, my pretty vun. It isht all over bar der shoutingk!’
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