Frances propelled her mother onto a chair. ‘Uncle Sal and I can manage perfectly well.’
∞∞∞∞
‘That was wonderful.’ Maggie put fork and knife on to the empty plate. ‘You spoil me.’
Uncle Sal said, ‘Easy enough to cook for the three of us, with no one getting under your feet and talking me silly.’
‘Then we’ll do our best to keep our new lodger out of the kitchen.’
Uncle Sal groaned. ‘Oh, Maggie, not another Mr blimmin’ Hoskins? You’ll end up running a nursing home soon.’
‘Oh, no!’ Frances stared at her mother, open-mouthed. Mr Hoskins had stayed with them for five months, making nights miserable for everyone with his pneumatic snores, and days as bad with his stories about all the misadventures that seemed to have befallen anyone who came into close contact with himself. Despite the undeniable help that his twelve bob a week for board and lodging had constituted, she did somersaults when he left.
How she wished they could afford to have the house to themselves. A deep crease developed between her brows. She did what she could to take care of her mum and all the bills, but sometimes that wasn’t enough. They didn’t run a proper boarding house, of course, although it had been no trouble at all for them to get the required references and pass all the regulations when they first were introduced to get rid of rat-infested dumps where men slept four or more to a room. But the Palmers had one spare bedroom that they let out if the opportunity arose.
Maggie said, ‘This time it’s a much younger man, I suppose. Your Uncle Fred sent a letter from Melbourne, saying that he’d recommended me to Mr Anderson, who’s moving to Adelaide. Fred says we won’t regret it, and if there’s one thing you learn in the police, it’s how to judge people.’
‘When’s he coming?’ Frances asked.
‘Tomorrow afternoon, I’m afraid. It is short notice, but we’ll manage, won’t we?’
‘Sure.’ Frances forced herself to sound chipper. ‘It’s – Gussie got herself the boot and I’ve promised to work her shifts. That means I’ll have to be in the exchange at noon.’ And if they didn’t get the housework finished in the morning, they’d have to do it later, meaning giving up her night at the pictures. It wasn’t fair. Now that her best friend worked at the Top Note, she hardly saw Pauline at all.
∞∞∞∞
She needn’t have worried. When she got up at dawn to tackle the spare bedroom on the other side of the landing, her mother had already aired the bedding and was pulling the linen bed sheet taut. It was the only sheet in the house that was as good as new, she realised as she helped her mother, folding in the corners under the mattress. The fabric felt as smooth and cool as mornings on the Adelaide Hills where they once spent a blissful week’s holiday.
Frances took the pillow and buried her face in its snowy softness, breathing in the sweet smell of sun-dried laundry. If she ever came into money, she’d take Mum and Uncle Sal and head straight to the hills with them. And she’d buy enough sheets and eiderdown and pillowcases to dazzle them with white sumptuousness. As things were though, she’d have to put up with a stranger enjoying the linen that, by right, ought to belong to her mother, while she herself made do with a sheet that had been turned and washed so often, you could read a newspaper through the fabric.
Maggie snatched the pillow from her, plumping it down on the bed. Next came the eiderdown – no scratchy woollen blanket for lodgers in Mrs Palmer’s house – and then her mother stepped back to cast a critical glance over her handiwork.
‘It looks fine, Mum,’ said Frances, who knew her mother’s fastidiousness. True, the striped cream-coloured wallpaper had faded in the fierce Adelaide sun and the chest of drawers had a chipped leg, but the ash floorboards were sanded down and polished, the brass bedstead gleamed, and freshly cut dahlias, in a gold-rimmed vase, lent the wash-stand, with its daisy-patterned ewer, a cheerful air.
‘That should do it,’ Frances said. ‘Why don't we have breakfast now, and then I’ll sweep the rugs and mop the floors while you and Uncle Sal take care of the laundry? I don’t want you trying to work that mangle on your own.’
2
‘Honestly,’ Pauline said, rolling her eyes, when Frances explained her belated arrival at the Empire, ‘your mother’s house would be fit for the governor himself.’
Poor Pauline, Frances thought. She, her mother, and her granny had been forced to leave their comfortable rented house two streets from Frances just before New Year’s Eve, moving to an ice-box of a two-up, two-down house. It was squeezed into a long row of small, depressing buildings that hardly saw any sun in winter, with yards barely big enough for a chicken to scratch in. Not that any chicken would survive for long in that neighbourhood. It’d soon find its way into a pot, no questions asked.
In comparison, the Palmers’ spacious four-bedroom brick house with its two storeys and an indoor bathroom, as well as the outdoor dunny, felt like a palace. Frances hoped that Pauline’s new job at the night club worked out and that no one bothered her.
Frances had never been to a smart place like the Top Note, apart from one time at the no longer existing Floating Palais, but she’d heard stories about lecherous customers from Uncle Sal.
Pauline seemed happy enough. Maybe she’d get a pay rise soon. She might be able to leave the horrible house and rent a nicer one.
Frances frowned. The next time she grumbled because it was so hard to meet the mortgage payments, she’d better remind herself how lucky she was.
On a whim, she turned to her friend. ‘Shall we go for an ice cream after the pictures? My shout.’
∞∞∞∞
They settled with their bowls at a window table. ‘That was so romantic, when the brother fell in love with the chorus girl,’ Pauline said, starry-eyed. ‘I’m glad you chose Fast and Loose. Do you think I should change my hair colour? Not that I’d ever look like Carole Lombard.’ She dipped a spoon into her chocolate ice cream.
‘Bleaching your hair platinum blonde would be expensive,’ Frances said, pondering her friend’s smart, dark bob. ‘You told me yourself, when Miss Arnold did it? She had to go to the beauty parlour every four weeks, because the roots showed up, and that on a teaching assistant’s salary.’ She let a spoonful of ice cream melt on her tongue. Funny how something this cold could warm your heart.
Pauline sighed. ‘I know.’ She’d worked as a shampoo girl for almost two years, picking up a lot of skills when it came to doing hair, before the salon closed. ‘But, Frances, remember what happened when that waitress from the Floating Palais got her hair done just like Greta Garbo, only much lighter.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘She’s married now, with a house in Glenelg and her own maid, and she’s got a chauffeur who drives her around in a tan-coloured Packard. She had the car especially painted to match her brown mink coat.’
Frances suppressed a giggle. ‘What a good thing she doesn’t wear black and white rabbit. Imagine how ridiculous a matching car would look then.’
‘It does look ridiculous all right, when she waves like this at people.’ Pauline gave a languid wave with her hand. ‘But like I said, she caught the eye of a rich man as soon as she swanned around like a movie star.’
Frances felt a stab of alarm. Surely Pauline wouldn’t be stupid enough to spend a fortune on her hair in the hope of finding a wealthy husband at the Top Note? And what about her boyfriend Tony? He was still travelling, searching for work, but they’d been as good as engaged when he left.
She scraped the last bits of ice cream out of the bowl before she pushed back her chair. ‘I think we’d better get going,’ she said. ‘They’ll be worrying at home if I stay out too late.’
Pauline peered at the wall clock. ‘Quarter past ten. Shall we walk or take the tram?’
‘The tram.’ Frances pulled a face. She’d promised her mum that she’d never walk home in the dark. That was tempting fate for a pretty girl, her mother said, with so many v
agrants passing through who might get ideas. Safety was more important than saving a few pennies, she said. Frances gave in, to keep her mum happy, although she’d never felt anything but safe on the streets.
Pauline linked her arm with Frances’. ‘So,’ she said, ‘what’s your new lodger like?’
‘I haven’t seen him yet. I went to meet you straight after work.’
‘Don’t tell me it’s another old codger?’
‘He’s supposed to be young, but why don’t you come and see for yourself? He might still be awake. If not, you can interrogate Mum about him.’
‘Frances Palmer!’ Two pink spots appeared on Pauline’s cheeks. ‘I only asked to see if you’d care to try my new powder, to look nice for him. It’s scented.’
The tram was already waiting as they reached the stop. The girls boarded the brightly-lit wagon and took a seat as far removed as possible from the two other passengers.
Pauline pulled an enamelled box out of her handbag and flicked it open with an experienced hand. ‘Can you smell violets?’
Frances took the small box, admiring its smooth feel in her hand and the satiny powder inside, which had nothing in common with the lumpy talc they sold at the chemist’s in her neighbourhood. ‘It’s wonderful. How did you get it?’
‘All the girls at the Top Note get one. The boss says it’s to make sure we all smell nice and we all smell the same.’ She took the puff and dabbed a few grains of powder on Frances’ nose. ‘There’s nothing cheap and tawdry about our club, believe you me.’ She perched her head to the left. ‘Why don’t you come along one night, and bring your lodger with you? If he’s handsome, of course.’ She fluttered her lashes seductively.
∞∞∞∞
The house lay almost completely in darkness. A single light shone in the hallway, casting a feeble glow through the stained-glass panel in the top of the front door.
Frances stood still for a moment, hesitating whether to invite Pauline in and risk waking the others.
‘Don’t mind me,’ Pauline said. ‘I’ll come another day to meet your mysterious stranger.’
‘Wait. You’ll take the tram again, won’t you? Do you have tuppence?’
∞∞∞∞
When she came down in the morning, she found her mother alone in the kitchen. The table was already set for four people and the kettle steamed.
‘Where is everyone?’ Frances pushed her loose hair behind her ears. She’d slept longer than planned, which meant that grooming would have to wait until she’d helped Maggie. As a result, she already felt annoyed with Mr Anderson who, when she steeled herself to make an unflattering first impression, simply wasn’t there.
‘Haven’t you told our lodger that we’ve got set meal times?’ she asked. ‘He hasn’t cried off, has he?’ She hoped not, because although lodgers were a nuisance, they could do with the money.
Maggie patted Frances’ hand. ‘Don’t fret, love. Uncle Sal’s showing Phil around. It shouldn’t be too long until they’re back. How is Pauline? Did you girls enjoy yourself?’
‘Oh, yes. I’ll tell you later after I've made myself presentable.’ Frances dashed upstairs to brush her hair and dab on a pinch of her own powder. Cheap and unscented as it was, it did cover the bothersome freckles on her nose.
∞∞∞∞
‘We’re back,’ Uncle Sal announced, flinging the door wide open. ‘Our gracious hostess you’ve already met, my boy, but let me introduce you to our little Frances, one of the fairest flowers in our fair city.’ Uncle Sal winked at her while making an exuberant bow.
She laughed. ‘You’ll need to ignore Uncle Sal when he’s in one of his theatrical moods.’ She held her hand out to the dazed looking man who entered in the old artiste’s wake. ‘Welcome, Mr Anderson. I hope you found everything to your liking.’
‘Better than I’d dared hope for,’ he said. ‘And please, call me Phil.’ He had a nice voice, rich, without being loud. Add to that broad shoulders, open, regular features, slicked-back hair, and an air of solidity. Yes, Pauline would approve of him. She’d make sure to introduce them, but only if Tony was yesterday’s news, which she fervently hoped he wasn’t.
She stole a glance at Phil’s left hand. No wedding band.
‘Frances?’ Maggie said.
She sat down with a thump.
Maggie busied herself pouring tea.
‘What brings you to Adelaide, Phil?’ Uncle Sal planted his elbows on the table, butter knife upright in his right hand.
‘A new job. I’ll start after Easter.’
‘Doing what?’ Uncle Sal asked.
Phil took a second slice of toast. Maggie offered him the jam jar, giving Uncle Sal a reproachful glance for interrogating their new lodger. ‘Strawberry,’ she said. ‘It’s home-made.’
He spread the jam thin enough for the bread to shine through and took a bite before he turned to Uncle Sal. Frances reached for the honey pot, listening with unashamed curiosity. After all, they’d have to live with this man, so it was only fair that they should know something about him.
‘Sanitation,’ Phil said, with an air of finality, after he’d finished his toast. ‘I’m helping keep Adelaide clean.’ He turned towards his hostess. ‘Is it all right if I’m not back for dinner? I’d like to use my week of freedom to get acquainted with my new surroundings.’
Maggie smiled. ‘I’ll leave the light in the hallway burning for you. The front door will be unlocked.’
‘But you shouldn’t do that.’
Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Why ever not? We’re all decent folks around here, not as in some parts of town I’m sure, and how else are you going to drop off something for your neighbours if they’re out? Like this jam, that Edna Brown left for me on the kitchen table last week?’
She gave him a pitying look. ‘This isn’t Melbourne or Sydney, where, I dare say, the most horrible things happen. You can still feel safe in this part of town. It’s not like Hindley Street, or parts of Sturt Street, where I wouldn’t go on my own.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘Although, to tell you the truth, even we did have a few thefts in the last months. Bicycles, mostly, and a few odd pieces of clothing from the laundry line, but surely that happens everywhere.’
‘And the stick-ups?’ Frances heard herself say.
‘But that was jewellers’ shops, and on the other side of the river,’ Uncle Sal said, giving Frances a warning look. ‘As long as you girls don’t flout your tiara you’ll be safe.’
‘Still,’ Phil said. ‘Lock the door, please. To humour me.’
‘Sal?’
The old man wagged his head as if to weigh the options. ‘He’s right, Maggie. You can’t be too careful these days, not with so many desperados out there. You don’t just have to worry about being out and about.’ He furrowed his brows. ‘How about I make a little hidey-hole for the key under the roof overhang of the dunny? That’s set back where no one can watch you put it there. Suits you, my boy?’
‘Good-oh.’
‘Give me the key,’ Frances said, ‘and I’ll get a couple of spares cut on my way to work.’ Thank goodness, she’d offered to do the extra ten hours, with all these unforeseen expenses.
She perked up. She could even go and tell Tilda and Martha that she’d be willing to go to a whole pound for a winter coat for her mother, if the coat had a fur collar. But first she needed to get the cleaning out of the way before she set off to work.
∞∞∞∞
She attacked the banister and ceilings with vigour. There was something soothing about clean, cobweb-free walls and ceilings that made this one of the few chores she enjoyed. The long broom she used made quick work of the few half-hearted attempts any spider had made since last week.
Frances put the broom down, resting her hands on the handle. The sun’s rays painted golden swirls and stripes on the floorboards. Singing under her breath, she ran up to her room and changed into a clean skirt and jumper.
She gave herself an approving look in the mirror as she a
djusted the butter-coloured felt cloche that her mum and Uncle Sal had given her two Christmases ago. One slick of pale pink lip-paint – maybe not as fancy as Pauline’s bright red lipstick, but good enough for a girl from Grenfell Street.
Phil waited for her in the hallway. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Are you sure? I’ve got to warn you I’ve got a bit of a walk ahead of me. You’d be more comfortable taking the tram if you want to go into town.’
He gave her an ingratiating smile. ‘But it’s so much nicer to walk, especially in the sunshine, with a pretty girl as my guide.’
She raised her eyebrows, hoping he didn’t mean to flirt with her. He seemed spiffy enough, but it would upset her mother, and Uncle Sal had quite a temper when it came to protecting their honour.
Phil held the door open for her. ‘Shall we go?’
∞∞∞∞
Frances knew she was being watched, as good as if she saw the glances that followed her from behind flimsy curtains. She resigned herself to her fate. Being seen with two different men in the span of a few days was bound to set a few tongues in motion.
Phil interrupted her thoughts. ‘Are there any public phone boxes nearby?’
‘There is one on the upper part of King William Street, if that’s convenient, Mr Anderson.’
‘I told you to call me Phil, or else I’ll feel as old as your Uncle Sal.’
‘Don’t let him hear you call him old. There’s no knowing what he’ll do to prove you wrong. He has his pride, you know.’
‘I got the impression. He doesn’t resemble any of you, does he?’
‘Oh, no, he’s my godfather, not my real uncle, if that’s what you mean. But he’s as good as one or even better. Uncle Sal is brilliant.’ She pointed towards a metal box next to a street lamp. ‘Here’s your phone box, and now I’ll better rush, or I’ll be unable to get things done before I go on duty.’ She jingled the two keys on their wire ring. ‘Front and back door. Will two sets do?’
A Matter of Love and Death Page 2