A Matter of Love and Death

by Caron Albright

  ‘Frances! As if I would do that ever again without asking you.’

  Her mother’s stricken face was enough to make Frances’ conscience twinge a bit. Maggie was too soft-hearted by half, without any business sense.

  But at least she had something that might cheer her mother up. She slipped her hand into her skirt pocket to produce the folded bank note. ‘With compliments from Jack Sullivan. I hope this helps?’

  Maggie’s face lit up. ‘Ten shillings, and he doesn’t even know Bertha. Sal! Can you believe that?’

  ‘I told you White Jack’s a decent fellow,’ Uncle Sal said. ‘There’s no more harm in him than in me. If you don’t believe my judgment, ask Phil what he thinks of his old war cobber.’

  Maggie glanced at the wall clock. ‘Where is Phil?’

  ‘Having a good chin-wag, I reckon. Good on him, too. It can be a bit lonely in a strange city, and our Frances won’t have much time for him, and neither will Pauline, with her work and all.’ He patted Maggie’s shoulder. ‘Don’t fret about that boy, Maggie. You’ll see him at breakfast, all bright-eyed and gung-ho.’

  ∞∞∞∞

  At a quarter to three on Saturday, Frances brushed her hair for the umpteenth time. There was something calming in the motion that helped steady her nerves. If only she knew what best to do. She’d almost confided in Jack yesterday, but somehow that moment had passed. Maybe she should flip a coin to decide.

  She formed her lips into a pout to apply her newly acquired lipstick, as raised voices disturbed the peace.

  ‘You should have told me!’ Phil said.

  She put the lipstick down.

  ‘Told you what?’ Uncle Sal sounded irritated.

  Frances rushed down, nearly tripping in the process. She pushed the door open. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Three pairs of eyes turned towards her; Maggie’s helpless, Uncle Sal’s cold, and Phil’s angry.

  ‘We were talking about Henry’s funeral,’ Mum said.

  ‘And?’ Frances looked at each one in turn, hoping for an explanation that made sense.

  ‘Phil seems to mind that no one mentioned the funeral fund and the theft of the money to him.’ Maggie fiddled with her hair; a sure sign that she was under considerable strain.

  ‘It’s nice that you care, but what would telling you have changed, Phil?’ Frances said. ‘If you want to give a bob or two, you’re welcome to. But there’s no need to upset Mum. She’s been through enough.’

  Uncle Sal nodded. ‘Do you hear that, boy?’

  ‘I do,’ Phil said after an awkward pause. ‘Sorry.’ He cocked his head. ‘The doorbell. Shall I go and answer it?’

  ‘I’ll do it.’ Frances ran to the front door and flung it open.

  ‘Hello,’ Jack said, taking off his hat with a flourish. ‘I hope I’m not too early?’

  Any thought of acting all grown up and sophisticated, as if a caller was an everyday occurrence in her life, vanished. She grabbed his hands and pulled him inside. His touch felt reassuring. ‘Thank goodness you’re here.’

  Jack stepped into the parlour with the easy confidence of a visitor of long standing. ‘Mrs Palmer, nice to see you. Uncle Sal. Phil.’

  He inclined his head in a nod. ‘Mr Sullivan.’

  Maggie sounded surprised. ‘How nice of you to drop in. Or were you expected?’ Her gaze travelled from Phil to Frances and then to Uncle Sal.

  Jack paused. ‘I haven’t come at a bad moment, have I?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Frances said. ‘We were discussing a few things with Phil.’

  ‘Nothing too weighty, I hope. Or have you committed a few bloomers already, mate?’ Jack grinned.

  Phil’s face grew sheepish. ‘I’m really sorry, Maggie.’ Maggie’s frown-lines smoothed. The whole atmosphere changed. How did Jack do that? Frances gave him a grateful look.

  Uncle Sal’s usually twinkling eyes still held their frosty look. ‘Not so fast, my boy,’ he said to Phil.

  A faint tinge crept into Maggie’s cheeks. ‘It’s fine,’ she said, ‘we’ll simply forget everything.’ She put a hand on Phil’s arm in a conciliatory gesture.

  Uncle Sal harrumphed.

  ‘A difference of opinions?’ Jack lowered himself on to the edge of the table, hat between his hands.

  Uncle Sal looked straight into his eyes. ‘Let me ask you this, Jack, my boy, how far back do you and this bird here go?’

  ‘We came home on the same ship, in early 1919, that's all. Why do you want to know?’

  Frances leant against the wall, confused.

  ‘Sal?’ Maggie’s frown returned.

  ‘Don’t worry, Maggie, I’m not saying anything. It’s just – you can’t be too careful these days, who you have under your roof.’

  Frances stared at Phil. Surely he would say something?

  Instead, Jack broke the silence with a rollicking laugh. ‘Uncle Sal, I believe you got the wrong end of the stick. I lay you odds of ten to one our boy here is no crook. Uncle Sal, you had your own police escort to the Top Note. Or who else would a retired police officer like your Fred send to lodge with his sister and niece?’

  His teeth flashed in his tanned face as he broke into a wide smile. ‘What happened in Melbourne, Phil? Did you get in trouble with the local talent?’

  Phil said, ‘Something like that. I was working undercover for a bit, until someone tumbled wise, and my boss thought I’d better get a transfer to Adelaide.’ He pushed up his shirt sleeve to reveal an angry looking scar that went from his elbow half-way down to his wrist. ‘I was lucky enough to get away with my life.’

  ‘But why didn’t you say you’re a policeman?’ Frances said. ‘You lied to us. You told Mum you were in the cleaning business. And you broke the law, buying us drinks after six o’clock.’

  An ugly thought crept up in her mind. ‘Was that your plan? Trap Jack and Dolores into trusting you and then busting them, if that’s the word I’m looking for?’

  She felt tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. They’d all been taken in. She blinked back the tears. ‘Shall we go now, Jack? He’s taking me to the pictures, Mum.’

  ‘And afternoon tea,’ Jack said.

  Phil had the grace to hang his head. ‘I’d have told you soon enough,’ he said. ‘I wanted everyone to get to know me as Phil the man first, not the police, that’s all. Plus, I thought the force might be pretty unpopular with some of your neighbours, what with the beef riot on King William Street back in January, and all that.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Sal said. ‘And who’d blame them. Seventeen men in hospital, because those poor blokes didn’t take it too well to have to live on old mutton instead of their usual beef? Say what you like but the police shouldn’t have fought with those men.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Phil. ‘I reckon you’ll understand why I wasn’t too keen on shoving my badge into people’s faces.’

  ‘Yes,’ Uncle Sal repeated, ‘that’s fair enough. What do you say, you apologise to Maggie about fibbing to her, and then we shake hands and let the matter drop, eh?’

  ‘Not so fast, Uncle Sal.’ Frances walked right up to Phil. ‘What about the Top Note and making us all break the law?’

  ‘Breaking the law?’ He shook his head. ‘Nothing doing, I can’t recall anything of that sort. All I remember is going to a club in the company of friends, to listen to some of the best music you can hear from Bananaland to Tassie.’

  A smile began to crinkle his eyes. ‘I distinctly remember you asking Jack Sullivan here for lemonade, which he not only served but shared with you. If you ask me, it doesn’t get more law-abiding than that.’

  He held out his hand. ‘I’m a boneheaded duffer, and I deserve all the rag you’ve handed out. Will you please forgive me?’

  A wave of relief washed over Frances as she shook his hand.

  ‘Are you ready to go now?’ Jack asked as if nothing had happened. ‘We’ll be back after supper, Mrs Palmer. Oh, and Phil, Dolores comes on stage tonight at nine, and she asked me to i
nvite you and Uncle Sal over. She needs an hour to get ready for her show, so the best time to come and see her would be about six or otherwise closer to midnight. She hopes to see you again soon too, Mrs Palmer.’ He inclined his head again and put on his hat at an angle that shaded his eyes.

  ‘I’m coming,’ Frances said.

  ∞∞∞∞

  Jack parked the car in front of Balfours’, one of Adelaide’s most renowned cafés; no half price buns sold before closing time here.

  The doorbell dinged as Jack made his way inside, his hand cupping Frances’ elbow.

  Waitresses bustled about, carrying trays and multi-tiered cake stands to tables where ladies dressed in the latest fashion and, occasionally, an equally well-dressed gentleman fit right in with their surroundings. Urged by Jack, Frances sat down on the edge of an upholstered chair.

  Jack was probably known to most of the customers here. They all looked like they had champagne and cocktails on a regular basis.

  He was perfectly at ease. ‘Tea or coffee?’ he asked. ‘Or would you prefer lemonade?’

  ‘Coffee, please.’

  He signalled the waitress. ‘Coffee and frog cakes for two, please, Miss.’

  By the time their order arrived she had relaxed a bit. A look around the room showed her that she and Jack were virtually ignored. Everyone else seemed busy either enjoying their afternoon tea or, judging by the words uttered two tables away, some equally tasty gossip.

  Jack leant forward. His elbows rested on the starched linen table cloth. ‘One of the councillor’s wives,’ he said. ‘Too bad for her that hat-veil doesn’t disguise her voice as well.’

  She stifled a giggle. The voice had indeed a cutting quality that made it instantly recognisable.

  ‘That’s better, kiddo.’ He took his fork and sliced the frog cake in four equal pieces. ‘You’re not eating,’ he said. ‘I should have asked you what you’d like.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ she said, eyeing the fondant-cloaked concoction that had established Balfours’ success. ‘This frog is almost too pretty to eat. And it seems to grin at me.’

  He took her plate and turned it around. ‘Now you can’t see its grin or the piped-on icing eyes. Or do you expect a bit of sponge cake, jam, and St Patrick’s Day green sugar to turn into a prince before our very eyes? Don’t you think you’d have to kiss it first?’

  ‘Very funny.’ She returned her plate into its original position before she took her fork and decapitated the frog. It tasted even better than it looked.

  Jack gave her a curiously tender look as she scraped the last morsels off the plate, the way he’d look at a puppy, she thought, with a pang. ‘How about another cake?’ he asked.

  ‘No thanks.’ She dabbed her mouth with a snowy napkin. ‘Shouldn’t we go if we want to catch the afternoon show?’

  He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘We’ve got plenty of time left.’ He handed her a torn-out newspaper page, listing the movies currently showing.

  She handed it back. ‘You choose,’ she said. ‘It’s only fair when you’re paying.’

  ‘I like anything as long as it hasn’t got any leftover vamps from the silent era in it, or the war. What about you?’

  ‘I adore comedies,’ Frances said. ‘Or a murder mystery or a revue. Anything really, that tells a good story.’

  ‘Do the Marx brothers appeal to you? Animal Crackers is on. Or how about The Benson Murder Case, with William Powell?’

  ‘I love William Powell.’ She put her chin into her hands. ‘He appears so – well, not like a film star, but as if he could actually live next door to an ordinary person.’

  Jack gave her another of those looks. ‘I’m glad to hear you won’t swoon over a dark, dashing hero leaping into a burning house to rescue a damsel in distress.’

  ‘I might, if he’s had the good sense to call the fire brigade first.’ She grinned. ‘You’d better not take Pauline to the pictures. She’s lost her heart to Ramon Navarro and John Gilbert, in changing order.’

  ‘I’m not interested in taking out Pauline, but thank you for the warning.’

  The mocking tone in his voice was obvious. She decided to change the subject. ‘It was kind of Dolores to ask Uncle Sal to see her again. He is happy enough at home, but he misses his stage days, or at least, talking to someone who truly understands.’ Frances made a sweeping motion with both hands. ‘This is all very nice, but it must seem very boring to someone who’s performed in so many countries.’ She wished she could keep that longing note out of her voice. ‘Does Adelaide bore you?’

  ‘It’s not exactly a quiet backwater,’ Jack said. ‘And there’s such a thing as too much excitement. Especially these days.’ He folded his napkin and put it next to his empty cup. ‘Don’t worry about your Uncle Sal. He and Dolores will keep each other entertained.’

  ∞∞∞∞

  The Benson Murder Case had Frances hovering on the edge of her seat. Her gaze was glued to the screen. Occasionally she glanced at Jack out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be enjoying himself as much as she did. Good; she’d feared he’d find her company boring, compared to his usual set.

  ∞∞∞∞

  Ribbons of hot pink and deep purple swirled across the cobalt blue sky as they left the movie theatre. Frances still marvelled at how the amateur detective, Philo Vance, played by suave William Powell, knew that the murderer was five feet, ten-and-a-half inches tall.

  Jack pointed upwards. ‘Still think it’s boring?’

  She tilted her head towards the setting sun, basking in what remained of the warmth of the day. ‘What’s wrong with wanting to see other places? I’d love to travel, although I’d always come back home in the end, like Uncle Sal did. What about you?’

  ‘It’s a good place,’ Jack said. ‘It’s big enough to make a decent living, and not big enough to attract the scum you find in the big smoke. It fits my bill.’ He pushed his hat far back on his forehead. ‘Shall we take a stroll to the lake before I take you home?’

  ∞∞∞∞

  Elder Park teemed with people. It was as if every family who stayed away on Good Friday was trying to make up for it now. Picnic rugs dotted the grass. Boys kicked balls around, girls chased each other while parents enjoyed a brief respite.

  Frances dodged a high-flying ball. ‘Sorry, Miss,’ a gap-toothed boy said in a shaky voice. Frances managed to wag her finger sternly in the culprit’s face. Eyes round with relief, the boy ran after the ball.

  ‘He probably expected you to nark him,’ Jack said. ‘Although, judging by the looks one of the ladies under the tree gave him, he’s in for a few stiff words.’

  ‘I hope not,’ Frances said. ‘He didn’t do any harm. If anything, he could do with a bit more attention, if you ask me. That dirt on his neck was grey with age. The shirt was filthy, too.’

  ‘Maybe his people have no running water in the house,’ Jack said. ‘Or they’ve got to save their pennies.’

  Frances thought about it, before she shook her head. ‘No, you can be poor and clean. Or rich and dirty. If nothing else, his mum could scrub the boy’s neck right here, in the lake. Beautiful, isn’t it? Let’s walk around it.’

  12

  Jack stopped at what had once been a jetty. Strips of wood peeled off the remaining piles. He gave one pile a tentative kick. Bits of wood crumbled into the water.

  ‘This is where the Floating Palais used to be,’ Frances said. ‘Do you remember it? I went there once, shortly before it closed.’

  ‘Did you enjoy it?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said, lost for a moment in a happy memory. ‘It was my twentieth birthday party, and all those Chinese lanterns sparkled on the water like a million glow-worms. They had a band that played all the latest swing and jazz, and we stayed until long after midnight.’

  She paused. Her shoe-tip traced a circle in the sand.

  ‘What a shame you didn’t get to go back another time,’ Jack said. The Floating Palais had died an ignoble death when it was discovered tha
t, below the waterline, its beauty was built on rotting planks.

  ‘It wouldn’t have been the same anyway. Not with the boys gone.’

  ‘The boys?’ He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

  She felt the blood rush into her cheeks. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘Why? What's the big secret? Or am I stepping on someone’s toes here?’

  ‘What? No, not me. But I promised Pauline I wouldn’t say a word.’

  ‘What’s Pauline got to do with that?’ Crinkle lines appeared around the corners of his eyes. ‘You’re beginning to get me all perplexed.’

  She let her gaze travel towards a group of mallards making their way to the humans.

  ‘Frances?’

  ‘Promise me she won’t lose her job.’

  ‘Why should she? As long as Dolores is happy with Pauline, and she is, she’ll stay. Unless …’ Jack cupped Frances’ chin with his hand, making her face him. ‘She isn’t keeping company with the wrong kind of people, is she? Because if she is, she’s out. I won’t have anything shady going on in the Top Note.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ She raised her head until he let go off her chin.

  ‘Well, whatever is so bad that you can’t spit it out?’

  ‘Pauline’s got a boyfriend. She’s as good as engaged.’ Frances twisted a strand of hair. around her finger. ‘That is, if Tony can find work in Queensland and manage to save up enough money to come home again.’

  ‘And if she doesn’t change her mind. Why the big secret? Or is there someone else in the picture? She seemed quite taken with Phil, although I fancy she doesn’t have much of a chance.’

  She stared at him, open-mouthed. ‘She wasn’t. Or at least, there’s nothing in it, she’s friendly to everyone. But she told me that you only employ single girls.’

  ‘I solely give work to people who depend on the income, which Pauline does, if my information is correct.’