A Matter of Love and Death

by Caron Albright

  She exchanged the round-toed shoes with their two-inch heels for her worn-down slippers, sighing with obvious relief. ‘That’s old age for you, dear.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Frances said, flinging her cloche onto its hook. ‘It’s that cold stone floor and the draught whistling in from under the vestibule doors. All you need is a bit of a rest, while I set up for a cold lunch. I’m also going to take care of our afternoon tea, so for once, you won’t have to lift a finger.’

  ∞∞∞∞

  When the sun’s rays had slanted enough to cast the outdoor table in a murky shade and still the door bell was silent, Frances felt a stab of disappointment. She had taken such great care with her arrangement, using the embroidered linen napkins and the silver they’d inherited from Granny, because she wanted to do Uncle Sal and her mum proud.

  She could have kicked herself. Who was she kidding? As if home-made ice cream, eaten in a rather ordinary home with an ordinary family could hold any attraction for a star like Dolores Bardon. As for Jack – she put a firm rein on her thoughts. It didn’t do to get romantic ideas, when he clearly treated her like a kid sister.

  She began to stack the plates and cups to carry them inside. The air grew nippy, and the kitchen table would do.

  The dishes made a loud clink as Frances put them down on the table. She’d put them in their proper places on the dresser and take out their everyday crockery instead.

  She was bringing in the lace-edged table cloth when the first rain drops spattered down, and the doorbell rang.

  ‘I hope I’m not too late?’ Dolores held on to the rim of her white picture head with both hands, eyes shining. ‘I’d have given you a buzz but you’re not on the phone.’

  ‘My darling lady!’ Uncle Sal must have been ear-wigging from the parlour, to time his entrance this well. He beat Phil by about ten steps when it came to distance, Frances thought, but at least a mile when it came to style.

  Both men had spruced up. Their appearance explained why they’d been so conspicuously missing from the scene ever since they’d finished lunch. Phil had changed into a blue suit with half an inch-wide pinstripes in a slightly darker shade, and the parting of his pomaded hair was as precise as if he’d used a ruler. The leather of his shoes was buffed, but in Frances’ mind Phil lacked the easy elegance that was so much a part of Uncle Sal. He looked dignified in his sagging tan cardigan with the balding suede patches on the elbows, let alone the evening dress he displayed now.

  Uncle Sal raised Dolores’ hand to his lips and swept her into the parlour before Phil could say more than hello.

  Frances stepped out the side to look for the car. There was Jack, shutting the door with as much care as if he feared to disturb a baby.

  The drizzle seemed to have set in. She decided to wait for him in the doorway. Her heart drummed again her ribs. He might even have some news for her already.

  He turned around, and her heart plummeted. It was Bluey.

  He took his hat off as soon as he spotted Frances. ‘Happy Easter, Miss Frances,’ he said.

  She struggled to hide her disappointment. ‘Happy Easter, Bluey.’

  ‘Mr Jack was busy, so he told me to run along with Miss Dolores.’ He turned the hat in his hands, round and round. ‘He said to tell you he might be along later, to join Miss Dolores, or else I’ll take her home when she’s done here.’

  The hat came to a standstill. Bluey peered at her. ‘I hope that’s fine with you, Miss?’

  ‘Sure.’ Frances forced herself to sound cheerful. If Jack had found out anything about the jeweller, he couldn’t tell her in company anyway.

  Bluey nodded and slapped his hat on.

  ‘Wait.’ She touched his sleeve. ‘Where are you going? You said you might have to bring Dolores home, and we can’t phone for you.’

  ‘That’s sweet, Miss. I’ll be sitting in the Ford.’

  ‘Whatever for?’ she asked. ‘There’s more than enough to eat for everyone. If you go straight into the parlour, I’ll go and fetch Mum.’

  Typically, instead of putting her feet up after lunch, her mother had insisted on dropping in on Bertha with a few scones and a small bowl of ice cream. There was no point in everyone waiting for their guests if she could be fetched from three doors down the block in a tick, she’d said.

  Bluey hesitated. Frances gave him a small nudge. ‘I insist,’ she said. She grabbed her coat and an umbrella and ran out of the door.

  Bertha’s curtains were drawn, but light fell through a chink. Soft murmurs could be heard.

  Frances grasped the door knocker. It seemed more appropriate for a house in mourning to give a muted knock than to ring a bell.

  The curtain that covered the glass panel in the front door was pulled aside, and Maggie’s head became visible. She raised two fingers, indicating that she’d be home in a couple of minutes. Then the curtain blocked out the outside world again.

  ∞∞∞∞

  When Frances came home, Bluey loomed large and lonely in the kitchen, while animated laughter wafted from the parlour. ‘I thought I’d rather wait here, if you don’t mind,’ he said with a sheepish look on his face.

  ‘Of course it’s all right,’ she said. ‘Oh drat. I forgot to ask Uncle Sal and Phil to lay the table.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’ Bluey seemed relieved to have something to do other than stand around.

  She pointed out the China cupboard and the drawer with the ordinary cutlery – not the silver, not this time. She took the cover off the hot plate and put the kettle on top.

  Bluey licked his fingertip and touched the kettle. It sizzled. He pulled back the finger in an instant, shaking the hand. ‘She’s still burning good and hot. I put her to the boil while you were gone, Miss.’

  It was hard to guess how old he was, with his wide impassive face, but Frances took him to be about Jack's age.

  He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘The air’s getting a bit close. We’ll get a thunderstorm all right.’ He tapped his left shoulder. ‘That bit of shrapnel there’s never let me down yet, giving me fair warning.’

  ‘Uncle Sal says the same about his ankle.’

  Bluey nodded. ‘If he’s got some bit of metal stuck in there it would. I reckon it’s the magnetism as does it.’

  The kettle began to hum. Frances grasped an iron hook and dragged the kettle off the hot plate.

  ‘Let me do that for you, else you’ll scald yourself.’ He demonstrated surprising dexterity when it came to brewing the tea, Frances thought. Or he’d volunteered because he needed to feel useful to lose his original shyness.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, hoping they wouldn’t be interrupted for a bit longer. Bluey was opening up fast, and it was fascinating to watch this heavy-set man bustle around the kitchen.

  He caught her look. ‘We got the same kind of stove at home,’ he said. ‘The missus was all set against getting an electric one, what with the bills and the fire hazard and all.’

  ‘That’s what Mum said, too, when Dad asked her.’ Frances walked to the pantry and took an iced pound cake from a shelf. ‘Instead, we got a lovely indoor bathroom, with hot and cold water from the tap. Heaven.’

  She cut the cake into generous slabs.

  ‘Hard to remember how we used to fill the tub out of the rain butt. Gosh, did the missus go on when she caught a frog hopping out of it.’

  She gulped. ‘I would, too.’

  He scratched his chin. ‘Makes you wonder where it ends with all this change, it does. I reckon that’s what went wrong in the first place, us getting a taste of the soft life after the war, and then we got a hankering for more.’

  He fished the leaves out of the teapot so they could be used again. ‘Mr Jack says, people came to thinking that Australia’s roads were paved with gold, but instead they’re paved with money borrowed from London.’

  ‘But at least we all have work.’

  Bluey puffed out his cheeks. ‘Too right, and I wouldn’t know where to turn without our old captain. He
took us all on he did, no questions asked, and it’s a nice cushy billet when all is said and done.’

  Someone had turned on the radio in the parlour, drowning out the laughter.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Bluey said. ‘I wouldn’t trade places with any other cove in the whole of South Australia.’

  ‘But you’ve got so many jobs at the same time,’ Frances said. ‘You do all kinds of things in the club, you drive the car, do odd jobs, protect Miss Dolores …’

  ‘That’s not hard. And she needs looking after. It ain’t only one joker from the big smoke who was after luring her there, to sing for them. Or they’re after the bit of blunt they reckon she’s made, although Mr Jack’s accountant keeps a close eye on that.’

  ‘It would be hard for Mr Jack to let her go.’ Frances rearranged the chrysanthemums she’d put in a cut-glass jar as table decoration, hoping to sound casual.

  ‘He wouldn’t,’ Bluey said, planting his feet wide as if preparing for an attack. ‘There’s too many bad things going on in the big smoke, and that’s where the big clubs are. He’s not taking any risk again, not with Miss Dolores. None of us would. It’d be letting Simon down.’

  ‘He must have been a special man.’

  ‘We all looked out for each other in the trenches. Mr Jack’d have skinned us alive otherwise and rightly so.’

  ‘What do you mean,’ Frances asked, intrigued, ‘that he wouldn’t take any risk again? Did something bad happen to Miss Dolores before?’ Heavens, she began to sound like a gossip-starved tattle-tale. She rearranged the cake slices, while she thought of an excuse for her curiosity. ‘I mean, Mr Jack says that I was in danger of being robbed when we met, but surely he exaggerated.’

  Blue frowned, as if weighing things matters in his head before committing to an opinion. ‘He might and then he mightn’t. Just think of that poor cove that got knocked rotten last night, and that as close to his own doorstep as you like, all for a handful of shiners. As for everything else, you better ask Mr Jack. I’ve said plenty enough already.’

  Frances froze. What did he mean? She really needed to talk to Jack, alone.

  The music from the parlour got louder.

  ‘I’ll go and get Mum,’ she said.

  14

  She’d barely touched the front door handle when the door swung inwards, knocking into her face.

  ‘I’m sorry, love,’ Maggie said. ‘Are you all right?’

  Frances probed the tip of her nose. ‘I’m fine. But where’ve you been all this time?’

  ‘Mrs Thorpe barged in as I was leaving, and I couldn’t subject Bertha to her reminders of the many bereavements she and her family have suffered.’ Maggie frowned. ‘She does mean well, but frankly, she can be a trial.’

  Frances took Maggie’s hat and coat and hung them up. ‘How awful for Bertha.’

  ‘Hello, Maggie,’ Uncle Sal said, poking his head out of the parlour. ‘We’ve been entertaining our lovely guest in your absence.’

  A snort escaped Frances. She pretended to cough. The way Phil brought up the rear with a hang-dog face, it was clear to see that Uncle Sal had outshone him. Oh dear!

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Dolores said. ‘But I must pop outside and talk to Bluey. He’ll be waiting for me in the car.’ She crinkled her nose. ‘Sal and I got to talking about shows we’ve seen and there you have it. Or maybe you could run along, Phil, and tell him I’ll be a while?’

  ‘There’s no need,’ Frances said. ‘Bluey’s in the kitchen, helping me.’

  ‘Good on you. I can’t get him to leave his place in the Ford, because he doesn’t want to intrude on me, poor darling.’ Her voice was not just very clear and mellifluous, it also carried without any effort.

  Bluey’s face took on a pinkish hue reminiscent of a well-scrubbed piglet as the singer entered the kitchen.

  Frances gave him an apologetic look.

  Dolores lowered herself with a sweeping motion on to the chair Uncle Sal held out for her. Her eyes wide like a child’s, she looked around with open curiosity.

  ‘This is nice,’ she said. ‘It smells like home.’ She accepted a slab of pound cake and topped it with ice cream. Her eyes closed as she tasted the first forkful. ‘Wonderful.’

  Mum smiled. ‘It’s an easy recipe.’

  Dolores said, ‘It’s the scents I miss most, the smell of fresh bread or a chicken roasting.’

  ‘But surely you have a kitchen?’

  ‘With all the latest things.’ Dolores ate another forkful. ‘I’ve got a coffee percolator, two electroplated chafing dishes, and a bell with which to ring for Ginny. She does all the cooking in her flat, which is lovely, but it feels more like living in a hotel instead of a real home.’

  She broke into raucous laughter. ‘Listen to me. I can hardly boil an egg without spoiling it, so I should thank heaven for Ginny. And I do, although sometimes I think I’d rather have settled for something like this. A home, a family of my own …’ Her laughter stopped abruptly. ‘Can I have some more of that cake before I make a complete fool of myself?’

  ∞∞∞∞

  The rest of the afternoon they steered clear of talking about anything personal. Dolores had regained her composure, but Frances saw Bluey watching her out of the corner of his eyes.

  When the clock struck six, Dolores gave a small start. ‘The show. I’ve got to be on stage in two hours, and here I sit, chin-wagging when I should be getting ready.’

  ‘There’s plenty time,’ Bluey said. ‘Mr Jack said not to rush.’

  ‘Plenty of time?’ Dolores rolled her eyes. ‘What do you men know about how long it takes a girl to make herself presentable? And I did so want to have a chat with darling Frances. Somehow we never find a moment.’ She flashed a smile at her. ‘Come with me to the club, and we’ll talk in the car. Bluey will roll up the glass between the front and back, and we’ll be all lovely and private. Please, Fran, it’ll be such fun.’

  ‘You do that, love,’ Uncle Sal said. ‘Phil and I’ll clean up this mess. I’ll make sure Maggie won’t have to lift a finger. Unless Phil needs to run off again?’

  ‘I’m all yours,’ Phil said, taking off his jacket.

  ∞∞∞∞

  Bluey had returned to his former quietness. His mumbled thanks for their hospitality were the sole words Frances had heard him say in two hours. He must have made a model soldier, she thought, following orders to the last detail and happy to keep to his place. His stolid presence alone must make anyone feel safe and secure.

  Dolores snuggled into her fox-trimmed camelhair coat as she sank into the backseat of the Ford.

  ‘Step on it, will you, Bluey?’ She flung her hat on to the passenger seat. ‘I hate having to rush before a performance. It makes my voice go all funny if I don’t have a quiet sit down before I’m due on stage.’

  Maggie hurried out of the door while Bluey was starting the engine.

  ‘Wait,’ Dolores said. She rolled down her window. ‘Did we forget something?’

  Maggie held out a cardboard box. ‘I thought you might like some of the cake to take home, and the rest of the ice cream. I’ve wrapped it in old newspaper to keep it cool on the way.’

  Dolores blew her a kiss. ‘You’re a darling to think of it. Do come by soon, will you?’

  ‘I’ll hold the box if you like,’ Frances said. ‘I wouldn’t want to risk the ice cream seeping through on your coat.’

  ‘We’ll put it on the floor,’ Dolores said, as the car rolled off.

  She was easy to talk to, Frances found. Dolores chatted about everything that came into her mind, from fashion – she adored Elsa Schiaparelli and Coco Chanel, she said, laughing off Frances’ ignorance of famous names – to memories of growing up in Ballarat. ‘We all went to the same school, Simon, Jack, Rachel, and I. Of course, we girls sat in different rooms, and Jack ignored me all those years. I was nobody but the shy girl with the skinned knees who used to tag along with his sister.’ She chuckled. ‘At least he and Simon didn't pull our hair like the oth
er boys.’

  ∞∞∞∞

  Bluey stopped in front of the Top Note.

  ‘Are we already there?’ Dolores lowered both feet on to the ground, offering her hands to Bluey who helped her out of the car, the way Frances had seen in the pictures.

  She watched fascinated, remaining seated herself.

  Dolores made a quarter turn and stretched out her left hand. ‘You’ll keep me company a bit longer, I hope? Pauline should be in the club already, and it’s so rare for me to have a girl to talk to who doesn’t work here.’ A wistful note resonated in her voice. She looked a bit forlorn.

  It would have been wrong to leave her. ‘I'll stay,’ Frances said as she picked up the cardboard box from the floor and followed in Dolores’ wake.

  ‘Bluey will operate the lift for us. It’s his pride and joy, isn’t it?’ Dolores gave Bluey an impish smile. ‘Sometimes I wonder that your wife doesn’t complain about being deserted for a metal cage, some pulleys, and a box of tools.’

  Jack stood on the landing, catching her last words as he pulled the doors wide open.

  ‘You should be grateful that Bluey keeps everything in prime condition,’ he said. ‘I can’t see you climbing up and down several flights of stairs in those flimsy shoes of yours.’

  Dolores threw her head back and laughed as she showed off her high-heeled, diamante-spangled satin shoes. ‘Too right I wouldn’t.’

  Bluey was already half-way down the stairs, but Frances thought she saw the skin on his neck redden.

  ‘He’s a good man, if a bit on the quiet side,’ Jack said, catching her glance. ‘He used to be our grease-monkey, and he’s still the best mechanic I’ve ever found anywhere.’

  His voice appeared calm, but there was a tightness in his jawline Frances hadn’t noticed before.