‘How nice.’ Tilda had a speculative gleam in her eyes.
Frances could see her cheeks turn pink in the small mirror on the counter.
Tilda bent down to retrieve an outsized hat box overflowing with gloves. ‘We’ve tried to peg them together,’ she said, beaming at Jack. ‘There is always the odd one whose match simply won’t be found. But at least these should all be the right size for you, Frances.’
Frances rummaged in the box. Most gloves were cotton or silk in a state of disrepair. Those she cast aside on a growing pile on the counter. She had almost reached the bottom when Jack pulled something smooth and shiny out of the box. ‘How about these? They are the same shade as your frock,’ he said.
She pulled off her own gloves and jammed them carelessly into her handbag. She slid on one glove, admiring the suppleness of the leather.
She glanced at the price tag. Sometimes Tilda’s and Martha’s spidery writing was hard to decipher. This looked like one and sixpence. Frances put the gloves on the counter and took her purse out of her bag.
‘My treat,’ Jack said. ‘Since I found them.’
‘No. I’ll pay for them myself. You’ve already spoiled all of us too much.’
‘Are you sure? All right.’ Jack inclined his head an inch. ‘Goodbye, Miss O’Leary. If you care to drop by, there’s always a table waiting for you and your sister in my club. Tell the doorman I invited you.’
‘Oh, my goodness!’ Tilda clapped her hand over her mouth.
∞∞∞∞
Frances glanced around as casually as she could when they left the shop. No, she couldn’t see anyone lurking around. She had been starting at shadows.
She pushed back a lock that had escaped from the grip of a hair pin during her dash from the café. At least Tilda hadn’t noticed how flustered she’d been. Jack’s invitation had distracted her.
‘You didn’t make fun of Tilda, did you?’ Frances blurted out as Jack ushered her to his car.
‘Why should I?’
‘Because she isn’t exactly your style of costumer. A prim elderly spinster like her would stick out …’ she searched for the right words, ‘like a withered flower in a bouquet of orchids.’
He arched one eyebrow. ‘Charmingly put. I hadn’t thought you to be snobbish.’
‘I’m not. I only said—’
‘You said that the old girl is too long in the tooth and too plain to enjoy a few hours of sinful decadence?’
‘I wouldn’t want Tilda and Martha's feelings to get hurt, that’s all. They’re sweet.’
‘That’s nice of you, but I promise, if they care to visit, we’ll take good care of the old girls. But I didn’t come here to talk to you about the club.’
‘No.’ Her heart sank as he led her to his car.
∞∞∞∞
Jack steered towards the park.
The setting sun sent out pink and orange ribbons that mirrored each other on the glassy surface of the lake. Most families had left for home by now, but a few courting couples and a group of boys playing ball seemed intent to stay.
Jack strolled to the water’s edge and unrolled a rug he’d taken out of the car. He spread it out and motioned to Frances. She sat and pulled her legs up beside her.
‘What did you find out?’ His voice was soft. ‘Don’t worry, we’re out of earshot. And if you could bring yourself to smile at me, no one will pay us any attention. People tend to respect lovers’ privacy,’ he said. Her pulse quickened. She shifted her gaze away.
She’d considered telling him about the incident in the café, but honestly, what was there to tell? That she began to see Croaky lurking everywhere? And anyway, she wasn’t keen on confessing she’d been too scared to even look at the men before she fled.
‘You don’t have to blush.’ He lifted her chin with his thumb. ‘Well, did you manage to remember?’
She grasped his hand and held it away from her face. ‘No. It’s been too long ago, and I didn’t really pay attention. You don’t, after a while. You hear the number, plug in, and switch off.’ His hand felt warm and solid in hers. ‘The best I could come up with is that it’s somewhere in the Whitmore Square area. And the operator on the other end works a switchboard somewhere in Melbourne. They get shifted around a bit.’ She broke off. ‘That’s not a lot of help.’
‘Melbourne,’ he repeated. ‘That fits. That and Sydney is where you find the real talent. Or at least used to. Not too many thugs I’ve heard of here who’d be willing to risk a Kathleen Mulvaney for a handful of diamonds.’
‘A what?’
‘It means going to jail for a long, long time.’ He hugged his knees to his chest. ‘Around Whitmore Square is where you find a couple of hotels and apartment blocks, if you’re not too discerning. I own a couple properties around there.’
He pushed his hat back until it barely shaded his eyes. ‘It wasn’t a hotel, was it? There can’t be too many private lines in that area. I’ll tell Bluey to work his contacts. He still lives in one half of our house.’
Frances opened her mouth to protest.
Jack said, ‘I’ll tell him that it looks like some blokes who’re bad news are muscling in. He understands. And don’t worry about him. Bluey’s smart and he’s tough.’
‘All right,’ she said after a moment’s consideration. She liked Bluey. ‘I’d better go now. Mum will be waiting for me.’
‘Fine. I’ll take you home, kiddo, and then I’ve got to get back to the club.’ He got up, pulling her off the ground as well. ‘You haven’t asked for a name. But maybe you’ve read the paper.’
She shook her head. She didn’t have to rely on the press. Theft and robbery had been on the increase all over Australia since the depression began, but murders were still something that happened elsewhere. Having one committed here, in one of the best suburbs of Adelaide, was a sensation. Every operator she’d talked to today had discussed it with ghoulish relish, until she was fit to scream.
Jack handed her a folded newspaper cut-out that she studied in the car on the way home.
The Advertiser had a photograph of the dead man, peering self-consciously into the camera. The picture had been taken when Michael Petty opened his new store in Rundle Street. His hairline was receding, the well-cut suit couldn’t hide a slight spread around the waist, but there was nothing that distinguished him from any number of middle-aged business men. Certainly nothing in the picture hinted at his violent end.
Frances read the copy. Petty had been a tireless benefactor, it said, of causes close to his heart, from soup kitchens and orphanages run by the Catholic Church, to hefty donations for the opera. He was mourned by his wife, his staff – he owned two stores in the end – and everyone who’d been touched by his generosity and kind-heartedness.
She read this last bit out aloud. Jack chuckled. ‘Nice obituary,’ he said. ‘I met the bloke a couple of times, and he was a strong supporter of the arts back then, especially when they appeared on stage with scanty clothing and not much more talent.’
‘You’ve got half-naked dancers in the Top Note?’ She spluttered. If her mum heard that she’d never let her go there again.
The clutch groaned as he changed gears. ‘I’ve got to have Bluey take a geek at the car,’ he said. ‘No, not the Top Note, and you shouldn’t know about those things anyway, or at least not admit it in public.’
The corners of his mouth curled up. ‘With us, it’s high class or nothing, which you should have noticed, kiddo. Petty used to frequent the Floating Palais. I don’t know where he went when it closed. Not to us, although he did take a shine to Dolores a few years ago. But she wouldn’t give him the time of day.’
He shook his head in slow motion. ‘There was no harm in him, though. He was the kind of man who hopes that the gleam of his money counteracts his personal dullness.’
‘Oops.’ Frances said, struggling to picture the flamboyant Dolores with the man in the photograph.
‘He married a waitress who combined tinsel prettines
s with the hardness of diamonds.’
‘You seem to have known her well.’ Her voice came out scratchy.
‘No, but it doesn’t take long to recognise the type. I only went to the Floating Palais to take Dolores home. The owner had tried to lure her away from me while I was in New Zealand to see Rachel and arrange a few things.’
‘Dolores wouldn’t leave you, would she?’ Inexplicably, Frances felt exasperated for his sake.
‘She’d said she’d give it a try, see how his band worked out, and her show.’ He snorted. ‘She’d never have lasted longer than six months, with the kind of clientele he encouraged. They treated her like one of their fancy girls. But Bluey soon put them right.’
He pulled up in front of the house and walked around the car to open the door for her. ‘Say hello to everyone from me. I’ve got to go.’
‘Sure. And thank you, Jack.’
‘I’ll call on you if I hear anything. Otherwise, you know where to find me.’
She nodded, faintly disappointed.
Jack said, ‘Do you always cover the same shift?’
‘This fortnight, yes.’
‘And you’ve got the week-end off?’
‘I’m working on Saturday, but I’ve got Sunday and Monday.’ She wondered where this was leading to.
‘Right. If I don’t see you before then, I’ll pick you up Saturday night. Dinner and the pictures, and if you’re not tired, we’ll watch Dolores’ new show. If she’s happy with the rehearsals, that is.’
‘She’s got a new show?’
‘A couple of Bessie Smith songs and some Cole Porter. I remember you like to dance.’ Without waiting for a reply, Jack touched her cheek lightly and climbed into the car.
∞∞∞∞
Frances floated into the kitchen where Maggie gave her a peculiar look. ‘You’re home late.’
‘Jack and I went for a walk.’
Maggie raised her eyebrows in silence.
‘Is anything wrong?’ Frances asked.
Maggie grabbed a spoon and stirred her soup so hard, the liquid splashed over her hand. ‘Ouch.’
‘Well?’
‘People are talking.’
Frances groaned.
‘I don’t want you to get hurt. Or to gain a bad reputation.’
‘I thought you liked Jack and Dolores.’
Maggie rinsed off her hand, turning her back to Frances. ‘They’re charming people, and I understand how attractive that can be to a young girl. But this won’t last. You have to stick to your own kind.’
‘Is that what Uncle Sal thinks, too?’
‘He’s an old man, love, and they make him feel young again. But it’s different for you.’
‘I’m not listening to this.’ Frances ran out of the room, barreling into Uncle Sal.
‘Steady there, sweetheart,’ he said.
‘Sorry. Did you hear us?’
‘Does it matter?’
He clasped her elbow and led her gently back into the kitchen. Maggie sat slumped at the table, bright red spots on her cheeks.
Uncle Sal and Frances sat down with her. Frances took her hands.
‘I’m sorry I got upset, but there is nothing to worry about.’
Maggie stared at their clasped hands.
‘Sal?’
‘Frances is right, Maggie. There’s no harm in her having fun, and White Jack Sullivan knows too right that he’ll have me to answer to if he gets any funny ideas, which he won’t.’
‘But the neighbours …’
‘Let them flap their tongues. Although after everything Jack has done for them, they’d better keep their nasty little ideas to themselves.’
He patted Frances’ and Maggie’s hands. ‘All good?’
Maggie gave him a forced smile. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been foolish. Now, shall we eat? Then we can have a nice quiet evening, like we used to.’
Frances pulled a face. ‘I told Pauline I’d see her for a bit.’
She could see that Maggie was hurt. ‘Only for a short while, and then we’ll listen to the wireless together.’
∞∞∞∞
Pauline flew out of the door as soon as Frances arrived at the doorstep. She grabbed her by the elbow and led her down the street.
‘You sly girl,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes when you waltzed into the room.’
‘Dolores invited me.’
‘Into Mr Jack’s apartment?’
Frances’ cheeks grew hot. ‘Can you say that a bit louder? There might be someone in Sturt Street who hasn’t heard you. And where are we going?’
‘Mum’s home, and I wanted to be the first to hear everything.’
‘There’s nothing to hear.’
Pauline boxed Frances’ arm.
‘Honestly.’
‘If you say so.’ Pauline pouted, but turned around with Frances. They walked back to Pauline’s place in a silence that grew heavier with each step.
The squalor of the parlour did nothing to lift up Frances’ spirits, especially when an inner voice told her that she couldn’t fool anyone, except herself. She could have screamed.
Ruth clattered in, bath towels in her hands, and greeted Frances with a kiss. ‘Put these over your knees before you turn to ice.’
Frances hugged her with all her might.
‘You are pleased to see me.’ Ruth winked at her. ‘And now I want to hear all about your goings on.’
‘It’s nothing. Dolores and Jack are just being nice to me, because of Uncle Sal and Phil.’
Ruth’s face fell. Pauline shook her glossy head. ‘You’re not fooling anyone. Mr Jack has never had eyes for anyone else but Miss Bardon, and now it’s you he’s traipsing around with.’
‘Traipsing around?’ Ruth struggled to hide laughter.
‘She was in his apartment.’
‘It was the kitchen, and he made coffee for Dolores.’
‘Has he kissed you yet? I bet it’s divine when his lips meet yours in a moment of passion.’ Pauline’s eyes took on the faraway look she had copied from Nancy Pickford.
Frances threw off the towel as she got up.
‘This isn’t funny. If you both want to know the truth, he treats me like a puppy, or a much younger sister. And if you go on spreading rumours, Mum will get even more upset, and all the fun will be spoilt for all of us.’
‘I’m sorry if I got it wrong.’ Ruth motioned Pauline over. ‘Pauline, you need to apologise too. Now.’
Pauline pouted.
‘Pauline.’
‘I’m sorry. It would’ve been so nice, my best friend and my boss. Useful, too. You wouldn’t consider maybe kissing him once, so he would love to give me another pay-rise?’
Frances’ mouth fell open.
‘That’s what gave us the wrong impression,’ Ruth said. ‘First thing there’s you together one evening, and the next thing Pauline gets more money.’
‘Because Dolores asked him to.’
Pauline shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s better this way. At least you won’t start bossing me around then, if Mr Jack is not your beau.’
Frances picked up the towel and slapped Pauline with it, causing them all to break into a fit of the giggles.
18
Jack waited for her on Thursday, outside the exchange.
Frances slowed down her steps. She didn’t want him to get the impression she’d missed him, especially after all those hard times everybody’d given her.
And she hadn’t, at least not that much, she told herself; what she had probably missed most these last days was the feeling of security he gave her, and the luxuries Jack surrounded her with. Although Phil was doing his best to make up for it. He’d bought a car of his own, a Ford Model T that had belonged to an old farmer.
The Ford had suffered a couple of knocks and bumps on unsealed roads, but Phil planned to straighten it out over the weekend, with Uncle Sal as enthusiastic assistant. The car itself had been given a thorough check by Bluey, and Frances had twice been transported in
the cabin. Strange; Phil didn’t seem to spend any time with Dolores at all, but she didn’t ask. He had as much the right to privacy as she did.
‘You’re looking very nice,’ Jack said, as she approached him. ‘There’s something different about you.’ He let his gaze travel over her. ‘You’ve changed your hair style.’
She touched her loose curls. ‘It was Pauline’s idea.’
‘She’s got talent.’ Small crinkle lines fanned out from the corner of his eyes. ‘I hoped to be here a bit earlier, but I had to sort out a few fishy bills. I reckon your boss has already left?’
‘Mr Gibbons? He’s still inside, locking up. Why?’
‘I’ve got a few names for him.’ Jack handed her a slip of paper. ‘If he wants to talk about the peninsula, these are the men he needs.’
She dashed back inside, praying Mr Gibbons hadn’t left through the post office exit. No, there he was, bent over the small safe hidden behind a wall panel.
‘Mr Gibbons?’ she said.
The steel cassette containing money, stamps, and money orders clattered to the floor. Mr Gibbons swung around, pressing his body against the wall. He wiped his brow when he saw Frances.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve startled you, sir,’ she said, holding out the slip of paper. ‘This is for you. Jack Sullivan says these men might be useful.’
Mr Gibbons picked up the cassette. ‘I’m not usually that easy to scare, my dear,’ he said, ‘but crime’s getting worse and worse each day.’
An icy lump formed in her stomach. ‘I understand. Goodnight, Mr Gibbons.’
She slipped away, leaving him staring at the paper.
∞∞∞∞
‘That was kind of you,’ she said.
Jack shrugged. ‘You’ve seen with Dolores, the worst is the not knowing. The mind can deal with facts, however painful, but if all you’re left with is your imagination, it breaks you.’ He ushered her into the car. ‘How’s Phil, by the way? We haven’t seen hide nor hair from him the whole week.’
A Matter of Love and Death Page 16