Frances paused. To the left and right of her the houses were boarded up, crude planks nailed upon every opening in a slapdash fashion. She began to whistle under her breath, to give herself courage, as she marched towards the nearest tram stop, her gaze straight ahead.
She only heard the soft steps behind as the other person drew almost level with her. She walked faster. The steps became faster too.
‘Hello my pretty.’ A rasping male voice, mocking and menacing.
Without looking back, Frances ran.
Laughter filled the air.
Frances tried to fight her rising fear. If only she could get to the tram stop. She glanced around her. There must be other people, surely. Her breath got ragged as she stumbled on. The blood pounded too loud in her ears to hear if the man still followed her.
Something touched her arm. Frances swung her bags wildly. Fear blurred her vision.
‘Miss Frances?’ a familiar voice said, comforting in its very ordinariness.
‘Bluey!’ Her knees gave in. She dropped the bags and collapsed into his arms.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, steadying her. He peered over her shoulder. ‘You’re safe now, Miss. No one will bother you, not with me around.’
His open face took on an air of watchfulness. ‘Mind, what are you doing here, Miss? This is not the sort of place you should be on your own.’
He picked up her bags with one hand. ‘You look all in. What you need is a bit of a sit-down. Come along, and the wife will make you a good strong cuppa, and then I’ll take you wherever you want to go.’
He held her by the elbow, to propel her forwards. A hazy thought pierced its way through the fog in her mind. ‘Bluey?’
‘Yes?’
‘I don’t know your name. The real one. I can’t very well call your wife Mrs Bluey, can I?’ This was bizarre, she thought, as soon as the words had escaped her mouth. She must still be rattled.
Bluey gave her a little smile. The creases on his forehead smoothed. ‘It’s Barney Fitzpatrick, Miss, but my old mum’s the only one who calls me that.’ He touched his carroty hair. ‘With my thatch, I’ve been nicknamed Bluey since I was in short trousers.’ He slowed down. ‘It’s not much further now. The bad bits stretch until the next street, around the corner we go, and then it’s as nice a neighbourhood as you could wish.’
He was right. Turning the corner took them into another world, one with well-tended flower beds and bits of lawn to the front of the buildings that clustered around the square. Frances breathed easier.
Bluey took her to a semi-detached, two-storey Victorian house, built of bluestone, with brick mouldings around the door and window frames. He let go off her elbow to take a key out of his pocket.
The yeasty smell of fresh bread enveloped them as Bluey opened the front door.
‘Daddy!’ A boy of maybe three flung himself at Bluey who caught him in his outstretched arms and threw him up in the air, catching him with ease. The boy squealed with delight.
‘That’s enough, Bobby.’ The stern voice from the kitchen made Bobby giggle. Bluey’s lips curled into a wide grin as he put down his son. He gave him a pat on the bottom. ‘Run to your Mum and tell her we’ve got company.’
Bobby’s mouth formed a circle as he noticed Frances. He stepped back until he was half hidden by his dad.
‘Hello, Bobby,’ she said.
The boy stuck his head out, turtle-fashion, and stared at her.
‘Now, what’s going on there?’ A young woman came out of what must be the kitchen at the back. She pushed back a dark curl that fell into her eyes. Flour stuck to her arms and her cheeks. Bluey’s grin got even wider. ‘Hello, sweetheart. I brought some company. Marie, this is Miss Frances.’
His wife gave him a gentle nudge to get out of her way as he gave her a one-armed hug. She turned towards Frances and gave her an appraising glance before smiling at her disarmingly. ‘You’ll excuse my appearance, Miss. It’s baking day, as you can see.’
Frances felt herself returning the smile. ‘Call me Frances, please. I hope you don’t think it’s terribly rude to barge in like this.’
‘I found her half a mile toward the Sturt Street end.’ Bluey said. ‘Some joker’d frightened her badly and I thought a nice cup of tea might set her to rights, Marie.’
‘You poor thing,’ Marie said, marching them all into the airy, gleaming kitchen. ‘Things are getting so bad I don’t fancy going that direction myself any longer.’
She rinsed off her hands and arms under the warm water tap, wiping them dry on her pinny.
‘Don’t stand there like a big lump,’ she said to Bluey. ‘Put the kettle on, and then we’ll all have a scone. They’re just cooling. Bobby, you can help Daddy put them on a plate.’ She pressed a hand into her back, stretching herself, before she pulled out two chairs for herself and for Frances.
Frances took in the scene with delight. Marie Fitzpatrick barely came up to her husband’s chin, but the chain of command was clear. She was very pretty, very efficient, and very pregnant.
Marie wiggled around a bit. ‘That’s better. This one is getting pretty lively these days.’ She patted her swollen belly. ‘But enough about that. What in the name of all that’s holy were you doing in that forsaken part of town?’
The hollow feeling in Frances’ stomach returned. ‘A lady dropped her food dole book. She doesn’t live too far from here, so I took it to her house. I was trying to find the tram stop at the Square.’ Her hands began to shake. ‘It was all right at first, but then everything was deserted and felt all wrong, and then a man began to whisper to me. He was breathing down my back, and I was so scared I ran.’
Marie patted Frances’ hand. ‘No wonder you were frightened. Lucky you ran into my Bluey. There are some nasty people out there.’ Bobby toddled over to her and leant against her knees. She pressed him to her.
Frances swallowed. ‘It was stupid, but that voice behind me really put the wind up me.’
‘No. I’d have run myself. It used to be quite a nice neighbourhood down there, but with so many factories closed down, the steady folks had to leave, and those who are left …’ She left the sentence unfinished, with a meaningful glance at her son.
Bluey put cups full of steaming tea in front of them. A plateful of scones followed. They were warm to the touch, strawberry jam melting into them.
Marie broke off a piece, blew on it, and popped it into Bobby’s wide-open mouth.
‘When Daddy’s had his cuppa you can go and play trains with him while I have a chat with the lady.’ She cocked her head to one side, like a watchful bird. ‘That is, if you don’t mind sitting with me for a bit, Frances. It’s nice to have someone new for company.’ She bit into a scone, catching the oozing jam with the tip of her tongue.
Frances cradled her cup of tea. She glanced out of the window. Nearly dark; she needed to get home before Maggie sent out a search party.
‘Ten minutes,’ Marie said, sending Bluey off with a nod. ‘You must think me very nosey, but you see, I’ve heard a fair bit about you.’ She touched her belly again. ‘And I do miss the Top Note. Much as I love my family, it can be a fair cow sitting here, moping while all the fun’s there.’
‘You’ve heard about me?’ Frances’ curiosity was piqued.
‘I sure did.’ Deep dimples appeared in Marie’s face. ‘And about Salvatore the Magnificent. My, I’d love to meet him. Dad didn’t like it a bit, but Mum took me along to the music hall when I was a young girl, and we went every day for a week because she wanted to see him. He really was something.’ She shook her head, as if she was lost in admiration. ‘I nearly fainted when he threw his knives at the girl, and his juggling act … It made me feel fourteen again, to hear Bluey and Mr Jack talk about him. I wish I’d been there.’
‘I’ll tell him,’ Frances said. ‘Better still, why don’t you and Bluey come and visit us? Uncle Sal’d love to meet you too, I’m sure.’
Marie pulled a face. ‘I don’t think I’ll be going a
nywhere soon.’ She sucked in her breath.
Frances tensed. Marie couldn’t have her baby now, could she?
Her panic must have been clear to see, because Marie said, ‘Don’t look so scared,’ as she relaxed again. ‘I’ve got a fortnight to go. If not, well, I used to be a nurse during the war, and the club’s only a phone call away. So’s the hospital. But let’s talk about nicer things.’
∞∞∞∞
‘Do you mind a brief stop at the Top Note?’ Bluey sounded apologetic as they set off in the Ford. ‘I’m supposed to report back to Mr Jack.’
‘I could take the tram. I’ve caused you enough trouble already,’ Frances said, trying to ignore the lingering unease.
Bluey shook his head. ‘Mr Jack will have my hide if I let you run around on your own in the dark, and if he doesn’t, my Marie will.’ A tender tone crept into his voice.
‘She’s lovely,’ Frances said. ‘And so’s Bobby.’
Bluey beamed. ‘I knew she was the one for me as soon as she told me in the veteran’s hospital to stop being a waste of space and straighten myself out. Pretty as a picture, she was, and brave enough to have tackled Jerry single-handedly.’ He chuckled. ‘One cove got some silly ideas, and don’t you know, she beaned him with a chamber pot and then she spent half the day nursing his swollen head.’
Frances laughed. She could picture that easily. ‘How long have you been married?’
‘Going on eleven years. The new baby will be number three. Sophie, our oldest, is spending the holidays with her nana and poppa up in Tassie, to give Marie a bit of a breather.’
He rubbed his neck with the left hand, the right gripping the steering wheel.
‘Should you be working nights? It must be hard on Marie and the kids.’
Bluey shook his head. ‘They’re used to it. I usually have a kip when Bobby’s having his nap and Sophie’s at school. Weeknights, Mr Jack sends me home around midnight, now I don’t have to drive Miss Dolores home to Wellington Square anymore.’
‘Wellington Square? Didn’t she and Jack use to live in your house?’
Bluey braked hard as a shadow streaked out of a doorway. ‘Blimmin’ dog,’ he muttered. ‘No, they lived in the other half next door. Mr Jack bought the place when we settled in Adelaide, and had the other one converted into flats. Then he got hold of a place in North Adelaide, right before Bobby came along, but it got a bit much for Miss Dolores to be shuttled back and forth in the dead of the night, so he had the flats over the club kitted out to suit them.’
Bluey chuckled. ‘You should’ve seen the state they were in. They hadn’t been cleaned since Queen Victoria was on the throne, I can tell you. But it’s easier for everyone now, and now the whole staff can keep an eye out for anyone shifty trying his luck with Miss Dolores.’ Bluey rubbed his cheek. ‘And it’s not as if Mr Jack needed a family home, after all.’
Their arrival at the Top Note prevented him from further revelations. Frances swallowed her frustration.
Bluey leant over to her. ‘Are you sure you want to wait in the car?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘No,’ someone else said in the same instant. ‘It’s not the done thing for a young lady to be seen in front of a night club, waiting for someone. Come inside for a few minutes, kiddo.’
20
Jack took Frances straight up to his flat.
Soft music filtered through from Dolores’ side. Frances strained her ears. She caught a few words in a foreign language.
‘Verdi,’ Jack said. ‘Dame Nelly Melba singing arias from La Traviata.’
She found herself in a large drawing room. Mahogany bookcases covered two of the walls floor to ceiling. Leather-bound volumes jostled each other on half of the shelves. The others displayed various bits of colourful pottery, glass vases and bottles glowing like jewels, and silver ornaments.
They all had two things in common, Frances noticed. They were beautiful and old.
Jack sat down on a leather armchair. Its colour echoed the melted toffee of the rich wood the occasional tables were made of.
Bluey settled on the desk chair, facing Jack.
Frances looked around. A painting caught her eye. It reminded her of the one in the hallway she’d admired before. This one showed a scene at the beach by sundown, with a lone sunbather packing up for the day. The raven-haired girl was shown from afar, and she had her back turned to the viewer. Two seagulls feasted on the remains of a fish, while the surf foamed white on a turbulent sea. Frances drank in the details.
There was nothing extraordinary about the picture, but that was partly its appeal, she decided. That and the vibrancy of the rich hues of pink and blue and gold the artist had chosen, and its simplicity. She moved closer. Again, she couldn't find a signature, but whoever the artist was, he had talent. She could almost hear the screech of the seagulls.
A shrill ring brought Frances back to earth.
‘Yes,’ she heard Jack answer the telephone. ‘Is that you, Marie? Sure, I’ll send him on his way.’
‘The baby?’ Anxiety, mixed with excitement, was written large on Bluey’s face.
Jack grinned. ‘Off you go, and don’t forget to pick up the doctor. Marie’s already phoned him.’ He gave Bluey a smack on the back. ‘Don’t you dare show your mug here until Marie’s getting fed up with you getting under her feet.’
Bluey was out of the door without so much as a by-your-leave.
‘Good luck,’ Frances called after him.
Jack laughed. ‘Marie’ll be fine. It’s him we’ll need the doctor for. He’s apt to go to pieces where she is involved. But enough of that. What did you do around Whitmore Square? Playing detective?’
Her cheeks began to burn. ‘I only wanted to have a quick squiz.’ She thrust her notebook towards Jack. ‘I’ve written down the numbers of private lines and the address.’
‘And did any of them ring a bell? Or did you expect to find a hand-written sign in a window, advertising rooms with a phone for travelling crims?’
She stared at her shoes.
Jack lifted her chin with his fingertips, looking at her with something like brotherly concern. ‘Frances, you’re a good girl, but please, keep away from places like Sturt Street. Or take someone else along, if you run off on an errand of mercy. The next time Bluey might not be around.’
‘How could I tell anyone? And how was I to know there’s something wrong with the neighbourhood, if you used to live there yourself.’
‘Point taken. Would you like something to drink?’
She shook her head. ‘I need to get home, or Mum and Uncle Sal will be all over the place. I should’ve been back ages ago.’
‘You should,’ Jack said. ‘Lucky for you that Bluey phoned me after he’d picked you up, so I could tell them.’
‘You did? How?’
Jack pointed at the wall-telephone.
‘But we don’t have a phone,’ Frances said.
‘You do, now.’
‘That's impossible. We can’t afford it.’
‘You can’t afford not to. Don’t raise your hackles.’ He put a finger on her lips. She caught her breath. ‘How do you think Phil is going to be able to keep in touch with his superiors? Crooks don’t keep to normal work hours. He needs lodgings where he can be called out. The expense won’t fall on you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.’
He handed back her notebook. ‘You’ll find a pen on the desk, next to an address book with your phone number. You’ll want to write it down.’ Jack’s lips curled up fleetingly. ‘I’ll get some coffee. Are you sure you don’t want anything? Water, maybe, or lemonade?’
‘Coffee would be nice.’ She flicked through Jack’s address book. He’d listed two Andersons, but no Phil.
‘It’s under P,’ Jack said, as he put a filled cup next to her on the blotter. ‘P for Palmer.
∞∞∞∞
They drank in companionable silence. Frances screwed the top back on to Jack’s pen when she remembered something.
‘Did Bluey mention Michael Petty’s name?’
Jack perched on the edge of the desk. She could feel his breath on her hair.
‘I told you he’d work his contacts.’ He looked at her, unblinkingly. ‘I thought that’s what you wanted. I haven’t mentioned your name, if that’s what you’re concerned about.’
She broke the eye contact and nodded.
‘He wouldn’t blab, kiddo. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating Bluey. There’s a lot more going on in his head than most people credit him for. They see a burly, blank-faced cove who’s driving Dolores around or tinkering with cars.’ He chuckled. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t fall for it.’
‘He’s very much a family man, isn’t he?’
‘The most married man I’ve ever seen. But now, back to business. Bluey’s done what we should have done first, which is ask ourselves a few questions and take it from there.’
By now she should have gotten used to that sense of confusion that settled on her thick like dust on a windowsill. ‘Like what?’ she asked.
‘Like, who gains? The police think it’s tied to those other stick-ups that have been reported in the papers over the last year, but we know they were used as a cover, right? This was premeditated murder.’ Jack slid off the desk, pulled open a drawer and unscrewed the pen.
‘The widow goes on top of the list.’ His handwriting was neat, with the letters leaning a fraction to the right. Frances peered over his shoulder. ‘She stands to inherit, she’s been said to have been well acquainted, once upon a time, with a man who used to work as muscle for high-ranking gangsters in Melbourne, and it’s reasonable that she knew her hubby’d be carrying those baubles.’
‘You believe she’s behind it?’ Frances’ heart beat drummed in her ears.
‘Not that fast, Frances.’ He scribbled down more names. ‘Second, we have the business partner, recently acquired to help set up shops in Perth. He’s invested heavily in gold and silver mines and might find himself a wee bit cash strapped. It could also be that, as a partner, he’s in for a nice share of the stock.’
A Matter of Love and Death Page 18