Pants on Fire

by Maggie Alderson

  I particularly loved the cattle. I couldn’t believe that such mighty animals could be so gentle, and when I went to look at them more closely in their stalls, their bodies made such beautiful shapes, it made me want to draw them. I still hadn’t found a life-drawing class to go to in Sydney, so I got my notebook out of my handbag and started sketching.

  They had such lovely big curves, I found them even more engrossing to draw than humans. They were very good at keeping still too and soon I was lost in concentration. People stopped to look, as they always do when you are drawing in a public place, but I didn’t take any notice until one of them said my name.

  “Well, look at that—it’s Georgie. Hey, that’s not bad.”

  I looked up and saw Billy Ryan, accompanied by an attractive dark-haired woman. It was such a surprise to see him I felt myself blush.

  “Hello, Billy, I’m just drawing the cows . . . they have such lovely shapes . . . Hello,” I said to the woman, putting out my hand to shake hers and dropping everything on the floor. “Georgiana Abbott, how do you do?”

  “Oh, Georgie,” said Billy. “This is Lizzy . . . er . . . Stewart.”

  “Hi Lizzy,” I said, a little too brightly.

  She had a good handshake. I hated what she was wearing (an A-line denim skirt and a white blouse, which made her look like a transplanted Sloane Ranger), but at least she could shake hands properly. So this was Lizzy Ryan, Billy’s sister-in-law and secret love. Rory’s sister. The scarlet woman of Walton. How interesting that he’d introduced her by her maiden name. And how interesting that they were out in public together.

  “I didn’t know you were an artist, Georgie,” said Billy. “I think these are quite good, don’t you, Lizzy? Perhaps you’d like to come up to the farm and draw our cows.”

  “They’re lovely,” said Lizzy. “I can see how much you like animals.”

  I smiled at her. She was growing on me.

  “Actually, I know someone else who draws cattle. My brother.” She looked at me steadily.

  I could feel a serious blush starting, but luckily Billy blundered on in his usual gung-ho way.

  “Does Roar draw cattle?” said Billy. “Well, I knew he got bored up on the farm, ha ha ha. Lucky he just draws them, eh? Just kidding, Georgie. So how have you been? How are you settling in to Sydney?”

  “Great, thank you,” I said, marvelling at what a dunderhead he could be. A likeable dunderhead, though. A terrifically handsome and likeable dunderhead.

  “Glad to hear it. We’ll have to get you over for supper one of these nights. Can we get hold of you at Glow?”

  I noted he was talking in the royal “we.” I wondered how his poor old brother Tom would feel about that.

  “Yes, that would be lovely,” I said, lily-livered Pom that I am.

  Lizzy was looking at my drawings.

  “Georgie, I don’t suppose you’d sell me one of these, would you?”

  “Oh Lizzy, you can have one, they’re only silly sketches. Please, take one, I’d love you to.”

  She gave me a sweet smile which reminded me very much of her brother.

  “How is Rory?” I asked. “Is he down for the show?”

  “No, he hasn’t come this year. Too much to do up there. But he’s pretty well. I hear you two had a good time at the rodeo.”

  I think I blushed again. Sometimes it’s terrible having fair skin.

  “Yes, it was really fun,” I mumbled.

  “Well, we’d better be off, Picasso,” said Billy. “It was good to see you. Take care.” He kissed me on both cheeks. “We’ll be in touch about that dinner. Introduce you to some fun people.”

  “Bye, Billy. Bye, Lizzy, good to meet you. Say hi to Rory for me, won’t you?”

  “Oh I will,” she said. “I definitely will.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Over the next few weeks Jasper and I carried on our happily casual liaison and although I quite often woke up to find flowers on my doorstep, I was glad he kept it all light. We still only saw each other about three times a week, leaving me plenty of time to go gallivanting with Antony, so he didn’t suspect anything. Not that Jasper and I had anything to hide, I just didn’t feel like having to explain it to anybody. It was nobody else’s business—and a whole lot of fun.

  One evening I came home from work and found a big J & G drawn on the pavement outside my door in pink chalk. Arrows led from it along the pavement, with hearts every few feet. I followed them down to Beare Park where Jasper was sitting on a picnic rug with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Another time he found a great set of old china covered in pink roses in a junk shop. He presented me with the teapot and told me he’d hidden the rest of it around Caledonia and I had to find all the pieces. The clues were in the teapot.

  Of course, one of the reasons Jasper had so much time to spend on me was that, as far as I could tell, he had very little work to do. He had a few regular things he did for old friends and he always had some crazy creative project on the go, but Jasper O’Connor, famous fashion and portrait photographer, was certainly not getting any new clients.

  I didn’t let any of that bother me because I didn’t consider it a “serious” liaison, just simple fun.

  So when Jasper told me he’d been invited to a party that was being given by an ex-Caledonia resident called Cordelia, now a successful florist, living in a big house in Watson’s Bay with her new barrister husband, I said I’d love to go.

  “You know this will be our first real public outing, don’t you?” he said. “Do you feel comfortable with that? I mean, let’s play it a bit cool, but people will get the picture.”

  I thought for a second and said I didn’t mind going. From what I already knew of Sydney I could see it was impossible to keep our little fling a secret much longer. Plus I had another motive for wanting to go to Cordelia’s party on Jasper’s arm; Nick Pollock was going to be there.

  I knew this because Antony had already told me about the party. He and Debbie had both been invited but they couldn’t go because they’d already accepted invitations to a big society wedding in Melbourne on the same night.

  “It’s so annoying, Pussy,” he had said to me. “That awful Nick Pollock is going to be there and I could have given you a big pash right in front of him to show him how much you don’t care.”

  “What’s a pash?” I’d asked him.

  “A big wet French tongue kiss. With groping.”

  “Ooh—a snog. Cool. That would have got people talking.”

  One lunchtime a few days before the party, I took myself on an anthropological expedition up to the north end of the Central Business District, where all the suits worked. Liinda had told me that she went there sometimes, just to sit outside with her cigarettes (equals lunch) and watch the passing parade. She said it was a “top perve” and that the food court at the bottom of Australia Square was the prime spot.

  I bought a sandwich and sat down at one of the outside tables. Liinda was right—there were attractive men in suits everywhere you looked. One of them was Billy Ryan. We saw each other at the same moment. He looked even more handsome in his suit than he did in the country togs I’d always seen him in up to then and I felt myself blush scarlet yet again, as he called out “Georgie!” and came over to sit with me. After my years in lonely London, I still wasn’t used to the Sydney thing of bumping into people you know every five seconds. I felt like I’d been caught doing something naughty.

  “Well, we can’t go on meeting like this,” he said, with his usual endearing predictability. “Are your offices round here too?”

  “Oh no, I, um, I just had a meeting up here and I was starving, so I thought I’d have a quick sarnie.”

  We chatted a bit about the Easter Show and then he asked me again if I was enjoying Sydney. He always made me feel like I was being interviewed for acceptance at a boys’ prep school.

  “Met Mr. Right yet, have you? I bet men are queuing up to take you out. I’d be in the queue myself if I wasn’
t already, er, involved with someone. Met anyone in particular?”

  As I didn’t consider Jasper a proper boyfriend I said no.

  “I’ve been seeing a few people . . .” Like you, I thought, stark naked. “But I’m not involved in anything serious.”

  I didn’t feel I was betraying Jasper. That was the way I saw our situation. Then Billy surprised me by asking me if I was going to Cordelia and Michael’s party on Saturday.

  “Cordelia the florist?” I asked. He nodded. “Funnily enough I am. What a coincidence.”

  He didn’t seem to find it surprising at all.

  “Cords is very tied up in that fashion scene, so I thought you’d know her. Great girl, Cords. Very arty. I went to school with Michael. Well, I’ll see you on Saturday then. We can have another dance.” And with a flash of that dazzling smile he kissed me on the cheek and was off.

  On the day of the party Jasper rang me and said I should walk round for drinks at Caledonia and then a gang of us could go on together. He also told me that the dress theme was All Things Bright and Beautiful.

  “Which means you won’t need a costume of course, Pinkus.”

  When I got there everyone was dressed up in their finest, with a group theme of flowers in tribute to Cordelia’s profession. Lulu, the artist with the blue hair, had stencilled a flower onto the top of her crop with purple dye, which looked very arresting teamed with an old flowery frock and big black boots. The older woman, Tania, looked like Ann Margret in a psychedelic flowery print halter neck, and one of the animator boys was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, with a loud hibiscus motif. Jasper was resplendent in flowery trousers and a bright green shirt, with his painted toenails on display again.

  “Jasper, where do you get those pants?” I asked him. He wore the most ridiculous clothes, but somehoe he could carry it off.

  “Places no one else would think of looking,” he said, with one of his winks.

  On Jasper’s instructions, I’d put on my loudest outfit—a scarlet flamenco dress with huge bright pink polka dots, cut very low in the back and very tight over my bum. Rick had bought it for me years before in Spain. It was 100 per cent polyester and 100 per cent fabulous, as he’d said when he’d given it to me, and I was delighted to have a chance to wear it. Jasper put a hibiscus flower behind my ear and we all piled into his car.

  From the moment we arrived at the party Jasper seemed to know everybody we passed, so I left him to meet and greet and followed Lulu and Tania through the house and onto a huge sandstone terrace looking over the harbour. It was a really lovely old house, with gardens running down to Camp Cove, my favourite beach. I took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and happily surveyed the scene.

  I was surprised to see that I knew quite a few people there and soon became involved in a conversation. Jasper came out to find me and I reassured him that I was quite alright on my own and didn’t need to follow him round like a dog.

  “I knew you wouldn’t be a party cling-on, Pinkie. Come in and find me if you feel like a smoke,” he said and disappeared inside.

  It was a good crowd—a mix of colourful Caledonia bohos, Antony’s shiny fashion set and straighter-looking types, whom I assumed were Michael’s legal friends, although I couldn’t see Billy anywhere. Betty and Trudy were there and they introduced me to lots of other people.

  Then Nick Pollock walked in. I felt sick. I should have forced Jasper to stay with me until he made his entrance. I’d had such a clear picture of myself standing laughing with Jasper when he came in, but at that precise moment I was completely on my own.

  It was one of those natural breaks in party conversations when a large conglomeration of people splits up into several smaller groups and, in my shock at seeing the Poisonous Pollock, I hadn’t joined any of them. I saw his eyes pass over the crowd, flicker at me and move straight on. Maybe he was counting how many women in the room he’d shafted, I thought.

  The very lovely Phoebe Trill didn’t seem to be with him—maybe she was off giving a blow job to whoever had given her the gig on the game show—so Pigface would be on the prowl. I was damned sure he wasn’t going to prowl anywhere near me, but I still felt so humiliated by the way he’d treated me I didn’t trust myself to come up with suitably lacerating remarks if he should front up. I knew I’d be all tongue-tied and pathetic. Now he appeared to be coming my way—I could hear him thanking Trudy for his party. I bolted.

  I needed a few moments alone to compose myself and headed down the steps into the garden. I had my sights on an old stone bench which wouldn’t be visible from the terrace, when someone came down the steps from the other side and got there first. It was Rory Stewart.

  “Rory!” I called and ran the last few steps to meet him.

  “Hello Georgia,” he said, giving me a big kiss on the cheek. “I was wondering when I’d run into you—Billy said you’d be here. Wow, look at your dress. That’s quite something. Give me a twirl.”

  I twirled and stamped my feet, stopping in a flamboyant flamenco pose. Rory laughed and clapped his hands.

  “Olé! It looks great on you. But why are you down here and not up there eclipsing all the other women at the party?”

  We both sat down on the bench.

  “I could ask you the same question—well, almost—why aren’t you up there charming all the women at the party?”

  “I asked you first.”

  I slumped a bit.

  “Oh, someone just walked in that I really didn’t want to see.”

  “A man?”

  “I wouldn’t honour him with that title. A total plonker is a better description.”

  Rory laughed again. “That’s such a great English word. Plonker. Well, he must be an idiot if he’s done anything to hurt your feelings.”

  “Anyway, enough about that toad, you haven’t told me why you’re skulking around down here.”

  He paused, looking as if he was trying to decide whether to tell me something or not.

  “I just feel a bit low,” he said quietly. “Cordelia used to be engaged to Alastair—one of my brothers who was killed. I’m really happy for her that she’s found someone else—Michael was at school with all of us, although I didn’t really know him, he was older—and she seems very happy, but it still makes me really sad.”

  I took his right hand in both of mine and stroked it. It seemed like the right thing to do.

  “So Debbie wasn’t the only bereaved fiancée,” I said.

  He looked at me with an expression that reminded me of his sister Lizzy at the Easter Show.

  “You’ve got it in one,” he said. “Drew is the one that everyone talks about—he was the oldest and Debbie and he were Sydney’s golden couple—but it pisses me off sometimes, because three of them died. Drew and Alex were sporty and played polo and all that stuff and were always in the social pages, but Alastair was much quieter. Sometimes I feel like everyone’s forgotten he ever lived.”

  “Tell me about Alastair,” I said. “What was he like?”

  “He was a botanist and a biologist—even when he was a little boy, he was fascinated by insects and plants—and he was doing a PhD in organic farming. He was trying to persuade Drew to give him a section of the property to farm bio-dynamically, to prove that it would be more profitable. Alastair was an idealist, he wanted to change things.”

  “How did he meet Cordelia?”

  “Plants. She was trying to source organic flowers for her shop and that was how they met. They were such a special couple. Just as special as Drew and Debbie—but much softer and less showy.”

  I could hear a wobble in his voice. He paused and I squeezed his hand.

  “Alastair was the one I was closest to and he’s the one I miss the most. To be honest, I just don’t see Cordelia with a big flashy barrister. I think she just married him for this garden.”

  And a big fat tear rolled down his cheek. I put my arm around him and smoothed his hair. He wiped his eyes.

  “Thanks, Georgia. I’m sorry to lay
this on you. I’ll be really embarrassed later, but sometimes the gap where Alastair used to be is like a yawning chasm, and when I saw Cordelia I just kept thinking Al should be next to her.”

  He sighed deeply then took a deep breath.

  “Why don’t you go back up to the party now and I’ll come up in a minute. I don’t want to cramp your style.”

  “It’s no bother whatsoever. And if you’re ever feeling down, Rory, just call me, please. My ears are always available.”

  Then I suddenly remembered Rory had never asked for my phone number and at this sensitive moment I was not about to push it on him.

  “You know you can always ring me at Glow,” I said quickly. “And as for going back to the party, you wouldn’t be cramping my style at all. In fact, you’d be doing me an enormous favour if you would walk up those steps with me, looking at me as if you consider me the most fascinating woman on the planet. Just in case the plonker is lurking.”

  “Ah—the plonker gambit. That would be a pleasure. And I have to tell you I don’t think I’ll find my role very hard to play . . .”

  It worked like a dream. We walked around the garden a bit, because Rory didn’t want anyone to see he had red eyes, and then he presented his arm to me and walked me up those steps as though we were entering an embassy ball. Plonker Pants On Fire Pillocky Pollock was standing in the perfect position to see us as Rory bent down and pretended to whisper sweet nothings in my ear.

  “Nothing nothing nothing” is what he actually said, so I found it easy to laugh coquettishly. In fact with Rory’s head so close to mine, I didn’t find it hard at all.

  Unfortunately Plonker was talking to Jasper.

  “There you are, Pinkie,” Jasper cried. “Come and meet my very good friend, Nick Pollock.”

  Then he surprised me by doing a shoulder manoeuvre that effectively closed Rory out of the group. I moved aside to let him in again.

  “Nick and I have already met,” I said through a steely smile. “Where is your lovely fiancée tonight, Nick? Spinning a barrel somewhere?” Then I copied Jasper’s shoulder trick and turned my back on Plonker. “Jasper,” I said. “This is my very good friend, Rory Stewart.”