Taking a Chance

by Deborah Burrows

  ‘That’s all very well, dear,’ Mrs Towler said in a voice loud enough for all the people in the shop to hear. ‘But I’d still lock up the knives.’

  Mr Yates, the grocer, was kinder. He nodded gravely as he weighed up the pound of sugar I had asked him for. Civilians were restricted to a pound each of sugar a week. Half a pound of tea had to last five weeks.

  ‘It’s a kind thing to do, giving the poor girl somewhere to stay,’ he said. There was a meaningful look, before he remarked idly, ‘I’m going to have cauliflowers today. And I might have spinach out the back.’

  That meant he was very pleased with me and Aunty May. There were never many vegetables available other than potatoes and onions because so much was fed to the armed forces. We were all getting very used to tinned peas or tinned beans.

  I grinned at him. ‘We’d really love some cauliflower and spinach,’ I said.

  Our neighbour, Mrs Edmeades, walked out of the shop with me, pushing half a cauliflower into her net bag as she did so.

  ‘Mr Yates is right,’ she said. ‘It is kind of you and your aunt, Nell.’ There was a gentle laugh. ‘Mary Morrison isn’t too happy about the girl’s effect on her Jack, mind you.’

  When I got home Evie was still eating, sitting at the table with a slice of toast and honey. The Saturday West Australian was open in front of her and she was leafing through it in a desultory fashion. There was a teapot on the table. I got myself a cup and saucer from the cupboard above the sink.

  ‘Is the tea still drinkable?’ I asked. ‘I’m parched.’

  ‘They say that Lena Mitrovic won’t hang,’ Evie said, eyes bright. She licked honey off her fingers and pushed the teapot towards me. ‘That’s good news.’

  ‘That’s very good news,’ I said. I poured tea into my cup, added milk and sugar and sipped. It was slightly stewed, but it was important not to waste tea, given the rationing.

  ‘We’ve been told to fly American flags tomorrow for the fourth of July,’ Evie said, looking down at the newspaper. ‘All the government buildings are going to put up bunting and flags to celebrate. And the priests are supposed to talk about it in the sermons and homilies. And the blackout is definitely being lifted from Monday.’

  ‘What’s happening in the war?’ I asked.

  Evie handed me the newspaper. There had been more pitched battles in the Solomon Islands, but the Americans finally had taken Viru Harbour. Australian troops were engaged in heavy fighting in New Guinea, at Komiatum and Salamaua. I sent up a quick prayer for Dan and Frank, who were up there. Charlie was somewhere in New Guinea too, but we didn’t know exactly where.

  ‘What can I wear to meet Jack after lunch?’ It hadn’t taken long for the conversation to return to Evie’s main interest: Evie.

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Let’s have a look, shall we?’

  This time Evie chose a tobacco brown skirt (with a belt hiding the safety pins that cinched in the waist) and a fluffy pale pink sweater which was a bit too small for me anyway. She again preferred bobby socks, despite the cool weather. I handed her a brown corduroy driving jacket.

  ‘It’ll be cold by the river, you’ll need a jacket.’ I got a lovely smile as a thank you.

  ‘You can keep the sweater,’ I said. ‘And I’ve got some more of that skirt material put away. If you like, I could run you up a skirt – one that fits.’

  I was thinking that she’d need something nice to make the right impression on the magistrate on Monday morning.

  ‘Thank you, thank you.’ I was enveloped in a hug. ‘Now you,’ she said.

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘What can you wear?’

  ‘Evie, it’s Saturday morning – I’ve been to the shops and that’s it for my day’s social outings.’ I had put on a skirt and jacket to go to the shops but when I got back I had changed into grey flannel slacks and an old jumper, my usual weekend wear.

  She tilted her head to the side and gave me a look. ‘You should always dress well, because you never know what the day will bring.’

  I wondered if that was another of her mother’s pearls of wisdom.

  ‘Besides,’ she went on, ‘I’ve got some clothing coupons – Boney dropped them off with the food coupons yesterday. We could go shopping together later this morning. You’d need to be more dressed up if we did that.’

  ‘All right,’ I said. It might be fun at that, to go shopping with Evie.

  After much consideration she put me into a box-pleated skirt in mauve, green and cream checks and a dark green sweater. Over that went a longish jacket in almond-green woollen material; it had been the very devil to make last year but had worked out beautifully.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Evie. ‘If I had eyes like yours I’d never stop wearing green.’ She pursed her lips and reviewed me like a sergeant major on parade. ‘They’re so pretty – sort of greeny-brown with golden bits. Blue eyes are so boring.’

  I wanted to laugh out loud. Evie’s eyes were really beautiful, a true sapphire blue.

  ‘Shoes?’ she said.

  I held up a pair of brown Oxfords.

  ‘They’ll do. But you really should polish them more often.’

  Chastised, I put them on.

  ‘Can I do your hair?’ she asked.

  ‘If you want to.’ So she sat me down and brushed my hair. She had a way with her, because it looked lovely when she’d finished, parted at the side and falling softly in glossy dark waves to just below my shoulders.

  ‘It needs something,’ she said. Picking up a narrow green ribbon, she tied it around my head, putting a little soft bow at the top. ‘Now, what hat? What about a beret? That would be soft and not too dressy. Do you have one that would match?’

  She rifled through my wardrobe, found a green beret and put it on me. She was right, it looked perfect.

  I smiled at my reflection. ‘You have a good eye, Evie. I’ll have to get you helping me on the column.’

  ‘Hmm. Perfume?’ she said. ‘Do you think Jack would like me to wear perfume?’

  Turning to my dressing table, I picked up a little square bottle of Jean Patou’s Joy. It was probably a bit too grown up for her, although I loved it. I put it down and took instead the frilly fluted bottle of Cadolle No. 9, which was a lovely warm floral.

  ‘You can try this, if you like.’

  She liked. Her face lit up and she came across to me, eyes wide. ‘How many French perfumes do you have? Aren’t they really expensive?’

  I shrugged. They were gifts from Rob, from before Australia was placed on a Total War Footing and austerity became the word we lived by.

  ‘I’ve only got two. Here.’ I tipped up the pretty bottle to wet the stopper, and touched it below her ears, then wet it again and put it on her wrists. I got a hug for that. I grinned at her and hugged her back, reflecting that Evie could be absolutely adorable – when she wanted to be.

  As Evie pirouetted in front of my wardrobe mirror, admiring herself, I dabbed some Joy on my wrists and behind my ears. I did love that scent.

  ‘Now, make-up,’ said Evie. ‘Teach me how to do it like you do. You’d hardly know that you were wearing any, but you always look gorgeous. Show me.’

  ‘Honestly, Evie, you’re very young and it’s better to use no make-up than too much.’

  ‘Show me how you do it. First on you, then on me.’

  So I gave her a lesson in make-up application, finishing with brown mascara for her and black for me. We tried several lipsticks – despite the shortages, I always had samples, because of my work – before we decided on Scarlet Desire for me, and Coral Passion for Evie.

  ‘We both look grand,’ said Evie, grinning. ‘If only Johnny could see you now.’

  ‘Rob,’ I said firmly. ‘Rob Sinclair. He’s lovely, and you’d like him just as much as Johnny, if you met him.’

  She went over to my bedside table and picked up the photograph of Rob. ‘Johnny’s better-looking,’ she said. ‘And he looks like he’s more fun.’

  I
shook my head. Rob could be a lot of fun. He had a dry, incisive sense of humour and a keen wit that reflected his intelligence. She was right, though: Johnny was undoubtedly better-looking.

  There was the sound of a motor car outside and the tooting of a horn. Evie’s eyes lit up and she gave me a mischievous smile as she put down the photograph and ran down the hallway to the porch. I was hot on her heels. The vehicle was big and black and had a large charcoal-burning contraption on the back, squeezed into the boot space. Johnny was sitting in the driver’s seat.

  ‘Johnny, that stinks,’ Evie called out to him.

  ‘But it moves, kiddo. And without using much petrol at all.’ He must have turned off the engine, because it belched out some evil-smelling gas and spluttered to a stop.

  ‘Ready for a drive in the country?’ he asked, opening the door and getting out to stand beside the car. His uniform was clean and freshly pressed.

  I said cautiously, ‘What do you mean, a drive in the country?’

  ‘To Richmond. I telephoned an hour or so ago to ask if you were free. Didn’t Evie tell you? Dave Gleddings lent me this car and gave me a camera. I think he wants you to take photographs.’

  Evie’s expression was smug. He must have phoned when I was at the shops.

  ‘You’re a menace, Evie Harris,’ I whispered.

  She giggled.

  ‘Why don’t you come too?’ I suggested hopefully.

  ‘Sure, Evie, come along. That would be swell,’ said Johnny, with less enthusiasm.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Evie. ‘Jack’s coming after work, remember.’

  Johnny grinned at her. ‘Who’s Jack?’

  Evie blushed, turned away and ran into the house.

  ‘Jack Morrison lives across the road,’ I explained. ‘He and Evie are rather taken with each other. They met this morning, and he’s coming over after he finishes work.’

  ‘And that’s why she’s dressed up.’

  I nodded. ‘That’s why.’

  ‘He’s a fast worker. What’s your excuse?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If you didn’t know I was coming, why do you look good enough to eat?’ Was that concern I detected?

  I frowned. ‘It’s Evie’s idea of a joke.’

  ‘Will you come with me, Nell?’ He seemed very serious.

  I studied the path while I thought about it. I knew it wasn’t a good idea to spend time alone with him, but yesterday I’d agreed to help him. Remembering something I’d wanted to ask, I moved towards him. He came to meet me halfway so that we were standing together, just inside my front gate.

  ‘Would it be flirting to tell you that you look gorgeous?’ he asked. ‘I love your hair like that.’

  It wasn’t exactly flirting, not if he meant it. He shouldn’t say it, though. I felt a gentle touch on my hair, but when I looked up his hands were by his side.

  My heart had started thumping around in my chest again. It seemed to do that a lot when I was around him, which was something that had never happened before. With Rob, and with my other boyfriends, I’d always been in control. The blood rushed to my face, I felt hot and confused. Just what was going on here? I took a deep breath and moved back a fraction.

  ‘Enjoy your drink with Lola?’ I asked. Then I wanted to sink into the ground, because that wasn’t what I’d intended to ask him.

  ‘Not really,’ he replied coolly. ‘Nell, I only asked her for a drink so I could pump her for information about the Henzell murder. She’s got her finger on the pulse of everything that goes on in this town. You know that.’

  ‘What did she tell you?’ I held his gaze, trying to make it clear that I wasn’t jealous, and I’d only asked him about it out of interest. But I couldn’t help wondering if they’d gone out for dinner after the drink, and how the evening had ended.

  ‘Nothing I didn’t already know. Henzell was very wealthy and had a bad reputation with women. Lola didn’t know of any specific enemies, but he’d broken more than a few hearts here in Perth. Lena wasn’t all that popular in the Perth social set – too intense. She tended to stay up in the hills painting while Henzell played the field. Most people thought it was a great joke that he’d been caught by a young country girl he’d got into trouble.’

  ‘So he was definitely going to marry the girl?’

  ‘Yep. He’d told everyone.’

  ‘Johnny,’ I said curtly, ‘what did Lena say to you in court?’

  When he moved his head, his eyes were slightly shadowed by his cap. ‘She told me that she was innocent.’

  ‘You didn’t react at all. Is this all bulldust?’

  Johnny’s laugh was short, humourless. ‘A bit of bulldust, maybe. Lena said – at least I think she did; it was in Croatian and it wasn’t clear – that she didn’t care what they did to her because her life was already over.’ I still couldn’t see his eyes clearly.

  ‘Was she looking at her mother in the gallery? Or was it someone else?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Why was it complicated?’

  ‘What?’ He sounded confused.

  ‘You and Lena. You said that it was complicated, and that she wouldn’t see you when you went to Fremantle Prison.’

  There was the ghost of a laugh. ‘Do you remember everything I say?’

  Every word, Johnny. Every single word. I said nothing.

  His face tilted up. Finally I saw his eyes, but I couldn’t decipher the expression in them.

  ‘It was complicated. Sometimes there are complications. This complication resolved itself.’

  ‘Did the complication have anything to do with Rick Henzell? Or any bearing on the case? Is it something I should know about?’

  He paused, and I could almost see his thoughts whirring around in his head. When he looked at me, though, he appeared sincere. ‘It was nothing to do with Rick Henzell or his murder.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ I said ungraciously. ‘I’ll come. I do want to try writing a feature article and I would appreciate your help with it. And if Lena really is innocent, then I’d like to help you prove it. But I can’t see how we’ll discover anything about the murder that the police have missed. And you’d better get me home early this evening, in time for tea.’

  ‘I can’t promise to get you home for supper – apparently it takes more than an hour to drive to Richmond in an ordinary car, and these gas producers are slow. I thought we could stop for something to eat on the way back.’

  I sighed. ‘All right. I’ll tell Aunty May and get my things.’

  hen I told my aunt that I was off to Richmond with Johnny Horvath she looked exasperatingly pleased to hear it.

  ‘I do like that boy,’ she said. ‘Ask him if he wants to come to Mass with us tomorrow and join us afterwards for the Sunday roast.’

  Evie had been listening with an interested expression. She was sitting at the kitchen table, eating again, this time bread and jam.

  ‘I like him too,’ she said.

  I scowled at her, but Aunty May’s look was indulgent.

  ‘Evie’s got such a good appetite. I don’t think she’s been looking after herself properly.’

  I thought that Evie’s gaze might have been ironic, but I wasn’t sure.

  Ten minutes later and I was ready to go, but it was a real business just getting out of Violet Grove. The gas producer was a large drum, about the size of a washing machine. Johnny asked me for water. I went to the tap by the porch and brought the hose over to him so that he could fill a water tank next to what he told me was the firebox. Then he reached into the back seat and extracted a bulging potato sack filled with charcoal.

  ‘Hey, mister,’ said twelve-year-old Fred Morrison, who had come across to stand next to him while his brother and sister watched from the kerb. ‘That’s an Ajax gas producer isn’t it?’

  Johnny shrugged. ‘You tell me, buddy.’

  He poured some charcoal into the hopper at the top of the drum, but little seemed to go in, even when he began poking at
it with a stick he picked up from the footpath.

  Fred scoffed. ‘The firebox is full of ash. Looks like it’s not been cleaned out for a while. You’ve gotta clean out the ashes, mister, or you won’t be able to push the charcoal in and she won’t run properly. It’s a dirty job, though.’

  ‘Gleddings,’ Johnny muttered. ‘Should have known there’d be a catch.’ He looked at Fred. ‘You know about these things?’

  ‘My brother is an apprentice mechanic.’

  ‘I’ll give you sixpence if you’ll clean out the firebox.’

  Fred was apprehensive, but Alice and Alan, the eight-year-old twins, were happy to oblige. They attacked the ashes with enthusiasm as Johnny directed them from a safe distance. When they had finished they looked like black and white minstrels. I thought that Mary Morrison would not be pleased, but their dirty faces lit up when Johnny flicked them a sixpence each.

  Then he got into the driver’s seat to start the engine. I was standing on the footpath with Fred, watching the proceedings with interest.

  ‘You use petrol to start the car,’ Fred told me, with an air of self-importance, ‘but later, when you’ve driven for a while and the charcoal’s burned enough to make gas, he’ll open the water valve and switch over to using gas.’

  I shrugged. It made no sense to me at all.

  ‘Will you light it up for me?’ yelled Johnny. He leaned over into the back seat, grabbed a strip of rag from a pile there, and handed it to Fred along with his cigarette lighter.

  Fred opened the ash-pan door at the foot of the contraption, inserted the rag and lit it. As the fire blazed up and caught, he closed the iron trapdoor with a bang.

  ‘Get in, Nell.’ Johnny was waving at me from the driver’s seat. Fred threw the lighter at him and he caught it deftly. ‘Have a good time with your Jack,’ he yelled at Evie over the noise of the engine. She had come out to watch us leave and was using her hand to wave away the fumes; she tried to smile, but coughed instead.