He picked up a slice of salami.
‘That’s salami,’ said Mrs Miles. ‘I got it for Lesley.’
‘There’s no keeping up with you, Lesley,’ said her father. And, he thought, it’s true. She’s even beginning to look pretty. Filling out.
Quite the young lady. Well, what a day it had been.
‘Salami, eh,’ said Mr Miles, tasting it. ‘I suppose I could get used to it. Let me try another piece. Quite tasty. What’s it made of?’
54
Fay stood outside the Staff Entrance at closing time on Saturday waiting for Rudi. He was going to keep driving around the block until they coincided; she looked out anxiously to see his elderly Wolseley. There he was. She ran to the kerb and jumped in when he opened the passenger door.
‘Full steam ahead!’ he said. He was looking pleased with himself, but not insufferably so.
‘But where are we going?’ asked Fay.
‘It’s a surprise,’ cried Rudi. ‘Eat these sandwiches if you’re hungry—we haven’t time to stop for lunch.’
‘Give me a clue,’ Fay pleaded. She really hadn’t the least idea what might be afoot.
‘Here’s a clue,’ said Rudi, as he turned left. Soon they were driving up William Street, and at last along New South Head Road.
‘Oh,’ said Fay, as Rushcutter’s Bay twinkled beside her, ‘I’ve got it: you’ve found a flat!’
‘Yep,’ said Rudi. ‘I think I’ve found one that might do. I want your expert opinion.’
‘Me?’ said Fay. ‘Expert?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Rudi. ‘Now watch out.’ They drove through Double Bay and Fay gazed at the Harbour still glittering beside her, past Point Piper, and then a little further along New South Head Road, but at last Rudi turned right into a side street. The car came to a stop outside a pre-war block of fl ats.
‘Now then,’ said Rudi. They entered the building and he led the way to the top, which was the third floor. He took out a key and opened a door, and they walked into the flat.
It was quite empty except for the wallpaper and an ‘Early Kooka’ gas stove, the old-fashioned kind with a picture of a kookaburra on the oven door.
‘It’s this which really decided me,’ said Rudi, indicating the kookaburra.
‘Oh, we used to have one exactly the same at home!’ said Fay.
‘So,’ said Rudi, ‘didn’t I say you were an expert? Come and look at the rest.’
There was a sitting room from which one could just see the Harbour, and two smallish bedrooms. The bathroom was all done in green tiles with a mottled pattern. They went back into the sitting room and looked out of the window.
‘See,’ said Rudi. ‘We could watch the fl ying boats taking off and landing.’
Fay’s heart thumped. We?
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely.’
She dared not ask about whether it might be expensive, or indeed anything else.
‘And so handy for the Wintergarden!’ said Rudi. ‘Not to mention various other amenities. What do you think?’
‘Well, I think it’s really lovely,’ said Fay. ‘Like I said. But it’s you who have to like it, it’s your flat. What do you think?’
‘Oh—I think—listen: will you marry me?’
‘I what?’ said Fay.
She could not believe her ears. What a fool I am, thought Rudi.
The question had not been scheduled in quite this way; it had slipped out somewhat before its imagined time.
‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I’ve startled you. I’ve even startled myself.
Let me start—ha!—again, at the beginning. I love you, I adore you, you’re sweet, you make me feel happy, I want us to be married as soon as possible if you’ll have me—please give me your answer— but think about it for as long as you like: I give you five minutes at least. Shall I leave you alone while you think?’
‘No, don’t leave me,’ said Fay. ‘The answer is yes.’
‘Thank God for that,’ said Rudi. ‘We’re going to be rich and have lots of children, at least four, is that all right with you?’
‘Yes, yes of course,’ said Fay. ‘I love kids. And money—that always comes in handy.’
‘Good,’ said Rudi. ‘Now—’ and he took her in his arms.
They had kissed several times but it is a fact that they had been very proper and circumspect and had never approached the margins of unbridled passion. They began now to kiss in a manner which suggested that propriety and circumspection had now had their day, as was quite certainly the case.
Stefan came into the bathroom where Magda was washing her hair.
‘That was Rudi on the telephone,’ he said.
‘Oh?’ said Magda.
‘He wants to borrow fifty pounds from me,’ said Stefan.
‘Why?’ Magda was very astonished.
‘Oh,’ said Stefan very casually, ‘he wants to buy a diamond ring. Or perhaps a sapphire.’
Magda stood up straight, her hair covered in foaming shampoo.
‘What are you talking about?’ she said. ‘Is he going into the jewellery business?’
‘I don’t believe so,’ said Stefan, ‘although it could come to that in due course. No, for the moment he wishes only to buy an engagement ring, for Fay.’
‘What?’ cried Magda. ‘Engagement ring? For Fay? What is he thinking of?’
‘He is not thinking,’ said Stefan. ‘He is doing. He and Fay are engaged to be married.’
‘This is preposterous,’ said Magda. ‘Let me rinse my hair.’
She did so. Then she wrapped a towel around her head.
‘Pour me a whisky,’ she said.
They went into the sitting room and sat down with their drinks. The sun was in fact just over the yard-arm: it was after five o’clock.
‘I suppose you said you would lend him the money,’ said Magda.
‘Naturally,’ said Stefan. ‘How could I stand in his way? Fay is a nice healthy Australian girl.’
‘Exactly,’ said Magda. ‘The whole thing is preposterous. How can they possibly be happy together? They have nothing at all in common.’
‘As if that were really a condition for a happy marriage!’ said Stefan. ‘You are talking like a woman’s magazine. The point is they are happy together now. It is the only possible beginning. The middle and end must take care of themselves as they always do. Or not, as the case may be.’
Magda thought to herself.
‘At least he hasn’t after all been trifling with her,’ she said. ‘At least he isn’t breaking her heart as I feared. Although he may do it in the future.’
‘Come now,’ said Stefan. ‘My belief is that he has too much pride to let such a thing occur. He will be a very conscientious husband, you’ll see. They both want many chil dren—that will keep them busy; they’ll have all that in common. It will be quite enough, you’ll see.’
Magda reflected.
‘Oh, I suppose so,’ she said. ‘What the hell. So long as I will not be blamed for anything.’
‘You?’ said Stefan. ‘For introducing them you mean? Don’t be idiotic. They are on their own. We can only wish them well. And lend Rudi fifty pounds. Rudi’s found a fl at, by the way—at Rose Bay. That’s why he’s short of cash—he has to pay a large deposit.’
‘When will they marry?’ asked Magda.
‘Very soon, as soon as they can arrange it, at the Registry Office probably.’
‘Well,’ said Magda, ‘I do wish them well. With all my heart. But it is still something of a shock.’
‘Yes, one’s friends can be shocking,’ said Stefan. ‘It’s one of their salient features.’
Magda suddenly had a bright idea.
‘We were going to have the young people here to dinner next Saturday,’ she said, ‘to celebrate their examination results. We could make it an engagement celebration as well—what do you think?’
‘Yes, why not,’ said Stefan. ‘A nice noisy dinner party is always a good idea, especially when one has h
ad a shock. We’ll kill a pig!’
‘And we’ll order an ice-cream cake,’ said Magda, ‘with all their names on it!’
‘And ours too,’ said Stefan.
‘Certainly!’ said Magda. ‘Ours too!’
55
‘My very best wishes,’ said Miss Cartright.
‘May I wish you both every happiness,’ said Mr Ryder.
Fay smiled ecstatically. She held out her left hand for the customary inspection.
‘Lovely,’ said Miss Cartright. ‘A sapphire. Lovely!’
‘A very handsome sparkler,’ said Mr Ryder.
‘Well I never,’ said Miss Jacobs. ‘A whirlwind courtship, with a Hungarian. I never! I hope you’ll both be very happy.’
Lisa looked at the ring and at Fay. How perfectly astounding it all was. Even she had known Rudi longer than Fay had. How mysterious adult life was after all: she was not now sure that she could have understood what it might all really be about. That Rudi and Fay were now so suddenly engaged to be married—well, it was an event whose preceding stages she could not even guess at. To ascribe the whole process to the operation of love explained nothing. Here however it was, and Fay certainly looked divinely happy.
It was Thursday, which was pay-day, and the announcement had been in the personal column of the morning paper where it had been spotted by Mrs Miles at the breakfast table.
‘Fay Baines,’ she said. ‘Don’t you work with a Fay Baines, Lisa?’
She was getting quite good now at saying Lisa instead of Lesley. Lisa was so startled at the idea of Rudi and Fay being an engaged couple that she forgot to take the contents of her money box with her, and would have to take delivery of Lisette on the following day. On Thursday night she came home with her pay-packet and taking out her money box she sat on her bed and counted all her money. She counted out exactly £36.15.0 and put it in an envelope. Tomorrow Lisette would be hers.
On Friday morning Fay waylaid her in the Staff Locker Room.
‘Oh, Lisa, I’ve got something here for you from Rudi,’ she said.
‘From Rudi?’ asked the astonished girl.
‘Yes, he asked me to apologise for not congratulating you sooner on your results,’ said Fay, ‘but he said he hoped you’d understand and forgive him in the circumstances. We’ll see you on Saturday night at Magda’s, won’t we? He asked me to give you this, to celebrate your results.’
She handed Lisa a package which Lisa opened immediately. It was a large box of expensive chocolates tied with pink ribbon. Lisa gasped.
‘Oh, please thank him for me. No one’s ever given me chocolates before! They’re beautiful! Would you like one?’
‘No, that’s all right,’ said Fay. ‘It’s a bit early in the day for me.’
They both laughed.
‘It’s awfully nice of him,’ said Lisa, ‘I never expected it, it’s awfully nice.’
‘Yes, he is nice,’ said Fay, ‘awfully nice. He really is. He’s the nicest man I’ve ever met.’
She smiled happily, and then quite shyly.
‘Oh, that’s good,’ said Lisa. ‘I’m very happy for you both, I really am.’
‘Thank you,’ said Fay. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better get ourselves down to Ladies’ Cocktail.’
‘My second last morn ing,’ said Lisa. ‘My thirty-second last, or something,’ said Fay.
They both laughed.
‘The end of an era,’ said Lisa.
‘Yes,’ said Fay, ‘it really is. I wonder what’s happened to Patty Williams?’
‘Perhaps she’s pregnant,’ said Lisa, ‘don’t you think?’
‘Gee, that’s an idea,’ said Fay. ‘She’s certainly waited long enough.’
She hoped she wouldn’t have to wait as long. She didn’t for a moment seriously imagine that she would.
Miss Cartright was leaving half an hour early because she had to go to the dentist. She saw Mr Ryder on her way out.
‘Such goings on,’ she said. ‘I suppose you’ve noticed we’re losing half of Ladies’ Cocktail. Miss Baines has given us one month’s notice—not a long engagement! And I have a funny feeling that we won’t be seeing much more of Mrs Williams. I don’t know why.’
‘Oh well,’ said Mr Ryder, ‘change is the law of life, my dear.’
‘Still,’ said Miss Cartright, ‘I’d better speak to Personnel tomorrow. We need one more permanent staff member immediately and a possible other soon.’
Mr Ryder surveyed his territory. Trade! It was a wonderful spectacle. All of human life is here, he thought. They come and they go. One thing only remains constant, and that’s Miss Jacobs—the dear. How I wonder—well, there you are.
He was feeling entirely philosophical by five-thirty; he got ready to leave and walked slowly down the fire stairs. A few dawdlers hurried past him; the building was now virtually empty and in a minute would be closed, locked and bolted fast against the night. He thought he might walk along Elizabeth Street this evening; it was more peaceful. As he approached King Street he noticed a familiar slim figure some distance ahead of him. Ah, he said to himself, there’s young Lisa. How she’d grown up in the six or seven weeks she’d been with them: she’d been a child, frail, skinny; now she was a slim young lady with a string of exam results. He watched her walking along ahead, quite self-possessed, quite poised. She was carrying a large dress box of the kind they used in Model Gowns, dark blue with a discreet yellow label dead centre on the lid. My, he thought, they learn fast, the young ladies. Five minutes working with Magda and they’re buying Model Gowns. Well, more strength to her arm. Must’ve splashed out her total wages. Back into the business! Under her other arm was another smaller box tied with pink ribbon. Chocolates? Can’t think what else it might be. Now then. Young girl. New frock. Box of chocolates. That’s all just as it should be!
THE END
Madeleine St John
An obituary by Christopher Potter
Madeleine St John wrote four novels in her short writing life. She was fifty-two when the first, The Women in Black, was published in 1993. The other three followed soon after, and form a loose trilogy set in contemporary London; Notting Hill, where she lived most of her adult life, particularly favoured. The Essence of the Thing (1997) was shortlisted for the Booker Prize. She also left behind an unfinished manuscript.
Language and a questioning faith are the two poles of St John’s created world, as may also have been true of her domestic world. In a last letter, to her beloved vicar, Father Alex Hill, she wrote: ‘If I have managed to be a Christian at all, it is due to the marvellous Book of Common Prayer.’ Beneath the sly and witty veneer of her writing, she explores questions that are basically theological: we must do the right thing, but how can we tell what the right thing is? This question is at the heart of all of her novels.
In 2002 Madeleine St John prepared strict funeral instructions.
She was very ill for at least the last decade of her life. Emphysema made her a virtual recluse, though her illness did not stop her smoking. Her tin of Golden Virginia was often to be seen next to her inhaler, and later, her oxygen supply. Her reclusiveness was furthered by the fact that she lived, for the last twenty years of her life, on the top floor of a house owned by the Notting Hill Housing Trust. She called herself a housing trustafarian.
She claimed to be a de facto recluse for lack of money—not that St John ever complained of her lot—but her isolation was not entirely outside her control. St John could be very entertaining company, but she had a habit of casting anyone who got too close into outer darkness, usually for reasons entirely opaque to the one cast out. She could just as easily reel friends back in, and for similarly mysterious reasons. She lived by a strict moral code, the rules of which were only truly clear to herself.
Her strict funeral instructions were ingeniously and subversively carried out by Fr Alex. Though no reference was to be made to her life, Fr Alex managed to circumvent this by speaking of her before the service began, a sly and witty ploy that
Madeleine would surely have appreciated.
The control and desire for anonymity were typical St John qualities. At her death, her always Spartan flat was found to have been even further denuded. An obviously brand-new address book contained the telephone numbers of only a handful of people.
Her estranged sister, Collette, has written that St John’s writing emerged out of a life full of an ‘enormous amount of pain and suffering’. Madeleine St John was born in 1941 in a smart suburb of Sydney called Castlecrag. Her father, Edward St John, was the son of a Church of England canon and a descendant of many famous St Johns, including Ambrose St John, who converted to Rome and was a close friend of Cardinal John Henry Newman, and Oliver St John, who challenged the legality of Charles I’s so-called ship money.
Edward St John, too, challenged unfairness where he found it. As a distinguished QC and a renegade Liberal MP, he spoke out against apartheid and nuclear armament. He almost single-handedly undermined John Gorton, drawing attention in the House to the Prime Minister’s rackety private life; he later resigned. Edward was said to be a cold and distant father, though Madeleine admitted that he had given her a lot, including a love of literature. But the relationship deteriorated. The rift grew and the estrangement became permanent. Edward St John died in 1994.
Madeleine’s adored mother, Sylvette, was born in Paris. Sylvette’s parents were Romanian Jews—Jean and Feiga Cargher —who arrived in Paris in 1915 and fl ed for Australia in 1934. At first, Sylvette and Edward were happily married, but the marriage turned sour. Sylvette was a depressive and committed suicide in 1954 when Madeleine was twelve.
At the instruction of their father, Madeleine and her younger sister had been sent to a private school that Madeleine likened to Lowood. It was there that the news of their mother’s death was broken to them by the headmistress, who told them that they were never to speak of their mother again. Madeleine never referred to this event in public, observing only that the death of her mother ‘obviously changed everything’. Edward St John remarried. There were three sons from the second marriage.
Madeleine read English at Sydney University, graduating in 1963, the year, according to Philip Larkin, that ‘sex began’. In Sydney, 1963 was the year the satirical magazine Oz was first published. Its editor, Richard Walsh, was a contemporary from university. Perhaps coincidentally, Edward St John was to defend him at the first Oz obscenity trial in 1964.
The Women in Black Page 16