by Anne Buist
‘You wouldn’t believe what it was like after Reeva died.’ Mala sat back to let the waitress deliver the breakfast orders. ‘The hospital CEO gave him a casserole. Offered to come around to cook it.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘His research team kept turning up at odd times just to check out he was doing okay.’
‘Wei?’ For a moment Natalie had forgotten that once Frank really did have a full team.
Mala let out a peal of laughter. ‘Hardly! Though poor Wei probably does fancy Frank, too.’
‘I thought he came here as your…friend.’
Mala shrugged. ‘I think he thought it’d be easier to get a gender reassignment here. Or at least that Australians would be less judgmental about it. I don’t think he finds it easy being BC.’
BC? Was this a new way of saying bisexual or transgender? Mala saw her confusion.
‘British born Chinese. He was brought up in Cambridge, but his father was straight out of the old country.’
They spent a moment in silence, eating.
‘So…after Reeva died, was Alison on the scene?’
Mala dipped a strawberry into her breakfast yoghurt and licked it slowly, eyes on Natalie. ‘She was his registrar.’
So Mala was evaluating her as the potential wife number three. The same MO. On the scene before the death and now moving in. Natalie could hardly blame Mala for thinking this. Time to direct the conversation elsewhere. ‘If I worry about Frank,’ Natalie said in between mouthfuls, ‘It’s as a psychiatrist. I feel the need to care for my patients.’
Mala’s eyes glinted. ‘You feel like Frank is your patient?’ Natalie felt his lips brush over her hand and had to stop herself rubbing the spot. ‘Not exactly. But he is…grieving at the moment.’
‘Yes, I suppose he is.’ Mala looked hard.
‘He’ll survive though,’ Natalie said. ‘You could go off to New York.’
‘I could.’ Her tone suggested otherwise. Natalie wondered if she would stay and care for her grieving half-sister or half-brother in similar circumstances, or they her. She rather doubted it. But then her mother wasn’t Vesna.
‘How is your mother holding up?’
‘Vesna?’ For a moment Natalie almost thought she caught a glimpse behind Mala’s facade. Anger? Pain? She wasn’t sure.
‘Frank described his childhood as a bit Alice in Wonderland.’
‘Really?’ Mala laughed as she reflected on the idea. ‘Yes I suppose it was.’
‘How?’
‘How? There was one time when…’ Mala paused; Natalie had the impression that she was used to thinking on her feet. ‘Vesna is troubled, you understand. She tries. One time she packed us into a taxi, I must have been five? Frank came along though I can’t imagine he wanted to. He’s ten years older than me and teenagers don’t generally want to go places with their mother and little sister.’
But he would have felt responsible.
‘And she took us to the circus. In Melbourne. The taxi drove to Geelong, then we went by train and it was supposed to be exciting and wonderful, but Drago’s father ended up picking us up because she lost her money, and the circus was not a big one but some little pokey thing with horrid clowns and soggy hot dogs.’ Mala regarded her fingernails. ‘That was Vesna. Misplaced enthusiasm that ended in tears.’ She looked up. ‘We couldn’t ever trust her.’
‘But Antonije?’
‘Antonije was always there. He was our hero.’
Natalie thought that, in the words of the old song, heroes often failed. She saw the smile on the edge of Mala’s lips and had the curious sense that Mala knew exactly what she was thinking. Which spooked her even more. If You Could Read My Mind.
‘I tried analysis for a while,’ said Mala. ‘So did Frank. We are smart people, we have worked through it. It’s hard to let go of your heroes, I get that. I think Frank’s wives have struggled with the notion more than Frank or me.’
But Frank didn’t have an idealised mother, so perhaps that’s why he had at least tried marriage.
‘Hard for you to find a man to wear Antonije’s shoes, though,’ Natalie said softly, watching Mala closely. Mala didn’t waver, moved her hand over Natalie’s where it rested on the table.
‘What makes you think it’s a man I’m looking for?
Mala’s other hand went to Natalie’s thigh. In Mala’s eyes there was more of a challenge than attraction. But Natalie was left feeling she would have gone along with it if Natalie had taken her up on the unspoken offer.
34
The day she took us to the circus she had intended to escape. She didn’t say anything but I could tell in the shake of her hand, the furtive smile at me and the triumph as she looked back at Mount Malosevic receding through the back window of the taxi. She’d tried before. Pregnant with me, she had escaped Antonije’s kingdom to strike out on her own, only to be dragged back as a grieving widow with a newborn. She watched Antonije cast his spell over us and was powerless to stop it. She wanted us to adore her as we did him but she was too twisted inside with pain and fear to bring us joy as he did. To have Antonije smile at you was to have the sun come out; you were safe and invincible, delighted and delightful.
On the way to the circus that day she talked incessantly, the nervous talk of a person on the edge. Mala was excited, thinking of lions jumping through hoops and aerial artists flying through the air. I didn’t say a word, torn and uncertain, the words from my father’s funeral still echoing in my ears.
I didn’t want to be the man in the family. I wanted Antonije to be. It was his castle I wanted to be mine one day, not the cluttered house of Wendell’s childhood—a house full of musty smells and dim lights, where the pipes creaked and the water was lukewarm. Most of all I didn’t want to be responsible for Vesna. Vesna, with her fears and ideas that never quite worked. Vesna of the smothering cuddles that were for her reassurance rather than to soothe either me or Mala.
‘It will be an adventure,’ said Vesna, eyes darting around, wondering probably if Antonije was in the shadows.
‘What sort of adventure, Mummy?’ whispered Mala.
‘The best sort,’ said Vesna. ‘We’ll have lots of fun food and watch TV and…’
‘Fairy floss?’
‘Yes, lots of fairy floss…’
But she couldn’t find any, and the hot dogs were cold. She took us to the airport hotel in a panic about misplaced money, though I suspect Antonije had already cancelled her account. Mala cuddled up to me for comfort. By then Antonije was already on his way. When Mala and I got into the back of the car to sit next to him, neither of us looked to see Vesna’s expression. And after that time she never tried again. I imagine Antonije and the doctors got her better in hand.
35
It was the next weekend before Natalie was able to visit the Carson Gallery. If Frank knew she had met up with Mala he hadn’t mentioned it. But when he cancelled their usual meeting she wondered if it was pique.
She passed a parked silver Commodore that reminded her of the one that had harassed her. It was the middle of the day and not far from the police station but she felt uneasy anyway. Damian had left early, called back to Melbourne for his other case. He’d told her they had interviewed Eliza and found that she and Alison occasionally had coffee. The last phone call had been to say Alison was running late. Alison had visited her before meeting up with Frank, on the night she died.
‘She denied that Alison was anything more than tired and irritable and looking forward to having her baby.’ Apparently Eliza had also denied any problem with the Malosevics, although she considered Vesna an ‘uptight bitch’. Actually she thought the whole family had tickets on themselves, and she wasn’t alone there.
Damian added ‘How did you know she wouldn’t be a doctor?’ ‘Because,’ said Natalie, ‘he didn’t marry her.’
‘Lucky for her.’
The gallery was open and doing a modest trade from weekenders and occasional tourists. Like the pictures she had already seen, the art was vibrant and local
, a mix of birds and other animals, as well as some beach scenes.
Eliza was a trim brunette in her early forties, hair long and fringed, in jeans and a T-shirt. She looked up when Natalie came in. Natalie debated how to approach her but to her surprise Eliza was the one to take the initiative.
‘You’re the shrink singer aren’t you? I’ve seen your band. You’re not bad.’
‘Thank you. But…the shrink bit wasn’t on the billboard last time I looked.’
Eliza’s features seemed too small under all the hair; her eyes fixed on Natalie in a way that made her squirm. ‘Small town,’ she finally said. Her eyes said she was lying, and more, that she knew Natalie would pick it and didn’t care. One love: Natalie’s serve.
‘Can you tell me anything about Frank?’
Eliza hadn’t expected that. It took her a moment to regroup. ‘Why should I?’
‘You were Alison’s friend, I’m guessing. Did Frank know?’
‘I haven’t had anything to do with the Malosevics—Alison aside—for years.’
‘So why was Alison the exception? Worried about her safety after what happened to Reeva?’
‘Why are you interested?’
Natalie hesitated. ‘I owe her.’
Eliza laughed. ‘Well there’s one for the books. Pity
Alison isn’t still alive to hear that.’
Natalie stood her ground under Eliza’s scrutiny. ‘Okay,’ the other woman said finally, standing up and going over to the door. The gallery had emptied of potential customers. She turned around the sign saying Back in five minutes and locked the door. ‘Let’s get a drink.’
Eliza led Natalie out the back into a bright kitchen cluttered with dirty dishes and knickknacks. It opened into an observatory where they took an open bottle of red wine. Sun filtered in through the glass ceiling, partly shaded by the huge tree. A painting of the tree sat unfinished on an easel.
‘You first,’ said Eliza as she poured. ‘Was Alison right that Frank was hitting on you?’
Natalie shook her head. ‘Not really, though to be honest, he’s…well he likes to be surrounded by women is my guess.’ ‘You didn’t think to send him home?’
‘I didn’t take him to mine.’ Not until after Alison died, anyway.
Eliza shrugged. ‘I figured Alison was overreacting.’
‘Was she worried about other things?’
‘Alison was worried about everything.’
‘Her safety?’
‘No.’ Eliza swilled her red wine. ‘She didn’t know them like I did.’
Natalie watched Eliza. It looked like she wanted to talk but didn’t want to be pushed.
Eliza put down her wine and stared at Natalie from under her heavy fringe. ‘I grew up here. The Malosevics came from a different time and place. They make their own rules.’
‘The Serbian influence? Vesna was born here and Frank in England.’
Eliza laughed. ‘We used to call Mount Malosevic little Serbia. Haven’t you noticed? Even now the staff are all straight from the old country. Yugoslavia, Serbo-Croatia, whatever. Antonije was allegedly some war hero. When Antonije was alive he was king of the castle, and they all jumped. I think he wanted lots of children so the family could take over the region, but things didn’t go according to plan.’
Serbo-Croatia. Allegedly. Natalie filed a thought away. ‘What did Alison make of them?’
‘She was a bit of an innocent; I thought she needed a friend who wasn’t so starry-eyed.’
‘Starry-eyed about what?’ Natalie was starting to show her frustration. Eliza somehow managed to go around points without ever getting to them.
‘Alison wanted the white wedding and the happily-ever-after. She didn’t believe in the past tainting the present, didn’t see shadows beneath the surface.’
‘Did Reeva?’
‘In the end, yes, I think she did. I only ever saw her once, maybe a month before she died.’ Eliza took a large gulp of wine. ‘She came into the gallery like you just did. Told me I was lucky.’
‘Lucky?’
‘I presume she meant that I had got away. I had the impression that she was thinking of leaving.’
Leaving! With Frank’s son and Frank’s research grant. Men killed over less. Natalie recalled thinking Frank had been feeling guilty about Reeva, something he hadn’t disclosed. What if Reeva intended to leave and that enraged him enough to kill her? Was it narcissistic rage that she was still sensing beneath the surface?
‘Why would she have come to see you if she didn’t know you?’
‘Probably to see if what she’d heard was true.’
‘Which was?
‘That I was a witch, I suppose. Who couldn’t be trusted.’
‘Vesna? Why would she say that?’
‘Because after her golden boy dumped me I had a baby.
Unfortunately everyone assumed it was his.’
‘Was it?’
‘No.’ Eliza looked directly Natalie. ‘Jasper is not Frank’s son.’
‘Do you believe her?’ Damian asked her over dinner. Bob was sitting on the back of his chair viewing the array of red meat with disapproval.
‘In general or about Frank’s fertility?’
‘Either.’
Natalie took a sip of the white wine he’d brought. Surprisingly good. ‘She’s hiding something, I just don’t know what. On balance, I’m inclined to think she jumped the next guy who came along to shove it up him and his arrogant family.’
‘Is she still carrying a grudge?’
‘Befriending Alison to then murder her? She didn’t strike me as a psychopath but she was guarded. Hell hath no fury.’
‘There’s something else?’ Damian sat back watching her. Natalie looked at him. For a cop he was very in tune with where others were at: her last cop boyfriend hadn’t been the intuitive type.
‘Did you get sexual vibes from Mala?’
Damian looked startled at the change of direction, then grinned. ‘Jealous?’
‘No. You might need to be.’
‘You mean…?’
‘Not sure,’ said Natalie. ‘But she did try a line on me.’
Damian drummed his fingers on the side of his glass. ‘Wouldn’t have picked it,’ he finally said.
Nor had she. Maybe Mala was bisexual. But it could have been something else altogether. Natalie had a feeling that Mala had used the manoeuvre to distract her, she just couldn’t work out from what. Wondered if Mala was protecting Frank. Or Vesna. It seemed they all had secrets to hide.
Bob woke her with his train impression. Even though she’d put him in the carport he sounded like he was outside her window. She groaned. The clock said 2 a.m. Bloody hell. Possum? Whoever said it was quiet in the country? Damian was snoring. ‘What the…?’
She put her feet in the small of his back and pushed. ‘You go.’
Damian rolled over but she pushed him again.
He returned a minute later. ‘You’d better come see.’
‘Is Bob okay?’ Damian had already disappeared again.
The carport light was on. Bob had flown up to a low branch of a tree next to it. A pile of feathers decorated the carport floor near his stand. He was no longer attached to it. She frowned. ‘Bob, come to Auntie.’
‘Auntie?’ Damian crossed his arms, grinning at her.
‘I can’t come at Mother.’ She walked closer to Bob.
He hopped up to a higher branch.
Damian burst out laughing. ‘Bird seems to have ideas of his own.’
‘Call the cops!’
‘Bob!’
‘Champion of the Universe!’
Natalie shook her head. Just what she needed at 2 a.m. She went upstairs, got a container of seed and returned. ‘Bob you can come now,’ she said jiggling the food.
Bob marched up and down the branch watching them with interest. She was about to give up when he flew down to her shoulder. She grimaced as his claws broke her skin. She should have put a shirt on.
&nb
sp; Rubbing his head, she said, ‘Now just what happened to you?’ and clipped his chain on, moving him over to his stand.
‘That,’ said Damian, ‘is a very interesting question.’
‘Did a possum or something attack him?’ Natalie looked around, not sure how a possum would have managed to unclip him.
‘Not something. Someone.’
Natalie looked where Damian was pointing. Her bike. Someone had slashed the tyres.
‘Shit.’
36
Eliza was not quite seventeen when I met her, in her final year at school and a little younger than me. She had come to one of the open days at Mount Malosevic with her school art class, her skirt hitched up over spindly legs and a white shirt with one extra button undone, revealing an extra two inches of creamy white breast. Pert breasts, with nipples that showed through her clothes. I knew as soon as I saw her that I was going to find a way to touch and taste her intimate parts. The knowledge gave me a delicious sense of power: she, with her innocent smile, had no idea of what I intended.
She hung back in the studio with Antonije while her class was wandering in the gardens, breathlessly hanging off his every word. He winked at me, knowing what I was thinking. He invited her back to get some help with her school art project, knowing I would offer to drive her.
She was a virgin when we started dating and tiresomely insistent on remaining so. I had already had my own Mrs Robinson, and the offer of another, the heavy-hipped mother of a friend whom I had turned down in disgust. I was ready to induct girls of my own age into the delight of sex, but Eliza was a good Catholic girl. Petting remained strictly above the waist.
I was a patient man, prepared to wait, and besides, there were girls at university available to fill my more immediate needs. Eliza was always there on the weekends I returned home as I waited for my patience to be rewarded. The boathouse was my favourite place but she was always fearful that someone would walk in on us, so the first time I saw her body it was after I had managed to ply her with a good deal of alcohol and dared her to swim naked. She was slender, only the slightest hint of curves, long hard pink nipples and soft lips covered in golden hair that, had she allowed me, I would have buried my face in. But even when she was drunk, Eliza’s fear of sinning was tediously strong.