Friends for Life

by Carol Smith

  Just being away from those harsh stone walls was enough for Sally. She was hungry and tired but full of optimism. Her whole life lay in front of her and no one was ever going to stand in her way again. She had made that clear enough to her family even though she had had to pay the price for it. Let the rest of the world take notice and watch out.

  • • •

  They were sailors on leave, headed for Adelaide, and they spotted her hanging about in the bus station as they hauled down their kitbags and prepared to look for cheap accommodation for the night.

  “Take a look at that sheila,” said Jerry, pointing.

  “Looks lost to me,” said Barney. “Let’s go get her.”

  She was bright and extremely pretty and told them she was on her way to Adelaide too, to take up a waitressing job, so they said she could tag along. While Sally sat guarding the kitbags, the boys found a room in a run-down hotel and smuggled her in while the desk clerk had his back turned. They had money for beer and cigarettes and they bought her a hamburger and showed her the sights of Wagga Wagga, such as they were, before turning in in the early hours, by which time Sally was pretty near dead on her feet.

  The three of them shared a bed that night and Sally did not get much sleep but certainly earned her keep, to the delight of the sailors. The sheets were stained and the bed full of bugs and the noise from the streets never abated all night, but to convent-bred Sally it seemed as luxurious as the Ritz. When they left in the morning they took her with them, rewarding her with a bus ticket all the way through to the end of the line.

  Jerry was short, stocky, and heavily tattooed but Barney was the one Sally fancied. He was thin and willowy with smoky, romantic eyes and hair cut in a Frank Sinatra sleeked-back style. They had been at sea for months and were lusty and oversexed but Sally gave as good as she got and astounded them both with her sexual inventiveness.

  “I don’t believe you’re a convent girl.”

  “No kidding.”

  “How long you been there?”

  “All my life.”

  “So where did you learn to fuck like this?”

  “Just naturally talented, I guess.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  But she was sixteen. And when they got off the bus in Adelaide and found the cops waiting, Jerry and Barney were instantly arrested while Sally was taken straight back to the convent, to be locked in solitary confinement while the nuns discussed what to do for the best.

  • • •

  The Mother Superior glided back into the room just as he was reading the bit about the clinic. Gladesville Clinic, privately owned, run by the nuns for the serious young offenders under their care. Duncan was aghast.

  “I can’t believe they did that to her,” he said, stricken.

  She stood, a column of righteousness, in the corner of the room, tall and imposing, a jeweled ivory cross on a chain round her neck.

  “It was the only way,” she said. “She was young, she was promiscuous, she was beyond control. We are not talking about a normal child, you understand, but a deranged animal without a modicum of sense or conscience. She was growing up and there was no telling what she might get up to next; we couldn’t afford to take the risk. She was, after all, under our care. Think of the scandal had there been issue from her misdemeanor.”

  “She was a child. How could her parents allow such a thing?”

  “She had no parents,” said the Mother Superior with finality, holding out her hand for the file and making it clear that all favors were now at an end.

  But Duncan was still reading. One further detail had caught his eye, leaping up at him off the page, almost too incredible to take in. He stopped and read it again. Among the documents relating to the patient, Sally O’Leary, and her brief hospitalization was a statement taken at the time of the operation and witnessed by the medical staff in attendance. There on the page, in the clear spidery writing he recognized so well, was the signature “Catherine Palmer.”

  He glanced again at the date on the file. October 1979, fifteen years ago, the time straight after Catherine’s breakdown, when she ran away to Australia to forget. But how could it be that in all those months—from their first meeting in St. Anthony’s in January to Catherine’s death in May—neither Catherine nor Sally had ever mentioned that they had encountered each other before? And what weird act of providence had contrived to throw them together again fifteen years and half a world away? There were more questions now unanswered than there had been before but the Mother Superior was coughing discreetly and looking at her tiny fob watch.

  • • •

  Emmanuel had to go. Something had come up in California, a court hearing he could not afford to miss, so he said reluctant farewells in London but promised he would be back.

  “Just as long as this case remains open,” he told the police, “I shall be breathing down your necks. Don’t ever forget that.”

  “I’m gonna miss you,” he said to Vivienne on the way to the airport. “Even in these particularly harrowing circumstances, I have to admit I’ve rather enjoyed these past few weeks, thanks entirely to you.”

  For all her upper-class mannerisms, she was, he had discovered, one gutsy lady, shamefully neglected by that shmuck of a husband. There was a time when Emmanuel might have been tempted to stray but these days, he reminded himself, he was faithful to his wife. But Vivienne had proved a delightful and helpful companion; they’d certainly stay in touch, especially since he was sure she was going to make things work for Georgy.

  The police had made minimal inroads into the case and looked like they were losing their enthusiasm as the weeks ticked by. They had managed to locate Josh Hunter eventually and he had assured them there were only two house keys in Georgy’s possession, one of which she still had on her keyring. The other, the spare, had lived on a nail on the cork board in the kitchen but was now missing.

  “That’s one hell of a stupid place to hide a key,” grumbled Emmanuel, but the damage was done and at least it proved that the intruder must have been in the house before and known it was there. Not that that got them very much further in this particular maze.

  Vivienne was going to miss Emmanuel, too. He was the sort of man she found most stimulating, worldly and mature and appreciative of all she had to offer. A total contrast to her absentee husband.

  “Is Georgy ever likely to return to London, do you think?” she asked wistfully. She hesitated to come between father and daughter but the need was there and she was learning to recognize it. He laughed and patted her knee.

  “What do you think? You know my daughter,” he said. “Can you seriously see anyone stopping her once she’s up and about again? I’d buy her her own studio in Los Angeles if I thought she’d take it, and give her all the help she needed to set it up, but that’s not what Georgy’s all about, whatever she may think. She’s truly her own person, even though she may think she’s hard done by. She’s determined to make a go of this photography racket and I reckon she will. I hate to think of her back here with that lunatic still at large, but I know I can trust you to take care of her for me.”

  Which he most certainly could. Tears swam into Vivienne’s eyes at his generosity and she rapidly blinked them away as she felt her dreams come flooding back. They would announce the partnership as planned and as soon as Georgy returned and felt up to it, they’d throw a huge launch party. Beth could do the catering. As soon as she’d seen Emmanuel off at the airport, Vivienne was going straight back home to set the wheels turning. By the time Georgy did make it back to London, she would find she was already on the way to being famous.

  • • •

  The World Wide Fund for Nature were delighted to hear from Vivienne and suggested she come to visit them in Switzerland straight away. Oliver had agreed she could make a regular donation to their funds but, more to the point, they were interested in her publicity ideas and the photographs Georgy had taken of her cats. With skills like that, th
is was only the beginning. Already there were plans brewing for worldwide advertising campaigns with a powerful, controversial thrust, and there was a strong chance she and Georgy could get involved right now, at the planning stage. And at the same time, Phoebe reported that Cancer Research were equally impressed. She had done a great job in selling Georgy to them as an idea but it was her own talent that would consolidate the deal. This could well be the double breakthrough most creative people wait whole lifetimes to achieve.

  Vivienne rang to say good-bye to Beth before she boarded the plane to Geneva. She sounded forceful and energetic, happier than she had done in ages, and she confessed she hadn’t had a drink for two weeks. Beth was pleased. She was growing cautiously fond of Vivienne and wanted things to work out for her, at the very least to compensate for that dreadful marriage.

  Not that she still felt any guilt. Apart from that one time, the dinner in honor of Georgy’s father, she had had no contact at all with Oliver, even though he still bombarded her with calls. These days, every waking moment was fully occupied with dreams of Duncan. She guessed from things Viv said that Oliver was probably playing away again, but it was no longer any concern of hers.

  “I shall be all alone in London next week,” Beth told her. “Deirdre’s on holiday, Jane’s in the country, even Imogen’s off on a spree with her dad. Thank goodness I’ll still have Sally to keep me company. Where on earth would I be if it wasn’t for her?”

  Chapter Fifty-one

  “My goodness,” said Duncan’s mother in wonder, “how that does take me back, to be sure. How well I remember that story, it was blazoned all over our papers for months on end, the most shocking case that had hit this part of the world, I reckon, probably since the convicts first turned up in Botany Bay.”

  Dad was home from the hospital at last, putting his feet up in the parlor, and Duncan and his mother were sitting under the trees, enjoying the end of another perfect early spring day. Soon, very soon, he’d be able to leave. He longed only for London and Beth.

  “So how come I don’t remember it?”

  “It must have been about the time you left on the hippy trail. That was it. The summer of seventy-nine, just after you passed your finals and set off on the road. Though I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it, even so.”

  “They’re not so hot on that sort of thing in Kathmandu. But go on.”

  “Sally O’Leary—yes, that was her name. I remember her as if it were only yesterday. Pretty little thing she was, bewitchingly so. Just think of it. Younger even than Maud next door’s granddaughter. Very nearly got away with it too.”

  She paused, remembering, her fine eyes creased in horror.

  “Funny,” said Duncan, “I always thought she was a New Zealander. That’s what she’s told us. Though I have to admit, her accent was never quite right.”

  “Not a bit of it. Came from Wagga Wagga, she did, where her father was a farmer.”

  He remembered the time he had challenged her, the day he met her at Eleanor Palmer’s flat. She must have flatly lied to him; now he was beginning to understand why. He ought to have smelled a rat way back then; well, in a way he had, but had dismissed it. That was one of the things lurking around the edges of his memory, just out of sight. He wondered what other lies she had told.

  “And then she hit the headlines again, when she escaped from the remand home where they were holding her. Slipped out one day and hitchhiked across Australia with a bunch of randy sailors, partying all the way. It was all over the papers, as you might imagine, there were even questions raised in parliament about safety in prisons and high-risk prisoners. What exactly happened to her? You’re not telling me she’s out again? A thoroughly bad lot she was. Ought to have been destroyed, if you want my opinion, before she could do any more damage.”

  “Mum!” said Duncan in surprise. It was not like his calm, rocklike mother to show such emotion or so reactionary an opinion.

  “Come on, Mum,” he went on in exasperation as she sat in silence, ruminating on the remembered story. “Spit it out. Tell me what exactly she did, don’t keep me hanging on.”

  She was as bad as the nuns and clearly enjoying herself, driving him mad with exasperation. She was no fool, his mother, but it was good to see she had regained her sense of humor. He grinned. They were all the same, women. His longing for Beth grew more urgent by the minute.

  “If you want the full gory details, son, you go on down to the newspaper library and look it up for yourself. It was some years ago now and I’d likely get the details wrong. Don’t want to risk spoiling it for you, do I?”

  She laughed and closed her eyes for a moment or two, relishing the feel of sunshine on her weathered skin and the new peace in her heart now that she knew her man was safe.

  • • •

  It had taken him a lot of deliberation, but Sam had reached a momentous decision and tonight was to be the night. He couldn’t wait to get home. It was another two hours before the markets closed but his mind was no longer on his work as he made his calls and placed his orders, all the time thinking of opalescent eyes and skin as delectable as a ripened peach.

  He was terribly scared of rejection but dared not risk delaying things any longer for fear he might lose her altogether. It seemed impossible but this weekend was August Bank Holiday again, a whole year since that magical night when she’d first climbed into his bed. The others thought he was daft, he knew it, but that did not deter him. There were other men in Sally’s life—he wasn’t a fool and had few illusions about her—but as far as he was aware there was no serious competition. Even that black fellow seemed to have vanished since she walked out on her job in the pub.

  Dave was returning to Wellington in just a few weeks, while Jeremy was practically engaged; if Sam didn’t act soon he might miss his moment altogether and then the whole ménage would break up and go their separate ways. As it was, Sally was liable to walk at any minute. She was unpredictable and had never pretended to be more than just passing through. Then he would certainly lose her forever, whereas now he felt he was still in there with a chance. Timing was the crucial thing, or so his mother always told him.

  He noticed Sally had been restless of late, working shifts at McDonald’s but not enjoying it, staying home nights in order to save money, which was absolutely not her style, and talking vaguely about moving on to Florence or Rome or even Athens for the winter.

  He couldn’t get away till almost seven so that it was a quarter to eight by the time he emerged from the Tube and set off up the Earls Court Road toward home and his Big Decision. He stopped off at the off-license for a bottle of champagne, then went back and made it two in case the others came home and it turned out there was something to celebrate. The holiday exodus was already well under way and the traffic was unusually thin. It was amazing the way the Brits liked to skive, especially in light of their falling pound and generally shaky economy, but Sam liked it here and had developed quite a fondness for the Old Country, for all its faults.

  If she accepted him, he wondered if she would agree to them staying here, at least for a year or two until they decided to put down permanent roots and start a family. He knew Sally wanted babies—girls not boys she always said, though she never explained why—so they ought not leave it too long, since she was already over thirty. She’d make a wonderful mum, would Sal, and he couldn’t wait to take her home and show her off to the family.

  It was really odd that after all his travels, he should end up falling for another Kiwi, as far away from home as he could possibly be. Fate, that was what it must be. Up till now he hadn’t believed in all that astrology tosh but there was no denying the facts. Wait till he saw his father’s face when he brought home this little beauty!

  He crossed the Cromwell Road and walked on up past the church. The evening was golden but with the faintest nip of autumn already in the air. The time felt right for new beginnings; the future beckoned. The house looked shabby and already half-deserted as he climbed the st
eps and turned his key in the lock. Time to move on in more senses than one; whatever happened, he was through with communal living. A small house in Chiswick, to begin with, might be nice, or even a flat in the Barbican.

  “Hi there, anyone home?”

  The downstairs was deserted; all the doors had been left wide open so he could see right through. There were plates in the sink, crumbs on the table, and someone had left the milk out to curdle. That would be Sally; she was a regular slut in the kitchen. Sam put it back in the fridge, along with his champagne, and went on up to his room to change, his heart still pumping with pent-up adrenaline.

  Jeremy’s door was tight shut, with no sound issuing from within, while Dave’s was open and showed signs of a rapid departure. That was right, Sam remembered. He was spending the weekend in Edinburgh with friends and not planning to be back till Tuesday. For once Sally’s door was closed, so Sam left her undisturbed while he took a quick shower and shave.

  • • •

  “Sal? Are you in there?”

  There was total silence. He tapped again.

  “Sal?”

  He strained to hear the sounds of occupation but there was nothing. Maybe she was napping. He tried the handle and the door swung open.

  The room was empty, emptier than he had ever seen it before. The bed had been stripped and the blankets removed so that only the pillows, in their dingy striped ticking, remained on the bed. The door to the wardrobe hung open and so did all the drawers of the tallboy. Empty, the lot of them. Even her clock and radio had gone from the bedside table, and only a dying avocado plant remained to remind him that the room had once been occupied. That and the Maxwell House tin which was crammed full of used tissues and dirty cotton wool.