The Lovers

by Catherine Rey

  This Lucie, he made her come all the way from France with a lot of phoney promises… He’s cunning as a shit-house rat, he takes advantage of people, he’s a swindler… See, these girls, he bamboozles them… I reckon he told Lucie he knew a big-wig in the Immigration Department who’d help her get permanent residency. She got sucked in.

  You’d like to know more about Brit and Annette? Ernest didn’t talk much about them to me… I actually think he didn’t speak much to anyone about them… I wouldn’t want to stir up all that shit but since you’re asking me… Brit, I knew her. Nice sheila, gorgeous looking. Italian. She was an artist. Real talented. Wanted to make a career for herself. She was into drugs… for inspiration, she said. I gave her a bit of weed once. Ernest gave her the sales pitch, saying he’d be able to set her up for an exhibition in Sydney. She got all excited, moved in with him, did all his cooking and cleaning. She slogged for months on her painting and, at the end of the day, zip! No exhibition. Ernest kept stringing her along. The poor thing gave me a buzz one day. She was on the skids, yeah, she was losing it. I said, you’ve got to leave him. Get the fuck out of there. She didn’t listen. Then she started to go downhill… sitting all day at the window staring into space. One morning, she ran through the forest to the top of the cliff and jumped. Her body was found two days later, washed away by the waves…

  You bet your arse it’s terrible… As for Annette, that’s another horrible story… Ernest was denied access to the child because he hit her when she was five months pregnant. They lived in a studio in Kings Cross… On the ground floor… She jumped out of the bathroom window and ran away just wearing a tee-shirt and knickers… One of your boys in blue found the poor bird the following morning, half-frozen in a back lane… No, she didn’t lodge a restraining order against him… Too scared… Ernest is sick, believe me… So yes, he’s got a son and I hope he doesn’t take after his father… We aren’t honourable sons, one a stray dog and the other a thief. My parents are better off dead, I tell you…

  Get real! I wouldn’t dream of getting Lucie in trouble with Ernest. She came up to me when I was outside. We had a bit of a chat. She asked me to keep my mouth shut… She knew I’d seen her in the corridor with her travelling bag. I gave her my word, of course. I’m down to my last buck, I said. She set off, came back and slipped a hundred in my pocket. I gave her my phone number. She promised to visit me in Queensland. She’s not a bad bird for a Frog.

  Rosy Barth

  Australian Federal Police

  Sydney Headquarters

  New South Wales

  Yes, you’re quite correct, I did lose my wallet. Sorry, I forgot… I’m confused, but my wallet wasn’t in my handbag when I looked for the torch…Yes, thank you, I wouldn’t mind a tissue…

  Why did I go to the party, given I don’t like Ernest? Yes, I loathe him… I can’t believe I allowed it to happen. I wish I’d never been to that bloody party… Yes, that’s the truth… we had sex… that’s true. In the sitting-room… I’m so ashamed of myself. Lucie might’ve seen us. It might’ve sent her crazy. The whole thing could have been my fault. Well, let’s face it… I panicked. I didn’t want to be found out… I couldn’t bear what I’d done, being fucked around again by that man, no, I couldn’t bear it… Last time I talked to you… well… I lied… I played stupid… I thought you’d believe me.

  Sorry, yes, my wallet… That’s right. We were outside… It was so cold… I told Gary and Nicole I’d go back. I went up the path to the house, then up the stairs. The glass doors were wide open. The party room was a complete mess. I zigzagged my way through, and as I was about to enter the library, I heard two voices arguing. They belonged to Ernest and Lucie.

  I walked discreetly along the corridor. The sitting-room door was ajar… There were no guests around. Ernest had his back to me. Lucie was leaning against the wall. She was holding on to a large bag. I could hardly recognise her. Nothing like the woman I’d met earlier that evening. She looked washed out, completely spent. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a green parka. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. It looked dirty. After a while, she asked Ernest in a faded voice why he had never told her he had a son… A son? A big surprise for me too! Ernest hissed, how do you know about my son? She said Raphaël had told her. No one talked for a while then Ernest asked if it was all she’d been told. No, she said, Raphaël also told me about your story with Brit. I’m leaving you, she added. There’s no hope, no future with you, you’ll never change. Ernest laughed and poured himself a large whisky. Then I heard the same ear-bashing that he used to give me whenever we had a serious argument.

  Gosh, I had long forgotten about that, but he still had it down pat… You women, you’re all the same… Isn’t that ironic? You come here, you make yourselves comfortable, you prance at my arm. It makes you feel special, important. It gives meaning to your meaningless life. You prey on my generosity, my kindness, my time. You say you don’t want me to change a bit, you say you love me as I am, but that’s not true, is it? In the end, if I don’t live up to your demands, it’s bye-bye… Our Father, who art in Heaven, have you created all women out of the same mould?

  Brit, you want to know about Brit, don’t you? So, let’s talk about poor little Brit. She was a junkie when I met her, flat broke, ill-educated, a wreck covered in sores and pimples. I gave her a chance, helped her get it together. And the very day she got clean, she pissed off!

  Lucie was still leaning against the wall, looking as if she was about to collapse. She gave a sigh and said in a sad voice, where did she go? Ernest shook his head… Who cares? She left. That’s all that matters. I give you all a chance, and, as soon as I’ve taught you good manners, how to speak English correctly, how to dress, how to take care of yourself, you get up and leave… And you nick something on your way out… Rosy, Joanna, Annette, Brit, all of you… Looking like cheap sluts. After I’ve taken care of you, fed you, dressed you, taught you all about art and life, you fuck off. That’s how you repay me for my kindness…

  When I heard my name on that list, when I realised I was nothing more than a cheap slut to him, as he put it, I thought, what a miserable low-life you are, Ernest Renfield… And I got so bloody angry, I nearly burst out screaming.

  Then I heard Lucie ask if she could leave. Her legs were trembling. Hang on a minute, Ernest growled. I haven’t finished with you, Lucie Bruyère…

  What? No, of course, Ernest didn’t let her go. I know, I was there… He’s lying through his teeth. He ordered her to sit down in the armchair and began to tell her off. You’ve stolen a book from my library… The Prophet. See, he said, this is literature. I wonder how a woman as stupid as you is capable of understanding a book like this! Now listen, I’ll read you some words of wisdom… Then he opened the book and started reading, his drink in his left hand, the book in his right. Page after page, he kept on reading. I can’t remember how long he went on for, but it was gut-wrenching… Lucie was swaying in the armchair, looking as if she was about to pass out. Her eyes were closed. Her face tense, grey, withered. Tears were running down her cheeks, her nose was running.

  Ernest finally put the book down and said, okay, you want to know, so I’ll tell you. I have a son… His name is Hayden. I’ve never lost track of him. His mother moved many times, sometimes she shifted overnight. She went to another state, but a couple of reliable friends of mine tailed her. They understand my situation and that Hayden and I cannot lose sight of each other. I need to know where he lives so I can send him a birthday card. And I always sign off with “Your daddy who loves you”.

  Then Ernest went on explaining how the mother, whom he called a spiteful whore, had persecuted him for many years. He said she was unstable, yes, unstable, and she didn’t have what it took to raise a child… Yes, he had warned the Family Court, but that bunch of wigged puppets had always dismissed his plight… His tale would have broken your heart. To me, it sounded like utter bullshit…

  Lucie was hunched, her bag squashed on her lap. Her knuc
kles were white from clenching. Ernest went up to her and grabbed her ponytail, pulling her head back. Don’t you think I am a good father, Lucie Bruyère, he said. His voice was harsh, blunt, chilling. Lucie opened her eyes wide. I had to stifle a scream. Seeing Ernest like this was horrifying… I really thought he was going to hurt the poor woman. I couldn’t move. Now of course, looking back, I wonder whether I could have done something to stop it, go outside, call for help, but honestly, I was too petrified to move.

  Why don’t you talk, Ernest asked. You’ve got such a talent at lecturing others, and now… nothing. Cat got your tongue?

  He put his glass on the table, bent low and took hold of Lucie’s jaw in his right hand, forcing her mouth to open.

  Yuck, you stink of cigarettes! Why don’t you talk now? Say something? Blah, blah, blah… His hand was huge, with bulging veins, massive fingers, and Lucie’s face looked brittle in its grip… She scowled as she tried to break free.

  You never say a bad word, eh? You never get angry or tell me to piss off. You just stare at me, completely passive. You think you can just walk out the door. Goodbye, nice to have met you… We’ve spent two years together. I just threw a big party for your ladyship that cost me a fortune. That might be what young people do these days… casual sex… a good fuck… and bye-bye. Well, I’m a bit too old for that shit… sorry. I don’t like being made a fool of and, right now, I feel like a damn fool.

  Ernest still had Lucie’s jaw in a tight hold. She was moaning. I was rigid, short of breath, confronted by a vision from hell. As I looked at that man, I thought, how could this be the man I’d loved, the man I’d been so happy with? He was someone else. The man I’d loved would never assault a woman.

  For a moment, I thought Ernest was about to break her jaw. Lucie let out a scream. I had to bite my hand to stop myself from screaming too.

  What a tight, prudish little girl you are, he said… All screwed up because I asked you to join in with me and Rosy? Don’t you like Rosy? She’s no spring chicken but she’s still a bit of alright, don’t you think? It got you so worked up that you ran outside and jumped in the lake! Did you want to drown, or put on a little show so someone could rescue you? Poor Little Miss… Poor darling… Aren’t you all sexually liberated in France? Wouldn’t you like to fondle a juicy slapper like Rosy? No, you wouldn’t! I tell you what… I thought you were a sex goddess, but you’re nothing like it. You are a fraud, a con artist, a phoney! Fucking you is like fucking dead meat.

  I had to pull away then and lean against the wall. Is that what he thought of me? I’d gone from being a golden doe to a juicy slapper! I felt a surge of anger. I thought, you son of a bitch… You’re going to pay for that… I clenched my fist… But he is so huge, so strong, and at that moment in a murderous state of mind, yes absolutely, a murderous state of mind… What could I do?

  Now Ernest was heaping more insults onto Lucie, calling her frigid, a low-life, an ugly scarecrow… You wouldn’t believe how he carried on… For your education, Little Miss, Picasso said there are two kinds of women: goddesses and doormats. And you know why? Because Picasso had read the great Marquis de Sade. Remember Sade? Reading him made you so horny once upon a time… According to Sade, Nature has created strong beings, like me, and weak creatures, like you. Do I have to explain to you what a doormat is? You know that word? That’s where you wipe the dirt from your shoes…

  Ernest laughed. Lucie was still clinging to her bag. He stepped sideways to try to pick up his glass from the table. In the process, he let go of Lucie. At that very moment she leapt from the armchair, and holding on to her bag, ran to the back door, into the night.

  Ernest turned around. Staggering, roaring, as if he were in dreadful pain. He reached for the metal cabinet, opened it, grabbed a rifle. Then he stepped to the threshold of the door, took aim and fired two shots… My heart was thumping… I was terrified that if he happened to see me he’d shoot me dead…

  He seemed to realise the two blasts might have woken up his guests… He quickly left the room out the back door. My whole body was shaking. I had drawn blood from my hand by biting it. I stumbled across the room and went outside. Ernest had vanished. I leant against a tree and vomited… The day had dawned. I looked about for any sign of Lucie. She could have been injured or fallen down dead… But she was gone… I hoped with all my heart that she was gone and would stay miles away from that monster… For the rest of her life.

  On my way back to the house I saw the rifle, half-concealed in a shrub. I decided to get rid of it… Who knows what Ernest might have done next? He could have gone crazy and wiped out everyone in the house, including me… I grabbed the bloody thing. I couldn’t look at it. I could barely hold it. My arm was trembling. I wandered down to the edge of the gully, chucked the rifle in there and ran away.

  All that I’d heard and seen that night made me sick. I never thought Ernest could behave like that. Artists and students had spun rumours about Ernest… One of the girls who sat for him many years ago told me once he was more than just mad. I didn’t believe her… But the fact was that his models usually sat two or three times and never came back.

  I threw the rifle away because I was afraid… Maybe that was a stupid thing to do. As I walked across the sitting-room, I heard Gary and Nicole. They were looking for Ernest. Nicole was carrying her daughter in her arms. The child was sound asleep. I stood in the corridor. I kept what I had just seen to myself. I didn’t mention the rifle. Nicole noticed the blood on my hand and around my face. I said I’d cut my hand with a piece of broken glass, quickly wiping my face clean and suggesting we go and check if Ernest was in his bedroom. I was pretty sure he would be there…

  Gary Whitehall

  Longland

  New South Wales

  You’d like to know what I’m doing here, wandering at nightfall like a lost soul? Well, Ernest called me early this morning… He asked me to get in the car and come to Longland at once… Goodness me, I never thought I’d have such a hell of a day.

  When he rang… it could have been around six o’clock… I was still asleep. I wondered what on earth had happened. I thought maybe Lucie had come home. But Ernest didn’t want to talk on the phone. I got dressed and drove off. When I arrived, he was having his breakfast. He was surprisingly calm. He walked me to the kitchen without a word. Everything about Longland seemed back to normal, though I did notice Lucie’s piano was gone. I didn’t ask why. We sat in the kitchen and had a coffee. Gary, he said to me, I’m going on an important trip and I might be gone a while. You’re my best friend and the only person I can trust. Here are my keys… This one is for the front door; that one for the back; the little one, for my studio. You might not know it, but the door to the studio was broken recently. I had it repaired…

  Well, I didn’t ask why, but I’d heard about the search warrant and noticed the cut above his right eye. So, I pieced things together regarding the broken door… I guess there was a bit of a kerfuffle getting into his studio.

  He asked if I wouldn’t mind looking after the house while he was away. He told me I was welcome to stay and could take the front bedroom, the one looking out onto the lake. Use as much wood as you need when things get cold, he said, telling me that he’d stored some wood in the small shed at the back of the kitchen. As for the garden, he would arrange for someone to attend to it eventually. He looked out at the overgrown yard, staring into the middle distance for some time. Hard to believe it was so well turned out a month ago, he said. Look at it now! Look at the vines, taking over. The whole place will be swallowed up by this damn jungle one of these days… Now, make sure all doors are locked at all times, especially my studio. I wouldn’t ask anyone else but you, Gary… And could you please take my car for a drive from time to time? I’m thinking of the battery, you know…

  I didn’t interrupt him. It was all very confusing. He was going for a trip? What trip? Whereabouts? And not a word about Lucie. He didn’t mention her name, as if she’d never existed. Where is she?
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  We finished our coffee. After a while, without wanting to appear nosy, I asked him where he intended to go. I’ve been instructed to have a rest, he explained. Longland isn’t good for me in my current state. I’ve booked a room at a Broome resort. You know, a nice relaxing place where massages are on call, where I can recline by the pool with a cocktail. I’ll feel so much better there.

  For whatever reason, Ernest couldn’t look me in the eye. He stood up, washed our cups, dried them both and placed them in the cupboard. He then grabbed his jacket and leather hat from the coat rack and made his way to the front door. His suitcase was already packed. I followed him as he walked outside. He adjusted his hat, gazing at the forest. Several times he looked at his watch, as if waiting for the next train to arrive. They should be here any minute now, he said. I warily asked him if he’d called a taxi. I didn’t get an answer. I was perplexed as to what was going on, thinking maybe Ernest had completely lost his marbles. But it all fell into place when I saw the police car come down the driveway.

  He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t look at me. Had it not been a police car, I might have thought he was off to the airport. One of the two policemen invited Ernest to take a seat in the back. He took his seat without protest and the policeman sat next to him. And they drove off… I felt like fainting and had to sit down. I never thought your investigation would end up like this, with Ernest taken away in a police car.