Authors: Sinister Weddings
D
EIRDRE WAS HANGING ROUND
the gate when Abby got home.
“Hullo,” she said. “Are you wearing the lipstick I gave you?”
The subject of the lipstick had grown out of all proportion. Abby was very tired of it.
“Not today.” And then, because she couldn’t hurt the child’s feelings, she added, “It’s the wrong color for this suit. But I’m going to use it tonight. Did you tell your mother you took it?”
Deirdre shrugged. “She doesn’t care. She’s got lots.”
“Where does she get them?”
“I don’t know. From work, I guess.”
“Not from the Rose Bay Cosmetic Company?”
Deirdre swung on the gate. “I don’t know. Who are they? Can I come in with you?”
Beneath her blasé manner the child was desperately lonely. Abby knew that and made herself be kind.
“For ten minutes, then I have to start getting dinner. Would you like a cold orange drink?”
“I’d rather have lime,” said Deirdre unenthusiastically. “Do you know, someone walks in our house at night.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I’m scared to go and look. I think it’s that old man off the boat.”
“Jock! What would he be doing in your house?”
Abby laughed incredulously. She had to laugh so that she didn’t let Deirdre notice how that strange fear had pricked her again.
“I dunno.” Deirdre kicked pebbles with her scuffed shoes. Her confidence had been rare, and she had been afraid she might be laughed at. “But it’s a man, and there’s no one else, is there? Uncle Milton can’t walk.”
For no reason whatever, Abby thought of Luke lying quietly beside her, deep in sleep, while the moon rode over the bright sky.
Suddenly she put her arm around Deirdre’s meager body.
“Silly girl. You imagine things just like I do. I even thought I was being followed home. I watch television too much. I expect you do, too.”
“It bores me,” said Deirdre cynically. “We only have it because of Uncle Milton.”
“Well, goodness,” said Abby. “Isn’t it time you were eight years old instead of eighty?”
But it was she who was eighty when Luke was late. It had long since grown dark, and she sat in the quiet house listening. She didn’t know why she listened so intently, for there was no sound but that made by a night beetle bumping drunkenly about the room. What did she expect to happen? Jock had come this morning asking for work, and this afternoon she had blundered into someone’s private premises. Neither of these things should give her such a queer feeling of oppression. But they did. When the telephone rang she started violently.
Then she sprang up, thinking it would be Luke.
The voice that spoke was a strange one, almost high-pitched enough to be a woman’s, though with a queer certainty Abby knew it belonged to a man.
“Is that the little lady in red?” it said, with a snigger.
Abby stiffened.
“You have the wrong number,” she said coldly, somehow managing to speak without a tremor.
“Right number, I think,” said the voice laconically, and there was a click as the receiver was put down.
When the telephone rang again a few moments later Abby was still standing beside it. Tense with shock, the abrupt noise made her jump again. Who was it this time? Luke, surely. Not the fish-faced man playing a joke on her. For she had a quite unaccountable certainty that her previous caller had been the fish-faced man checking where she lived. He had somehow followed her all the way home…Or far enough to be nearly sure who she was.
But this time it was Lola wanting to know if she and Luke would come up for coffee and drinks that evening.
She pulled herself together and spoke normally.
“I don’t know, Lola. Luke isn’t home yet. He had to go to Parramatta.”
“I know that, the skunk. I had to come home by ferry. But he won’t be late, will he? Do come.” She lowered her voice. “You’ll be doing us a good turn. Milton’s in one of his moods and poor Mary has had it.”
“Can I give you a ring when Luke gets home?”
“Sure. What have you been doing with yourself today? Mother says you went into town.”
The grapevine again. Abby was determined not to be annoyed by neighborly interest. And it was such a relief to talk to someone. She had been bottling up tension for too long.
“Yes, I did go to town, up to the Cross. Lola, do you know what make that lipstick was that Deirdre gave me?”
“Haven’t a clue, sweetie. I don’t know which she took. We buy from various companies. I’m the guinea pig and try them out. Anyway, can’t you look?”
Lola didn’t know the lipstick was buried in trash and ashes far beyond salvage, and Abby had no intention of telling her something that was private between herself and Luke.
“It had a bit of paper wrapped round it which unfortunately I’ve thrown away.” (She had searched in the wastepaper basket, but found she had emptied it that morning.) “I’m sure the name of the company was the Rose Bay Cosmetic Company. Anyway, it rang a bell when I saw its sign in the Cross today, so I went in to have a look. But there was only an empty room, and a rather horrible man who threatened me.”
“Goodness!” said Lola. “How queer! Have you told Luke?”
“I haven’t seen him yet.”
“Well, I’d tell him as soon as he gets home. He’ll warn you about going into strange buildings in the Cross. What made you go searching for this Rose Bay outfit, anyway?”
“I didn’t go searching for it. I just happened to see the sign. I used to write articles on beauty and cosmetics in London. I planned to do some here to fill in the time. Then I thought up this lipstick gimmick—”
A hand was laid on her shoulder.
“What lipstick gimmick?” said Luke.
Abby gasped. She heard Lola’s voice saying sharply, “What’s wrong?” (Almost, Abby thought afterwards, as if she had expected something to be wrong.)
Abby managed to laugh.
“Luke has just scared the wits out of me. I didn’t hear him come in. Luke, Lola wants us to go up for coffee later.”
“Okay,” said Luke.
Why didn’t he say he was too tired or too busy? Or make any excuse that would show he only wanted to spend the evening alone with his wife. But he was watching her, too, and it wasn’t with the pleasure of being home in her company again. It was with speculation. But perhaps the shock she had just had still showed in her face. She hadn’t got round to telling Lola the strange sequel to her visit to the Cross.
After saying to Lola that they would come, Abby put the receiver down, and said, “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“What did you tell Lola about that damn lipstick? Are you upset because I wouldn’t let you use it?”
Abby ignored the tone of his voice, and let her own troubles tumble out.
“Luke, I’ve just had the oddest phone call. One of those horrible anonymous ones, but the man must have known who I was because he called me ‘the little lady in red.’ And it’s true, I did wear my red suit today.”
Luke’s face changed. “Tell me what happened,” he said curtly. “Start at the beginning. Where did you wear your red suit?”
He listened intently while Abby related the story once more, this time completing it with the telephone call and her certainty that her caller had been the fish-faced man.
“He either guessed who I was from the beginning, or else he did follow me home. Although I was sure he didn’t get on the ferry.”
Luke regarded her intently, his eyes dark with thought. But all he said, rather irrelevantly, was,
“That innocent lipstick is having repercussions it doesn’t deserve. So what if you did like the flavor. I didn’t know women were accustomed to eating their lipstick. And why didn’t you tell me you were thinking of doing this job? Wasn’t I entitled to know?”
“I wanted to surprise you. And—”
“And what?” he asked, as she paused.
“Luke, don’t mind my saying this. But you’ve been so absorbed in your own work and sometimes I wonder if you ever think about what I do all day. That wretched man on his boat gets on my nerves. And Deirdre hangs around, and I don’t really know any people except the Moffatts. I—I guess I was just lonely.”
“And I didn’t notice,” Luke finished. “So you’ve begun to grow morbid, imagining people are watching you and following you.”
“I didn’t imagine that man today,” Abby said sharply. “He told me to get out for my own good. Why should he say that unless he was up to something suspicious? Why should he follow me? Have I seen something I shouldn’t have? Luke, am I going to be haunted by that unsavory character? Just to see I don’t poke my nose in again?”
Luke got up and went to the sideboard to pour a drink. He handed Abby a strong whisky.
“Drink that. You look as if you need it. And don’t jump to conclusions. That’s a very feminine characteristic. Yes, I know you’ve had a disturbing call, but why think it was that fellow, the fish-faced man as you call him? Couldn’t it have been anyone who saw you go up the hill in your red suit? After all, you’re worth looking at, my darling.”
Luke’s attempt at lightness was not particularly successful. His face was still bleak.
“And from this minute, Abby, you’re to get over this complex of being watched. I had no idea you felt like this. I know old Jock is a bit of a nuisance, but we can’t do anything about that. The river’s free, and he’s entitled to play his gramophone. As for the Moffatts, they like you. They genuinely want to be friends.”
“Lola, too?” Abby said involuntarily.
Luke gave her a quick glance under tightened brows.
“Lola, too. She’s a nice girl who’s had bad luck.”
“You mean she doesn’t have a husband at all? This is only a story for Deirdre’s sake?”
“I don’t mean that at all. As far as I know, Lola’s husband is in the States. Whether he comes back or not isn’t our business, but I do believe he exists. So put that thought out of your mind.”
“I wouldn’t dislike Lola because of that,” Abby murmured.
She saw that the precious sympathy had gone out of his face, and added bleakly, “I guess I just don’t feel much in common with Australians yet. You’ve had much longer at it than me, remember?”
“If you’re going to generalize, we can’t talk about Lola. So would you like me to say that she means nothing to me but a pleasant and amusing neighbor?”
“Luke, how did we get into this discussion?” Abby asked unhappily.
“I suppose via the lipstick, once more. Look, let’s settle this business once and for all. I didn’t want you to use that lipstick because it belonged to another woman, and I prefer you to have your own. Understand? It could have been any woman’s, not particularly Lola’s. And as for your little adventure today, we’ll get that straightened out, too. Tomorrow you shall take me to this place and we’ll find this man and settle his hash. If he has been making mischievous phone calls it can be a police matter. But we’ll intimidate him a bit first.” He looked at her with his level gaze. “All right?”
Abby nodded helplessly. Somewhere along the way of this discussion they had lost their closeness again. She didn’t know where it had happened. With the mention of Lola, probably. After all, who else?
“You think I’m just being neurotic,” she said.
He frowned impatiently.
“Darling, please. I’m only trying to get this thing straightened out. It’s all my fault, anyway. I should have realized you were lonely and bored. Perhaps it’s a good idea that you do get a job.”
“Yes.” Abby swallowed the rest of her drink. It hadn’t helped her to relax in the least. She didn’t see how going back to Kings Cross and climbing those dark, grimy stairs again could help, either. Perhaps it was as well they were going to the Moffatts for coffee. At least it would pass the evening.
The evening which she had waited for all day, she thought painfully, and sprang up before tears could come into her eyes.
“I’d better get the dinner if we’re going out. Have you had a busy day? Miss Atkinson told me you’d gone to Parramatta.”
“Yes. It’s a good job, too. You might even congratulate me.” He smiled, asking for her interest. As if she were a stranger. “How did you come to be talking to Miss Atkinson?”
“Oh, I thought I’d wait in town and come home with you. I was a bit upset, I know. It was silly making that man open the door and getting into that place. I really asked for it. It was his face that frightened me most. It wasn’t really evil, it was just—” she stopped, trying to think how to describe that flaccid, stupid, yet crafty face. “After all, I don’t much care for Jock, either. He came this morning asking for work. But he isn’t really frightening like this other one. You must be right, Luke. I do have a complex. Perhaps I’m starting a baby.”
He came to stand behind her at the table and kiss her neck.
“Darling! I love you so much. Believe me!”
She didn’t turn lest she destroy the precious unbelievable moment.
“Really?”
“Look at me!”
Then she had to turn, and immediately was sorry. She hadn’t wanted to see such intense anxiety in his face.
“Luke, you really are worried about this.”
“Anything that worries you worries me. Don’t be so stupid!”
Abby had to say something quickly to lighten the moment. What was wrong with Luke and herself? They were being so intense.
“I don’t think I am starting a baby,” she confessed. “It would be nice and rather old-fashioned if I were. Wouldn’t it? I mean, so soon.”
She resolutely pushed the vision of Deirdre’s thin sharp inquisitive and unlikeable face out of her mind. A baby needed a great deal, including loving, and united parents. Poor Deirdre was to be pitied. Her own baby would be happy and fortunate. Because Luke did love her after all…
S
HE HAD KNOWN EXACTLY WHAT
it would be like in the Moffatt’s living-room, a large high-ceilinged room with a cavernous stone fireplace that was never used, elaborate gas brackets and heavy Victorian furniture that had been used in the earlier days of Australian history.
Mrs. Moffatt presided over this. In spite of her anxious friendliness and her jumpiness, she was very much the mistress of her own house. Neither of her daughters could enjoy the old-fashioned furniture or the Victorian atmosphere, for both Lola and Mary were unlucky, one whose husband never came home and the other whose husband was an invalid.