Dorothy Eden (36 page)

When he saw the police car he stopped and stared. There was nothing furtive about his actions. He was obviously astonished and inquisitive.

One of the police, the younger man, went over and questioned him. He gesticulated a lot and once gave a high whinnying laugh.

The man came back, shaking his head.

“He looks a natural, doesn’t he? But he’s got an alibi. He’s been doing a gardening job for Mrs. Brookman of Silver Street. Got there at noon, and has just stopped work. Mrs. Brookman was there all the time, he says. She made him tea at three o’clock. That’s approximately the time this job was done here. So it looks as if your swagman is in the clear.”

“So he’s not even a witness,” said Luke thoughtfully.

“Well, we’ll get going,” said the policeman. “We’ll let you know if we get on to anything. But these fellows—they’re like lizards. Vanish without a trace, and just as quickly. I’d advise you to get some double locks.”

As soon as they were alone Luke turned to Abby.

“Put on your prettiest dress. We’re going out to dinner.”

Abby looked at him uncertainly.

“Do you think we should leave the house?”

“The damned house can take care of itself.”

Abby’s resilient spirits began to rise.

“What fun! Where shall we go? What shall I wear? Isn’t it lucky my pearls weren’t stolen? I wonder what that burglar thought he would find. Perhaps he expected me to have brought heirlooms from England. I’ll have time for a bath, won’t I?”

If Luke had stopped to think he might have realized that it was very rarely in the eight weeks she had been here that Abby had felt like behaving in her normal high-spirited way. But fury still smouldered in his eyes and he was thinking of something else.

“Take as much time as you like. It’s early yet. I’ve got some people to telephone.”

From the bedroom Abby heard him talking to Miss Atkinson, giving her detailed instructions about some work. She went to run a bath, and as the water roared from the taps happily dawdled over manicuring her nails, undressing and scenting the water. Let’s live only in the present moment, she kept telling herself. Tonight there would be no melancholy sunset, for Luke was here and they were going to have a party. For once he had been jolted out of his preoccupation with work and other things, and put her first.

She turned the tap off, and in the sudden silence heard Luke’s voice.

“You complete and utter fool! Of all the melodramatic and unnecessary things…What? …Not trust me! …I’m sorry, too…”

Then he must have realized the silence in the house, for abruptly he lowered his voice and the rest of his sentence was inaudible.

He was probably still talking to Miss Atkinson, and one wondered how her middle-aged aplomb would react to that telling off. Or had he taken the opportunity, under cover of the roaring bath water, to ring someone else.

Abby refused to let suspicions spoil her happiness.

“Luke, surely you’re not talking to Miss Atkinson like that! I’d never have the courage.”

“She’s made a stupid mistake.”

“Miss Atkinson! I’m sure she never makes mistakes.” She was still speaking lightly, hiding her disquiet. “Who is it who doesn’t trust you?”

“A client. An important one. How long are you going to be?”

“Hours.” She pushed away the thought of the distrustful client. “I’m going to make every minute of this evening last.”

“Have you hated it all so much?” came his unexpected question.

So he had noticed, after all. He hadn’t been too preoccupied for that.

Abby tried to speak casually. “Darling, open the door if we’re going to talk. Have I hated what?”

“Being here alone.”

“Well—a little. As it grew dark at nights. Have you noticed how the cypresses and the monastery on the hill stand out against the sunset? They didn’t make me feel religious, just depressed.”

“Would you like to live somewhere else?” Again his question was unexpected, and startled her.

“Leave here?”

“I thought after the things that had happened you might want to. If you do, we will.”

Abby thought longingly of a house on the other side of the city, away from the river, away from the watching Moffatts. She scrambled out of the bath and wrapping herself in a towel opened the door.

“Do you really mean that—” She saw that he was feeling the wood of the door thoughtfully, and suddenly she realized his pride in the house he had planned and built. She also realized how fatal a mistake it would be to insist on moving.

“Luke, how absurd can you get? You built this house for me and I love it. Nothing would make me move.”

Her lie must have been convincing, for he took her damp, flushed face in his hands. His own above hers was searching, desperately serious.

“I would if you were unhappy.”

When she shook her head he seemed to relax.

“Bless you,” he said.

And that brief moment made it all worth while, the loneliness and the strange fears, Jock’s persistent pop songs, the unexplained telephone calls, and the wreckage in the bedroom this afternoon. Even whomever it was Luke had just called a fool. Because she knew it couldn’t have been Miss Atkinson.

It was while she waited in the living-room for Luke to finish dressing that her uneasiness, like a recurring disease, increased. She hadn’t drawn the curtains and in the dim light she thought she saw two figures on Jock’s boat. She couldn’t be sure. Jock was on the deck, but it seemed as if a shadow had moved across the cabin porthole.

The police had suggested that the burglar might have come by the river. Supposing he had been on Jock’s boat all the time! Then it didn’t matter that Jock did have an alibi. Indeed, it could have been he who had rung Abby with the fictitious message while his confederate waited to see her leave the house.

The fish-faced man, she thought, with her usual method of jumping to fantastic conclusions.

Fantastic or not, the conviction would not leave her.

“Luke,” she called urgently. “I think Jock’s got a friend on his boat.”

“Well, what of it?” Luke had come to the door. “Darling, help me with my tie.”

“But I’ve got this funny feeling it’s the fish-faced man. You know the one—”

“I know the one.” Luke maintained his pleasant tolerant expression. “You can see in the dark, I imagine.”

“No, I can’t see his face. I just feel it’s him. If it is, he was the burglar.”

“All right,” said Luke, tugging at his tie, “we’ll go over and see.”

“Now?” Abby squeaked. Suddenly the river looked very dark and cold. She could almost feel its chill on her skin.

“Don’t tell me I don’t humor your fancies. You may even be right for once.”

“Luke, you’re laughing at me again,” Abby pleaded.

“On the contrary, I’ve never laughed at you. Far from it. Come on, lets go. Don’t look so worried. I used to row for my school. I won’t splash your dress or tip you into the river. But what I won’t stand is you sitting here indulging in fancies.”

Abby made a last nervous protest.

“We can’t go on the river in evening dress.”

“Why not? Jock will be flattered.”

Abby found herself bustled out of the house into the windy twilight. At least one thing her husband liked was action. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps that was one reason she loved him.

He helped her down the narrow rocky path to the water’s edge. Jock’s lanky figure had disappeared into the lighted cabin.

“Aren’t you even going to call out and tell him we’re coming?” Abby asked.

“And then have you say his friend had time to slip overboard?”

“Luke, you are laughing at me. Besides, he’ll hear us coming, anyway.”

But Jock had his favorite record playing and clearly hadn’t heard the splash of oars. For when the dinghy grated alongside he appeared in some surprise. He had only his shabby denim trousers on, and was hugging his naked chest against the chilly wind.

“Hullo, mate. Want something?”

“Just taking my wife for a row. She’s curious about your boat. She wonders how anyone can live comfortably in so small a space.”

“You can do that all right,” said Jock, grinning and showing his stained stumps of teeth. “Want to come aboard and look? I got everything but a washing machine. Honest.”

He pulled the canvas curtain back from the lighted cabin. A strong smell of cooking fish came out.

The record was running down.
“I love only you-oo
…” Jock bent to switch it off. He grinned invitingly.

“Coming aboard, Mrs. Fearon? You look dressed for a party. Afraid I’ve only got beer.”

“Thank you, but we were just—having some fresh air.”

The excuse was lamentable. This man could read right into her mind. He knew her suspicions and was enjoying them.

“Catch that burglar?” he asked insolently.

“Not yet,” said Luke. “We will.”

“Fair enough, mate. Too much of that sort of thing going on. Sorry if the music disturbs you, Mrs. Fearon. I have it on a lot, being alone all the time.”

His glinting eyes held Abby’s. Luke said easily,

“Well, darling? Getting cold? We’d better go. We’ll call again one day.”

Jock nodded cheerfully.

“You do that, mate. Glad to see you any time.”

Neither of them spoke until they got ashore. Then Luke made a deplorable joke.

“If your friend was on board you don’t need to worry any more. He was being cooked for supper.” He took her rigid arm. “Joke, sweetie, joke. There was no one else there, as you could see.”

A large winged creature, black in the dusk, flew in Abby’s face. She gave a small scream and had to cling to Luke, forgiving him for his facetiousness. Australia! she was thinking. Where things flew out of the dark into your face, where everyone called you “mate” and burgled your house when your back was turned, where your husband became a stranger…

“I promise not to imagine things again,” she said in a small voice. “Can we still have fun tonight?”

“If you’ll take that suspicious look out of your eyes. Everything’s all right, darling. I promise you it is.”

He spoke with such conviction that Abby had the fleeting thought that he must have secretly solved the whole mystery, including the identity of the burglar. Or that he had known everything that was going on all the time…

There was one more small tableaux involving the Moffatt family that evening.

As Luke drove the car slowly up past the big house Abby caught a glimpse of Deirdre in the lighted window of her room. She had her back to the night, and was holding out the skirts of an obviously new dress to show somebody. For the first time since Abby had known her she looked like a normal little girl, excited about a new dress.

Was there any significance in Lola remembering to buy it for her today, the day she had to stay in her room whether her illness was genuine or pretended?

L
OLA WAS OVER EARLY
the next morning. She had come to say she was sorry about the burglary and had anything developed?

“I came over last night but there was no one home. I am sorry about this, Abby, especially since I was brought into it. Fancy using Deirdre as a decoy! I was hopping mad about that. Now you’ll never trust me if I do take you up on that offer of yours.”

“Of course I’ll trust you,” said Abby, knowing she never would. “How is Deirdre today?”

“A bit peaky. She’s staying home from school. It’s her birthday, anyway, and thank goodness I remembered to buy her her new dress. I believe she’s going to ask you to a party. You ought to be flattered. It’s the first time she’s ever wanted to ask anyone.”

“She should have other children,” Abby protested.

Lola shrugged. “Deirdre’s Deirdre. I believe she was born old.”

But at least this explained the reason for Lola at last remembering to buy the dress. There was nothing suspicious about it being last night, after a day when Deirdre had kept so carefully out of sight.

She watched Luke and Lola drive off. Luke had said she was to ring the office and talk to Miss Atkinson, at least, if he wasn’t in, if anything at all worried her. Now that something that was not just one of her peculiar fancies had happened, he was prepared to be sympathetic and remorseful about her distress. He had proved that by offering to find another house if she wanted to move from here. She was glad she had refused to do that. He would inevitably despise her a little if she ran away. It was certain that he had not wanted to move.

But she hoped, all the same, that she didn’t have to watch him and Lola drive off every morning like this. Lola’s head was turned to Luke’s, and they were already deep in conversation.

Deirdre came over as Abby was feeding the kookaburras. They immediately swooped off to the jacaranda tree, clacking their beaks in rage. Deirdre stood quite still staring at them. Abby wondered whose stare was the more malevolent, the birds’, or the child’s.

“Hullo, Deirdre. Happy birthday. Why didn’t you tell me you were having a birthday?”

Deirdre ignored the question and asked the one of her own which she had obviously come to ask.

“What did the burglar take?”

“Nothing, so far as we can discover.”

“Then why did he come?”

“I suppose he thought I had more jewellery than I have. Do I look to you like someone who has tiaras and things?”

“Were you scared?”

“Yes, I was. Were you really sick?”

Deirdre blinked again and scuffed her feet.

“I felt sick. Gran said I looked pale. Anyway, I hate school.”

“But you didn’t know the burglar was going to ring me up?”

“No, no, no!”

Abby didn’t know why she had asked that question, but neither did she expect such a violent denial, as if Deirdre, poor little scrap, had been worrying about her innocent part in the plot. She was alarmingly perceptive.

Or else she had guiltily contributed her part to the plot…

“I saw you in your new dress last night. You were standing at the window. It looked very chic.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, it means rather specially fashionable.”

“Good God, I don’t want to be fashionable!” said Deirdre. “Why don’t you get the kookies back?”