Araluen by Judy Nunn Page B

Kings Cross. There was a long work bench against one wall, with an assortment of brushes and jars and tubes and tins scattered all over it. The floor was made of bare boards and leaning against the walls were dozens of paintings and sculptures in various stages of completion. The sun streamed in over everything and the effect was one of highly lit chaos. Franklin had to admit that it was rather exciting — in a Bohemian way.
    ‘Franklin!’ Gaby looked up from her work. She was in one corner of the room by the windows, a plaster cast on a pedestal before her and, although she was messy from her elbows down and had a smudge of plaster on her face, she managed to look neat, presentable and very attractive — the antithesis of Catherine.
    ‘I am so sorry I couldn't come to the door, but look at her.’ She gestured to the bust on the pedestal. ‘If I let her dry, I am lost.’
    Franklin joined Gaby and she kissed him on both cheeks, holding her wet hands aloft. He didn't find the physical contact with her at all offensive. In fact, if he eradicated the repulsive image of her in the straw with Catherine, he found her immensely attractive. She would be well into her fifties by now, Franklin thought, and yet she looked so young.
    ‘She's beautiful,’ Franklin said, nodding at the bust. ‘Who is she?’
    ‘A prostitute,’ Catherine said before Gaby could reply. Gaby flashed her a look of rebuke but Catherine ignored it. The boy needed a dose of the truth. ‘A notorious prostitute, famous in theunderworld, very beautiful and quite a nice girl too.’
    She's doing it deliberately to shock me, Franklin thought, annoyed.
    ‘It will be a bronze,’ Gaby said, getting back to her work. ‘This is the early stage.’ Much as she loved Catherine, Gaby wished she wouldn't go out of her way to antagonise people the way she did. And not Franklin, she felt like begging. Not your Franklin. You've been so looking forward to seeing him, don't ruin it for yourself.
    And Catherine thought irritably, ‘Dear, stylish, oh-so-nice Gaby. She'll go out of her way to be all the proper things the boy expects people to be. Someone has to teach him a lesson. And I suppose I'll have to be the ogre who does it.’
    Franklin lunched with the two women and, throughout the meal, Gaby continued to charm him and Catherine continued to grate on him.
    ‘What timing, Franklin!’ Catherine laughed, when he told them of his plans. ‘We are in the grip of a Depression, there is a massive labour movement afoot in the city and you decide to make your capitalistic bid for fame and fortune!’
    ‘And I shall succeed, Aunt Catherine.’
    Catherine didn't need Gaby's warning glance — even she couldn't fail to notice the steely glint in her nephew's eyes.
    ‘I'm sure you will, my dear.’ An attempt at mollification. ‘And let's drop the “Aunt”, shall we? Call me Catherine.’
    ‘Very well,’ Franklin answered stiffly. He didn't like being laughed at.
    After lunch, they drank their coffee in thegarden outside the studio, Catherine smoking little black cigars, much to Franklin's disapproval. Through the leafy green trees he could see the bustling streets of Kings Cross and he listened with interest as Gaby told him a little of the suburb.
    ‘It is Sydney's Montmartre,’ she said. ‘Very Bohemian.’ Her accent was as charming as Franklin remembered from his childhood. ‘I feel at home here,’ she continued, ‘despite the fact there is a dangerous underworld influence.’
    ‘Rubbish,’ Catherine interrupted. ‘That only makes it all the more colourful. What about that bust you're doing of Nellie Cameron? One of the best things you've done in years — you find her quite inspirational, you said so yourself.’
    Catherine lit up a fresh cigar. ‘There are a lot of powerful women in Sydney, Franklin. Particularly in the art world.’ She puffed at the cigar and coffee slopped from the cup in her other hand.
    ‘And the underworld,’ she added.