turned the corner at the end of the street, the late sun catching it for a moment: the golden reflections seemed to take on an extra carat or two from their source. “I’d love a Rolls-Royce,” Josie sighed.
I couldn’t bite him for that much, Savanna thought; not that and the money we really need. He had looked up the price of the Rolls when Grafter had bought the latest Silver Shadow: twenty-four thousand dollars; that had been the day the bank had sent him a particularly sharp note about Olympus’ overdraft, and he had almost turned Communist on the spot. Yet, in a way, he didn’t begrudge Grafter the car nor the way the old bastard lived; he would live that way himself if he could afford it. He put his arm about Josie’s plump shoulders and squeezed her. “Would you settle for a vintage Savanna?”
He could feel her body stiffen. She and Glenda have been talking about me, he thought again; or she’s been listening and Glenda has been doing the talking. But he kept his arm round her, his fingers working gently on her bare shoulder. Across the street a woman hosing her garden watched them, her eyes sore with the effort to be discreet; here in Rose Bay there were still pretensions of gentility; you did not stare at your neighbours unless you were wearing dark glasses. Savanna did stare across at the woman, telling her silently: I’m trying to seduce my wife and I’m a bastard. Then he felt Josie relax and he felt even more of a bastard. But what else can I offer her but some love-making? She knows I don’t love her, but she’s willing to take the substitute. She looked up at him, her eyes going blank, and said, “Now?”
She turned quickly and went inside. He stood at the front door, looking out across the shining scab of red-tiled roofs on the lower side of the street to the thin streak of water, a blue mote in the eye, that the estate agents called a harbour
view. He and Josie had moved here to Rose Bay when they had first married; she because, born and raised in Ashfield, a respectable lower middle class suburb, she hungered to move up to a higher scale of respectability; he because he had been born and raised in Rose Bay, anyway, and it was close to the city. They had paid five and a half thousand pounds for the house and he had not been too proud to finance it on a War Service loan. Today he could sell the house for fifty thousand dollars, or twenty-five thousand pounds, and wipe out all his debts with the sale. But they would be left with nothing to start all over again and he had no confidence in his powers of recovery. Unlike Grafter Gibson he had never really started at the bottom and at fifty-four he did not want to go looking for the experience of it. Beyond that there was another, more important reason why he would not sell the house. It was the one solid, constant thing in their marriage, Josie’s rock; she did not love it more than she did their daughter, but she depended on it more; it would always be there, but Margaret was already gone, was in England now and might never come back. If he took the house away from Josie, their marriage would be over. And he could not bring himself to do that to her.
He closed the front door, shutting out the scratched and dented Jaguar, the driveway that he couldn’t afford to have re-surfaced, the dusky sky whose serenity was a mockery. He would give Grafter a call in the next day or two, but first he would have to work out what to say. He had never spoken the commercial for blackmail.
“Hurry up, sweet— “
On his way to the bedroom he stopped by the phone, took it off its cradle and dialled two digits to break the dial tone. It had a habit of ringing at the worst possible moment. The Postmaster-General had caused more hernias than he knew of.
CHAPTER THREE
Monday, December 9
1
“I think you might’ve let your father off ,” said Brigid i\Ia- lone, doling out trifle in Irish-sized helpings. “Getting him mixed up with the police and things
I couldn’t bite him for that much, Savanna thought; not that and the money we really need. He had looked up the price of the Rolls when Grafter had bought the latest Silver Shadow: twenty-four thousand dollars; that had been the day the bank had sent him a particularly sharp note about Olympus’ overdraft, and he had almost turned Communist on the spot. Yet, in a way, he didn’t begrudge Grafter the car nor the way the old bastard lived; he would live that way himself if he could afford it. He put his arm about Josie’s plump shoulders and squeezed her. “Would you settle for a vintage Savanna?”
He could feel her body stiffen. She and Glenda have been talking about me, he thought again; or she’s been listening and Glenda has been doing the talking. But he kept his arm round her, his fingers working gently on her bare shoulder. Across the street a woman hosing her garden watched them, her eyes sore with the effort to be discreet; here in Rose Bay there were still pretensions of gentility; you did not stare at your neighbours unless you were wearing dark glasses. Savanna did stare across at the woman, telling her silently: I’m trying to seduce my wife and I’m a bastard. Then he felt Josie relax and he felt even more of a bastard. But what else can I offer her but some love-making? She knows I don’t love her, but she’s willing to take the substitute. She looked up at him, her eyes going blank, and said, “Now?”
She turned quickly and went inside. He stood at the front door, looking out across the shining scab of red-tiled roofs on the lower side of the street to the thin streak of water, a blue mote in the eye, that the estate agents called a harbour
view. He and Josie had moved here to Rose Bay when they had first married; she because, born and raised in Ashfield, a respectable lower middle class suburb, she hungered to move up to a higher scale of respectability; he because he had been born and raised in Rose Bay, anyway, and it was close to the city. They had paid five and a half thousand pounds for the house and he had not been too proud to finance it on a War Service loan. Today he could sell the house for fifty thousand dollars, or twenty-five thousand pounds, and wipe out all his debts with the sale. But they would be left with nothing to start all over again and he had no confidence in his powers of recovery. Unlike Grafter Gibson he had never really started at the bottom and at fifty-four he did not want to go looking for the experience of it. Beyond that there was another, more important reason why he would not sell the house. It was the one solid, constant thing in their marriage, Josie’s rock; she did not love it more than she did their daughter, but she depended on it more; it would always be there, but Margaret was already gone, was in England now and might never come back. If he took the house away from Josie, their marriage would be over. And he could not bring himself to do that to her.
He closed the front door, shutting out the scratched and dented Jaguar, the driveway that he couldn’t afford to have re-surfaced, the dusky sky whose serenity was a mockery. He would give Grafter a call in the next day or two, but first he would have to work out what to say. He had never spoken the commercial for blackmail.
“Hurry up, sweet— “
On his way to the bedroom he stopped by the phone, took it off its cradle and dialled two digits to break the dial tone. It had a habit of ringing at the worst possible moment. The Postmaster-General had caused more hernias than he knew of.
CHAPTER THREE
Monday, December 9
1
“I think you might’ve let your father off ,” said Brigid i\Ia- lone, doling out trifle in Irish-sized helpings. “Getting him mixed up with the police and things
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