Mr Sullivan stretched out his hand. His sleepy eyes opened a fraction wider as he saw Frances. ‘My pleasure, Mr Bernardo. Well, Miss Palmer, it's nice to meet you again.’
Frances took his hand, not sure what to say. A half smile spread over Jack’s face. A few crinkles fanned out in white lines around his eyes. He slid his left hand into the pocket of his perfectly fitting white evening jacket. Despite the warmth of the room he appeared cool and in control.
Uncle Sal gave him a critical glance. ’So, you’re White Jack. Fancy you knowing my Frances.’
‘We’ve met, briefly.’
‘Mr Sullivan is the man who helped me with the shopping last week,’ she said, hoping her colour hadn’t changed.
She needn’t have worried about that; Jack had already switched his attention to Phil. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to bump into you, of all people,’ he said, ‘but we can’t talk here.’ He scanned the crowd. ‘Why don’t we all go upstairs and have a bite. There’s someone you might want to meet, Phil.’
Frances followed in Phil and Jack’s wake, with Uncle Sal at her side. She heard his laboured breathing as they climbed the broad staircase to an upper balcony. She shouldn’t have kept him dancing for that long, she admonished herself. He’d wake up in pain.
∞∞∞∞
Jack Sullivan ushered them into a niche. A velvet curtain could be drawn across to hide them from prying eyes. Another five niches and a small bandstand, placed right in the middle, took up the rest of the balcony. Only two niches were occupied, but all the tables shone with gleaming silver cutlery and crystal glassware.
He pulled out a chair for her, amused by her open astonishment. ‘We do a bit of dining here as well, Miss Palmer. Downstairs you can get light snacks to go with the drinks, but it’d be hell for a waiter to press through that crowd with a fancy meal.’
She sat down, careful to smooth the frock over her legs, the way they did in the talkies. ‘You don’t seem to be doing too much business here tonight.’
‘It’s a bit early for the night revellers, and downstairs everybody’s having too much fun to come up to dine. Now, what would you like? Steak? Ham and veal pie? Lobster? Or something fancier?’
She waited for the men to reply, but obviously they wanted to leave the decision to her. She wished she could see a menu. This evening would be expensive enough for Phil, without her going overboard with dinner because she had no idea what to order.
Mr Sullivan watched her with an encouraging twinkle in his eyes.
She took the plunge. ‘Could we have a cold pie, or a sandwich or two?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Nothing easier. Drinks?’
‘Beer’ll do me,’ Phil said. Uncle Sal nodded.
‘And for you, Miss Palmer?’
She hesitated, embarrassed.
‘Well?’ Mr Sullivan asked.
She fixed her gaze at a point over his left shoulder, careful not to look away, but also not to meet his eye. ‘Could I have lemonade?’
Phil opened and closed his mouth with a loud snap.
Frances stuck her chin out. ‘You did ask,’ she said to Mr Sullivan, turning her head just enough to make eye contact.
‘And you shall have your lemonade,’ he said, regarding her with something like a new-found interest. ‘What’s more, I’ll join you.’
Phil guffawed. ‘Don’t tell me, Jack, you of all people are a wowser.’
‘I’m not. You might even call me a sly-grogger, but as a custom, I don’t drink booze when I’m working. I’ve seen too many men in my business become their own best customers.’
‘But what about the police?’ Frances glanced around nervously, half expecting to see a posse of burly men in uniforms bearing down on them.
‘They’re already here, Miss Palmer.’ He nodded downstairs, where the crowd seemed to be swelling by the minute. ‘I could point out at least three high-ranking officers and a couple of members of the council swilling champagne cocktails right now. Does it bother you very much to be in the company of a hardened sinner? Even if I’m one of a million law-breakers, and only after six o’clock, because of the way our prohibition works?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve had some champagne, so that makes me a law-breaker as well, doesn’t it? And I think it’s stupid to believe someone who likes his beer would stop being thirsty because the clock says so. But I wish you’d call me Frances.’
He touched her shoulder for a heartbeat. ‘I will, if you’ll call me Jack.’
∞∞∞∞
‘Here you are. I’ve been looking everywhere. You should have told me you’re going upstairs.’ Pauline pressed her lips together the way Clara Bow did in the pictures.
‘We didn’t know it then,’ Phil said.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ Pauline said, mollified. ‘This is nice. At least one can have a real chin-wag here, without having to yell. I swear, sometimes I think I’ll go deaf in this place.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ Jack said as he returned with a laden tray.
‘Mr Jack!’ Pauline had the grace to blush. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’
Frances giggled in a most undignified manner. Blasted champagne, she thought.
‘That’s not funny, Frances Palmer.’ Pauline glared at her. ‘This is my boss, Mr Sullivan, and I don’t want him to get the wrong impression.’
A hint of surprise crept into her tone of voice. ‘What are you doing here, Mr Sullivan, now I think of it, doing Danny’s job? Is something wrong with him?’
He sat the tray down on the table. ‘Danny is fine, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate your concern, and these people are my guests.’ He pulled out another chair. ‘As it seems you’re a part of the company, you’ll be my guest as well. But just this once, don’t forget that, young lady.’
Pauline gazed at him with wide-eyed gratitude. She sat down on the edge of a chair, inching as close to Frances as possible.
Downstairs, the band struck up another tune. Pauline jumped up. ‘I’ll go and see if Miss Bardon needs help.’
‘Do that, and please ask her if she’ll join us, Pauline.’ Jack dismissed her with a nod and leant against the waist-high railing, hands in his pockets. ‘So, what brings you to Adelaide, Phil? I seem to recall you being a big town boy.’
‘There’s a lot to be said for places like this, and these days you got to go where you can earn your living.’ Phil replied.
‘Got the spear in your old place? It’s no shame in these hard times.’
Phil hesitated. His neck muscles tightened. ‘No. I left for health reasons.’
Frances began to feel light-headed with the heat, and she wished everybody would sit down. Her mouth watered looking at the spread. Bundles of grapes, apple slices, and pears garnished the three-tiered stand bulging with crust-less bread triangles.
Uncle Sal had less scruples. He reached for the beer pitcher and filled his glass.
‘Sorry,’ Jack said. ‘Here I stand, yacking away, instead of being a good host. We’ll soon fix that.’
He poured lemonade for himself and Frances. ‘I’d bring out a toast, but seeing as Miss Bardon and Pauline aren’t here yet, I’d better wait for them.’ He raised the glass to his lips and took a big gulp.
She sipped her lemonade. It had exactly the right amount of tartness, coupled with a generous dose of sugar.
Jack smiled at her. He had a comfortable face, she decided. Not movie-star handsome with brooding eyes, and a pencil-thin moustache like Phil, but his features, under the thick, wavy dark hair were regular, and his mouth spoke of a ready sense of humour. He seemed completely at ease with himself, but at the same time in control. More and more did he remind her of her big brother, Rob. It was more to do with his air instead of his looks, but he inspired trust.
‘Darling!’ The velvety voice tingled with laughter. Dolores Bardon stretched out both her hands for Jack to kiss, before she bestowed a dazzling smile on the rest of the company.
She was even more b
eautiful up close, Frances decided. The singer had changed into a black and white dress, with a cinched waist and a matching jacket. The ruby-red paint on her fingernails matched her lips.
Phil’s and Uncle Sal’s eyes widened in open admiration, both emulating Jack and kissing Miss Bardon’s hands as they were introduced.
Frances got up from her seat, curtsying as she touched Miss Bardon’s outstretched hand. ‘I’m honoured to meet you, Miss Bardon.’
The singer laughed again. ‘There’s no need to treat me like royalty, darling. If Jack says we’re among friends, then that’s what we are.’ She sat down, smoothing her frock over her crossed legs. ‘Besides, Pauline has told me all about you.’ She reached for Jack’s cigarette case.
‘Allow me,’ Phil said, snapping open his own case.
She took a cigarette and put it between her lips. Phil flicked a silver-plated lighter.
‘Thank you,’ she said, blowing perfect circles. The crinkles at the corners of her eyes deepened. Miss Bardon hadn’t even tried to mask the first lines with make-up, Frances noticed. She didn’t have to. She’d always be lovely. And she was nice as well, Frances thought, as Miss Bardon offered to squeeze a little closer to Uncle Sal, so Pauline could fit in more comfortably. No wonder the men were smitten with her. One only had to watch Phil's face. Tony used to look at Pauline with that same expression on his face. She felt a pinprick of envy.
‘Well, Jack?’ Miss Bardon rested her cigarette in an ashtray. She spun the revolving sandwich stand around with her fingertips and selected a couple of roast beef sandwiches and a bunch of grapes. ‘Where is my surprise, darling?’
‘He’s sitting right across you.’ Jack jerked his head towards Phil. ‘The fellow here served with Simon.’
Miss Bardon’s hand hung suspended in the air. ‘So that’s how you met Jack. The Big Stoush.’ Her voice sounded choked. She put grapes on to her plate without looking.
Phil’s eyes filled with understanding. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Everything.’ Miss Bardon picked up her cigarette again with a trembling hand. She inhaled deeply. ‘Everything you can tell me about Simon Grant.’
No one else said a word. It was as if they were all bit-players, placed there to support the actors in a drama that was played out right here. Frances tensed, feeling very much in the way. She gave Uncle Sal a questioning glance. He shook his head.
Phil lit a cigarette for himself. ‘Simon Grant. I met him first in the training camp and later, in the trenches. Early 1918,’ he said. ‘Good man. Everybody liked him. He’d share his last shirt if you asked him. Or his socks. One day he got a parcel, with a tin of tobacco and two pairs of hand-knit socks. A few days later there was this New Zealander, a kid who’d lied about his age to enlist, rubbing his feet raw in his boots, because he’d wagered his socks in a craps game, the silly mug. Simon handed him a pair, just like that. Didn’t want to hear a word of thanks in return.’
He drew on his cigarette, staring straight ahead. ‘Hell of a man, Simon Grant. Boss cocky, and he didn’t need the stripes, that’s for sure.’ Frances reached for Uncle Sal’s hand. He gripped hers tight.
Dolores Bardon leant over the table, her lips parted. She blinked back tears. ‘He always was like that, he and Jack both.’ She pressed the knuckles of her left hand into her mouth. ‘How did he – how did he die?’
A nerve on Phil’s temple twitched. ‘Quick,’ he said. ‘He wouldn’t have felt anything.’ He clasped Miss Bardon’s hand with both of his hands. ‘Everybody loved Simon.’
‘Yes.’ Tears began to trickle down Miss Bardon’s cheek. ‘Yes. Thank you.’
She blindly wiped the tears away with the back of her hand before she turned around to face Jack.
He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘It’s all right, love, it’s all right,’ he said as she buried her face against his chest.
The scent of Miss Bardon’s perfume wafted towards Frances, almost overpowering her. She felt like the worst form of intruder, watching someone’s private grief. ‘Shouldn’t we better leave?’ she whispered in Uncle Sal’s ear.
Jack must have heard, because he shook his head, holding up his hand as if to stop them.
‘I’m sorry.’ Miss Bardon took the proffered handkerchief from Jack. ‘It’s just – I always wondered, you know. About Simon. If he suffered.’ She dabbed her wet eyes with angry movements. ‘All the telegram said was that he’d been killed.’
She got up to walk around the table. ‘Thank you,’ she said, brushing Phil’s cheek with her lips. ‘You don’t know what this means to me. Maybe we can talk again, another day?’ She bestowed a trembling smile on Frances, Pauline, and Uncle Sal. ‘And now we shall eat and drink and be merry.’ Her smile became steady. ‘After I’ve done some repairs. I must look a fright.’
‘You could never do that,’ Frances said, feeling the colour creep up from her neck. ‘You look like a star in the pictures, Miss Bardon.’
‘It’s Dolores for you, darling. No, I don’t need any help, from anyone. You enjoy yourselves, and I’ll be with you before you’ll miss me.’ She blew them a kiss and swept off.
‘Thanks, mate.’ Jack seemed unfazed by all the emotion swirling around them as he took a sandwich. He bit into the bread. ‘Call me unfeeling, but I’m starting to feel a bit hollow.’
8
The other niches had filled by the time Dolores came sweeping back up the stairs. ‘Have I been this long?’ she said, with a strained smile. ‘I ran into some people, and you know how hard it is to extract oneself.’
Jack arched an eyebrow. ‘Anyone I’d care to hear about?’
Her hand fluttered to her throat. ‘These were new ones, Jack, darling, otherwise Bluey would have stopped them.’
A muscle on Jack’s jaw twitched. Frances began to feel puzzled. Something obviously was wrong. She wasn’t the only one to pick up on the change in atmosphere, because Phil moved closer. ‘Trouble?’ he asked.
Jack said. ‘Nothing we can’t handle. Lots of people out there would love to lure Dolores away from the Top Note, and not all of them are welcome news.’ He pushed back his sleeve to look at his watch. ‘Long past midnight. It’s time we see the ladies safely home. Bluey’ll take you along, Pauline.’
‘He doesn’t have to,’ Pauline said with the half smile, half pout she’d copied from Clara Bow. ‘I’m fine on my own.’
Most men would have smiled back at that pretty face, Frances thought. Not Jack, though. He said, ‘Not if you value your spot here. As long as you work for me, you play by the rules. Not every man’s a nice bloke out there.’
Pauline lowered her gaze. ‘Yes, Mr Jack.’
‘That’s better. Run and join Bluey.’ He dismissed Pauline with a wave of his hand. She ran off, fluttering her fingers at Frances.
Phil rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘I thought this is a pretty clean area. Do you think the girl’d run into trouble?’
‘We don’t want to find out. The rules are, no girl working for me walks home alone at night, and anyone getting ideas about them answers to me. I don’t tolerate any funny business.’
Frances stifled a yawn. Jack patted her shoulder. ‘Car’ll be there in ten minutes.’
‘Already?’ Dolores raised huge, pleading eyes towards Phil.
‘We can talk tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Jack suggested to meet in the park, if Frances’ mother doesn’t object to a picnic on Good Friday?’
‘She won’t,’ Frances said, confused. ‘Mum never says no if she can help it. But you don’t have to ask her for permission. Just because you’re lodging with us doesn’t mean we hold you accountable.’
Jack smiled at her. ‘That’s good to hear, but I’d rather have your mother agree to your coming along, too. You’d be in safe hands, with Dolores and your Uncle Sal to look after you.’
He took her hand, put it in the crook of his arm and led her towards the stairs. ‘Do me a favour and say yes,’ he said as they went down. ‘Please. Dolores and I would both
appreciate it. She doesn’t get the chance to see many people outside the business, and she likes you.’
‘She does?’ Frances said, feeling a light flutter in her stomach. ‘I like her, too. I’ll come if I can.’
He walked her to the cloakroom. ‘Uncle Sal and Phil will be with you in a minute. I’ll wait outside in the car as soon as I’ve made sure that Dolores won’t be bothered again.’
Frances watched his retreat. Uncle Sal instead of Mr Bernardo? The old man must have taken to Jack Sullivan in a flash. Maybe he’d also felt the resemblance to Rob. They both exuded the same sense of comfort. Jack hadn’t even laughed when she’d asked for lemonade.
∞∞∞∞
After the hot perfumed air of the Top Note, the air outside felt fresh and crisp. Jack bundled Frances in the passenger seat of the Ford saloon, while Phil and Uncle Sal shared the back. The streets were almost devoid of life. Occasionally was there some movement in the darkness, when the headlight of a car hit upon a shadowy figure who’d sidle away. Jack’s jaw clenched in these situations, she noticed out of the corner of her eye before her lids shut of their own accord.
The Ford came to a halt. Before Frances could rouse herself, Jack had opened the door, half pulling her out. She stumbled into his arms.
‘Steady there,’ he said.
‘Thanks for everything,’ she said, with her eyes still half-closed.
‘My pleasure, kiddo. Phil? Careful how you go. The poor girl is half-dead on her feet.’
She felt herself propelled up the stairs. It was all she could do to take off her dress and her new stockings, change into her nightgown and have a quick wash before she tumbled into bed.
∞∞∞∞
‘I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.’ Maggie spooned scrambled egg on to four plates. She’d stretched them as far as she could, using plenty of milk.
A Matter of Love and Death Page 7
