I’m glad we’re living near Lizzie and I’m spending as much time as I can there, mostly because Dad has gone back to his bad moods. He works and works in the garden (we got three hens, as well, so we’re getting lots of eggs) and he’s also got some work at a corner store (which he pretends to like but I know he is bored stiff by), but you can tell he is not happy at all. Lizzie says that’s because in his heart he probably misses Miss O’Brien but is much too proud and angry to say so. But Lizzie loves romantic stories and I think she is just making it all up.
Dad sent his final report to Mr Kane. He showed it to me, it was short and just laid out what he thought had happened: that Mr Bryant, who had heavy gambling losses from backing other horses against Phar Lap, had been the instigator of the plot, that Hardy had carried out the attempts in Melbourne, and that Freeman had supplied the car and the numbers and had disposed of the car afterwards. He also wrote that Bryant had left the country and that in his opinion there was no further danger to Phar Lap from that quarter.
He had included a picture of Mr and Mrs Bryant from the society pages of a newspaper and I looked at it with great interest. Mr Bryant’s nothing much to look at, a very ordinary face, you wouldn’t look twice at him in the street. But his wife is stunningly beautiful, rippling black hair and huge dark eyes and in the photo she was dressed like a film star in a long sparkly dress.
Dad says men like that nearly always keep their dark side well hidden from their families. He says that often they never suspect that their loving husband or father is a crook. Or they take good care to shut their eyes to it. It sounds like a horrid way to live. But I suppose if you love your husband or your dad, you don’t want to believe the worst of him, do you?
July 16
A surprise today—a letter from Billy. I am sticking it in here.
July 20
I wrote back to Billy, saying how lucky he was and how I wished I could have gone to Underbank too to see Phar Lap. When he is here, I will definitely go and see him race, even if I have to drag Dad there. (I showed him Billy’s letter, he just grunted and said, ‘Very nice’.) Or I will go with the Walters. They’ll be keen to go, for sure!
August 5
Lizzie’s birthday today. She had a party at her place and I was allowed to stay there overnight. It was really nice being back with the Walters family. Nobody was grumpy or snapping at you for no reason, and I couldn’t help feeling how lucky Lizzie is. I love my Dad, but it is lonely living with him now, and it doesn’t feel like a proper family any more. It is funny (peculiar, not haha!) because we weren’t a proper family with Miss O’Brien, at least I didn’t think so at the time, but now I feel like there was something special when she was around and now it’s gone forever. If only things had been different! If only she hadn’t done what she did …
But that’s stupid. But if she hadn’t, then we wouldn’t have had the Phar Lap mystery. And we would have missed out on all that. On the excitement of the investigation, but most especially on actually meeting Phar Lap himself. I wonder if Dad ever thinks about that? I do. When I read about Big Red in the paper or hear about him on the radio, he is so very real to me, I remember his warm breath on my hands and the feel of his silky hide.
I asked the Walters about going to see Phar Lap race in Sydney, and they said of course straight away, so that’s settled!
There is a competition in the children’s pages of one of the newspapers that I’m going to enter. You have to write a poem with the title ‘A National Hero’. I’m not going to write about a person though, I’m going to write about Phar Lap! Lizzie says that’s a bit odd, she doesn’t know if you can write about an animal, but I looked at the rules and it didn’t say anything about no animals allowed!
August 7
Today I wrote my poem, and I’m going to make a copy of it here.
A National Hero by Sally Fielding
He doesn’t go on two legs,
but very fast on four.
He’s peaceful and he’s gentle,
has never been to war.
He’s a battler and a trier
and he’s got a golden heart,
He gives joy to all who know him
and always plays his part.
He’s the favourite of Australians,
the one we love to clap.
He’s our special national hero,
and his name it is Phar Lap.
I showed it to Lizzie and also to Mr and Mrs Walters, they liked it. In fact Mr Walters says if it doesn’t win, it will be a crying shame! That was nice of him. I’m not at all sure it has a chance of winning, but you never know. Anyway, I loved writing it, it was a lot of fun, though I had to think hard about the rhymes, I didn’t want them to sound silly.
I didn’t show it to Dad though. I was afraid he might not want to be reminded of what had happened, even if this was just about Phar Lap.
August 15
Some good news to report! Dad and I were just finishing dinner tonight when there was a knock on the door. When he went to answer it, who should be there but Mr Kane, carrying a small leather case! I thought Dad might shut the door in his face, but Mr Kane said, ‘Please, Mr Fielding, I need to talk to you. I have not come on behalf of Lily O’Brien, but on my own behalf.’ So Dad let him in and took him into the sitting-room. He said I could stay where I was and finish my dinner, but I wasn’t going to be left out of things again so I crept along the hall and listened in at the door, with my eye at the keyhole. I heard Mr Kane say he had been very impressed by the way Dad had investigated the Phar Lap mystery and he could put some more work his way if he was interested. ‘No mystery clients, no games, no funny business, certainly no charity, Mr Fielding, but real detective work. Not, er, as colourful as your last case—but solid work. You see, Mr Fielding, a busy solicitor like me can always use a good detective, and the man we used to retain for such things has just moved to Melbourne, leaving us rather in the lurch. In fact, we have an urgent property case that we need to tie up as soon as possible, and I would be grateful if you could start on it at once. There will be a decent but not big fee, plus expenses. The job is in Sydney. You should be able to do it in just a few days. If we are then both satisfied, I can put you on a retainer as in-house detective, but you will also be free to pursue your own cases. What do you say?’
Dad said nothing for a little while. I held my breath. Please, please, God, please make him say yes, I thought. Please.
He growled, ‘This had better be on the level, Mr Kane. I want to see written proof, or—’
‘Of course.’ The little solicitor opened up his case, took out a sheaf of papers and handed them to Dad. He read them through carefully, while Mr Kane—and I!—watched him anxiously.
At last he shrugged. ‘Fair enough. I suppose it won’t hurt to give it a go. Mind you, if I so much as sniff a—’
‘Please, Mr Fielding. Do you take me for a fool?’
For the first time, Dad smiled. ‘No, Mr Kane, I don’t think I do.’
‘Good. Then we will say tomorrow morning at my office, first thing, and I will brief you on the full thing. Is that a deal?’
‘It’s a deal, Mr Kane,’ said Dad, and they shook hands. I hurried away before they could catch me spying, but as soon as Dad came back into the kitchen he said, ‘So, Big Ears, you heard it all I suppose?’
I looked cautiously at him, wondering if he was going to blow his stack, but he was smiling, so I mumbled, ‘Er—yes, Dad.’
‘Goodo,’ he said, and ruffled my hair. ‘Well, Sal, this is a turn-up for the books! Funny old world we live in. Never know what’s round the corner, eh?’
August 29
More good news. I got a letter from the newspaper today. My poem has won a prize! Yippee!! It’s not first prize (that was given to someone else’s poem, about Captain Cook), but second prize, which is still pretty good because my poem gets published in the newspaper, AND I win five shillings! I have never ever had so much money in my whole life! I am going to the new
spaper office tomorrow to pick up my prize and meet the editor of the children’s page. Dad and Lizzie and all the Walters are coming with me. They are all very proud of me, Dad especially. He was so surprised when he heard my news, because of course he didn’t even know I had entered!
Things are so much better at our place now anyway. Dad did that job for Mr Kane. It wasn’t an exciting mystery like the Phar Lap one, just an ordinary and rather boring thing (at least to me) because it was something to do with a house left in a will and a mix-up over land titles, which I don’t understand but Dad says is important because it shows whether someone really owns a place or not. Anyway, it sounded dull to me, but Dad found out what Mr Kane wanted and everyone was happy, so it’s all set, Dad’s going to be working for Mr Kane. He’s looking so much happier all round, and even happier he says now I’m a famous poet!
August 31
We’re just back from the newspaper office. It was a bit scary, but fun and exciting too. I felt very shy as we walked into the noisy room crowded with scribbling, shouting reporters and typists click-clacking away. I was the only girl amongst the prize-winners, the other two were boys and from a much posher part of town than us, and what’s more the Walters twins were being really naughty, so all in all I felt really out of place and embarrassed. But it soon worked out because Mrs Moore, the lady who runs the children’s page, was really nice and friendly. She had some tea and cake ready for us all in a back room and she made a little speech about how good the poems were, each of them in its own way. Then she gave each of us our prize in an envelope, and shook our hands while a photographer took a picture, it’s going to be in the paper with our winning poems. The lady talked to us a bit about how we’d got the ideas for our poems, and when I said I had actually met Phar Lap at his stable, she said that was great, and maybe one of these days I might like to write something about it for the children’s page!
September 1
And even more good news! Phar Lap is definitely racing in the Hill Stakes at Rosehill on September 19. And we are going, all of us, even Dad! We’re going to make a big day out of it, a picnic lunch, cold chicken, ginger beer, all that sort of thing, and we are going to have just the best day ever! Can’t wait!
September 3
After the good news of the last few days, today I learned something sad (from Lizzie, who heard her parents talking about it). Paris Modes, Miss O’Brien’s shop, has closed. Apparently it had been losing money for a while and recently practically anything it made went on wages for the two ladies who worked for Miss O’Brien, and she was really in debt. But before she closed the shop, she managed to get them positions with some people she knew.
‘She’s a good woman,’ said Mrs Walters. ‘It’s a pity that—’ She saw Lizzie stickybeaking then and told her to go away and mind her own business, so she didn’t hear any more. But I think it’s terrible. Poor Miss O’Brien. Dad was so hard on her and she was just trying to help, like she helped her two ladies.
Then Lizzie said something that made me feel worse. ‘You know how she paid your dad to look into that Phar Lap mystery? Well, she must have been short of money even then and she couldn’t really afford it, but she still did it. She must really have liked him!’
I wish I could say something to Dad, but I’m scared he’ll jump down my throat. Maybe I should write to Miss O’Brien myself. Or say something to Mrs Walters, who might say something to Dad.
September 6
My poem was in the paper today! It was so strange to see my words there in print, I can hardly believe it. Dad bought three copies of the paper, so I’d have one to keep and he’d have one and we can send one to the Bellinis too, who will be really excited. (They were really pleased that Dad had got the job with Mr Kane too.) We are invited to the Walters’ place for dinner tonight to celebrate and we have to go in a minute, so I’d better stop.
September 8
Mrs Bellini rang up. She said they’d just received the clipping with my poem and were so proud! Mr Bellini came on the phone and congratulated me too, and then Billy, who said it was the best poem he had ever read! (I don’t suppose he’s read many poems, but that was nice of him.) I asked him how his apprenticeship was going and he said very well, he was enjoying it very much. We talked a bit about me going to see Phar Lap racing, and he said how lucky I was. I said maybe one day he might come to Sydney with the horses and he said maybe, but not for a while, he had to learn the ropes first. Then to my surprise he said his mum wanted to speak to me about the poem. Mrs Fox said that her husband now had a job as a printer with the Sun newspaper, and that he knew some of the journalists there and was going to show the poem to them, as they all reckoned people in Melbourne would like it too! Which is really very decent of them all!
Dad rang Mrs Moore afterwards to ask if that was allowed, and she said it was. Then she asked if I had thought about that Phar Lap composition she suggested. Well, I have thought about it, but I can’t seem to start. I could just write what I said in my diary about meeting Phar Lap, but that would be too boring. I want to write something new. Something special, like the poem.
September 9
Today instead I decided to write to Miss O’Brien. This is what I wrote:
Dear Miss O’Brien,
I wish I had written to you before, because you were so kind to us the whole time and I miss being at your place. I want to say that I think the Phar Lap mystery was really good and I was very glad I was in it, it was the most exciting experience of my life. I know Dad liked it too, though you might not know that to look at him. He can be very stubborn sometimes! But because of what you did he is working for Mr Kane now and things are going well for us.
I am sorry to hear of your troubles. You must be very sad about your shop closing, I hope you can open it again soon. I really want to do something to help you like you helped us. I do not know if you saw it in the paper, but I won second prize in a poetry competition, and got five shillings. I would like to give them to you. Can I come and see you?
Yours faithfully,
Sally Fielding
P.S. I have written our new address on the back of the envelope. Please write back.
I have not told anyone about it, not even Lizzie, but got a stamp out of the drawer and sent the letter off straight away, before I could think better of it. I do not know what will happen when Miss O’Brien gets the letter. She might just throw it in the bin. But I feel like I must send it, or feel bad my whole life. Even if it costs me all my winnings, I feel it is the right thing to do.
September 11
I got a letter back! It was the nicest, saddest thing. This is what it said:
Dear Sally,
Thank you so very much for your lovely letter. I did indeed see your poem in the newspaper, and was very proud to have known such a good poet. In fact, I cut it out and kept it. Well done, Sally, I think you have a real future as a writer ahead of you.
I am glad your father has found good employment, he fully deserves it. I am sorry we parted on the terms we did, but I understand his feelings. I was foolish and high-handed, I see that now.
Thank you very much for your generous offer, but no. I would much rather think of you spending your prize on something fun! And I’d like to see you, but I’m afraid that by the time you get this letter I will have embarked on a ship bound for San Francisco, where I have a cousin who has often asked me to come and stay. I have rented out my house and do not know when I will be back.
I wish you and your father the very best of luck in everything you do, and thank you for your friendship and the good times we had.
With all my warmest regards,
Lily O’Brien
I read it a few times after I got it this afternoon, and I thought and thought about it. Then tonight after dinner I said to Dad, ‘There’s something I want to show you.’ I went and got the letter and gave it to him. I watched his face as he read it and I saw his lips tighten and a strange expression come into his eyes and I thought, uh-oh, he’s abo
ut to hit the roof and I’m going to get into so much trouble for meddling or going behind his back or whatever!
But then he looked at me and said, very quietly, ‘What is this generous offer she mentions, Sally?’
I said shakily, ‘I—I offered her the money I won, because you see she used up all her money paying the people who worked for her and she might need …’ But I couldn’t go on, because he was looking at me oddly and I thought he was about to explode.
But all he said was, ‘I see.’ I thought he was going to say something more, like ‘Poor Lily’, or even ‘Good riddance’, or anything, anything at all, but he didn’t. Instead he got up, went to get his hat from the stand, and said curtly, ‘I’m going out, do your homework and go to bed.’ Then he was out, slamming the door behind him, without a word of explanation.
The Phar Lap Mystery Page 8
