Earthly Delights (21 page)

I dumped the papers on a chair and received a nicely packaged bundle of flyers. They had done a really good job. I bought a large roll of sticky tape and paid the modest total. Gully was
avoiding my gaze. But I had things to think about other than the sins of the Lone Gunmen (in any case, erk!). I had, with any luck, the magnet which would draw Cherie Holliday back to her father.

In the shop I displayed one to Meroe and Goss.

‘Do you think that is enough text?’ asked Meroe doubtfully. ‘It’s a bit X-Files.’

But Goss was wholly in favour. ‘It just tells her what she wants to know,’ she said, holding out her hand for the sticky tape.

The flyer had the picture in the middle, Cherie’s name at the top, and under that was the legend ‘I believe you’ and her father’s name and phone number.

‘Let’s go,’ said Goss, and she and Meroe took half the flyers and left the shop to placard both stations. I put one up in my own window and saved the rest for Daniel and the Soup Run. It was an ordinary sort of day thereafter. I called the wall-cleaners and they came, armed with some frightful compound which probably sterilised newts but which got red spray paint off walls at the speed of lightning. Goss and Meroe came back at one pm, reporting that they had put up a flyer wherever young persons gathered, like picture theatres, fast food restaurants and clubs. They seemed to have had a lovely time. I paid Goss off and she left, still floating on air from a combination of a good deed done and a three-month contract gained.

Then I did the washing. When Jason turned up I marched him to the nearest shoe shop and bought a pair of white cook’s shoes in his size, also some new underwear, another overall and a couple of white t-shirts.

‘These stay in the bakery, right?’ I demanded. ‘You can’t go running around that slate floor in thongs, it’s unhygienic. Plus you’ll catch a cold and maybe give it to the Mouse Police.’

Jason, who had begun to look a little hunted—what sort of background did he come from anyway?—laughed and promised not to sneeze on the cats. Then we cleaned up as usual, I gave him his ten dollars and a large bag of food, and went upstairs to bathe. Lily of the valley bath foam and cucumber lotion on my face, a hot washcloth over all and I sank into a trance.

Then, in front of my dreaming eyes, Daniel came in and sat down on the edge of the bath with Horatio. I was so sleepy and comfortable in the warm water that I didn’t register his appearance as an intrusion. He smiled gently and caressed my shoulder, sliding his fingers down to cup a wet breast. Then he got up and went into the next room. I would not have sworn that he had really been there, until I got out of the bath, dried and dressed, and found him sitting on my couch.

‘Haven’t you ever heard of doorbells?’ I asked, too comfortable to get very angry.

‘I knew you’d be in the bath and I wanted to watch,’ he said simply. ‘You said that I could, before.’

‘Yes, but …’ I had, hadn’t I? ‘And?’

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘I thought you would be. And as for how I got in, I remembered the door code. I have a good memory,’ he told me. ‘Have you got the flyers?’

‘On the table,’ I said. No point in arguing with Daniel. He didn’t recognise boundaries and he probably turned into a bat during the full moon, but we could work around that. He examined the face in the photo.

‘No, I don’t recall seeing her before,’ he said. ‘But it’s hard to add years to a young female face. I’ve only been on the Soup Run for six months. And what is this?’ he asked. I looked and saw that he was holding the glossy folder which James had pressed upon me.

‘Some sort of prospectus for a company James wants me to sell my flat to invest in,’ I said.

‘And are you going to do that?’

‘Not a hope. I like it here and, besides, I wouldn’t invest in anything which relied on a small player joining up with a big player. Under those circumstances someone is going to get loaded with the non-yielding or bankrupt bits of the big company and thence misery and ruin.
Hinc
, as the Professor would say,
illae lachrimae
.’

‘Sorry, I only do Hebrew, Greek and Arabic,’ he apologised.

‘Do you? How very enterprising. It’s Latin. “Hence these tears.” I don’t suppose you’ve done any economic studies or accounting? No? Then if you do have any money, never put it into a company whose prospectus cost more than the GNP of a central African republic. Look at this one. New acid-free paper, glossy cover, binding not staples, high resolution images. It’s like these beautiful share certificates my grandpa had. Silver River Oil. Argentinian copper mines. An engraver’s masterpiece, every one of them, and every one not worth a pinch of pelican shit. A
small
pinch of pelican shit.’

‘So I should go with the company that prints its prospectus on toilet paper?’

‘It’s a good principle, and indeed, what most prospectuses deserve. Shit,’ I said, staring at the open page.

‘What?’

‘The aim of this company is to buy up old, still sound buildings and rebuild them,’ I said. ‘James told me to sell my apartment to invest in this company. The bastard. He always was an utter, utter bastard.’

‘Corinna, what are you talking about?’ asked Daniel patiently.

‘Read this,’ I said, thrusting the offending document at him. He scanned it and gave it back.

‘I’ve read it,’ he said.

‘And?’ I demanded.

‘And, nothing.’ Daniel spread his hands.

‘What was the address of the first building they were going to demolish and rebuild?’

‘156 Little …’ There was a pause while two was added to two. ‘Oh, Lord,’ said Daniel.

‘Exactly. James wants me to invest in a company that intends to sell the place where I live—in order to invest in the demolition of the place where I live. That’s this building. That is Insula.’

I was so angry that I leapt to my feet, almost tripping over Horatio. ‘And I tell you who’s trying to scare us into selling. It’s James, that’s who it is.’

‘Have you ever invited him into this apartment?’ asked Daniel, holding me by the shoulders as I paced by him.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I split with him a year before I bought this place.’

‘Does he know anyone here?’

‘Only poor Holliday. And all this started before Holliday got here. In any case the man is in no position to hold a paint can. Or even identify one.’

‘That’s true. But, Corinna, calm down, listen. Even if it is James, it won’t help if you just storm up and confront him. His hands won’t have a speck of paint on them. He must have an accomplice. Someone who knows how to get in and out. James doesn’t.’

‘True,’ I admitted. ‘All right. You can let go of me. I have to apologise to Horatio anyway.’

‘I’m going to grease your balcony rail,’ said Daniel.
‘Strange twisted sexual thoughts about women are two a penny. But money, that’s a serious motive.’

I managed to coax Horatio out from under the sofa, assuaged his hurt feelings with kitty treats, and tried to get control of myself. James! The cheek of him! And to expect me to just agree without argument! Had I done that a lot when I was married to him?

I thought about it as I got out the gin. Probably, I decided. His habit of having robust discussions in the morning had ground me down and I generally agreed, first because I wanted to please him and later because I didn’t care what he did. He might have got the idea that I was perfectly malleable, a yes-sir, no-sir girl. His shock when I declared that I was leaving and here were the keys must have been profound. He had reacted badly. One of the reasons I hadn’t really been looking for a new lover was the intimate ugliness of that break-up. We sort of forgave each other eventually, but we were never going to be close friends again.

And certainly not now. I would have to ask all the other tenants if they had received any little feelers from the Renew company. And chop them off at the socks if they had.

There was nothing good to be said about James. So I didn’t bother not saying it but read the rest of the prospectus carefully. To an accountant’s eye it was full of gaps. Some were little ones (What about council permits? Height restrictions? Heritage concerns?) and some were gaping great big ones into which one could fit Port Phillip Bay. Funding? Assets? Capital?

Capital being the main problem. I could not tell what the source of the company’s capital was, apart from the public float, of course. I wondered if it had anything to do with this Singapore bank. The figures had not exactly been fudged. They were projections, written more in hope than confidence
and, when Daniel came back from greasing the balcony rail, I said so.

‘Will they get their investors, then?’ he asked. ‘Perhaps the venture will fail if it’s this vague.’

‘We can hope,’ I told him. ‘But weirder things than this have sold a lot of shares. The share market works on what the Americans call sandbox politics. If one child declares that red lollies are the absolute best, every child wants one. It’s a sort of “me, too!” thing. Red lollies will then boom. If it is then found that red lollies stain the lips or green lollies make you a better skateboard rider, then red will crash out of favour and green will boom. The market has all the subtle psychology of a kindergarten playground.’

Daniel looked a little shocked, as most non-money people are when they realise how basic the emotions which rule the money world are. I continued with my lecture. Daniel seemed amenable to being lectured, which was nice.

‘However, he has to make us all sell. We are owners, not ordinary tenants. He would have to convince each and every person to sell.’

‘So far he’s been relying on scaring women,’ Daniel observed.

‘Perhaps that’s just in the nature of a good start,’ I said sourly.

We went up to the roof in no pleasant good frame of mind. I really love this place, I thought. I’m not going to have James’s friends push me out of this garden, this view. We sat down in the rose bower and poured a drink. Horatio vanished into the bushes again. I wondered idly what he was doing.

Then Trudi cried out and we ran to her side. She was pointing down at the turf which she was so proud of. It had strange beige marks in it. I realised that the marks were stripes
of dead grass, and they spelt out ‘Whore’. Trudi was crying. I had never seen her cry before.

‘How has he done it?’

‘Things going missing,’ sobbed Trudi. ‘My pesticide. Then my weedkiller. This is done with weedkiller. He just pours it on the grass. When I catch him—’ she stopped sobbing and put her hands together. Strong gardener’s hands. ‘When I catch, I kill.’

‘Let’s call the poor policewoman again,’ I said. ‘Come on, Trudi. This isn’t aimed at you. Have a sip of my gin and tonic and wipe your eyes.’

She had already stopped crying. She didn’t bother with the glass but grabbed the bottle. She took a deep gulp of the gin and shook her head.

‘Was shock,’ she said briskly. ‘But I still kill him.’

I’m sure that poor Lepidoptera White was sick of us but she came anyway, inspected the burned turf, and pointed out one thing we had missed. There was the mark of a toecap in one of the down strokes.

‘Whoever he is, he’s probably got a sore foot, and certainly got a ruined shoe,’ she said. ‘The only other thing we know about him is that he is clumsy. Though maybe that’s the curse.’

Meroe, who had retired to the roof garden for some peaceful contemplation since she could not open her shop, unbent enough to smile. That was a first! Meroe, smiling at a cop! When Ms White had taken her pictures we comforted Trudi some more and soon it had turned into an impromptu party. The Prof, making his first outing without his stick, was enthroned in the rose bower. Andy Holliday (and the bottle which was his inseparable companion) was enticed out of his apartment into the afternoon light.

The workers were all at work, of course, and no one expected a nerd to voluntarily leave home by daylight in case they turned into a video game monster or dissolved into dust.
I went down to my apartment for some more glasses and some leftover muffins.

Senior Constable White accepted a muffin and a seat and was soon discussing azalea culture with Trudi. I had no idea that there was so much to be said about azaleas. Daniel and the Prof settled down to a comfortable chat about the state of the world (parlous) and the possibilities of peace (minuscule). Meroe and I found a place to sit and absorb some sunshine. Holliday blinked at the light and sighted upon Daniel.

‘Seen you before,’ he blurted.

‘Very likely,’ said Daniel, without missing a beat. Andy seemed content to just sit there on a white wicker chair and not talk so I began to ask if anyone had received an offer to sell their apartment recently.

‘Just last week,’ said Meroe. ‘Man on the phone. Told him to go away,’ she added. The Professor swallowed his mouthful of muffin.

‘Yes, I think it was Wednesday, perhaps? I was still incapacitated so I was answering the phone just for amusement. It wasn’t very amusing. Apart from a few old friends and an invitation to the University Club’s Moorish evening, there was a man asking me to sell. I didn’t take much notice. I dislike unsolicited phone calls and I treat them all the same. I just tell them that I am not interested and hang up.’

‘Young man? Old man?’ I asked. The Prof shrugged.

‘I didn’t really notice. it was a man’s voice, I am sure of that.’

‘Yes,’ said Meroe. ‘And I thought it was a middle-aged man, so that’s halfway between young and old.’

‘Rang me,’ said Trudi. ‘I said “go away”. Like it here. Or did,’ she said, looking sad. I could tell she was thinking of her ruined turf.

‘When this is all over,’ said Daniel, ‘I’ll come and dig up your lawn and we will re-lay it.’

Trudi leaned over and prodded Daniel in the bicep. Her forefinger bounced off the hard muscle. She nodded her cropped head. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘We do fast if you do digging.’

‘No one rang me,’ I said.

‘Nor me,’ said Holliday. ‘But I might have been out of it,’ he added. ‘I’m mostly out of it, these days.’

I decided to share my suspicions about my ex-husband James with Senior Constable White and decoyed her into my apartment as we came down from the garden. Other people had work to do. Meroe was going to do a ritual of return for Andy Holliday which needed his active cooperation. Trudi was deadheading roses. I needed to do some accounts for the end of the month. It was time for Professor Dion’s afternoon nap. And I had a request to make of Daniel. Fair was, after all, fair, and the sauce for the goose was also the sauce for the gander. Or so I had always been told.