The idea of being Prudence Jipper-Dingle’s butler thrilled me. I was going to be Sebastian Cabot, only younger and a lot better looking. I’d watched Sebastian in every episode of Family Affair at least twice and could even remember some of his dialogue. I’d had plenty of opportunity. Abracadabra liked to rerun popular TV shows at least three or four times. Dad said the TV station got a lot of mileage out of each show.
Family Affair had taught me some important facts. Only the filthy rich or foreigners had butlers. The butler wore a dress suit and was called the family retainer. He not only announced dinner and opened doors for VIPs but also solved problems and held the family together in times of crisis. Prudence Jipper-Dingle was going through a celebrity divorce crisis. I’d be there retaining in her hour of need and happily opening doors for VIPs along the way.
I called ahead and arranged an interview at the Battery Point mansion. Following Sebastian’s example, I dressed in my old pinstriped suit. I then gave my hair a lift with Mum’s Cobber’s hairspray.
A distinguished man in a subdued blue blazer met me at the door. He glanced at my hair and nodded solemnly.
‘You must be Julian. My name’s Ritz.’ He had a posh English accent and a cultivated emotionless air. There was no trace of welcome on his face.
‘Just like the hotel! Lucky you got a five-star name. You could’ve been called Tasmania’s Own.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ His nod was serious, as if I’d just said something profound.
‘Then again, if you got a job at the Ritz, you’d be Ritz at the Ritz.’
Ritz didn’t laugh. He led me to a lounge room called the parlour and settled me on a couch called the sofa. It was a pale French-style room with ornaments, curly furniture and tasselled cushions.
When Prudence Jipper-Dingle burst through the twin mirrored doors half an hour later, I’d already turned over every porcelain object and verified makers’ names. I was standing next to the marble fireplace with a dirty terracotta thing in my hand.
‘Just admiring your knick-knacks.’
‘You’re holding a figurine from the Tang Dynasty. It’s priceless.’
‘Dang Tynasty, just what I thought.’
Prudence Jipper-Dingle swooped on me and swiftly took the object from my hands. She placed it back on its pedestal with a gasp of relief.
‘Your table’s a stunner.’ I pointed to the sheet of glass sitting on a lumpy piece of rock. Like the figurine, it looked obscene in a room furnished with real antiques.
She sniffed with obvious pride. ‘That is the base of a Greek column.’ She spoke with the same English accent as Ritz.
‘Wasn’t sure whether it was Greek or Roman.’ I injected a little Prince Charles into my voice. ‘Ritz let me in. Shame to lose a genuine English butler like him.’
‘Ritz is not a butler and he’s not English. He’s a German and a friend, a gentleman caller if you like. You passed his house on the hill.’
‘The one with the tennis court?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the pool?’
‘The very one.’
Prudence Jipper-Dingle pointed to the sofa and motioned for me to sit down. She settled herself on one of the curly chairs, moving her bony white legs to one side with an authoritative rustle of pantyhose. She was a freeze-dried woman in her late forties with a pinched expression and a permanently down-turned mouth. Celebrity Glitter would’ve described her hairstyle as Buckingham Palatial. It was a stiff helmet with two Elizabeth Windsor puffs near the ears. She was dressed in a rose-pink skirt and jacket with matching shoes and fingernails.
Inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth, Prudence gave me an overview of the domestic situation. Assuming a low, confidential tone, she explained that her present life was a trial. She was divorcing a certain person and this certain person was making her life very difficult. He’d taken the manservant and certain personal items and was now trying to take her house. She looked into the distance and sniffed. ‘Pure greed.’
‘You’re talking about Dick Dingle?’
Prudence Jipper-Dingle tightened her lips. When she replied it was in the plural. ‘Naturally, we expect discretion on the part of a manservant. Privacy is cherished in the Jipper household. We’re looking for someone we can trust. There’s the media.’
I smiled sympathetically and reminded her of my close personal friendship with her accountant. ‘Family friend and all that.’
‘My last manservant catered to my every need. I require the personal touch of a professional. Have you experience?’
‘I’ve just finished a stint at the Dingo and I can tell you, the manager was very sorry to lose me. I was his right hand, old Right Hand Corkle.’
‘Dingo, the hotel?’
‘All four stars of it. I was never out of that VIP suite, especially when Sir Pouch came through. High-profile people thrive on the personal touch.’
‘Bernard was in town? The naughty man didn’t even call me.’
‘He had to attend some ridiculous sports gala. I had my work cut out for me.’
‘You can start on Monday.’
‘Monday it is, Mrs Prudence Jipper-Dingle.’
‘Please, just Jipper.’
‘Jipper it is then.’
‘Mrs.’
‘Mrs.’
‘Someone of your calibre, Julian, I’m assuming you cook.’
‘I do a fabulous muffin.’
‘Thank you, mais non. There’ll be no call for anything foreign or fatty. They’re the two forbidden Fs in the Jipper kitchen. Delicate constitutions run in the family.’
‘They’re full of fibre.’
‘Non.’
Prudence Jipper didn’t look as if she ate much of anything. Her translucent skin was pulled tight over the inner workings of her body, exposing blue veins and white protrusions of bone around her wrists and ankles. She made a clicking noise when she folded her joints.
‘You will be required to prepare a simple yet nourishing daily meal for Solange.’
‘Solange?’ Dick Dingle had a child? This was news to me.
‘You’ll meet her shortly.’
Prudence led me through the dining room, past a long marble table encircled by twelve curly chairs. I imagined Dick Dingle reading National Geographic magazine and eating toast at the table. He was wearing a bathrobe with a towel around his head.
With a majestic twist of the hand, Prudence turned the light dial and brought the crystal chandelier to life. The matching candlesticks on the marble mantelpiece sparkled in response. She waved her arm, saying she’d had a few things sent over from the Continent.
‘You have a lovely house, Mrs Jipper. I bet your bathroom’s a beauty.’
‘You will not be seeing the bathroom. Out of bounds. My personal chambers are private.’ Prudence sniffed. ‘There’s a servants’ salle de bains off the back vestibule. Naturally, you’ll be responsible for its cleanliness.’
I wanted to be upset about the bathroom but couldn’t maintain disappointment for long. The kitchen was a marvel of stainless-steel and glass and had large French windows that gave on to a landscaped garden. The floor was tiled with shiny marble and the stainless-steel fridge looked like a silver rocket ship. I imagined Dick Dingle boiling eggs in the kitchen. He was still wearing his bathrobe but had now removed the towel from around his head.
I tapped a large black screen set into the wall of stainless-steel cupboards. The kitchen even had a colour television.
‘That, Julian, is a Miele. It is the oven you will be using to grill Solange’s lean meats.’
Prudence sniffed and ran a finger along the marble bench top as she led me out of the back door to the lawn. She pointed to a pine shed done up like a Swiss chalet. ‘That’s where Solange spends her days.’
‘In a shed?’
‘It’s a chalet with its own amenities.’ Prudence obviously thought she was a good provider. ‘Solange! I want you to meet someone!’
Blond hair flashed past one of the chalet windows. I heard an excited yelp and then the tiny door creaked and opened outward like a flap. Something large and hairy poked its head out. Its eyes fixed on me and narrowed.
‘Solange is a dog?’
‘A pedigree Afghan hound. Best in show, countless times.’ She beckoned the dog. ‘Solange, come to Mumsy.’
The flap creaked and the dog shot out with its teeth bared. It was enormous, the size of a Welsh miner’s pony. I ducked behind Prudence as it lunged for my thigh.
‘Don’t be silly. Solange is only playing.’ Prudence held the dog by a sparkly pink collar and rubbed its hairy ears. ‘Babykins lubs a wubba dubba dubba.’
I took an immediate dislike to the Afghan. There was something unnatural about its small head and oversized body. Its long blond hair gave it an uncanny resemblance to Rick Wakeman. My brother John loved Rick Wakeman.
‘So I only have to prepare lean meats for Solange?’
The dog was still glaring at me.
‘That and grooming. Solange is a champion on the dog circuit.’
‘She doesn’t seem to like me.’
‘She doesn’t like many people. It’s her star’s temperament. Take no notice.’
‘Star?’ Here was my cue. ‘I’m something of a star myself. I did a stint on TV a while back. Perhaps your husb—’
Prudence cut me off with a wave of the hand and addressed herself to the dog. ‘We have only one star in this household. Thanks to a certain person I’ve had quite my fill of TV stars.’
‘Mr Dingle?’
‘We do not use the D name in this house.’
‘We’re outside the house.’
Prudence frowned.
I was going to have to work hard to make the Dick Dingle connection but at least I was standing on his lawn and would soon be cleaning his pool-filtration system. Prudence informed me that I’d be doing quite a lot of cleaning. I was also to dust and polish daily, buy groceries and cater to Solange’s every need. What I wasn’t allowed to do was answer the door or the phone. I wasn’t even going to wear a dinner suit. My uniform was to be blue bib-and-brace overalls and I had to buy them myself.
‘Given the current financial circumstances, a little belt-tightening is in order.’ Prudence glanced at my waist and frowned. ‘Naturally your salary will fall below the recommended minimum.’
‘Isn’t the minimum wage set by the law?’
‘Don’t quibble. I’ll pay what I can but you must understand my situation.’
I understood it all right. I was to receive very little money from a very rich woman. It was daylight robbery, the sort of thing the Queen of England did to her staff at Buckingham Palace.
I looked around the grounds. It was definitely one of the nicer houses in Hobart and Prudence was still legally married to Tasmania’s one and only mega-star. I thought about the kitchen and the curly furniture. At least I didn’t have to pay to work there.
I stopped at George’s Electrical Emporium on the way home to reclaim the swamp walnut. Eric was unimpressed with my new job.
‘That’s your wage?’ He pointed to the sum I’d just written down on the new hire-purchase form. ‘Pitiful! By rights I shouldn’t let you take the TV.’
‘I’m working for Dick Dingle’s wife.’
‘She must be as tight as a duck’s arse.’
‘She’s going through a divorce, belt-tightening and all that. The press are all over her. I’ll be fighting off cameramen. You’ll probably see me on TV.’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘It won’t be the first time. I used to have my own show on Abracadabra.’
‘Take my advice and get yourself a decent job, mate. Something in sales. Start putting money away. One day you’ll want a wife and family.’
‘No I won’t.’
‘You should get into life insurance like your mate. There’s a job with a future. Excellent sales potential in the sick and dying. It’s all about psychology.’ Eric tapped his temple. ‘If you convince people they’re going to get cancer, they’ll sign anything. Earn yourself a commission and buy yourself a tidy little Ford Escort.’
‘I don’t drive.’
Eric looked at me as if I was insane and shook his head. ‘You can’t help those who won’t help themselves.’
He removed the ‘GOOD AS NEW’ sign and ran a sleeve over the swamp walnut. I didn’t offer to help as he carried it out to the delivery van. He could help himself if he knew so much.
Eric deposited the TV on the front step of our house and left without saying goodbye. I struggled with it into the lounge and was setting it up when I realised the batteries had been removed from the remote control. I was still cursing when Mum came in all dressed up. She was going to a wine bar with people from work. This was news to me. Mum never went to wine bars and she never forgot to do up the top button of her blouse.
I followed her into The Ensuite. ‘Your button’s undone, Mum.’
‘I know.’
I studied her face in the mirror but saw no trace of shame. She was boldly putting on silvery eye shadow with a fluffy stick.
‘I got the job, Mum. I start tomorrow.’
‘That’s wonderful, Julian.’ Mum’s mirror reflection smiled at me and continued applying the make-up. ‘I’ve got good news, too.’
‘The pay’s a bit low. That’s the only thing.’
‘How low?’ Mum stopped applying the eye shadow.
‘Lower than the minimum.’
‘That’s illegal, Julian.’
‘But she’s Dick Dingle’s wife.’ My voice was a whine. I wanted Mum to be happy for me. I had enough doubts of my own, especially about the dog. ‘I’ll probably never get another chance like this.’
‘Of course you will. You’re a star, Julian. That woman must be loaded. It’s not right.’ Mum meant business. She didn’t turn around or smile at me in the mirror. I hated it when she did that.
‘Mum, what are those pills in your nightstand?’
‘You have no business going through my things.’ Her reflection gave me a hard look. ‘What were you doing in there?’
‘Looking for aspirin. I had a very sore head after the clam incident.’ I didn’t need a headache to poke around in my mother’s things. I was always going through them. ‘It’s not the Pill?’
‘Since you ask, yes it is.’
‘You’re on the Pill?’ My voice was shrill.
‘To regulate my hormones. You know very well that I went to a doctor for women’s business.’
‘That’s all right then.’
I didn’t understand female hormones and didn’t need to know. The important thing was that Mum wasn’t on the Pill for the wrong reasons. The oral contraceptive got a lot of bad press in Tasmania, especially within the Catholic community where it was talked about in the same breath as heroin. According to good Catholics like Dolly, the Pill made randy girls even randier and set them loose on married men. Girls on the Pill had irresponsible sex for pleasure because they never had to worry about the consequences. Dolly had firm opinions about these girls. ‘Disease never stopped a loose woman. They need the threat of pregnancy to rein them in.’
‘Let me give your hair a fluff.’ I ran my fingers through her hair and gave it a squirt with Cobber’s hairspray. ‘You said you had good news.’
‘I’ve been promoted to manageress of the Board’s cluster refreshment facilities.’ Mum slipped on her high heels and looked at her legs in the mirror.
‘Congratulations.’
‘Thanks, honey. Dezzie’s taking us out to celebrate.’ A horn tooted. ‘That’ll be him.’
I went to the bedroom window and pulled back a curtain. An old Ford Cortina was parked in the driveway. It was too dark to see details but I could tell there was only one person in the car. ‘But you’re going out in a group?’
‘It’s a Ford Cortina.’
‘Yes.’
‘Surely a Wool Board executive should own a tidy little Escort.’
‘Don’t wait up for me.’