7

MONDAY, BOXING DAY

TWO DAYS BEFORE THE MURDER

PEARSON THOMPSON STRODE ALONG the sweeping and newly tree-lined gravel drive of Wombat Park, feeling conflicted, for it brought crisply to mind the day he’d first walked Montpellier, his father’s estate, as its ambitious new owner. He’d been just twenty-six, home free from chambers at Gray’s Inn, with a head full of vision and drive — and a fat inheritance — to see his vision realised. And how! To think, he was hailed as ‘The Maker of Cheltenham’, no less. False modesty it would be to dispute the accolade, for the lovely gardens, the grand buildings, the wonderful entertainments had made Cheltenham a town of wide renown. It may have been the father who discovered the spa, but it was the son who turned it to gold! So, yes, he was conflicted, for here he was now, an aged man of very modest means, back practising law in an outpost of empire — a spa town, too, just to render the comparison all the more odious — confronted, nay, taunted, by this reminder of what he once was and once had.

At the end of his tormented walk, he found the sun-bathed lawn by William Stanbridge’s splendid house comfortably populated with townsfolk gathered there at the owner’s pleasure to picnic. A most convivial scene it was, with women seated on chairs and blankets, men standing and drinking by a beer tent, children chasing one another, and dogs wandering for scraps. Beyond, people strolled along meandering paths through tidy young gardens, and in an adjacent paddock, a football match was on. All this diverse activity took place amid jaunty tunes being played by a bright little band set up beneath an ancient eucalypt, a relic of a time long gone when another people gathered here. Pearson Thompson stood at the edge of the action, awkward in his aloneness and searching across the scene for someone he might talk to.

THE BALL BOUNCED FREE, Constable Robert Tandy swooped and gathered it, shoved an opponent aside, and ran on to kick it high and long between two trees serving as goal posts. The small crowd of spectators cheered — none more enthusiastically than pretty young Susannah, there to be seen with Ellen, her friend and colleague from Pitman’s. Tandy strutted for his admirer, and reached out a hand to pull to his feet the player he had flattened.

‘Nothing broken?’ he said.

David Rose reassured the policeman with a shrug that all was in working order. Tandy righted Rose nonetheless — a gesture he knew would be sure to impress those at the fence.

ON A BLANKET BY a line of shrubs at the back of the busy lawn, Maggie Stuart sat with Louisa Goulding. A neighbour in West Street, Elizabeth Shier, came by with bottles of mineral water, taken from a dray put there by their host for the refreshment of all. She saw Maggie and offered one. Maggie took it.

‘You must look after that lovely complexion of yours, Maggie. The sun’s fierce today, so drink plenty.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Shier. That’s very thoughtful of you.’

Mrs Shier smiled. ‘Your mother’s here,’ she said. ‘Over by the beer tent.’

Maggie nodded, and felt the familiar gnaw in her stomach that Joe might be with her. She looked about. The lawn was crowded, and as Joe was likely to be in the company of drinking companions all afternoon, she decided she would just stay put and enjoy the day. Besides, Louisa was with her for company, and now, two more arrived to share their patch of lawn.

‘Hello, Maggie Stuart! How lovely to see you.’ Mrs Buckley and her husband were precisely the kind of company Maggie might have wished for. They were elderly and respectable, people with whom she could feel safe.

‘We have missed your service at Tognini’s, haven’t we, dear?’ Mr Buckley said.

Maggie blushed. Tognini’s Hotel in Burke Square was Maggie’s last place of employment before she became Mrs Stuart.

‘All I can say is that George Stuart is one very lucky man,’ he added, which did nothing to ease Maggie’s discomfort.

‘Would you like a scone?’ she said, and opened a tea towel in her basket. ‘Louisa baked them.’

The Buckleys smiled at the girl, who blushed even redder over cheeks already rosy from a touch of sunburn.

‘Is your husband here?’ Mrs Buckley said.

‘He’s at a wrestling match, at Browne’s Hotel in Coomoora,’ Maggie said.

‘As a spectator, I hope!’ Mr Buckley quipped.

Some women walked by and greeted Maggie with friendly hellos and promises to see her later in the day. She beamed back at them, happy to be there, and for the moment unconcerned by the chance that she might bump into Joe Latham sometime that afternoon.

DAVID ROSE SLIPPED BEHIND the stump of a once-mighty gum, unbuttoned his flies, and aimed his piss at a yellow daisy. The flower bent before the stream and bobbed back, only to be slapped away again. He smiled at his puppetry and how well satisfied he was with himself coming up here today. He’d cadged lunch and beer, and, what was more, a steak for his dinner. And Mr Stanbridge’s foreman had told him there’d be a chance of some work if he’d like to come back tomorrow — though no promises, mind. He’d enjoyed the football game as well, the knocks and bumps nicely cushioned now by alcohol. He closed his eyes and let his head loll back for the mid-afternoon sun to fill his face as his bladder emptied. It had been a grand day all right …

A moan came from somewhere nearby. And a whimpering — like that of a woman, it sounded. He drew back foliage. There was a hayshed, cleared out ready for this year’s harvest. And in the shadows within, a naked arse was hard at work, with a woman’s bare legs crossed over it. He crept forward for a better view.

BY FOUR, THE CROWD had thinned to the point where any sensible people still remaining felt it was time to be going home lest they be left in the company of those who never knew when enough was enough. Maggie had chatted at length with Mr and Mrs Buckley, and in their company two pleasant hours had slipped by. Now, as they had left, she was homeward bound herself. She stood, and it took a moment for a sudden surge of dizziness to abate. An arm grasped her elbow.

‘Maggie, are you all right?’

It was Johanna Hatson, a woman Maggie once worked with in the bar at Blanket Flat Hotel.

‘A touch of heat, I think. Thank you, Johanna.’

‘I’ll walk with you.’ The pair was joined by Louisa, and together they began back down the drive. Many other returning picnickers were strung out the length of the young avenue, chatting, laughing, or in quiet contemplation of the lovely day they’d just had.

‘Did you see that man?’ Johanna said suddenly, with open-mouthed alarm. ‘I think he was Italian. And filthy!’ She shook. ‘Ooo, he sent a shiver down my spine, I can tell you.’

Maggie didn’t much care for stories of such men, and now resented Johanna’s being there.

‘What did he say?’ Louisa said. Johanna seemed taken aback by the girl’s boldness, but more gratified that some interest was being shown in her report.

‘Oh, he didn’t say anything — not to me, anyways. He was just so strange, looking at me and Mrs Telford and the other ladies on our rug. I’d wager he was staring at you, too, Maggie … Oh, there’s my boy. I must go. It was lovely to see you, and you,’ she added with a smile for Louisa, and bustled away.

‘Let’s not talk about strange men, Louisa,’ Maggie suggested with a smile.

‘She probably made it up.’

‘Yes, she probably did.’

They’d reached the end of the drive, on Glenlyon Road, and enterprising young men were offering a taxi service for anyone preferring to trade the discomfort of walking the hot mile back into Vincent Street for that of a hard ride on the back of a dray. There was still room, and for tuppence the deal still seemed more than reasonable.

‘Come on,’ Maggie said. They clambered aboard, the boy flicked the reins, and they were away.

MARY FOLEY WALKED WITH her new lover along the Wombat Park drive.

‘You won’t forget now, will you?’ she said with a grin.

‘How could I?’ Pearson Thompson said, head up and looking to the front.

‘A fair exchange, I think — flesh for brains. Don’t you think so, a fair exchange?’

‘I thought we’d established as much already.’

Mary chuckled. ‘Ooh, you have a way with words! Mind you speak like that in court, now.’

Pearson looked down at his diminutive companion, smiling up at his stony face. She was indeed a pretty young thing, he thought.

‘What are you thinking, you old devil?’ she said, poking a finger into his side. Actually, Pearson was considering how he’d arrived at this place in such a funk, yet here he was, a few hours on and the object of desire to this erotic creature of full mouth, ample breasts, and gyrating hip. It mattered not a jot to him that the attraction from her point of view might well be entirely commercial.

‘I was thinking, Mary, that it would be prudent to begin the preparation of your case as soon as possible. Drunk and disorderly is a very serious charge, you know, and as it’s not the first time for you, I think a thorough briefing is called for.’

‘What are you getting at, Pearson?’

‘I just thought you might, um …’

‘Pay twice? Is that what you thought?’

A change in mood had come over Pearson’s picnic mistress, and he feared she might not have the self-restraint to keep it discreet in this public setting.

‘We have a contract, you and I have, Pearson, and I’ve kept my side. Now you keep yours!’

MAGGIE LIT A CANDLE and placed it in its brass holder on the table. Though intense orange light from the setting sun beamed through the cottage’s two windows, Maggie liked to even out the transition from light to dark.

‘Your uncle will call for you soon?’

Louisa nodded and Maggie smiled. She would be glad of her young companion’s company a little longer.

‘What shall we sing?’ Louisa said, a moment before a pebble struck the stone base of the fireplace and bounced out onto the floorboards.

Maggie stood, and backed away, as if it might explode or leap at her.

‘It’s all right, Maggie,’ Louisa said, retrieving it from under the bench ‘It’s just a stone come loose, that’s all.’ But another rattled down the chimney and skittered out to come to rest at Maggie’s feet. And then came two more together.

Louisa was standing now.

Maggie turned for the door, grasped the knob and the key for turning … and stepped back as the door was pushed from the other side and George swayed in, red-nosed and grinning.

‘I didn’t scare you, did I, love?’

Someone else appeared there, behind George. He swung around and extended a hand to William Rothery.

‘Will, me old neighbour. Come to collect the lass?’

Rothery seemed unimpressed at the tipsiness, and motioned for Louisa to come along.

As she had done on many occasions, she hugged Maggie and left with her uncle.

George had seated himself on the bench.

‘A fine day, Maggie,’ he said. ‘See your ma?’

Maggie nodded.

‘That’s good,’ George said, nodding that he was pleased to hear it. ‘Joe there — ? Hey, I see that tent’s still up across the way.’

Maggie didn’t reply. George was rambling anyway. She took scones from the safe and placed them on a plate.

George swung a leg over the bench and craned his head around to catch her eye.

‘Are you not feeling well, love? I’m sorry about them stones down the chimney — I meant no harm.’

‘Please, George, I don’t want to talk about it.’

George stood, and put a hand on Maggie’s shoulder.

‘About them stones?’

Maggie swung around.

‘Please, George. About Joe, or about the man in the tent.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, love, but when a man comes round asking his wife questions —’

‘George, please.’

‘You think I’m jealous?’

Maggie didn’t reply. She felt George’s arm enclose her, and the squeeze of his right hand on her upper arm.

‘Well, Maggie, I’m not jealous. You are my wife, and will be till the end of time.’