The Women in Black Page 7

  ‘I reckon I’ll take my clothes off too,’ he said.

  18

  ‘I think I will ask little Lisa to come to luncheon here tomorrow after we finish at the shop,’ said Magda to Stefan. ‘What do you think? Would you enjoy meeting a little Australian schoolgirl? A bluestocking who has neither style nor beauty but who is charming, so well brought up, and so to say adorable in her naiveté.’

  ‘What are you up to, my Magda?’ asked her husband. ‘What are you plotting in your Balkan brain? When have you developed this taste for little schoolgirls? Especially when you tell me she is not pretty, eh?’

  ‘I did not say she is not pretty—though as a matter of fact she is not—I said she is not beautiful. You know perfectly well the difference. I would not like her more if she were pretty, but in fact she will be pretty: for I shall make her so. Anyone young can be pretty, with a little contrivance if needs be, and anyone young should be. It is otherwise a disaster, to be young, or at least a waste of time.’

  ‘Ah, so you are going to turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse, are you?’

  And Stefan laughed heartily.

  ‘You may laugh—go on, laugh like a drain—’ Stefan laughed the more ‘—but I cannot see what is so funny. I do a good deed for once in my life, I cannot see the humour.’

  ‘No, if you could, it would cease to be,’ said Stefan, chuckling. ‘Well, Magda my beauty, have your little schoolgirl here if they who have so well brought her up will permit such a thing—which I doubt—and, I assure you, you will have my full support. You know I am in favour of any enterprise which has beauty as its end.’

  ‘I did not say I would make her beautiful,’ said Magda, ‘I said pretty. Please do not make me to be more of a fool than I am.’

  ‘You are not at all a fool,’ said Stefan. ‘I will remember that you said pretty. Perhaps I would rather meet her after you have made her pretty, however.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Magda. ‘And supposing she can come, will you go up to the good delicatessen at Cremorne Junction tomorrow morning and buy some nice things for us to eat? Get some rye bread, also some black, some cream cheese if it is very fresh, some good ham—’ Stefan cut her off. ‘I can do the shopping,’ he said, ‘without a list, my angel. Oh but!’ and he suddenly struck his head with one large hand. ‘We are forgetting! Rudi comes tomorrow!’

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Magda. ‘But we do not know when. He will quite possibly come much later—who can ever say, with Rudi? It does not matter in any case. What is one Hungarian the more or less?

  We will eat, we will talk. If Rudi is abominable Lisa and I will go out for a walk. Everything will manage itself.’

  Rudi was a comparatively recent—a post-revolution—emigrant, the cousin of the wife of one of Stefan’s former clients: Stefan being an accountant with a small but thriving practice among the migrant colony of Sydney. The former client—Rudi’s cousin-in-law—having moved to Melbourne a few years before, Rudi had tried life in that capital in the first instance, but having soon concluded that Sydney must be more to his taste was now about to launch himself on its brilliant blue expanses.

  ‘I have had Melbourne,’ he had announced at the end of three months in that place, ‘up to here,’ indicating as he did so a point roughly twelve inches above his head.

  Magda and Stefan had met him several times during his reconnaissance trip to Sydney: now that he had come lock, stock and barrel to live there they had undertaken to introduce him to the crowd, help him find a fl at, and generally give any necessary moral support. It did not appear that this latter would be much required.

  The matter of his employment had already been settled, at least for the time being: he was to work for the cousin-in-law’s former partner in the latter’s import-export business.

  ‘The work will be dull,’ said the former partner, ‘and poorly paid, but there is a wonderful view of Darling Harbour from the window of my office, and I give you leave to come and look at it as often as you please, up to a maximum of five minutes per diem.’

  ‘Could anyone, I least of all, resist so handsome an offer?’ said Rudi. ‘Expect me on the first day of the New Year.’

  ‘Better make that the second,’ said his employer-to-be, ‘the first is here a public holiday, and I would be breaking the law if I had you to work that day.’

  ‘Unless you paid me time and a half,’ said Rudi.

  ‘Just so,’ said his cicerone. ‘So I will see you on the second, at nine a.m. sharp.’

  19

  Fay, leaving Goode’s by the Staff Entrance on the Friday night before Christmas with her enlarged pay-packet in her handbag thought, I should buy something new to wear, it might cheer me up. She felt a dreadful lassitude which might, she thought, be merely the heat; but she could not remember the heat’s having so affected her before. I’m just a bit down in the dumps, she told herself. I’ll feel better after Christmas is over. And she caught herself thinking of Christmas as a trial, and she thought, what is the matter with me? And she tried to think of the Christmas before her as a pleasure, as something to look forward to—with Myra’s parents, and Myra’s brother and sister and their families all driving up from Penrith the one lot and Kurrajong the other—which was partly why the Parkers had decided on the Blue Mountains as a retirement home, to be near the grandchildren—on Christmas Day itself, and she thought, oh well, safety in numbers. And she cheered herself up a little more, by thinking of the trip back on The Fish. I should buy a new dress to wear on Christmas Day, she thought. That might cheer me up. But she wouldn’t really have time to have a good look around. I’ll skip it, she thought. I’ll save my money for the sales. The blue and white will do. That’s only last season’s.

  Fay had done a remarkable thing: she had cried off all proposed engagements this weekend (the gold watch had asked her out, I know he only wants one thing, she had told Myra, and Myra herself had wanted her to go to a party) and she was going to do absolutely nothing. She was going to stay at home, do all her washing, clean the fl at, and wash and set her hair. She was going to read The Women’s Weekly and if she finished that, she could read a book. She had the book with her now; Lisa had lent it to her. Lisa had been reading it in the canteen, and Fay had said, is that a good book? And Lisa had said yes, it’s wonderful. I’m just finishing it. Would you like to borrow it? Well, okay, said Fay, to be polite. What’s it called? It’s called Anna Karenina, said Lisa, holding it up so that Fay could see the title printed on the cover.

  20

  ‘Lisa,’ said Fay, ‘I think Magda wants to speak to you.’

  Magda had indeed been making eloquent signals with her great eyes across the several yards of space which separated Model Gowns from Ladies’ Cocktail. Lisa looked across the chasm and Magda beckoned; the girl hurried across to her. Had she not completed her allotted task the day before? She did not like to think of the frost which would settle on Mrs Williams, if not also Miss Jacobs and even Miss Baines, were she to abandon them once more on this busiest of all mornings.

  ‘Lisa, my dear,’ said Magda, ‘I will not long detain you. I merely wish to invite you to luncheon today if you have nothing more amusing to do. I have so much described you to my husband who looks forward to meeting you, it will be very simple, we do not trouble with the haute cuisine on a Saturday—psssht!—it is the end of a long week—a piece of sausage, a glass of wine, a few cherries— please give us the pleasure of your company!’

  Lisa was overwhelmed; she stuttered.

  ‘I’ll have to ask my mother,’ she said, ‘I mean, I’ll have to tell her.’

  ‘But naturally!’ cried Magda. ‘I have thought of that too! Here are four pennies, I keep some always in my bureau in case of need— run quickly to the public telephones there and call your mother and ask her permission, please. You know we live in Mosman, it will be quite easy for you to find your way home, no? It is not so far. Go quickly, they will not notice, the ladies, and tell me what your mother says. And give her first my respe
cts, please.’

  Fay watched, unable to hear, and wondered. That Magda, how intriguing she was, as well as frightful. But Lisa did not seem to find her frightful; fearsome, possibly, but not frightful. Lisa seemed to enjoy her time at Magda’s side: she would return from her stints at Model Gowns in a state of something like elation.

  ‘There are frocks from Paris in there,’ she had told them, ‘and London. Beautiful, the most beautiful frocks—you should go and see. Magda won’t mind.’

  As if they would go and see!

  ‘I don’t want to see frocks from Paris and London,’ said Patty Williams. ‘I’ve got enough to do with frocks from Sydney and Melbourne.

  ’ But Fay, silenced by this remark, thought to herself, geez. I’d love to look at those frocks. And perhaps I will, later; or some time.

  She thought, perhaps they look like the frocks in magazines. Geez, think of that: fancy having a frock that was in a magazine.

  ‘We will jump onto a tram in Elizabeth Street and go quickly to the Quay,’ said Magda to Lisa as they walked forth from Goode’s at 12.35. ‘I am in no mood for a promenade. Come.’

  Lisa had rarely had the occasion to travel by ferry and had entirely forgotten, if she had ever really known, the ravishing delight of the experience.

  ‘We will sit outside, of course,’ said Magda, running up the staircase and going out onto the upper deck, ‘here, with our backs to the sun. Ouf! What could be more glorious?’

  She looked around at the Harbour, the sky, the Bridge, Pinch-gut, the fairyland foreshores, the entire glittering panorama.

  Intoxicated by this spectacle and by the mad throbbing of the great engine and the strange allure of the smell of its oil, carried across the twinkling water on this comfortable wooden vessel with its cargo of fortunate passengers, the salty breeze in her hair, Lisa felt herself to be no longer on the threshold, but suddenly projected wholly into real life; to have left—at last—Lesley, that child, far behind.

  ‘Isn’t it lovely!’ she exclaimed. ‘Isn’t it glorious! I am happy!’

  Magda turned and smiled at her brilliantly. ‘Good!’ she said.

  ‘Be happy—always!’

  And she kissed Lisa on the cheek. Lisa smiled shyly at her. I’ve heard, she thought, that Continentals kiss each other much more than we do: it means nothing. They do it all the time, even the men. The men even kiss each other. But how strange I feel.

  21

  ‘Here we are at last!’ exclaimed Magda, opening her front door; the remark might have been made for either Lisa’s benefit, or Stefan’s.

  Lisa, after a short walk up from the wharf, now found herself entering a flat which occupied the upper floor of a sprawling Edwardian villa overlooking Mosman Bay. Light streamed through its great windows filling the large sitting room into which the door immediately opened; to the left could be seen a glimpse of kitchen, to the right, a half-open door revealed a small triangle of what might be a bedroom. Near to the kitchen she now saw a large round table covered with food and, standing next to it, a tall man with dark wavy hair and bright hazel eyes. This man was smiling at them broadly, and waved a hand over the table.

  ‘See what I have conjured up for you,’ he said, ‘by the exercise of my great powers!’

  ‘Never mind your great powers,’ said Magda, ‘come here and meet Lisa. Lisa, may I present my husband, Stefan Szombathelyi, who is a Hungarian but not, alas, a count. But you can’t have everything.’ Stefan, smiling at Lisa, drew himself up to his full height, clicked his heels, and bowed, taking Lisa’s hand the while which he then kissed.

  ‘I am enchanted to meet you,’ he told her. He released her hand; she was not perhaps blushing, but she seemed rather pink.

  ‘You must not mind, Lisa,’ said Magda. ‘I suppose you have heard that we Europeans are kissing people all the time.’

  They all laughed, but Lisa most especially.

  ‘Now I will merely divest myself of this dreadful black,’ said Magda, ‘and we can eat. I am ravenous I must tell you. Excuse me very briefly. Stefan, give Lisa a glass of wine, please.’

  Stefan smiled nicely at the girl. She wasn’t too bad: not pretty, but perhaps she had possibilities. She was very thin, but that was certainly better than being very fat.

  ‘Would you like some wine?’ he asked, ‘or would you prefer lemonade? I have bought some, just in case. Such an amusing drink, don’t you agree? But the wine is quite amusing too in its way. Tell me what you would like.’

  ‘I think,’ said Lisa, ‘I’d like some lemonade. I don’t usually drink wine.’

  She had not in fact drunk so much as a drop of this liquid ever in her life.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Stefan. ‘I will fetch the lemonade, it is in the fridge. It is not amusing in the least when it is not cold.’

  Magda re-entered the room as he departed; she was now clad in a becoming pair of red linen trousers.

  ‘Now for some food,’ she cried, rubbing her hands together as she approached the table. ‘What has he bought for us? Come Lisa and sit, and help yourself, please. I will cut some bread. Do you like rye bread? This is very good. Then you have what you like with it, cheese—various kinds all here on this plate, ham, yes, liverwurst, that sausage there is good or try this salami, then I see he has made us a salad as well—you must eat some of that, it is good for you.

  Stefan, pour me a glass of wine, I beg you.’

  Lisa, dazed by the exotic goodies set before her, began to help herself to minute quantities of this and that. No such food had ever before come her way, and she might happily have tasted each thing slowly and in private, but soon she was distracted from any such whole-hearted gluttony by her host.

  ‘Magda tells me you have just left school, Lisa,’ said Stefan.

  ‘Yes, I’ve just sat the Leaving Certificate,’ said Lisa.

  ‘Ah,’ exclaimed Stefan, ‘the Leaving! So you are clever!’

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ said Lisa, ‘I’m still waiting for the results.’

  ‘That is a clever answer,’ said Stefan, ‘so I think you may wait with some confidence. When will you have them?’

  ‘They come out in about three weeks’ time,’ said Lisa.

  ‘And then?’ said Stefan. ‘Will you go to the university?’

  ‘O-o-oh—I really don’t know,’ said Lisa, dreading at the contemplation of this question the possibility of not doing so. ‘I’m trying not to think about it until I know.’

  ‘This is quite correct,’ said Magda. ‘Do not make her think of imponderables, Stefan. She has plenty to think of straightaway. She has her job, she has still Christmas and the abominable sales before her. She lives in the moment.’

  ‘To be sure,’ said Stefan. ‘So tell me, do you like to read novels, Lisa?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said she.

  ‘And what are you reading now?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve just finished Anna Karenina,’ said Lisa. ‘I can’t decide what to read next; there are so many to choose from.’

  ‘How true,’ said Stefan, ‘and the number always grows, I assure you. It is a strange thing. But how did you like Anna?’

  ‘Oh, I loved it. It’s wonderful,’ said Lisa.

  ‘I agree that it is hard to think of what should follow it,’ said Stefan. ‘Perhaps it should be something quite different. Read about another woman, perhaps Emma. Have you read that yet?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Oh well that is settled then,’ said Stefan. ‘Jane Austen, I assure you, is as great a genius as Tolstoy, whatever they say. Let me have your opinion in due course.’

  Lisa smiled happily. No one had talked to her in this fashion before.

  ‘Yes, I will,’ she replied.

  Magda now broke in.

  ‘Have we no dessert?’ she asked. ‘Is there no fruit?’

  ‘Yes, I will get it,’ said Stefan.

  ‘And put on the coffee,’ said Magda.

  ‘That too,’ he replied.

  He went to the k
itchen and returned with a pineapple.

  ‘Ah, but this will be messy,’ said Magda. ‘Do you mind, Lisa?

  Tuck your serviette under your chin, at any rate; the juice goes everywhere.’

  Stefan carved the pineapple and as they all sat munching and dribbling companionably, the doorbell rang. Magda looked up, her great eyes wide.

  ‘That will be Rudi,’ she exclaimed. ‘He has such a sense of timing, like no one.’

  22

  Stefan opened the door and admitted the newcomer, and Lisa, turning, beheld a wiry and very handsome man of around thirty-five years of age.

  ‘Stefan, my old bean,’ cried he, ‘and Magda my young bean— but I hope I am not late. Or early! How are you both? I have brought you a cake.’ He handed a large flat box to Magda, and kissed her on both cheeks.

  ‘Now that is very nice,’ said Magda, ‘we are just wanting cake here, for the coffee must be ready. Have you had lunch, Rudi? There is plenty here left over. But forgive me, Lisa. Let me introduce Rudi Jánosi, who has just come to Sydney to live, though we don’t yet know precisely where. Rudi, this is my colleague Lisa Miles.’

  ‘How do you do,’ said Rudi politely.

  ‘Sit down here and eat if you wish,’ said Magda.

  ‘No, I have had a snack,’ said Rudi.

  ‘Then we will be comfortable over here,’ said Magda. ‘If you have finished with the pineapple, Lisa, let us sit on the sofa and have our coffee and some cake. Sit, sit everyone, ouf! I must have a cigarette above all.’

  She opened a silver box and took a cigarette from it; Stefan, having entered with the coffee pot and some cups on a tray, set it down and lit Magda’s cigarette.

  ‘So Rudi,’ he said, ‘we have been discussing Jane Austen. Tell us what you think of her.’