The Port Fairy Murders (16 page)

‘KISSING IN PUBLIC
like that, really, it’s disgusting,’ said Dorothy Shipman. She and Matthew Todd, having left his aunt’s house after a cup of tea, had decided to walk to East Beach, where Matthew thought he might have a swim. When they’d turned into Gipps Street, he’d seen the couple ahead of them and recognised Johanna Scotney at once. He slowed their pace so as to avoid catching up with the couple, and gave no indication to Dorothy that he knew the girl. So that gangly, gormless youth was the beau that Rose mentioned. Matthew chortled.

‘What’s funny?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You never tell me what you’re thinking.’

‘I’m not thinking anything at all, Dotty. My mind is blank.’

‘I wish you’d tell me things.’

You wouldn’t like the things I could tell you
, he thought. When Johanna and Timothy kissed, he experienced a thrill. It wasn’t jealousy. It was more visceral than that — it was the thrill of the chase.
Whoever you are
, he thought as he watched the young man put his arm around Johanna’s waist,
you’re not going to get there first
. Dorothy, having expressed her disappointment at the lewd display, looked to Matthew for his reaction. She couldn’t make sense of the expression on his face.

‘Really, Matthew, I insist that you tell me what you’re thinking.’

‘I was thinking how lucky I am, Dot — how very, very lucky.’

‘Lucky to have me, you mean,’ she said and laughed.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That, too.’

She had no idea what he meant, but she was pleased to be walking beside him. He was a good man — reliable, honest, respectful. Once she’d nominated the boundaries of their physical relationship, he hadn’t gone beyond them. She wished he was more mindful of his faith. That was something she could work on after they were married. It wasn’t something she wanted to argue about now. The sacrament of marriage and the gift of children would bring Matthew back to the Church. Dorothy was praying for this, saying the Rosary every day, and she believed in the power of prayer. After all, even before she’d met Matthew she’d prayed that someone like him would come along. And hadn’t God answered that prayer? Luck, she told herself, had had nothing to do with it.

IT HAD BECOME
a scheduled part of every week on the Abbot farm that Saturday lunch would be followed by sex. They had the house to themselves. They never took their lovemaking out of the bedroom, even though there was no danger of being caught by anyone. Rose had tried to encourage her husband into other rooms, or outside. He said he couldn’t relax and enjoy himself in odd places. Rose lay on the bed in her nightdress, waiting for John to finish cleaning himself in the bathroom. He liked to approach their lovemaking feeling freshly bathed and smelling of Bornns Bay Rum. He also liked to begin matters with his wife modestly covered. Early in their marriage he’d found her lying naked on the bed, and he’d said that the sight of his wife disporting herself was unseemly. He, however, always approached the task naked. He had no personal modesty. Why would a man need to be modest? Modesty was the domain and responsibility of women.

Rose had become used to her husband’s contradictory notions about sex. He wasn’t a particularly thoughtful lover, but he wasn’t rough or nasty either. She’d come to accept that he was a tad boring. It was always the same. He whispered endearments, fiddled about a bit, manoeuvred her into position, pushed himself inside her, and, trying not to lie too heavily on her, began to move back and forth with the monotonous regularity of an underpowered piston. Rose closed her eyes and tried to extract as much pleasure as she could from the exercise. Sometimes this worked, but she had to be careful not to be too expressive. John believed that his wife should enjoy sex, no question about it. There was a difference, though, between enjoyment and wanton abandonment. His wife moaning with pleasure frightened him.

In the kitchen, after each of them had sponged the evidence of their lovemaking away, Rose said that she’d like to drive into Port Fairy, visit her Aunt Aggie, and maybe go for a swim at East Beach. John said that he’d be happy to drive her in, but that he’d go to the pub while she was at Aggie’s.

‘She doesn’t like me anyway, so it’s not like she’d care.’

Afterwards they could both go for swim. That was fine by Rose. She was never comfortable when John and Aggie were together. Aggie made no secret of the fact that she thought him coarse — which he was. Visiting Aggie was a chore, not a pleasure. She couldn’t make her laugh the way Matthew could, and she lacked his knack of easy conversation with her. Even though they saw each other irregularly, there never seemed to be anything to say. Aggie would ask if Rose had heard from her parents. The answer was usually no, although occasionally there might have been a recent phone call. Rose knew not to ask after Uncle Selwyn, and she wouldn’t have done so anyway. She didn’t loathe Selwyn the way Matthew did, yet she felt no connection with him. She avoided Sackville Street, and if she had to shop there, she never acknowledged him.

John parked the truck outside the Caledonian Hotel, and Rose walked from there to Aggie’s house. It wasn’t far. Nothing was far in Port Fairy. She had a nodding acquaintance with almost every person she passed. Strange faces were a rare sight in town. There was the odd itinerant who came looking for work on the wharf, but generally people were familiar to one another through church, ladies’ auxiliaries, or the pubs. Rose met Mrs Hardiman, with two of her seven children in tow. Mr Hardiman was stationed somewhere in the Northern Territory, and Mrs Hardiman had no help with the children. Nevertheless, they were turned out beautifully each Sunday at Mass, and Mrs Hardiman never looked harried. While they were chatting, Mr Butler walked by. He touched his hat politely, but didn’t stop.

‘He’s a Mason,’ Mrs Hardiman said.

‘Really?’ Rose watched his retreating back. ‘You just don’t know about people, do you? I had no idea.’

‘He’s nice enough, and his wife’s been good to us. They live next door.’

‘Still, a Mason.’

‘Yes, it’s a real shame.’

Aggie was pleased to see, when she opened the door to Rose’s knock, that John Abbot wasn’t with her. It was bad enough that Rose seemed to have caught some of his uncouthness. Her hair, for example, was either pulled back unflatteringly or was a rat’s nest of untidiness.

‘I didn’t bring any eggs, but I think Matthew probably brought some yesterday.’ Rose had noticed that her pantry had been raided.

‘Yes, he did,’ Aggie said, and managed to convey her disappointment that her niece wasn’t as thoughtful or generous as her nephew. Rose thought that reminding her aunt that the eggs and vegetables were in fact hers, and not Matthew’s, would be viewed as petty, so she said nothing.

Aggie made a pot of tea, and produced shortbread biscuits that she’d made with butter from the Abbot’s farm. She made no mention of this gift, and Rose didn’t fail to notice that the teaspoon next to her cup wasn’t one of the silver apostle spoons. Matthew, no doubt, would always be favoured with an apostle spoon.

‘You look well, Aunty,’ she said.

‘I just try to look neat, Rose. It doesn’t take
that
much of an effort.’

Rose ignored the implied criticism. She had no desire to squabble with her aunt, who was well practised in withering rejoinders. She used them sparingly in company, not wishing to get a reputation in the parish for shrewishness. A well-timed, well-aimed remark, however, helped create an impression of intelligence, and it was generally agreed that Aggie Todd, while dour, had a sharp wit, and she was never short of invitations to elevenses and tiffin.

After some dull remarks about the fires and the weather, Rose asked her aunt what she thought of Dorothy Shipman.

‘She was here this morning. She seems a sensible-enough girl. She’s a draper’s daughter, which I suppose is what passes for society in Port Fairy. Matthew is fond of her, so that’s all well and good.’

‘I’ve only met her once.’

‘Well, you’re out on that farm, aren’t you? I can’t see Dorothy traipsing about in cow pats.’

Rose didn’t bite.

‘No, I suppose not. I’d like to get to know her better. What does she see in Matthew, do you think?’

Aggie looked incredulous.

‘What an extraordinary question, Rose. Your brother is the most successful forwarding agent in this town. He’s done more for the fishermen here than the Co-operative has ever managed to do.’

‘I don’t think the Co-op would agree with you, Aunty.’

All of Rose’s knowledge of the lives of Port Fairy’s fishermen had been gleaned from Johanna’s conversation about her father, and her father was a member of the Co-operative.

‘You don’t live in the town, Rose. If you did, you’d know how well respected your brother is.’

‘Is she a Catholic girl, or is Matthew following in Dad’s footsteps?’

‘The Shipmans are very much a Catholic family. If you came to Mass more regularly, you’d see Dorothy there.’

‘Father Brennan understands that it’s not always easy for John to leave the farm.’

‘It’s a mortal sin. Imagine if you fell under the tractor on a Monday, having missed Mass on Sunday. John should make more of an effort. It wouldn’t hurt him to be little more self-sacrificing.’

Rose had no appetite for allowing the conversation to slide into an attack on her husband.

‘Be that as it may, Aunty, I’d like to get to know Dorothy better. I’m sure she’s a lovely person.’

Rose wasn’t at all sure of this. She was curious about the kind of woman who was willing to overlook what Rose believed were Matthew’s ostentatious flaws.

Aggie, whose face assumed a little moue when Rose dunked a piece of shortbread in her tea, said that if Rose was serious she could invite the couple out to the farm for dinner.

‘Yes, I’ll do that. Perhaps you’d come, too.’

‘Oh no, dear. Someone has to be here to keep an eye on Selwyn at night.’

This wasn’t true. Often, Aggie locked Selwyn in the shed and spent an evening at someone’s house.

‘If you’re serious about meeting Dorothy, you could start this afternoon. She and Matthew were planning to have a swim at East Beach. They’ll be there now, I suspect.’

There was no doubting that this was a dismissal, and Rose was happy to take advantage of it. She finished her tea, surreptitiously put a shortbread in her pocket — it was her butter, after all — and effected her departure.

In the Caledonian Hotel, John Abbot was deep in conversation with another farmer. Rose knew these conversations were important to John, infrequent though they were. They were an opportunity to vent frustrations and share information. What she didn’t know was that at the moment she walked into the bar — a place she wouldn’t normally have entered — John Abbot was telling his friend that Johanna Scotney was a ripe little peach and that she might be up for a bit of how’s your father. His friend, a much older man, laughed, but cautioned John that Johanna’s father would wreak havoc if he ever found out.

‘Nah,’ John said. ‘She’s playing hard-to-get all right, but she’s playing. She wouldn’t still be there if she wasn’t up for it, would she? She certainly wouldn’t be saying anything to her father.’

His friend shrugged.

‘I’d be careful if I were you, John. Word gets around.’

Rose heard none of this as she approached the bar where they were sitting.

‘Rosy,’ John said. He always called her Rosy after a few drinks. ‘Had enough of the old dragon?’

Rose didn’t bother leaping to her aunt’s defence. John knew perfectly well that Rose agreed with him.

‘I’m going down to East Beach. You stay here.’

‘No, I’ll come. I could do with a swim.’

‘I’m hoping to meet up with Matthew and his fiancée.’

‘Oh.’ John’s interest evaporated. ‘I’ll stay here then.’

JOHANNA AND TIMOTHY
weren’t alone in the gardens. Despite the grounds’ disordered state, they were still a popular place to take the dog or to walk off a big lunch. The smaller paths had disappeared in the wilderness of undergrowth, so most people stuck to the main ones, where regular foot traffic ensured a clear way. Timothy knew a disused track, just discernable if you were familiar with it. It ran behind a huge Norfolk pine and down towards the Moyne River. At a certain point, it flattened out to provide a place that couldn’t be seen from either the park or the land on the other side.

He and Johanna sat down, or rather Johanna did, and Timothy lay back with his hands behind his head. His shirt rose up to expose his belly; but, despite the intimacy of that kiss, Johanna was too shy to place her hand on his skin. She did as he did, and lay back.

‘We’ll be all right, you know,’ Timothy said.

‘Maybe it’ll all be over by the time you’re 18.’

‘I hope not.’

Johanna sat up.

‘You don’t have to prove how brave you are, Tim. Not to me, and not to anyone else either. There are plenty of blokes who haven’t joined up, and no one thinks anything of it.’

Johanna didn’t quite believe this. She understood why her father hadn’t joined up. Shark fishing was a reserved occupation. Several other fishermen had signed on for the army. Tom Scotney thought those blokes were nongs, not heroes. They’d left their families in dire straits, and they’d expect to just waltz back into the industry when the war ended. Shark fishing was a protected industry for a bloody good reason, so those blokes were abandoning their duty, not heading off to do their duty. Johanna had heard her father crowing recently about the fact that the silly buggers were being sent home because there weren’t enough fishermen left behind to fill the catch quotas. He’d been right all along. Someone like Matthew Todd, though? He should be in the army, Johanna thought. Timothy, on the other hand, was too young, and he ought to think about his mother. She already had one son overseas, and she probably worried herself silly that he’d end up like her husband.