“How nice to see you,” I said, compromising.

“Nice to see you too, dahling,” she cooed.

“Would you like to come in? Have a coffee?”

She said no, she had to get back next door before business got too brisk, but she was, um, wondering, um, if, um, we had any, um, plans for the vacant rooms? “Some of my girls are interested,” she concluded.

How peculiar! Jim and Bob arrived on the Harley Davidson at that moment, and joined me as I was explaining to Madame that the Public Trustee was in control of things, and we hadn’t heard yet when they were planning to rent out the vacant premises.

“Fuckin’ old women!” she said, and departed, leaving a strong aroma of Patou’s Joy behind her.

“Business must be good,” I said to Jim. “I believe that stuff costs more than diamonds or truffles.”

“Well, she was wearing plenty of diamonds, too, unless you think her earrings and pendant are hunks of bottle,” said Jim.

“It isn’t fair, is it?” asked Bob a little wistfully. “Good girls like you and camp girls like me are lucky if we get a two-bob box of Black Magic chocolates.”

I grabbed at the door knob in shock. “Bob! Do you mean to say that Jim gives you a whole box of Black Magic choccies?”

Bob leered to show her Dracula canines. “Jim loves me.”

“Well, I’m seriously thinking of asking Madame Fugue for a few tips on how to get started in the game,” I said. “The game’s one way to earn a decent—oops, indecent—living at home! It would also provide Flo with heaps of uncles.”

Jim was frowning, but not at the banter. “You know, Harry, that was a very odd thing for the Madame to do. She has to know that it isn’t in our power to rent rooms. I wonder what she was really after?”

“I haven’t a clue,” I said.

Bob suddenly whooped with laughter. “I wonder what the Child Welfare would say if they knew about 17b and 17d? Ooooooo-aa!”

But they know about 17b and 17d, of course they know. Jim was right, however, Madame Fugue’s appearance was peculiar. What could she have been fishing for? Though I suspect that Child Welfare wasn’t as shocked by the brothels next door as Miss Arf-Arf was on her second visit when she saw the winged phallus embroidered on the inside thigh of Jim’s jeans. Whereas she was hugely impressed by Lady Richard, on Jim’s arm. Alone among us, Lady Richard has gone into traditional formal mourning for Mrs. Delvecchio Schwartz. Still in black, though shortly, he announced, he would be able to wear lilacs and greys. Even, if the occasion warrants it, white.

Tuesday,

April 4th, 1961

Mr. Hush’s secretary phoned me at work this morning and asked if I could be in his chambers at two o’clock. Not a request, my instincts said. A summons. Which meant that I had to see Sister Agatha and inform her that I’d have to leave Cas X-ray early. It wasn’t a particularly busy day, but that, of course, isn’t relevant.

“Really, Miss Purcell,” Sister Agatha began in peevish tones, “this downing tools and flying off at a moment’s notice has become a rather nasty habit of yours lately. It isn’t good enough.”

“Sister Toppingham,” I said stiffly, “you exaggerate. The occasions when I have taken time off work this year amount to three. January the second, January the eleventh and January the thirteenth. I did attend a funeral on that Friday the Thirteenth, as a matter of fact, however inappropriate you may consider the date. I did not ask to be paid for any of those absences, and I am not asking to be paid for the two hours you will lose from me this afternoon. Miss Smith and the junior can cope, it’s quiet in Cas. And yes, I know that I am inconveniencing you, Sister, but it is no more than an inconvenience. This hospital will not cease to function at optimum level because I will not be here.”

She gobbled just like the Missus. “You are impertinent, Miss Purcell!” was the best retort she could muster.

“No, Sister Toppingham, I am not impertinent. I am merely doing the unpardonable by sticking up for myself,” I said.

Sister Agatha reached for a register. “You may go, madam. I assure you that I will not forget this.”

Oooooo-aa! I’ll bet the old bitch won’t forget it either. Ah, but it felt good as the Purcell worm turned over!

Mr. Hush’s mood was little better than Sister Agatha’s. His face looked as if he’d just discovered that the meat chiller had died a minute after he closed the shop for a long weekend.

“I went to see Child Welfare yesterday,” he said, “with a view to lodging a formal application to adopt Florence Schwartz. I’m afraid that their reaction was more adamantly against you than I had expected, Miss Purcell. Simply, they informed me that you are not morally fit to have charge of a child.”

“Morally fit?”

“That is the term. Morally fit. First, there is the matter of the two houses of ill fame which flank your late landlady’s premises, in which you intend to rear the child, who is debatably her heir. Secondly, one of the Child Welfare officers interviewed Mrs. Duncan Forsythe. Apparently there is a rumour about you and Dr. Forsythe going about, and this officer was apprised of it by a Queens friend. Mrs. Duncan Forsythe left you without a feather to fly with.” His face indicated that the meat was badly off. “I’m very sorry, but that is the situation.”

“The bitch! I’m going to kill her,” I said slowly.

He looked at me sympathetically. “I agree that it would do your heart good to kill her, Harriet, but it won’t help Flo, now will it?” The knives came out, he selected one sharp enough not to cause me too much pain. “Child Welfare also notified me that Flo is about to be discharged from Royal Queens. The diagnosis is a nonspecific form of autism, which means that she will be sent to an appropriate institution.”

“Stockton,” I said hollowly.

“Highly unlikely. Child Welfare is conscious that Flo has a group of regular visitors who are based in Sydney. I imagine she will be sent to Gladesville.”

“Exit Flo, neatly pigeonholed.” I looked straight at him. “Mr. Hush, I don’t care what Child Welfare say, I want that formal application lodged. And every time I’m turned down, lodge another one. For years, if necessary. When Flo is a grown woman, I want her to know that I tried and tried and tried. If she’s still alive, which I doubt. That’s the real tragedy.”

I walked home across the Domain, kicked my shoes off, peeled my stockings off and felt the tough, springy grass fight my feet. Oh, why had I publicly humiliated the Missus? Dragged her out of her car under the Mesdames’ noses, chucked her back in after I’d said my piece? Shown her just how small and petty she is? Well, she’s had her revenge. Except that I think she’d have done the same even if I hadn’t flown up her. But I am going to get the Missus, oh yes. Starting next week. Since I’ve already been judged morally unfit, what does it matter if I have gentlemen visit my flat? I’ll ring Duncan up at home and invite him over for the entire night. If you want to play dirty, Mrs. Forsythe, you’re going to find out how dirty dirt can be. Cockroaches…I’ll catch a giant mortuary jar full of them and let them loose in your poncy little Pommy car. Huge ones that fly, hur-hur-hur. I’ll picket the next Black and White Committee meeting with a big placard that says MRS. DUNCAN FORSYTHE DOESN’T GIVE HER HUSBAND ANY NOOKY AND THAT’S WHY HE’S TAKEN UP WITH A MORALLY UNFIT GIRL YOUNG ENOUGH TO BE HIS DAUGHTER.

Nice thoughts. They carried me as far as Woolloomooloo, where I put my shoes on and stopped thinking of things to do to the Missus that I know I can’t because they’ll rebound on Duncan. However, the cockroaches are feasible. And the invitation to Duncan to spend a night in my arms is a definite. Even better, I’ll curse her. B.O. and halitosis. Intractable thrush. Heaps of weight no matter how she starves herself. Wrinkles. Swelling of the feet and ankles so gross that it flops over the edges of her shoes and wobbles. Conjunctivitis. Dandruff. Worms that lay their eggs in the anus so she has to pick her bum in public. Oh, yes! Sicken slowly, Mrs. Forsythe! Die of thwarted vanity! May all your mirrors crack when you look in them, may your haute couture clothes turn into hessian bags and plumber’s boots.