the two-storeyed jobs, all sandblasted brick, wrought iron and clean tiles. It occurred to me that this was what the next owner would probably do to my house. I shrugged into my jacket, took a grip on the wine and pushed open the gate.
My knock brought quick footsteps on the stairs and Felicia Todd opened the door. She was wearing white pants and a blue silk shirt knotted at the waist. She looked fresh and almost happy. I was suddenly aware of a strong wish to keep her that way.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘You look like you’ve had a hard day.’
I rubbed my hand across my bristly chin. ‘That bad?’
‘I didn’t say bad.’
‘I’ve just come from Mascot where the workers really work. I can tell you that you’re pretty popular out there just now.’
She smiled and patted the bottle under my arm. ‘What’s that? Some plonk?’
‘Yes. I thought… ‘
‘Look, Cliff, herb omelette’s about my limit. If you want to wine and dine, we’d better go out.’
‘I don’t care. A sandwich’ll do me.’
‘No, I’d like to get out.’ She stuck her head through the door and mimed a furtive look up and down the street. ‘Is it safe?’
‘It’s getting cool. You’ll need a jacket.’
She went quickly up the stairs. My nasty suspicious mind wondered whether she had contrived a way to keep me out. Distrust is an occupational hazard; Cyn said I must have distrusted my mother. Felicia came back wearing a grey denim jacket with the fashionable half-worn-out look. She felt in her pocket for the key and slammed the door hard. We stood on the pavement and faced west.
‘Italian? Chinese? Thai? What?’ she said.
‘No Greek?’
‘We can do Greek. D’you like Greek?’
‘Yeah, I do, as a matter of fact.’
‘So do I. Greek it is.’
We walked to a restaurant in Elizabeth Street. She told me she had filled in the day pretty much as she had expected, with walking and taking photographs. She was animated, apparently glad of my company. But then she’d had a boring day.
I was so hungry I wouldn’t have cared what nationality the food was, but the flat bread, skewered lamb and salad were good. Felicia knocked off a glass of wine quickly and then nursed a second for the rest of the meal. I gave her an outline of what I had done during the day. She looked concerned when I told her about the disturbance at Mascot.
‘Was Bob hurt?’ she said.
‘No. They got more hurt than us.’
‘You sound like Barnes. Tell me about the place. I’ve only been out there once or twice, and very briefly.’
‘It’s worth a visit,’ I said. ‘I’ll take you next time.’ I told her about Anna Carboni and the work she was doing for me.
‘It’s funny,’ she said, when I finished talking to do some more chewing.
‘What is?’
‘You met the most hateful person Barnes knew, that’s Willowsmith, and the nicest-Bob Mulholland. You must be getting some interesting impressions.’
‘Willowsmith struck me as dangerous.’
‘He is. I could tell you some stories.’
We were picking at the remains of the salad. by this time. I dipped a bit of bread in the dressing. ‘Bob Mulholland told me something interesting.’ I gave her the story about the US captain.
‘Barnes used to have nightmares about Korea. I came to hate the sound of the word. Could there be anything in that, d’you think?’
‘It seems unlikely. Barnes never mentioned it? No strange Americans turned up recently?’
The waiter cruised up and we ordered coffee. I let him take away the wine bottle with more than an inch still in it. I hoped I was making a good impression. We sat quietly watching the other diners while we waited for the coffee. There was only one smoker and only two people were noticeably affected by alcohol. Times have changed in Redfern and everywhere else. I caught a snatch of conversation about the election: ‘Political parties are a conspiracy against the people. They’re both in trouble.’ I was in agreement; maybe I’d have to revise my analysis of the Alexandria park issue.
Felicia sipped her coffee. ‘There was an American business type Barnes had some dealings with. It was last year. Constable or Sheriff or some name like that… I forget. Michael Hickie’d have the details.’
I took out my notebook, wrote ‘Constable?/Sheriff?’ and sighed.
‘Is this getting you down already, Cliff? I thought you were Mr Stick-at-it.’
I laughed. She had that effect on me. ‘Sounds Yugoslav.’
‘And in fact you are…?’
‘English and Irish. What about you?’
‘The same,’ she said.
The waiter had left the brass coffee pot on the table. I poured some more for both of us. ‘No, I’m not disheartened. I was just wondering where O’Fear fitted into all this.’
‘Ah, yes. O’Fear. Maybe he doesn’t fit.’
‘I’ve got a feeling he does. There’s no problem seeing him in the context of Barnes’ business activities. I’d be willing to bet he’s driven a truck at some stage, and I’m pretty sure he was in Korea.’
She raised her eyebrows at the disliked word. ‘What about art and such?’
I had good reasons for not wanting to go to Long Bay but I must have sounded surly when I spoke. ‘I don’t know. He was a folk singer and a Celtic revival nut. He might have done watercolours of Galway Bay for all I know.’
‘You’re a strange man, Cliff Hardy,’ Felicia said. ‘You’re half charm and half ill-temper. Just like…’
She didn’t finish but I had a fair idea what name she had in mind. It was a moderately awkward moment. We finished our coffee. I paid the bill and we left. It was a nice, mild night, perfect for a stroll around the park or a quiet drink on the balcony in Chalmers Street or a number of other things. But we weren’t going to do any of them. Barriers of guilt and repression were going up fast: the English and the Irish.
As we turned for home I asked her where the paintings and photographs were.
‘Safe,’ she said.
‘I hope they’re not at Thirroul. That’s…
‘The first place anyone would look. I know. What if I told you they’re scattered around? Here and there?’
‘That’d be smart.’
She nodded and lengthened her stride to keep up with me. I hadn’t realised that I’d increased my speed. ‘What’s your next move?’
‘I’ll see O’Fear tomorrow. That reminds me, I should talk to Barnes’ doctor.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s standard.’
‘What are you implying? He was in the peak of health.’
Things were getting sticky. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘If you say so. Now I’m going to Coogee.’
‘Why?’
‘To see if that car’s anywhere near your house.’
She didn’t say anything more as we walked at a slower pace. The park was across the road, dark but not threatening. The lights that marked the paths gleamed through the trees. The leaves were moving in the light breeze. We stopped outside number 505.
‘How long d’you think I should stay here?’ she said.
I shrugged. ‘Depends. A couple of nights.’
