Matrimonial Causes Read Online Free Page B

sweepers had been through not long before and any residue of the night’s activity, like cigarette butts and chewing-gum wrappers, had been cleaned away. The steps in front of ‘Lapstone’ had been hosed down, too. The patch of grass had been chewed up by big feet in heavy shoes.
    I buzzed for Flat 3 the way she’d told me to and spoke my name into the squawk box.
    â€˜Come up one flight and to the back,’ said that million-dollar voice.
    Virginia Shaw must have been standing with her hand on the doorknob because the door opened the instant I knocked.
    â€˜Come in. Come in.’
    The flat was much bigger than I’d expected—a sizeable vestibule leading to a wide hallway which led to a large sitting room. There looked to be at least another three or four rooms. The sitting room had French windows opening out to a balcony overlooking the water towards Point Piper. The floors were polished, the furniture was plain and there were paintings on the walls. Virginia Shaw fitted right in. She was tall and slender. Her white dress was simple and looked as if it had been made for her. She looked so cool I felt slightly sweaty. Maybe I looked it, or maybe it was just that she was the kind of woman who knows what a man wants to do.
    â€˜It’s warm in here,’ she said. ‘Would you like to take your coat off? And what can I get you to drink?’
    I peeled off my jacket and she took it from me. I asked for beer and she told me she only had Flag Ale, which was fine with me. She excused herself and I flapped my arms to free my shirt. Then I admired the view because there were no books on display to snoop at, no ashtray to invite the smoker and to me furniture and paintings are just things to avoid bumping into or knocking off the walls. The water was a deep blue as if no storm drain or ship’s bilge had ever been emptied into it. The scene left my own water view—a glimpse of Rozelle Bay if you half-climbed the back fence—for dead.
    She came back with a tray holding a bottle of beer and a pewter tankard. There was also a tall glass of pale liquid with lemon slices floating init. She put the tray on the coffee table, expertly poured the tankard full and handed it to me.
    â€˜Iced tea for me,’ she said. ‘I don’t drink, you see.’
    â€˜Or smoke,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
    â€˜We can go out on the balcony if you want to smoke, Mr Hardy. I’m asthmatic. Please sit down.’
    We sat down a few feet apart. I decided that she was too thin and too pale. The skin was stretched tight over her high cheekbones in the approved fashion model style, but I suspected that in her case the look owed something to poor health.
    â€˜I won’t beat about the bush,’ she said. ‘I’m what is known as a callgirl.’
    I had difficulty in not choking on the icy cold beer. The effect was like Billy Graham saying ‘Shit’ and lighting up a Marlboro. I said nothing, concentrating on getting air down my windpipe. She took a sip of her iced tea.
    â€˜A very high-class callgirl. A very expensive one.’
    I nodded and drank some more beer.
    â€˜I’ve surprised you, Mr Hardy. What did you think I was?’
    â€˜I hadn’t given it much thought, Miss Shaw. An actress perhaps, or a lady of independent means.’
    â€˜Good. I’ve made the right impression. What would you say if I told you that my step-father took my virginity when I was twelve and was my pimp for the next few years?’
    â€˜I’d say that was very interesting and then I’d ask why you wanted to see me.’
    â€˜Because I’m sure that if you hadn’t been therelast night I would have been killed as well as Charles.’
    That got my attention. I thought back to the event, tried to remember it like a piece of freeze-frame photography. Pascoe had spotted a hesitancy in one of my answers and I knew that something about the sequence of actions