I managed to coax Horatio out from under the sofa, a.s.suaged his hurt feelings with kitty treats, and tried to get control of myself. James! The cheek of him! And to expect me to just agree without argument! Had I done that a lot when I was married to him?

I thought about it as I got out the gin. Probably, I decided. His habit of having robust discussions in the morning had ground me down and I generally agreed, first because I wanted to please him and later because I didn't care what he did. He might have got the idea that I was perfectly malleable, a yes-sir, no-sir girl. His shock when I declared that I was leaving and here were the keys must have been profound. He had reacted badly. One of the reasons I hadn't really been looking for a new lover was the intimate ugliness of that break-up. We sort of forgave each other eventually, but we were never going to be close friends again.

And certainly not now. I would have to ask all the other tenants if they had received any little feelers from the Renew company. And chop them off at the socks if they had.

There was nothing good to be said about James. So I didn't bother not saying it but read the rest of the prospectus carefully. To an accountant's eye it was full of gaps. Some were little ones (What about council permits? Height restrictions? Heritage concerns?) and some were gaping great big ones into which one could fit Port Phillip Bay. Funding? a.s.sets? Capital?

Capital being the main problem. I could not tell what the source of the company's capital was, apart from the public float, of course. I wondered if it had anything to do with this Singapore bank. The figures had not exactly been fudged. They were projections, written more in hope than confidence and, when Daniel came back from greasing the balcony rail, I said so.

'Will they get their investors, then?' he asked. 'Perhaps the venture will fail if it's this vague.'

'We can hope,' I told him. 'But weirder things than this have sold a lot of shares. The share market works on what the Americans call sandbox politics. If one child declares that red lollies are the absolute best, every child wants one. It's a sort of "me, too!" thing. Red lollies will then boom. If it is then found that red lollies stain the lips or green lollies make you a better skateboard rider, then red will crash out of favour and green will boom. The market has all the subtle psychology of a kindergarten playground.'

Daniel looked a little shocked, as most non-money people are when they realise how basic the emotions which rule the money world are. I continued with my lecture. Daniel seemed amenable to being lectured, which was nice.

'However, he has to make us all sell. We are owners, not ordinary tenants. He would have to convince each and every person to sell.'

'So far he's been relying on scaring women,' Daniel observed.

'Perhaps that's just in the nature of a good start,' I said sourly.

We went up to the roof in no pleasant good frame of mind. I really love this place, I thought. I'm not going to have James's friends push me out of this garden, this view. We sat down in the rose bower and poured a drink. Horatio vanished into the bushes again. I wondered idly what he was doing.

Then Trudi cried out and we ran to her side. She was pointing down at the turf which she was so proud of. It had strange beige marks in it. I realised that the marks were stripes of dead gra.s.s, and they spelt out 'Wh.o.r.e'. Trudi was crying.

I had never seen her cry before.

'How has he done it?'

'Things going missing,' sobbed Trudi. 'My pesticide. Then my weedkiller. This is done with weedkiller. He just pours it on the gra.s.s. When I catch him-' she stopped sobbing and put her hands together. Strong gardener's hands. 'When I catch, I kill.'

'Let's call the poor policewoman again,' I said. 'Come on, Trudi. This isn't aimed at you. Have a sip of my gin and tonic and wipe your eyes.'

She had already stopped crying. She didn't bother with the gla.s.s but grabbed the bottle. She took a deep gulp of the gin and shook her head.

'Was shock,' she said briskly. 'But I still kill him.'

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

I'm sure that poor Lepidoptera White was sick of us but she came anyway, inspected the burned turf, and pointed out one thing we had missed. There was the mark of a toecap in one of the down strokes.

'Whoever he is, he's probably got a sore foot, and certainly got a ruined shoe,' she said. 'The only other thing we know about him is that he is clumsy. Though maybe that's the curse.'

Meroe, who had retired to the roof garden for some peaceful contemplation since she could not open her shop, unbent enough to smile. That was a first! Meroe, smiling at a cop! When Ms White had taken her pictures we comforted Trudi some more and soon it had turned into an impromptu party. The Prof, making his first outing without his stick, was enthroned in the rose bower. Andy Holliday (and the bottle which was his inseparable companion) was enticed out of his apartment into the afternoon light.

The workers were all at work, of course, and no one expected a nerd to voluntarily leave home by daylight in case they turned into a video game monster or dissolved into dust.

181.

I went down to my apartment for some more gla.s.ses and some leftover m.u.f.fins.

Senior Constable White accepted a m.u.f.fin and a seat and was soon discussing azalea culture with Trudi. I had no idea that there was so much to be said about azaleas. Daniel and the Prof settled down to a comfortable chat about the state of the world (parlous) and the possibilities of peace (minuscule). Meroe and I found a place to sit and absorb some suns.h.i.+ne. Holliday blinked at the light and sighted upon Daniel.

'Seen you before,' he blurted.

'Very likely,' said Daniel, without missing a beat. Andy seemed content to just sit there on a white wicker chair and not talk so I began to ask if anyone had received an offer to sell their apartment recently.

'Just last week,' said Meroe. 'Man on the phone. Told him to go away,' she added. The Professor swallowed his mouthful of m.u.f.fin.

'Yes, I think it was Wednesday, perhaps? I was still incapacitated so I was answering the phone just for amus.e.m.e.nt. It wasn't very amusing. Apart from a few old friends and an invitation to the University Club's Moorish evening, there was a man asking me to sell. I didn't take much notice. I dislike unsolicited phone calls and I treat them all the same. I just tell them that I am not interested and hang up.'

'Young man? Old man?' I asked. The Prof shrugged.

'I didn't really notice. it was a man's voice, I am sure of that.'

'Yes,' said Meroe. 'And I thought it was a middle-aged man, so that's halfway between young and old.'

'Rang me,' said Trudi. 'I said "go away". Like it here. Or did,' she said, looking sad. I could tell she was thinking of her ruined turf.

'When this is all over,' said Daniel, 'I'll come and dig up your lawn and we will re-lay it.'

Trudi leaned over and prodded Daniel in the bicep. Her forefinger bounced off the hard muscle. She nodded her cropped head. 'Good,' she said. 'We do fast if you do digging.'

'No one rang me,' I said.

'Nor me,' said Holliday. 'But I might have been out of it,' he added. 'I'm mostly out of it, these days.'

I decided to share my suspicions about my ex-husband James with Senior Constable White and decoyed her into my apartment as we came down from the garden. Other people had work to do. Meroe was going to do a ritual of return for Andy Holliday which needed his active cooperation. Trudi was deadheading roses. I needed to do some accounts for the end of the month. It was time for Professor Dion's afternoon nap. And I had a request to make of Daniel. Fair was, after all, fair, and the sauce for the goose was also the sauce for the gander. Or so I had always been told.

I gave Ms White the prospectus and James's address and saw her to the door. Then I shut it and leaned against it. My breath was catching in my throat.

'You came in to see me naked in my bath,' I said.

'Yes,' he agreed, lounging on my couch with Horatio.

'I would like to see you naked,' I said.

'So you shall,' he said agreeably, and bent to unlatch his boots.

One of the most erotic experiences of my life was unfolding in front of me. Without making a vulgar display but with an air of rather shy pride, Daniel took off his boots, shucked the leather jacket and undid the white s.h.i.+rt. He was so beautiful that I had to blink to stay conscious. The lines of his shoulders and back were perfect. Sculptural. Michelangelo would have been groping for his chisel, or other things. He didn't have that heavy bodybuilder's Schwarzenegger bulk. He was a climber and a runner. The muscles were all long and smooth. I watched as his s.h.i.+rt fell away from his torso and dropped to the floor.

I saw that a star-shaped scar marred the beauty of his hip as his jeans slid down his thighs. He took them off and then the prosaic black briefs and there was Daniel. He allowed me to stare at his front, then turned slowly to exhibit his back. He was a mannerist Saint Stephen without the arrows.

I don't remember crossing the floor but I found myself standing behind him. My hands slid down those rounded b.u.t.tocks and found the exit wound, another star-shaped scar on his back. His skin was as hot as fire. I wrapped my arms around him from behind and laid my face between his shoulderblades. His skin tasted salty.

'Yes?' he asked, not moving. I felt him s.h.i.+ver.

'Not yet,' I forced myself to say. I couldn't, not yet. I just couldn't. I sank down on the couch and watched as he resumed his garments, again without any hurry.

'But soon,' he said. I nodded. Certainly, soon. Otherwise I was likely to self-combust. I laid a hand on the scar as his jeans slid up his admirable thighs.

'That's a bullet wound?'

'Shrapnel, from a grenade,' he said. 'It was curved so it left a big scar. The boy who inflicted it died. So much evil,' he said. Then he gathered me close to his chest in a ma.s.sive hug. 'And now, so much good,' he said.

'The boy died?' I asked, sensing that I was about to find the key to Daniel. A key, anyway.

'Of course,' he said, face m.u.f.fled in my hair. 'I shot him. Killed him instantly. He was fourteen.'

I held him close. He did not cry. I expect that he had already wept all the tears he had for futility and horror and nightmare. He unb.u.t.toned my s.h.i.+rt and laid his face against my breast. We did not speak.

The light began to wane. I watched the sunbeams travel from one side of the window to the other before Daniel sat up and kissed me, hard, on the mouth.

'Corinna,' he said, looking deep into my eyes.

'Daniel,' I replied.

'I must go. Now, you can ask me. Ask me anything you want to know.'

I couldn't think of anything to ask but, 'Where do you live? How can I find you?'

He let go of me to write down an address and a phone number on the memo pad. Then he said, 'Ask,' and I asked the question which I really couldn't phrase properly.

'Why do you find me beautiful?'

'Because you are,' he said simply. 'Think of where I have been, what I have seen. In Palestine, thin means hungry, starving, sick. In Melbourne, thin means a child, a heroin addict or an anorexic. I love your flesh, your curves.' He caressed my thigh and hip. 'May they never grow less,' he added. 'I am going,' he said, and kissed me again, and went. He remembered the bread and the flyers for Cherie Holliday and closed the door gently behind himself.

I simply didn't know what to think, or feel, and I sat on the couch until the sky was dark and it was time to feed cats and myself and go to bed. So I did those things, and dreamed fiercely erotic dreams which woke me at four flooded with heat, sweating freely, and in need of a nice cold shower.

The morning began ordinary and continued so until nine. I rose, I baked, I taught Jason more useful facts about yeast, I fed him and the cats and myself and sold most of the morning's bread. I made some phone calls. Meroe came in. She seemed pleased. She was wearing a red silk wrap with sacred ibis embroidered on it.

'How did the ritual go?' I asked, handing over blueberry m.u.f.fins and knot rolls.

'Very well. Should bring her within three days. I gave Andy some herbal tea. I think he might have slept. Alcoholics don't sleep properly. Cheer up, Corinna! So far today our own little mental health casualty hasn't done anything unusual.'

'The day is young,' I said gloomily. I had half expected to see Daniel. But it was too early for those who fly by night.

Meroe asked, 'Who are you going to get to help you in the shop now that those girls have an honest job?'

'I really don't know.' I sighed. 'As for the other problems, I have set up a meeting with James and I intend to skin him alive.'

'What if it isn't him?' she asked.

'Then on general principle. Do him good. Why? Do you suspect someone else?'

She made a fluid gesture with the red silk wrap.

'It is an illogical universe until you discover the underlying sense,' she told me.

'I understood everything you said until the bit about "underlying sense",' I said.

Meroe went out. Goss came in.

'I can help out until Friday,' she said. 'And if you could give me the wages up to then I could get my dress early.'

'Carol will keep it for you,' I said soothingly. I do not pay wages in advance. Carol Holland, though she is a Goth whose features are hard to discern through that thick white pancake they wear, is a reliable young woman and she and Goss were quite close. I told Goss so. She grimaced.

'Don't do that too often, the wind might change,' I warned her.

She got behind the counter to complain to Horatio, who never minds complaints as long as they are accompanied by skilled ear-tickling and fur-caressing.

'So, you've been to Blood Lines before?' I asked. 'How did you come to go there? Just a whim?'

Silence. Goss wasn't talking to me yet.

'Have you actually read Interview with a Vampire?' I continued. 'It's quite a remarkable book. Started a whole fas.h.i.+on. If it hadn't been for Anne Rice, Buffy would never have existed. Or Angel. No one has tried to make vampires s.e.xy since the Hammer horror movies. I was there for the revivals. Christopher Lee. They used to film them in Highgate Cemetery near where I lived in London. He was a very suave, very cool vampire. "I vont to drink your blode." '

I managed the accent with the effortless ease of someone who had seen every Hammer horror movie, even The Revenge of Dr Phibes. Actually, I had seen them in secret. Grandma would not have approved of vampire movies. So they had a sweet, secret charm. My adolescent rebellion. That, and cigarettes of course. Of the two, Hammer was only slightly less addictive.

'I saw the film,' mumbled Goss.

'Interview with ...?'

'A Vampire. Yes. It was cool. Way cool. I saw it six times and bought the DVD. It's got extra scenes,' she announced proudly. Goss was talking to me again, which was good.

'If you liked the film so much, you must have been drawn to Blood Lines. Is it a Goth club?'

'Goths, some S&M. There's back rooms, but you have to be a member to go in there. Lestat told me they had a torture chamber in the crypt.'

'Well, of course,' I began and bit my tongue. Sarcasm is fatal to conversations with anyone under twenty-five. Either they don't get it and you have to explain, which is embarra.s.sing, or they are much better at it than you and you get withered. Neither a.s.sists communication. Goss gave me that look which said 'are we having a conversation or is this one of those attempted motherdaughter things which is going to be so uncool that I will have to have a ritual bath to wash off the uncoolness?' and I shook my head.

'I'm just curious,' I said. 'Who was it who invited you and Kylie to a weekend Slayerfest before Daddy got you cable? And who still has my tape of the Buffy musical which I would like back sometime, if you please?'

'Sorry,' she said. 'I thought you might be about to tell me to stay away from bad company,' she said, laughing to show that it was a joke.

'I would,' I said. 'But I don't consider Goths bad company. No one who takes that much trouble over their costumes is trouble, usually. Besides, we have the best-dressed Goths in the southern hemisphere, which is why they filmed the triumph scene of Queen of the d.a.m.ned here,' I said knowledgeably. I knew about that film. I had supplied the bread for their sandwiches.

'Oh yeah, that's right. Well, let's see. You go up the steps and convince the door b.i.t.c.h to let you in, then you go into a sort of lobby, then there's the big room, they call it the Theatre des Vampires, all hung with red velvet. Big screen. There's lights in the curtains too. But it's pretty dark.'

'What sort of music?'

'Techno,' she said. 'Eversun. SPF 1000. You know.'