Then I realised I didn't have much to tell. I didn't know a lot about Daniel. I could practically see Lepidoptera White folding her arms and nodding at me. I dismissed her as an unpleasant vision.

'He has a grandpa who told him that the reward for a mitzvah is another mitzvah,' I said. 'He used to be in the Israeli army. He's gorgeous.'

'Sounds like a good beginning,' prompted Professor Monk.

'He has a lot of personal ... well, Meroe would call it mana. He told a screaming addict to be a good girl and she became one.'

'Auctoritas,' said the professor. 'It works on dogs too. Or so I am told. I've never had it.'

'And I'm going out with him on the Soup Run on Sat.u.r.day night and I'll probably learn a lot more about him,' I added, sounding a bit defensive even to myself.

'I'm sure you will,' he said. 'Nothing like women for gathering information. I've always thought it was supernatural. The things your young lady was telling me about our neighbours would have made my hair stand on end, had I any left.'

I made a mental note to tell Kylie to tone down the goss for Professor Dion.

'She's failed in one mission, though,' I said. 'She doesn't know anything about the man who's moved into Lady Diana's.'

'I met him in the lift,' said the Professor. 'Do you mean that I know something that Kylie doesn't? I am pleased. His name is Holliday. Retired. Something in the city, I would have said, he was wearing a suit which had once been very fas.h.i.+onable. About five years ago, perhaps. No children, no dependants, no wife and no pets. He seemed sad. Perhaps he has lost his wife. I remember what that felt like,' he added. 'He asked several questions about who lived here and I referred him to the residents' committee, who will tell him more than he needs to know.'

'What was your impression of him?' I asked.

'Tallish, balding, usual number of eyes and ears, I suppose. The situation wasn't rendered more comfortable by Mrs Pemberthy getting in at the fourth floor and telling me about the sins of your vicious cat. She was also complaining that Mr P spends a lot of time in the garden, which I find unsurprising. How is the delightful Horatio, by the way? Give him my best regards.'

'Time for me to go,' I said. 'Can I turn on your TV?'

Professor Dion shuddered. 'Just find me my gla.s.ses,' he said. 'Thank you for a lovely evening, my dear.'

I found his gla.s.ses and let myself out. I returned to feed Horatio and the others and put myself to bed after checking that all the locks were secure. I hadn't done that since the day I came to Insula and it was a little disappointing. That might account for the fact that I woke bright and early at two am and spent the rest of the night on the couch with Horatio, watching a very old horror movie. The whole building was silent. Insula was built with thick walls and internal part.i.tions so unless someone is having a very loud party or a very loud fight, you wouldn't know there was anyone else in the place with you. At least, I reflected, it was now Friday. After I did this morning's baking I got two days off.

It wasn't worth opening on the weekend in my bit of the city. Most of the action moved across the river to the huge Southbank complex, with its gambling halls and restaurants and street theatre. I was in the working district and only the workaholic, the junkies and the wandering madmen came here on the weekends. And they didn't buy much bread.

It had been a wise choice for my own sanity. Baker's hours are too unsociable to do them all the time. This way, once I finished on Friday, I at least got to sleep in two mornings and didn't need to do the Monday baking until Monday morning. When Grandma Chapman had been alive I used to visit her every Sat.u.r.day. Now I did some gentle shopping, visited a gallery, saw a movie. I had largely lost all my friends when James and I broke up two-no, nearly three years ago now. I didn't really miss them. I would doubtless make more friends when I needed to. At the moment Horatio and I were rather enjoying being alone.

Though not at three am on a very dark night. Watching a very spooky movie. The vampire's mouth opened and he had two thin teeth like hypodermic needles. He had no hair, cat's slit pupils and fingernails like a Mandarin. Very scary. I was making Horatio nervous and he was making me nervous and finally I got up and gave us both a nice drink of milk. He had his in a saucer and I drank mine, microwave-heated and Ovaltined, from a cup.

'Perhaps Nosferatu was not a wise choice of movie,' I said to Horatio. He licked up the last of the milk and blinked in agreement. 'Even if it is a triumph of German Expressionism. In fact, since I am sure I just saw something dark flick past that window, I vote we go back to bed and pull the covers over our heads,' I said to him.

He beat me to it. Four paws are faster than two, especially if the two have loose slippers on. We fell into an uneasy doze until the alarm clock alerted me to the fact that Friday morning had officially arrived.

CHAPTER SIX.

I baked, I fed, I washed, I did all the usual stuff. I didn't feel very imaginative so I made lots of French knots, plaits, twists and baguettes. My m.u.f.fins were blueberry. I hacked up the herbs for the herb rolls and made the large order of rye bread for the restaurant. Sat.u.r.day is always a restaurant's busiest day. If it isn't, the restaurant is not going to be there for long, so eat while you may. I remember one very experienced restaurant owner talking about her children. She fervently hoped that they didn't follow in her footsteps. She wanted them to have a nice job, like lawyer or teacher or labourer or gardener, where they had scheduled meal breaks and they got to sit down occasionally. Selling food for a living, she told me, was a mug's game. And she was right, but it does have its compensations.

Strangely, when it was time, I didn't actually want to open the street door. It must have been a leftover from that movie. I wondered if something dark and horrible was waiting outside. But the valiant Mouse Police were bouncing up and down, eager to seek for prey, or possibly fish, so I dragged the bolt and undid the locks and they shot out into the alley.

72.

I followed slowly. The sun was rising, which was always a good thing, and a ray fell on my face. I looked around. No bodies on the vent. Kiko's brother Ian was sweeping. The sound came clearly down the alley in that silence which precedes the roar of traffic. No paint on my wall. Just a quiet sunny morning. Just what an underslept baker needs.

Then someone screamed. Not loudly, but it was a scream and I went around the corner of the alley at a sort of fast creep. I wasn't going to rush into the middle of anything and if that was Jack the Ripper round there, there was a sporting chance he wouldn't see me, busy with his latest victim as he would be, as I raced back inside, locked all the doors and called the police. I am not the stuff of which vigilantes are made, as you will have noticed.

But there was no gore-at least, not yet. What I saw was a large man in a suit and sungla.s.ses-at this hour!-preparing to cuff my floor-scrubbing scarecrow of the day before. Again, to judge by the way Jase, yes, that was the name, was cowering against the wall with his hand across his face.

This I could handle. I retreated a little and then came around the corner yelling, 'Heckle! Jekyll! Puss, puss, puss!' and then stopped dead as I saw the threatening little tableau. A picture of innocence, I was. To add to the impression, Heckle came skidding up behind me in case I really meant it about the cat food. A gust of baking accompanied me.

The big man released Jase, said something to him in a low voice, then marched into Flinders Lane. I let him go. When I was sure he had gone, I beckoned to Jase and he limped into Calico Alley, spitting out something white. It was a tooth. Oh dear.

I let Jase sit down on the doorstep-after all it was clean, he had scrubbed it himself-and fed Heckle and Jekyll some kitty treats, since they had come promptly when I had called. Cats are not trainable by any method other than always- always, without fail-rewarding the behaviour you want. If there's invariably a kitty treat in it for them, they will come when they are called, unless something really much more interesting is happening. Miss one reward and all that training goes the same way as a John Howard election promise about Medicare. They whuffed appreciatively as I drew some hot water, found a cloth and sat down to have a look at the poor boy's face.

He scooted away from me, whining, 'I'm all right!' but I ignored this as he clearly wasn't. As honorary first-aid monitor at a tough girls school which went in for hockey like other people went in for hard drugs-ferociously, mindlessly-I was used to this sort of injury. I mopped off the blood and found that Jase had a cut lip and a missing tooth which must have been loose, because there was not a lot of bleeding at the empty socket. His mouth was already ballooning up.

It isn't like this in the movies, I know, but in the real world the victim of a beating looks like they have put a compressed air nozzle into their mouth and turned it on. They look ridiculous which, since they are always in considerable pain, seems unfair. There wasn't a lot of Jase's face and now it was going to be all lip.

'I'll get you some ice,' I told him. 'Then maybe a nice cup of coffee. I suppose you aren't going to tell me what that was all about, are you?'

He shook his head and winced. I checked and found a b.u.mp on the back of his skull. His hair was filthy. He probably had lice. Or not. Only a louse which liked slumming would live in that hair. I had an idea.

When the bakery had been designed, someone had put in a small bathroom, just a toilet and a shower. I didn't use it because I lived upstairs. I left Jase and went up to find a bottle of shower gel which was supposed to make me feel focused and which was still almost full. Aromatherapy is a good idea, everyone likes nice smells, but I didn't care for the scent of ginger on my skin, preferring it in gingerbread. I also grabbed a towel and a worn but clean dressing gown which had belonged to James and which I kept in case I had to do any painting. I also found some old thongs.

Jase was still sitting on the step when I came back, which rather surprised me. I thought he would have run as soon as I turned my back. I helped him to his feet.

'In there,' I told him, 'is a shower. Go. Wash yourself. Wash your hair. Especially wash your hair. I will wash your clothes. Then you can sit here in the warm until the dryer spits them out and then you can go. By which time the bloke in the shades will have moved on. All right?'

I expected an argument but he just murmured, 'Thanks,' and took the garments and the gel. Soon some frightful trackies were poked through the door and I heard the shower running. I slung his revolting clothes into the washer, set it on 'soiled' because it didn't have a setting for 'filthy' and continued with my bread.

I was almost finished when a terribly clean Jase came out of the bathroom on a puff of steam. He was at least two shades lighter and revealed as a blond. I gave him an ice-pack to hold to his mouth and slid the last loaves into the oven.

'This is a nice place,' Jase almost said. 'Warm.'

'It's nice now,' I said. 'It's h.e.l.l in summer.' I took a look at him. His eyes were no more dilated than usual and he seemed to know where he was. As far as he ever did.

'Jase, where do you live?' I asked.

He extricated his hand from the folds of James's dressing gown and waved it. 'Here and there' he seemed to mean. I really wasn't going to get anything out of him and it seemed cruel to press. So I just got on with the bread and the washer got on with its sacred duty and Jase sat on my chair, watching me work.

He seemed interested.

'Wha's tha'?' he asked, pointing at my prized bucket of yeast mixture.

'That's mother of pasta douro,' I said. 'A mixture of yeast and warm water and it has to be fed every day with flour and sugar. Some bakers call it a starter. Yeast is a plant,' I said. 'It has to be looked after like any plant.'

'No flowers,' said Jase. 'Just flour.'

This was a witty observation. I looked at him. He was huddled in James's dressing gown, which went around him twice. He would weigh maybe only forty kilos and he looked as frail as a reed. But he must share some attributes with the city's indestructible sparrows, who made a living any place they could and somehow were always there when anyone dropped anything edible. Most of my motherly feelings are for cats, so maybe Jase reminded me of an underfed, scrawny kitten that some heartless fiend had shut out in the street.

When the washer completed its ministrations I put the track pants and underwear in the dryer, but the act of was.h.i.+ng had removed so much dirt and chili sauce and various disgusting human fluids from the Folsom t-s.h.i.+rt that it had fallen to rags. Jase looked stricken.

'I'll give you another,' I offered.

'One of yours?' he asked. I nodded. 'Sweet as,' he enthused, hissing through his missing tooth. 'That has to be nice and loose. Homey. I mean,' he added hastily, 'I'm real thin, and you're-'

I stopped him before he could dig himself into an even deeper pit. 'What sort of s.h.i.+rt would you like?' I asked.

He expressed a preference for something with long sleeves-all junkies, I guess, would prefer long sleeves-so I found a dark red skivvy which had rather shrunk in the wash. It would still hang on Jase like a shroud.

We'd drank our coffee and he asked me several other things about bread. Intelligent questions. As long as I stayed off cross-examining him we could have a conversation. I found I was quite enjoying it. No one really cares about bread, not like I do.

Finally, I had finished the baking and Jase's clothes were dry. He dressed again in the bathroom and, without asking, put his dressing gown in the washer.

'Thanks,' he said. 'Bye,' and he was gone. He looked quite respectable in the skivvy, but he was still going to find eating hard for a while. Still, junkies don't eat a lot, I imagine.

The day began with me deciding to find a new carrier for Monday, recognising Goss from her golden navel ring, and noticing that the shop needed a really good scrub. It was clean enough for the most difficult health inspector but the grime from the city floated in all the time and after some time it became ingrained in curtains and rugs and even in the polish on the floor. Gossamer told me that Kylie had gone to an audition. Meroe had made charms for both of them and I was hoping that they would begin to operate some day soon, before they died of malnutrition.

It was an ordinary morning. For some reason there are more shoppers in the city on a Friday as people often take the day off. I've done the same thing myself, made a firm resolution to see that film or visit that sale and then found, suddenly, that I was running out of week. I sold out of the herb rolls before lunchtime, made a killing on the fancy bread, but rather struck out with the blueberry m.u.f.fins and ordinary baguettes. I ate a m.u.f.fin myself (it was no use asking Goss to taste test anything with starch in it) and it was fine. Just the peculiarity of the pa.s.sing trade, which today had its stomach set on spiced apple. In a way it was good. A sackful of baguettes and m.u.f.fins would do for the Soup Run tomorrow night.

I wasn't feeling too sure of myself after my little encounter with Jase and the man in sungla.s.ses. There was a violent undercurrent in the city which I really didn't want to have anything to do with. I hate violence. I hid my face through half of Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (though the ending was brilliant). I avoid going to Terminator-type movies and I don't even enjoy comic-book level violence like James Bond. Also, I bruise easily. While the Soup Run existed to help the poor and homeless, that didn't mean the staff didn't get abused, or why would they need a heavy?

l.u.s.t has got me into some strange situations, like the time I woke up and found a rock band asleep on my living room floor (with the ba.s.s guitarist in the bath, covered in ghee- I never did find out what that was about). Or the time I found myself handing out how to vote cards for-no, I can't say. l.u.s.t had once caused me to buy a baby-blue ap.r.o.n with ruffles when James's boss, who had a 'Bewitched' fetish, was coming to dinner. In the cause of l.u.s.t I have hitchhiked to Adelaide, watched seven games of basketball, caught cold sitting in a garage listening to a variety of mind-fracturing sounds and bought Tupperware. l.u.s.t made me agree to talk to a secondary school food technology cla.s.s.

I felt a little better. I had paid my dues. I could take it. The Soup Run couldn't be more violent and dangerous than that food technology cla.s.s.

Lunch cleaned out most of the remaining stock. I decided to shut early, paid Goss and sent her to close the shutters. I heard them come down with their usual metallic rattle and then a squeal from Goss. I caught up the broom, with which I had been sweeping the floor. See previous comments on l.u.s.t. I was in a militant mood.

But outside I merely found Daniel. Goss had narrowly missed braining him with a shutter and she was now apologising in several different positions.

'Sorry!' she squeaked. 'I didn't see you! I didn't mean to!' Then she got a good look at those trout pool eyes and the leather jacket and squealed, 'You must be Corinna's Daniel! Nice to see you! Kylie was right about you!'

Before she embarra.s.sed me any more, I invited Daniel inside and shut Goss out, where I could still hear her squeaking. Daniel went straight to greet Horatio, who rose onto his paws and accepted the accolade, lowering his head.

'You close early on a Friday,' he said. 'You aren't Jewish, are you?'

'No, I'm tired,' I said tartly. 'Are you coming up? If so, grab the bread. I'll cash up later. Horatio and I watched a horror movie last night and we scared ourselves.'

'You'd think a gentleman cat would have more sense,' he said, ruffling the regal whiskers. 'I'll take the cat and the sack, if you please. What do you have to do now?'

'The scrubbing,' I said. 'But I've had some help with that lately. Possibly he might come back so we can leave the floor to him.'

'Who?' asked Daniel. I really liked his voice. It was a calm, rich tenor. What with Meroe and Mistress Dread, there were a lot of deep voices around Insula these days.

'He says his name is Jase,' I told Daniel, shutting the door to the shop and locking it. 'He came in yesterday and scrubbed the floor for ten dollars. And he came in this morning for a shower.'

'A mitzvah,' laughed Daniel, putting down the sack and allowing Horatio to stalk along his arm to a convenient shelf. I started running the hot water.

'Are you staying to help?' I asked, surprised.

Daniel took off his leather jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He had forearms like Shane Warne. 'Least I can do,' he said, and seized a brush.

Two people working in the same s.p.a.ce can make light work or they can continually get in each other's way until the party of the first part begs the party of the second part to please sit down on the steps and let her get on with it. This had been the case with everyone I had ever worked with. But not Daniel. He seemed to guess what I was going to do before I even knew I was going to do it, and was never in the way when suds cascaded or liquid squirted. In fact, we ended up with a very clean bakery and he didn't have a damp spot on him, whereas me and my trackies were sopping. He joined Horatio on the steps as I opened the street door to mop the floor and there was Jase. His bruised face had begun to darken. Daniel was across the floor in a moment, cradling the sore jaw in one big, very clean hand.

'Someone got you,' he said to Jase, who nodded. 'Gonna tell me who this dude is?' he asked, and Jase shook his head. Daniel sighed and let him go.

'Do the floor?' asked Jase.

'Go to it,' I said. It was already clean, but Jase needed the money.

I joined Daniel on the steps. This time Jase did a much better mopping job. I liked sitting on the steps, my shoulder against Daniel's (I was sitting on a higher step) and Horatio behind me, supervising the staff.

'Tomorrow?' asked Jase.

'Closed tomorrow and Sunday,' I said. 'Come back Monday.'

He didn't protest, but took the money, ducked his head at Daniel, and went.

'You're handling him just right,' approved Daniel, allowing me to precede him up the steps to my apartment.

'I am?'

'Yes. Firm. Junkies are like-like crusaders. They've been pursuing their quest, deaf and blind to anything else, for years. They haven't had any rules for living because of the little voice in their head which just tells them, your mission in life is to get a fix, get a fix, a fix, a fix. That's all they think about. That's all they can think about. Then there's a heroin drought, like now, and they detox, perhaps in a police cell, perhaps in a squat somewhere. Now they're back in the real world and they don't know how to live in it. You didn't give him money he didn't have to work for because the bakery won't be open and you're sorry for him. By the fact he came back, I bet you didn't ask him a lot of questions. Not even, where are you going to sleep tonight? Did you?'

'No, I don't think that question and answer makes a conversation. We were talking about bread. It's a very interesting topic,' I said. 'Do you know anything about Jase? A large man in a suit and sungla.s.ses, reminding me irresistibly of the Blues Brothers except not funny at all, was beating him up this morning in the lane. I just happened to come round the corner and the guy went away.'

'A blue suit?' asked Daniel.

'Certainly. Day had dawned, I could see colours.'

'That's not so good. The only Blues Brothers suit I know of is inhabited by not a very nice man at all. I wonder what Jase has done to him? I wouldn't have thought Jase was important enough to attract that sort of attention.'

'You aren't actually going to decode your previous speech, are you?' I asked.

'No,' he said equably. 'What do you usually do now?'

'I have a bath and change my clothes, then a little lunch and a gin and tonic. Want to join me? You could watch if you like.' I asked, trying to keep hope out of my voice. The bath was big enough for two.

'I'll stay here and amuse Horatio,' he told me.

Rats. I took a quick bath and came back to find that Daniel and Horatio were both staring out the parlour window, contemplating the pigeons on the sill. Those pigeons had a death wish, or else they knew all about the fact that cats cannot reach through gla.s.s and were teasing him. Never a good idea with Horatio, who, if he caught them, would tear them wing from wing in revenge for past taunts.