The Dressmaker Read online

  ‘Well, I was going to –’

  He tore lasciviously at the corners of the paper, tugging fabrics out and rubbing them between his thumb and fingers, then he placed them along her small work table. Tilly sorted through the drawings and measurements she’d made and placed them with the material. Sergeant Farrat came to the last package at the bottom of the tea-chest. He clutched it to his heart then ripped the brown paper apart and freed yards and yards of brilliant magenta silk organza. ‘Oh,’ he cried and buried his face into the boiling mass. He stopped abruptly and gaped at Tilly, smacking his hands against his reddened face, appalled at his abandonment.

  ‘Gorgeous isn’t it?’ said Tilly. ‘It’s mine.’

  The sergeant stepped to her, took her hand in his and looked into her eyes. ‘Can I please have one of your ostrich feathers?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He kissed her hand then wrapped the magenta silk organza about his shoulders like a giant Trailing Bertha and walked gracefully to the mirror in imaginary stilettos. He twirled, enjoying his reflection, then looked at Tilly and said, ‘I’m brilliant at sequins and diamantés and I bet I can hemstitch just as fast as you – I’m a whiz with zippers, gauging and frogging too.’

  ‘How do you feel about ruffs and flounces?’

  ‘I hate them.’

  ‘So do I,’ she said.

  • • •

  Beyond Windswept Crest the neat, cut stubble stretched to the horizon, like a new coir mat. On the Beaumont property, cattle stood stomach-deep in the low, grey stubble, which was the remains of last season’s crop. There was a green oasis that was the homestead, surrounded by gums, its roof red against the bright sky. Parked cars glittered in the sun and small striped marquees stood in front of the green island. In one paddock a horse skipped stiffly around at the end of a rope held by a small figure in a red coat – Lesley demonstrating dressage. People stood about on the mowed paddock that fell away to the Dungatar creek, which was lined with grey drowned gums. William was explaining to Bobby and Reg the new developments. ‘We had Ed McSwiney build a new yard and stables for the equestrian. The tennis court is under renovation and we’ve a new irrigation system dug for the gardens, the poultry and so on – and of course you’re all here to try out the new croquet lawn and I believe mother is going to announce a new project when she awards the various prizes for the cakes …’ the smile fell from William’s face and his voice trailed away, ‘… and I have plans for the agricultural side of things, when I get the machinery …’ He shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered away.

  Scotty Pullit said, ‘That’s why we’re here, to pay for it all.’

  ‘Nice lawn,’ said Bobby. The footballers looked at the croquet field and smiled.

  Muriel passed along the stalls collecting the profits, bundling them into a brown paper bag. She limped over to Trudy with her canvas stool beneath her arm. She unfolded it, kicked off her dusty white sandals and plopped down beside her daughter, who lay in her deckchair on the homestead veranda. Trudy looked about her nervously. Lipstick sat on the ends of each hair of Muriel’s pale moustache, like tiny redhead matches. She needed a tint and a perm and her feet were dry and cracked, like big long warts.

  ‘I have some new relatives here today, from Toorak,’ said Gertrude.

  ‘Elsbeth’s cousin Una?’ said Muriel.

  ‘You didn’t introduce yourself!’

  ‘We actually met a long time ago Gert –’

  ‘Trudy, my name is Trudy I keep telling you.’

  ‘They don’t live in Toorak they live next door – Prahran.’ Muriel stood abruptly, took up her stool and tossed the paper bag onto Trudy’s lap. ‘I ought to know, I’m South Yarra born and bred.’ Muriel limped away with her sandals swinging in her hand and her skirt stuck between her buttocks. She watched the ground pass between her feet. ‘My own daughter has turned into the sort of person I moved here to avoid.’

  Graham raised his long, dusty, velvet nose and turned to look behind him. He’d crunched his way through half a row of carrots, about fifteen iceberg lettuce, one or two tomato plants – not ripe yet – some beans and a cucumber or two. Finding he wasn’t partial to the cucumbers he returned to the carrots and ripped them from the earth by their green tops, shaking them and shunting them between his soft, fat lips. Faith strolled past heading for a rendezvous with Reginald and smiled. ‘You’re a naughty horse.’

  Hamish was at the far side of the homestead adjusting his model railway signals, the miniature steam train chugging and tooting around and around on tiny steel tracks. ‘You mustn’t get too close,’ he growled to the watching children. ‘It’s a very fine delicate piece of machinery, tuned, balanced … listen to the rhythm … magnificent. There was of course a better model than this, the D class, Type 4-6-0. Now it had two nineteen-inch cylinders, coupled wheels, 11/16 inch diameter OCH, I TOLD YE NOT TO TOUCH, NOW PUT THAT WATER TOWER BACK!’

  Six of Lesley’s young pupils rode into the middle of the paddock on hacks and Shetlands. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, parents …’ Lesley smiled at the pastoral people from far flung properties, sitting in jodhpurs beside horse floats, picnicking at fold-up tables. They nodded back. Behind him the ponies moved diagonally sideways in an uneven line. ‘The foundation of dressage is rhythm, suppleness, contact, impulsion, straightness and collection in a horse. Rhythm is the beat and tempo is the measure of time between the beats, or steps. A rider must feel the music the horse is playing.’ The pastoral parents were pointing their thermos cups and laughing. Lesley turned to find the hacks and Shetlands had walked sideways into a bunch in one corner of the arena where they milled about, biting, kicking and bucking, the children bawling in their saddles.

  Teddy removed the hoops from the croquet lawn and started a game of kick-to-kick. Someone kicked a wobbly and the ball bounced towards the creek but was picked up by Faith, who was wandering up the slope brushing grass from her hair and clothes. She shot back a powerful short punt right into Scotty Pullit’s lowered forearms, then remained where she was at the back line, close to the creek. Nancy joined the lineup in front of the homestead, then Ruth. Teddy gathered all players to the centre and they nutted out two teams. Bobby, Reginald and Barney stood horse jump poles in forty-four-gallon drums for goalposts. A coin was flipped and the players trotted off to their positions. Barney was given a white shirt and told to wave it whenever the ball came between the posts. He stood proudly at his position with the shirt held high, ready. Teddy kicked the first try and as the ball sailed towards the posts, he called ‘Watch it Barney.’ Barney dropped the shirt and marked the ball. Reginald Blood declared it a no-ball. Teddy lightly biffed the back of Barney’s head so Reg announced Teddy’s team would forfeit another point. There was an argument, the shouts echoing over the creek, the raucous laughter bouncing off gum trees and lifting the crests on roosting galahs. Elsbeth Beaumont turned her cousins towards the horse floats and station owners. ‘It’s always the way with the rabble,’ she sniffed.

  While the townsfolk played football Trudy Beau-mont counted the money.

  Mona and Lesley rested on hay bales in the gloom of the stables. ‘I suppose I’ll wear my bridesmaid’s dress again,’ said Mona and sighed.

  ‘What’s it look like?’

  ‘It’s rust –’

  ‘Oh that one, the cowl neckline. Why don’t you get that scandalous creature Tilly what’s-her-name to make you some new things? She’s cheap I hear.’

  ‘Mother says I haven’t had enough wear out of the orange one.’ They picked at bits of straw and swung their riding boots. ‘Are you, um, going to the presentation tonight with anyone special, Maestro?’

  ‘Why of course!’ squealed Lesley. ‘I’m picking up Lois Pickett at seven.’

  ‘I see.’

  Lesley rolled his eyes. It dawned on Mona that her friend, her Maes
tro, had made a joke. They fell all over the hay cackling.

  • • •

  When Mona stepped through the hall door on Les’s arm that evening she was shining. She wore a plain blue rayon dress with a full skirt and a centre-front box pleat which she’d had for years, but she had draped a red floral scarf about her shoulders and pinned a red flower behind her ear. She blended with the other women who still favoured their long black gloves, waistlines and pleated skirts, taffeta, glazed printed cotton, princess-line skirts all in contemporary designs. But they’d been renovated, European-touched, advanced to almost avante-garde by Tilly Dunnage. The tempo in the hall was fast, the tone high and excited. Lesley turned to Mona and said, ‘Now hold your shoulders back and walk like I showed you.’

  When Trudy and Elsbeth stepped onto the stage and took their place at the microphone a hush swept across the room. All heads tilted to them. Elsbeth wore an exquisite gown of rubescant shot taffeta. The collar was off-the-shoulder and very deep and wide, and Tilly had created a clever and complicated bodice in the modern wrap-over style.

  Pregnancy had added almost three stone to Trudy. Her face had swelled so that her cheeks were spinnakers. Fluid bobbed about her stern like lifebuoys on rough waves, then cascaded down her legs to gather about the ankles. To distract the eye from Trudy’s appearance, Tilly had created a design that was very Vogue, all line and finish. It was calf-length navy silk taffeta, with a strapless underbodice, high-boned and gathered to accommodate her swollen midrift, and swept in wide, unpressed pleats to the hem.

  Mona moved towards the stage with Lesley following. He leaned to her and said from the corner of his mouth, ‘It’s snowing down south.’

  She looked out the door. ‘I’m not cold.’

  ‘Your slip’s showing.’ He indicated her hemline with his eyebrows then inclined his head to the door. They moved quietly towards it and stepped outside into the darkness. Lesley held Mona’s shawl while she fumbled about with her petticoat strap and a safety pin she kept fastened to her panties.

  ‘Quickly,’ said Lesley, ‘they’re about to make the welcoming speech.’

  Mona removed her dress and shoved it at Lesley, saying, ‘Hold this.’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ trilled Elsbeth, ‘welcome to the presentation night of Dungatar’s first-ever Social Club.’ She paused as everyone clapped. ‘Tonight we’ll be presenting the members of the committee and discussing our plans to raise funds for the Dungatar Social Club! Our fund-raising afternoon of tea and croquet has been a very thrilling start and it proved to be a very popular day!’ She smiled broadly but no one clapped, so she carried on. ‘Naturally we could not have raised enough money to assist us towards our big fund-raising ball without the help of the ladies who make up the Social Club Committee. And so, without further ado, it gives me great pleasure to present the committee members to you. Firstly, our secretary and treasurer, Mrs Alvin Pratt.’ The guests clapped and Muriel stepped onto the stage, smiled and bobbed.

  ‘And a special thanks goes to our tireless typist and odd jobs girl, Miss Mona Beaumont …’

  But Mona was nowhere to be seen. The crowd murmured, their heads swayed. Nancy was leaning against the doorjamb at the back of the hall so waved at Trudy and ducked outside, ‘Psst, Mona.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re on.’ Nancy came inside. ‘They’re coming,’ she yelled and Trudy and Elsbeth smiled at the waiting crowd.

  Mona and Lesley stumbled back into the hall and the crowd began to clap. They moved to the stage and Mona stepped up to stand between her mother and her sister-in-law. The clapping dwindled and someone giggled. There was a murmur from the crowd as feet shuffled, ladies covered their mouths and men looked at the ceiling.

  It was then that Lesley noticed. Mona’s frock was inside out.

  • • •

  Tilly stood in her cottage, surrounded by colourful debris. The past two weeks had been a period of intense hand-stitching, draping and shaping, and there was the ball to come. Teddy arrived wearing a pair of new blue denim Levi jeans, a brilliant white T-shirt and a leather jacket with lots of zippers and studs. His hair shone with Brylcream and he had developed an insolent, upper body lean and matching pout. It suited him. She looked at him and smiled. ‘You’re going to wear leather and denim to the Social Committee’s first-ever event?’

  ‘What are you wearing?’

  ‘I’m not going.’

  ‘Come on.’ He stepped towards her.

  ‘I’ve got nothing to wear.’

  ‘Just whip something up, you’ll look better than any of them anyway.’

  She smiled and said, ‘That won’t do me much good, will it?’

  ‘Let’s just sit in a corner and watch all those beautiful creations swinging about the hall on Miss Dimm and Lois and Muriel.’ He stopped. ‘I see what you mean.’ He slumped into the chair by the fire and put his boots up on the wood box.

  Molly looked over to Teddy, lifted her top lip and sent a fine line of spittle into the flames with her tongue. ‘You think you’re good-looking don’t you?’ she said to him.

  ‘We could go to Winyerp to the pictures,’ said Teddy, ‘or we could sit here with Molly all night.’

  ‘What’s on?’ asked Tilly, brightly.

  ‘Sunset Boulevard, with Gloria Swanson.’

  ‘You two go ahead to the pictures and have a lovely time,’ said Molly. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be all right here … alone, by myself. Again.’

  Molly insisted on sitting in the front of Teddy’s Ford for her first-ever ride in a car. ‘If I’m going to die I’d like to see the tree I’m going to splatter against,’ she said, then demanded that they sit right at the front of the picture theatre directly under the screen. She sat between them, hooting and laughing at Tom and Jerry, then made loud, detracting comments about everything else. ‘That’s not really a car they’re in, it’s pretend … He’s not very convincing is he? … She’s just kissed him and her lipstick’s not smudged and her eyes look like armpits … Stand up and get out of the way – I need to get to the lav, quickly!’

  At home they offered to help her to bed but she was reluctant. ‘I don’t feel sleepy,’ she said and looked above at the starry sky to stifle a yawn. Teddy went inside and got a glass, poured firewater from his flask and handed it to Molly. She drank it and held her glass out for more. He looked at Tilly, who looked down at the hall lights from where fragments of conversation drifted up, so he gave Molly another splash of watermelon wine. Very shortly they were lifting her onto her bed.

  They sat out under the stars again, watching the Dungatar hall flicker to darkness and the socialites disperse.

  Teddy turned to her. ‘Where did you go from here?’

  ‘To Melbourne, to school.’

  ‘And then where?’

  She didn’t reply. He looked impatient and said, ‘Come on – it’s me, not them.’

  ‘It’s just I’ve never really talked about it until now.’

  He kept his eyes on her, willing her. Finally she said, ‘I got a job in a manufacturing factory. I was supposed to work there forever and repay my “benefactor” but it was horrible. At least it was a clothing factory.’

  ‘Did you know who your benefactor was?’

  ‘I always knew.’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘I ran away. I went to London.’

  ‘Then Spain.’

  ‘Then Spain, Milan, Paris.’ She looked away from him.

  ‘Then? There’s more, isn’t there?’

  She stood up. ‘I think I’ll go inside now –’

  ‘All right, all right.’ He caught her by the ankle, and she didn’t seem to mind, so he stood and slid an arm about her shoulders and she leaned against him, just a little bit.

  17

/>   Mona eventually stopped crying because Lesley started to giggle about it. By then Trudy and Elsbeth had thought of a solution.

  ‘You’ll have to marry her …’ said Elsbeth.

  The way to solve everything.

  Lesley sat down suddenly, ‘But I don’t want to get –’

  ‘… or leave town,’ said Trudy.

  Lesley had Tilly run him up new riding attire – sky blue and pink silks and close fitting, immaculate white jodhpurs. He sent to RM Williams in Adelaide for new knee-high riding boots with Cuban heels. Mona wore her bridesmaid’s dress with a white rose pinned behind her ear. It was a quiet ceremony in the front garden at Windswept Crest. Sergeant Farrat conducted the brief ceremony. William drove Mr and Mrs Lesley Muncan to the railway station. They waved to him as their train moved out, standing there with his pipe in his teeth with Hamish and Beula. The Dungatar Social Committee had donated two railway tickets as a wedding gift, so Mr and Mrs Lesley Muncan were to spend a night in the Grand Suite at the Grand Hotel overlooking the river at Winyerp.

  When the newlyweds returned to the reception counter a mere five minutes after the publican had shown them to their suite, he was very surprised.

  ‘We’re off to see the sights,’ said Lesley. ‘We’ll collect the key about 5:30 and will be down for dinner at 6:00.’

  ‘Zup to youse,’ said the publican and winked.

  After dinner, they went upstairs. At the door of the Grand Suite – the big corner room with the arched window situated nearest the bathroom – Lesley turned to his new wife and said, ‘I have a surprise for you.’

  ‘Me too.’ Tilly had run up two items for Mona’s trousseau, one of which was a rather ‘fast’ negligee – Tilly’s design.

  Lesley flung open the door to the Grand Suite. On a pot plant stand next to the bed sat an enamel jug packed with ice-cubes and a bottle of sparkling wine. Two seven-ounce beer glasses sat beside it and between the glasses a card was propped. Embossed gold wedding bells and streamers spelled ‘Congratulations’. Inside the card the publican’s wife had written,