Free Indelible Ink by Fiona McGregor Page A

this in and measured it, seated at the table on the
deck in a casual posture, leaning to one side, chin propped on hand. Yes. There were the men who were Armani through to their marrow, and the men who weren’t. It was that simple.
    ‘This is my daughter Blanche,’ said Marie.
    ‘Oh yes, I could tell straightaway. She looks so much like you.’ Aftershave looked from Blanche to Marie. ‘Yes, it’s in the mouth.’
    ‘The King women are renowned for their mouths,’ said Marie.
    Blanche sat there smiling.
    ‘So you grew up here?’ Aftershave asked her.
    ‘Yes, the family’s been here more than thirty years.’
    ‘Well, if everybody was like you, people like me wouldn’t have a job. What a fabulous childhood you must have had!’
    ‘Yes.’
    Aftershave leant up against the railing with his back to the view. ‘Well, we thought we had a buyer, but unfortunately they’ve gone over to the eastern suburbs.’
    ‘It’s early days yet.’ Blanche smiled.
    ‘Can I get you anything to drink?’ said Marie, finishing hers.
    ‘No, thank you. Christmas is in a month. It is a slightly awkward time.’
    ‘I think it’s the perfect time for a house to go on the market,’ Marie said. ‘People come and look now, then they have their holidays to think about it. I can
wait.’
    ‘You’re right.’ Aftershave nodded. ‘You’re absolutely right .’
    ‘What about that cabbage tree palm? Have you factored that into the price? It’s older than the house by decades.’
    ‘We’ve factored in everything, Mrs King.’
    For a while Blanche watched this routine of indulgence, caution and coercion. It was the oldest pantomime in history — the whole world was a marketplace — but again a feeling of
unease moved through her. This transaction in the temple of her childhood was absurd, even obscene, and her mother was being predictably hopeless. The cabbage tree palm! Yeah, right. Blanche
assumed a warrior attitude. ‘I imagine people would be clamouring to buy here.’
    ‘We’re doing our best, but I have to be honest. Interest rates may rise any day and we won’t get the sort of price we might have twelve months ago.’
    ‘This is harbourside property. This market’s never going to fail.’
    ‘Of course it won’t fail . It’s a unique house, a wonderful house!’
    ‘My daughter knows all about the market. Her husband works for Coustas and Stevens.’
    ‘Really?’ Aftershave’s eyes lit up, then retreated. He stepped away from the rail. ‘I brought a camera with me today. I thought I’d take some photographs if
that’s alright.’
    Blanche needed to move before she strangled her mother. ‘I have some ideas. I’ll show you around.’
    ‘One last piece of advice, if I may?’ Aftershave said to Marie. ‘You might consider installing surveillance cameras to monitor the front gate. There’s absolutely no
security here. I came right in. I could have been anyone.’
    ‘But you’re just Roger. And we left the gate open for you on purpose.’
    ‘The bottom of the property is also very open. National Park down there, isn’t it. Public access? You know how picky buyers in this market can be.’
    ‘Shall we?’ Blanche led Aftershave into the living room.
    ‘Photograph the garden,’ Marie called from her seat, swirling the ice around her glass, thinking she should take Aftershave through but a lassitude pressed her to the chair: it would
be so much easier just to sit here and watch the trees and water.
    Like blood flowing into her benumbed body, the Campari inflamed Marie. When they had gone upstairs, she plucked Blanche’s drink from its little pool of sweat. The indigestion she expected
from her first dose of alcohol hadn’t come: energised, she went into the kitchen to mix more drinks. Just as she was beginning her second (third really, counting Blanche’s), the little
teeth in her belly began to nip. That old chestnut: the indigestion got worse when she drank, but if she drank a certain amount,