Araluen (11 page)

It would be a costly exercise – not only did they plan to buy the property, but the conversion from house to restaurant would be expensive and it would most certainly take time to accumulate clientele.

Gustave dismissed the severe economic climate with a derisive snort. ‘There is always money,
mon ami
– in times like these it just takes a little longer to find it.’

Once they’d acquired the property, the plan was for Franklin to front it. No one was to know Gustave was involved. ‘A different image,’ he said. ‘You understand? I am known to cater to the Bohemian. We need a true aristocrat, a man who will be known to cater to the patrician.’ He smiled indulgently. ‘And to those who pretend to the patrician.’

It had taken Franklin quite a while to recognise the fact that Gustave wasn’t really a snob at all. He was a very astute assessor of people and their requirements and he played his role of the flamboyant French poseur purely because it was the image which most suited his purpose.

Franklin’s accumulated funds would not stretch to a half-share in the deal and his only option appeared to be an appeal to his father. He loathed the idea of fielding all the questions Charles would ask and putting up with all the lectures on the responsible handling of family finances. And, after putting himself through the ordeal, who could say what the outcome would be anyway? He would end up being either refused or deeply in debt and answerable at every turn to his father. The prospect of that was odious.

He said as much to Millie one night – she had become his regular sounding board.

‘But you don’t need your family at all,’ she answered. When he stared at her uncomprehendingly, she spelled it out for him. ‘Solly. Solly, my dear. He has finances. He is quite a wealthy man and you know he has always wanted to go into business with you. In fact, he’s been biding his time for just such an opportunity.’ When Franklin was about to interrupt she concluded, ‘What’s more, he’s a very good friend and an honourable man.’

Solly was, of course, thrilled with the idea and they found that, between the two of them, their funds were more than adequate for a half-share in the venture.

Franklin thought it only fair he tell Gustave that he was bringing in a partner. He wondered how the Frenchman would react to a Polish bootmaker from Surry Hills being a part of his elegant project aimed at the patrician market.

Gustave merely laughed. ‘You think the money I put in is all my own? I too have silent partners, my friend.’

Of course. Franklin remembered Catherine telling him that Le Cafe Gustave had been quite a front for the sly grog trade in the earlier days of prohibition and Gustave had formed a cosy alliance with Kate Leigh. Well, no questions would be asked – if Kate and her mob were Gustave’s silent partners, it was all right by Franklin – just so long as there was nothing illegal expected.

Gustave was quick to read Franklin’s reaction. ‘A property investment only,’ he said. ‘My partners remain silent, I promise.’

Solly didn’t remain silent. In fact Solly was so excited by the whole prospect that he was more voluble than ever. And many of his ideas were excellent. They should furnish the five bedrooms on the first floor luxuriously, he said, and rent them out to top-class clientele. And when Franklin had set up his wine cellar, they should convert the smaller adjoining room to a showroom.

‘People come to dine, they taste the wines,’ Solly said. ‘That way you teach them about your Ross Estate.’

Regular wine tastings – what an excellent idea, Franklin thought.

It was hard work but it was exciting, and to Millie it was positively thrilling. Far from being left out, she was very much a part of the whole project. Again, Solly’s idea.

‘I tell you, Boss, you give Millie a job.’ For the past six months Solly had taken to calling Franklin ‘Boss’. Despite their being partners, he couldn’t quite come at ‘Franklin’ – it didn’t seem right somehow. ‘You give Millie a job and she will do the work of three people, you just see. You will have housekeeper and maid as well.’ It was a deliberate ploy. Solly had been aware of Millie’s utter devastation when they had decided that Franklin should occupy one of the rooms at the house. This way she could remain a part of his life. ‘You could even move her in with you,’ he said boldly.

Franklin stared back at him. ‘You mean live together?’

What was so bad about that? Solly wondered. The woman would lay down her life for Franklin.
They spent most of their nights in the same room and in the daytime Franklin was out working. Why not let her keep house for him? Why not even marry her, for God’s sake!

But, because he could sense Franklin’s disapproval, Solly made light of his suggestion. ‘Just an idea. Sure. Why not?’

Franklin could have told Solly why not, but he didn’t. He changed the subject instead.

There were specific reasons why Franklin Ross would never marry Millie Tingwell. He believed he loved her. He probably loved her as much as it was in his capacity to love a woman. But there was a much stronger driving force to be considered. He was twenty-seven years of age; he must start a family before he turned thirty. And with the right woman. The right
young
woman. A woman of breeding, no older than twenty-five, with plenty of child-bearing years ahead of her. Millie was working class and in two months time she would be thirty-five years old.

It was a pity, Franklin thought. Millie could have made him happy. There was nothing he would like more than to have her cook and keep house for him the way he knew she wanted to. He was fully aware of how deeply she loved him.

He never discussed the situation with her, careful not to encourage false hopes in any way. And he was most particular about the precautions they took to prevent conception. Each night after they made love, he would insist that Millie douche herself immediately. When she wanted to curl up beside him, he ordered her out of bed. ‘Straight away, Millie,’ he’d say. ‘It doesn’t work if you
don’t do it straight away.’ And Millie would dutifully traipse downstairs and out the back to the bathroom. She did it to keep the peace more than anything. She wasn’t actually sure if douching worked and she wasn’t even sure if she could conceive anyway. She’d certainly wanted to during her eight-year marriage but it had never happened.

For the first year Millie hadn’t questioned the need to avoid conception – of course it made sense. She quite understood that Franklin would one day seek a young wife of his own class and in the meantime she was only too grateful for his support and friendship. But as she grew to love him and as she sensed his love in return, she couldn’t help but feel hurt. She knew she had no right to, Franklin had never promised her anything. But each time she squatted in the bath and flushed herself out, she felt humiliated and rejected.

They called the restaurant The Colony House and it took them nearly two years to get it up on its feet but eventually it proved every bit as successful as Gustave had predicted. The Colony House gained an international reputation and catered to the elite from all corners of the globe.

‘Didn’t I tell you,
mon ami?
Gustave boasted as they set up a private poker game for a guest in one of the upstairs suites, ‘there are always people with money. You just need to give them a little time to sniff you out.’

Gustave was often at The Colony House, not because it was necessary but because he loved the
place. The Bohemian set of Kings Cross bored him now; he preferred to mingle with the international crowd. He always posed as a guest, though, never letting it be known he was Franklin’s partner.

Gustave particularly liked the evenings when they hosted a night of blackjack or poker. Those were the nights when the really big spenders swarmed about The Colony House like bees around a honey pot. Not that Gustave himself was much of a gambler. He put in bids just high enough to keep him in the game and lost only the amount he was prepared to lose, but he adored people who spent money. Lots of it. With style.

The gambling nights, always organised at the request of a well-known or well-referred guest, were as borderline illegal as Franklin was prepared to go. The Colony House did not operate as a gambling casino, it merely hosted the evenings of its guests’ choice. And if the guests chose to gamble with their own money, Franklin reasoned, who was he to stand in their way?

Solly was a problem on gambling nights – or rather, when gambling nights coincided with vodka nights, Solly was a problem. And it was difficult to escape him. With a bottle of fine Polish vodka inside him, Solly could sniff out a poker game a mile away. Three times he’d lost every penny he owned.

‘With the American in town it will be a big game tonight – what are you going to do about Solly?’ Gustave asked as he finished setting up the bar in
the corner of the suite. Gustave didn’t care much for Solly. The man was colourful, certainly, but he had very little style.

Franklin shrugged. ‘Solly won’t be any trouble. He can’t be, he has nothing left to gamble.’ He opened the french windows and stepped outside onto the balcony. He didn’t think it necessary to tell Gustave that just last week Solly had gambled away his bootshop. Franklin had been appalled.

‘I know, I know, Boss.’ Solly had been deeply penitent. ‘It’s the vodka. I tell you, no more, never again.’

It was Millie who’d persuaded Franklin to loan Solly the money to buy back his business.

At first Franklin had refused. ‘Why should I?’ he’d demanded. ‘Solly’s a fool. Good God, next time he’ll probably put up his share in The Colony House – that’s all he’s got left to gamble.’

Millie had quickly seized upon the fact. ‘Then take that as your security,’ she said. ‘Make Solly sign over his share of The Colony House to you until he repays your loan.’

Eventually Franklin did as she suggested – it was sound reasoning after all – and Millie was the one left a little confused. She didn’t know why she had fought Solly’s case so vociferously. Something had warned her that if Solly was ruined, she would be too. Perhaps it was a case of Surry Hills people sticking together. Perhaps it was just that. But things were changing, Millie could feel it – they were moving too fast, and she didn’t want them to. She wanted the comfortable faces and places from the past around her and she often wished
Franklin was still living in the front room above the bootshop in Riley Street.

Not that Millie didn’t love The Colony House. She did. She not only loved its beauty but, during that first year, she loved the hard work as they struggled together to make a success of the restaurant.

Solly had been quite right when he told Franklin she would do the work of three. Millie was maid, housekeeper, and kitchenhand. Each morning she would walk from Surry Hills to Point Piper. Her first job was to service the suites. As she opened the french windows to air each room, she loved to step out onto the balcony and look at the sparkling blue harbour waters and the occasional big ship steaming its way towards the far distant heads and the open sea. She loved sitting in the parlour making out the lists of housekeeping supplies needed and she loved polishing the beautiful crystal wine glasses in the restaurant and setting the tables the way Franklin had taught her.

Millie didn’t hostess or wait at table. Franklin never asked her to and she was rather grateful for that. But a year or so after the restaurant was established, when the gambling evenings started to prove popular, he suggested she host them with him.

‘They don’t want regular waiters and maitre d’s,’ he said. ‘They want to feel they’re among friends.’

Millie was very flattered and she came to love the evenings, for several reasons. She was working closely with Franklin, for a start – with the burgeoning success of the business, she had been
seeing less of him – and it kept her away from the restaurant. Millie was a little in awe of many of the people who now dined at The Colony House. She was self-conscious and aware she was out of her class. The gambling nights were different. The atmosphere was far more relaxed and, as the company was predominantly male, Millie was more often than not a major attraction. She enjoyed the mildly flirtatious attitudes of the men – they meant no harm, and it was good for her ego.

But what Millie loved most of all about the gambling nights was the fact that they started late and invariably went through until the early hours of the following morning, which meant that she spent the remainder of the time in Franklin’s bed.

They allowed themselves to sleep in and ‘dawdle into the day’ as Millie put it. As they drank their morning tea together gazing at the harbour, Millie would fantasise that they were married. This is how it would be, she would think.

‘The American has stamina.’ Gustave lit up one of his foul-smelling imported cigarettes. (‘They taste much better than they smell,’ was his jovial excuse when people turned away in disgust.) ‘His ship does not arrive until late afternoon and he wants a poker game his first night in town.’ Gustave nodded approvingly. I shall look forward to meeting him.’

No one had met the American but he came with excellent references and credentials. Not only did
he own property all over the globe, including film studios in Hollywood and a cattle station in Queensland, he had been referred to The Colony House by no less than three well-respected guests, each of whom had suggested that a poker game, involving major players only, be set up for Big Sam.

Samuel Crockett was indeed a big man. In every sense of the word. Big in body, voice and temperament. ‘How do, Mr Ross,’ he said, taking Franklin’s hand into his massive paw and shaking it effusively. ‘Samuel David Crockett, and I’m happy to make your acquaintance.’

Sam’s grandfather had always claimed that Davy Crockett was his first cousin, so Sam’s father had been called David, Sam’s middle name was David and Sam himself, always prepared to go one step further, had recently christened his first-born son Davy. The fact that no relationship to the legendary hero had ever been traced was immaterial to the entire family. ‘Hell, nobody kept records back then!’ They were Crocketts from Tennessee and Davy, they maintained, was their ancestor.