The Dressmaker (13 page)

Molly aimed her nose at the picture rails. ‘Apparently Madame Vionnet recommended our genius here to Balenciaga because of her unusual talent for bias cutting.’ Molly made a sloppy fart sound with her tongue and vibrating lips.

‘I’ve never heard of either of them,’ said Molly.

‘Elsbeth’s cousin Una said Gertrude’s wedding dress was very Parisian,’ said Faith, ‘I’m going to Paris, one day.’ She looked dreamy.

‘Who with?’ Molly cackled mischievously.

‘I can hem this while you wait if you like.’

Faith glanced over at Molly.

Tilly persisted, ‘Molly can sit on the veranda; would you like a cup of tea?’ Faith nodded and removed her frock. She sat in her slip and stockings reading Tilly’s catalogues, poring over the pictures. When Tilly handed her the skirt with the hemline finely stitched and perfect, Faith put aside the magazines. ‘I shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble really, it’s just a silly old box cluster pleat that deserves to be chucked out. It’ll probably end up on one of the McSwiney girls.’

Muriel came next. ‘Make me something else that suits me, this time something I can wear to work but that looks real good, like my outfit for Gert’s wedding.’

‘With pleasure,’ said Tilly.

When Ruth returned from the railway station with the mailbags the next morning, she and Nancy spilled the contents onto the post office floor and found Nancy’s fat brown envelope. She opened it and flicked through her new magazine until she found the feature – colour photographs of a New York fashion parade highlighting the latest designs of Emilio Pucci and Roberto Capucci. They looked at the fashions and the angular girls with prominent cheekbones and dark lines on their eyelids and said, ‘Aren’t they something,’ then Nancy headed for The Hill.

The rapping on the back door woke Tilly. Her bladder was full, she still had sleep in her eyes and her hair was wild about her shoulders when she opened it, folding a silk sarong about her. Nancy was distracted by her bare shoulders, so held the January edition of
Vogue
up in front of her and pointed to a model in an elegant tapered trouser suit in bright swirling colours. ‘See her? That’s what I want.’

Tilly was puzzled so Nancy continued, ‘You can get the fabric from your friends in Melbourne, and don’t show anyone, I don’t want copycats.’

‘Oh,’ said Tilly, ‘the pant suit.’

‘You’ve got a parcel and a postcard from Florence.’ Nancy handed them to Tilly and left.

That evening Teddy sat on the veranda sipping a bottle of beer, smoking, watching Barney pull weeds from Tilly’s vegetable patch and throw them into a wheelbarrow. When the barrow was full Teddy pushed it to the cart and pitched the grass aboard. Graham turned his head to see and when Teddy headed away again with the barrow, the horse sighed, shifted his weight and dropped his head again. Molly inched out from the kitchen and pulled an empty glass from under her knee rug, so Teddy drained the last of the beer into her glass and moved to the screen door. Tilly was standing at the window, hand-stitching something fine. ‘Thought I might go for a walk, throw a line in at the creek, it’s nice down there at dusk, we could –’

‘I have a business to run,’ she said and smiled at him, a big, broad smile that went all the way to her eyes.

‘Lovely,’ he said.

N
ancy was attaching a new brush to her old broom handle and Muriel was wiping Pratts’ front window with a wad of turpentine-soaked newspaper. Beula Harridene rushed around the corner, stopping between the two women. ‘New outfits?’

The women grinned and nodded. ‘You should get something made, that Tilly can do magic,’ said Muriel.

‘Obviously,’ said Beula, ‘if she made you think you look good in that.’

Just then the Triumph Gloria rolled back into town. The women stopped to look. William was driving with a stranger in the seat beside him while Gertrude, Elsbeth and Mona sat in the back, each wearing a new hat. Three large shiny-new suitcases were strapped to the bumper rack of the car and several large tea-chests were secured in a new trailer trundling along behind. As the big old car rounded the curve of the main street, Evan Pettyman put down his mid-morning cup of coffee and moved closer to his window to follow the Beaumonts’ triumphant return. At the school Miss Dimm put her glasses on to see what the large thing sailing by was and Purl ceased shaking mats on the pub balcony to watch.

The people of Dungatar suddenly had something more to expect and it swelled the air. The smart wedding party, their suitcases stuffed with Collins Street fashions, would soon discover that the women in town had striking new outfits, and every hemline was now in keeping with current European fashion.

On Saturday morning Elsbeth Beaumont and her daughter-in-law arrived at Pratts General Store wearing a new frock each with matching hat and gloves. At 9:00 am they stood between the dingy shelves in their Dior skirts, huge and domed in yards and yards of taffeta, their hems brushing the tops of Nugget boot polish tins and shoe white bottles and rattling the hanging shoe horns.

‘Oh my,’ said Muriel, ‘just look at you.’

‘Hello Muriel,’ said Elsbeth, a little clenched-of-dentures.

‘Hello Mother.’ Gertrude leaned to receive a peck on the cheek.

‘Good trip?’ asked Muriel flatly.

‘Oh, won-der-ful!’ said Gertrude.

Elsbeth nodded in agreement, ‘Maaarrvellous.’

Muriel came from behind her counter. Her shoes needed polishing and her hair needed brushing but she too wore a new outfit – a long sapphire grey, fine-weave linen tunic with an unusual inset neckline and a very straight calf-length skirt. At the back the tunic and skirt were wrapped over double and fastened with a martingale. The outfit was well tailored, chic and practical, and it suited her. Gertrude and Elsbeth were both surprised and miffed.

‘Where’s father?’ said Gertrude.

‘“Father” can still be found out the back, Gert. If you call out “Hey Dad” he’ll still answer,’ replied Muriel.

‘Won’t you tell him I’ve returned and that we need to speak to him.’

Muriel crossed her arms and looked squarely at her daughter, ‘Reg,’ she said. Reginald closed his mouth. ‘Fetch Alvin for me if you don’t mind?’ He placed the tray of entrails he was holding on the marble counter-top and left to find Alvin.

The new Gertrude continued, ‘Elsbeth and I have great plans for lots of exciting things to do in the coming year. We’re going to take
Doongatah
for the ride of its life. It’ll be such fun won’t it Elsbeth?’

Elsbeth squeezed her eyes shut and raised her shoulders in delicious joy. ‘
Such
fun!’ she said.

Reginald returned, ‘Beg pardon,
mams,
your “Father” is rushing at your command and will be here as soon as he possibly can,’ and he bobbed ever so slightly.

‘Thank you,’ said Elsbeth graciously. Reg went back to his entrails and carcasses.

‘Well hello hello hello,’ boomed Alvin in his friendliest grocer’s voice. He approached his daughter (off-loaded so successfully) with his arms wide, grabbed her waist and lifted her in a circle so that her Dior petticoats hooped and the air unsettled the dust. He placed her clumsily on the boards with a squeeze and a cough. She was heavier than he expected. ‘My little girl,’ he beamed and cupped her fulsome cheeks in his flour-dusted hands. Gertrude winced and shared an exasperated look with Elsbeth. She straightened her hat.

‘Yes, I’ve noticed it,’ said Alvin, ‘New hat!’ And he nodded at Muriel who rolled her eyes.

‘Daddy, Elsbeth and I want you to put this prospectus in the window in a prominent position and pin several more about the store. We’ve several gestetnered copies and there’ll be reminders in the local paper –’

‘We’ve formed a Social Club,’ announced Elsbeth. ‘I’m secretary, Trudy’s president and Mona will be our typist. We thought Muriel could be treasurer and –’

‘
Trudy
?’

‘Yes mother, you will call me
Trudy
from now on. Our first meeting is scheduled for Monday and is to be held at home, at Windswept Crest. We have all the dates of every event and we’re going to gather the locals to organise functions, essentially fund-raisers … tea parties, croquet games, dances –’

Elsbeth corrected her, ‘A
Ball,
a fund-raising
ball
.’

‘A ball, the biggest and best we’ve ever had –’

‘And there’ll be a theatrical Eisteddfod with a section created especially for EL-O-CU-SHUN,’ emphasised Elsbeth.

‘So!’ said Gertrude and nodded to Elsbeth. Elsbeth thrust the gestetnered copies at Alvin. A neat pile of bold typed letters with ‘TRUDY AND ELSBETH BEAUMONT invite THE PROGRESSIVE MINDED LADIES OF DUNGATAH TO A MEETING’, and there was a paragraph of fancy scrolled print beneath. Alvin placed his thumbs behind his apron straps. A pause settled over the group.

‘Dunga
tah
?’ said Alvin.

‘Where’s Mona?’ asked Muriel.

‘She’s learning Dressage and Equestrian,’ said Gertrude. ‘We’ve a new man at the property.’

‘Mona’s terrified of horses,’ said Muriel.

‘Exactly! That’s the point.’ Trudy tsked and shook her head.

Alvin looked surprised. ‘You have a new man?’

‘His name is Lesley Muncan and he is a true gentleman,’ announced Elsbeth and sniffed at Alvin.

The smile on Alvin’s face remained fixed. ‘My my.’ He looked the ladies up and down, from the waving feathers sprouting from their startling headdress to their pinched toes encased in stylish new shoes. ‘Had a bit of a spree in Melbourne, eh?’

Gertrude smiled conspiratorially at Elsbeth who squeezed her arm in camaraderie.

‘I take it William will be in with his harvest cheque soon – as there is the matter of your outstanding account
Mrs Beaumonts
, and I expect you’ve brought along all the receipts from your spree so shall we pop into the office and go through them together before I add them to your existing outstanding account?’

The smiles fell from the Beaumont women’s faces. ‘Daddy I thought –’ said Gertrude.

‘I said you could buy YOURSELF a small wedding trousseau,’ said Alvin, then looked at Elsbeth and sniffed.

Elsbeth shoved the leaflets at Muriel and looked blackly at her new daughter-in-law.

• • •

Septimus Crescant sat at the corner of the bar with Hamish O’Brien, talking. Purl stood behind the bar painting her fingernails while Fred, Bobby Pickett and Scotty Pullit sat at the card table, sipping, smoking and shuffling. Finally Fred looked at Teddy’s empty chair and said, ‘May as well start.’ Reginald dealt the cards and every man threw ten two-shilling coins onto the table.

The telephone rang. Purl walked to the far wall and gingerly lifted the receiver, careful not to smudge her nails. Bobby waved his cards at Purl and mouthed, ‘Tell her I’ve just left.’

‘Hello, Station Hotel …’

The poker players stared.

‘Look love I appreciate it very much but I’ll be busy on Sunday all right, ’bye.’ Purl hooked the phone back into its cradle.

‘That was poor suffering Mona-by-name-Mona-by-nature phoning on behalf of the Dungatar Social Club Invited me to their inaugural meeting out at Fart Hill, to discuss their first ever fund-raising croquet day and tea party – and there’s to be a “presentation night”.’

‘Now there’s something to look forward to,’ said Fred.

Purl closed her eyes and shook her head slowly from side to side, ‘I can hardly wait.’

The men resumed their cards and Hamish and Septimus resumed their discussion. ‘O’course,’ said Hamish, ‘it all started to go wrong when man domesticated crops so there was a need to protect the crop and to gather in groups, build walls to stave off hungry neoliths.’

‘No,’ said Septimus, ‘the wheel sank humanity the deepest.’

‘Och, you’ve got to have the wheel for transport.’

‘Then the industrial revolution followed, mechanisation that did the rest of damage –’

‘But steam machines, steam’s harmless, a steam train at full pelt is a sound to behold –’

‘Diesel’s cleaner.’ Septimus drank his beer.

The card dealer stopped shuffling, and the players shifted their eyes to the two sparring regulars at the corner of the bar.

Hamish turned to face his companion. ‘And the world is round!’

He quietly poured his remaining half glass of Guin-ness into Septimus’s hard hat sitting squarely on the floor by the bar. Septimus in turn splashed the contents of his beer glass onto Hamish’s head, leaving his walrus moustache dripping. Hamish raised his clenched fists, took a classic, menacing Jack ‘Nonpareil’ Dempsey pose and started dancing, moving his arms like wheel rods on a train. Purl hastily waved her wet fingernails about and Fred sighed.

‘Come on then Septimus, up with ye dooks, out-side …’ Hamish took a jab just as Septimus reached down to the floor for his hat. Hamish swung two more air-jabs and the third landed when Septimus rose, lifting his arms to put his hat on. There was a soft but audible splat like a raw egg hitting a kitchen table. Septimus buckled, holding his bleeding nose.

‘Hamish,’ said Fred, ‘it is time for you to remove yourself.’

Hamish put on his station master’s hat and waving cheerfully from the door called, ‘See you tomorrow.’

Purl handed Septimus a handkerchief.

Septimus moved towards the door. ‘In this town a man can covet his neighbour’s wife and not get hurt, but to speak the truth can earn a bleeding nose.’

‘It can,’ said Fred, ‘so I wouldn’t say too much more if I were you or else you’ll end up with a
broken
nose next time.’ Septimus left.

Purl enquired if Reg was donating meat to the footy club again this year.

‘Doing the time-keeping as well,’ said Scotty.

Ruth and Miss Dimm, Nancy and Lois Pickett, Beula Harridene, Irma Almanac and Marigold Pettyman were also approached by the Dungatar Social Committee. Faith was not at home. She was rehearsing, with Reginald. Mona asked the ladies to attend the inaugural meeting at Windswept Crest and to please bring a plate. The newly recruited members of the Dungatar Social Club immediately rang Ruth at the exchange and told her to put them through to Tilly Dunnage.