‘If I say no will you think I’m a bad person?’ she replies.
Christina shakes her head. ‘Not at all. I’d think you were a human person.’
‘Thank you,’ Daphne says. It should be a relief to hear this. So why doesn’t she feel like she’s not off the hook?
A woman is standing outside, looking at the shop’s window. Daphne changed it this morning; it features a midnight-blue skirt suit, and she styled it with silver sandals and a silver Glomesh bag. She likes it when people notice the windows. She also likes it when people are sympathetic listeners, as Christina is.
‘How’s your beau?’ she asks, more than ready to change the subject.
Christina grins. ‘Good.’
‘Taking you out on the town a fair bit, is he?’
She keeps grinning. ‘He is. Including tonight.’
‘Oh? Where are you off to?’
‘Some band he likes. They’re playing at the Annandale Hotel. I don’t think I’ve ever been there.’
‘I hope you have a lovely time.’
The woman from outside comes inside and Daphne smiles a greeting.
‘Thanks,’ Christina says. ‘Shall I?’ She nods toward the woman.
Daphne nods in return, then watches as the woman glances at Christina, then processes who she is. The woman’s face changes from surprise to delight in quick order. It’s an amazing power, tobe able to do that to someone, Daphne thinks. Christina wears it lightly, but it’s immense. She makes Daphne’s day better just by being around. To lose that, when the shop closes …
Selfishly, Daphne hopes she never has to find out what that’s like. But she will. Along with all the other things she doesn’t want to face that she’s been hiding from here at the frock shop. Reckonings always come, whether you deserve them or not.
Today, though, there are frocks and friends to enjoy.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The day is overcast but Margot still enjoys looking over Mosman Bay. The colours are more muted – the leaves on the trees are a duller green, the water doesn’t sparkle – and it doesn’t matter. This is still the place where she’d rather spend her days. Even as she knows that’s not realistic. Change has come to the house, in the form of poverty and Lavinia’s infirmity, and as much as Margot has been clutching on to all she knows, she’s begun to accept that if she’s to feel less wretched about it, she has to try to take charge of the change rather than letting it happen to her.
For she can’t ignore the fact that change is everywhere. Mosman Bay changes all day, each day – the direction of the wind, for example. The boats that move in and out. The people walking to and from the wharf. There are no two hours the same, let alone two days. Everything is change.
‘You do realise,’ Lavinia says as they eat their breakfast tea and toast on the verandah, ‘that your gentleman caller has plans for you.’
‘Hm?’ Margot says with her mouth full of toast. One minute they’re discussing what’s on at the Opera House and the next Lavinia is talking about Stephen.
‘I believe he has intentions.’ Lavinia raises her eyebrows.
‘Intentions?’
The eyebrows stay up.
‘Oh,’ Margot says, blushing. ‘No, that can’t be right. He still misses his wife.’
‘A person can miss someone who has gone and find room in his – or her – heart for another.’
This is delivered so obliquely that Margot isn’t sure that Stephen is the subject.
‘Who do you miss?’ she says, being bold.
‘Me?’ Lavinia takes a sip of tea, and so does Margot, deciding to let the moment marinate.
‘You weren’t just talking about Stephen, were you?’ she says eventually.