Age cannot wither her,
Nor custom stale her infinite variety ...
Shakespeare Antony & Cleopatra.
It was her husband Seth who first brought the young man to her home. Or rather it was the young man first brought Seth, drunk to the front door.
'I could do with some air,' Seth muttered. 'Stuffy in here?'
'Sure you feel all right?' the youth asked.
He belched. His whisky breath. 'Quite all right. Why?'
He did not notice the chair his wife placed before him.
The young man urged. 'Sit down Seth.'
Seth was determined not to sit down. 'Bugger it all,' he grunted. 'Why did this have to happen?'
'Too many shots of whisky.' his wife said. 'Drinking yourself stupid.' She shrank from him with a look of undisguised dislike.
'Been hitting the piss pretty hard,' the young man answered.
The mask-like expression on Seth's face did not alter. Brown eyes heavy, bloodshot, whisky-flushed, his face smiled. 'My life, isn't it feller.'
He staggered like a lame Vulcan across the room, collapsed and stretched himself out full-length on the couch.
'It's humiliating!' His wife placing a rug over the prostrate form.
A smile slid along the man's lips. 'I could do with a drink,' he quipped. Then passed out. His mouth hung open.
Fixing her gold-flecked eyes on his face, the woman paused. 'I'm sorry,' she said, 'I've no idea what your name is. Please sit down.'
'Sean Radford. I live not far from here,' he said. 'Down by the beach.' He was tall with a mop of unruly red hair and eyes of the bluest blue. 'And you?'
'Deborah - Deborah Bassett.' They shook hands. A pulse throbbing in her throat.
By her calculations Sean was at least fifteen years younger. She felt his difference from herself.
'I ran into your husband in the Star and Garter. Got talking. And got drinking.'
'And drove him home.' An uneven edge affected her voice,
'It's on my way. Seth left his car in the car park at the hotel.'
'I know,' she said ruefully, 'I've often had to collect it.'
She looked at the man sitting opposite. 'Can I offer you something? Coffee perhaps?'
;No, I'd better be heading off. Thanks all the same.'
Their glances clung for a moment.
She saw him to the door, watched him make his way to his car in the driveway.
She turned, stood for a moment, looking down at the man sprawled before her. Seth was often drunk nowadays. 'Need to unwind after a day's work,' he always said. 'Can't just come straight home.' When she tried to reason with him, he became abusive. He'd struck her on more than one occasion.
Deborah eyed her husband with contempt. The illusion of him had long ago broken into fragments. God, how I want to smash it all, sometimes, she felt, and rush at him screaming. She turned her discontent over in her mind for the millionth time, asking where it had gone wrong?
At forty-three Seth Bassett was a workaholic and an alcoholic.
In spite of the fact that he had been thinking of her, Sean gave a start at seeing Deborah sitting at a table by herself in a coffee-shop in Clarendon Street a few days later. All the other tables being occupied, he made his way across the crowded room.
'Mrs Bassett!' he greeted. 'Anyone sitting here?'
'Oh, hi. No, go ahead.' Deborah looked up, smiled.
'Thanks.'
He took in the raven-black hair, the dark eyes with gold flecks. She's cool, elegant, he thought.
'So ...' he realized he had little to say. She rescued him apologizing again for her husband. 'Seth has a high-powered job. This has aggravated his drinking problem.'
Sean made no comment but regarded her intently.
'I have a daughter about your age,' she said after a pause.
'I find that hard to believe.'
'Thank you.' She looked at him slantwise.
A shaft of sunlight shone in from the shop-window across the tables. Sean's red hair flared in the glow.
'He's quite an Adonis,' she thought. An upright flame.
They talked awhile about innocuous subjects, she telling of her job at the library while he spoke of his studio across the road, just getting the feel of each other, he thought.
She told him about how she and her husband had come to Melbourne from swan Hill four years ago when Seth applied for and obtained a senior management position in an insurance company. He spoke of his parents who were living in Warrnambool and how he was working as an architect.
How easy the flow of conversation had now become.
'Hi Blue Boy,' a girl called across the room to Sean as she collected a coke from the machine, then making her way to their table.
'Dee Dee, this is Mrs Bassett,' Sean said by way of introduction.
'Hi!' Dee Dee raised her penciled eyebrows as if she knew a secret. No doubt she thinks I'm having if off with Deborah, thought Sean. Dee Dee was a beautician who wore layers of make-up and a nose stud.
Dee Dee, drinking from the coke bottle was running her tongue over the mouth of the bottle as though fellating it. She was a blonde girl, with large aquamarine eyes.
'Dee Dee? An unusual name,' the older woman said.
'As in Deirdre,' Sean explained. 'Means sorrow and trouble.'
'Don't have any sorrow,' Dee Dee laughed.
The conversation became desultory. Deborah stood up. 'I must be off,' she said. 'Got to get back to work. I only get an hour for lunch.'
'What's on your mind, Boy Blue? You look spaced out.' Dee Dee said after Deborah had gone. 'You poking that old lady?'
'She's a friend. She's married.'
Inside herself Dee Dee was wondering. A displaced maternal love, perhaps, He's always been a bit queer where women are concerned, she thought. No doubt a complex, deep-rooted. He chills me out.
'Married? What of the deposed husband ...?
'Cut it out, will you. Its nothing like that.'
Dee Dee smiled slyly. 'Having it off with a woman old enough to be your ...'
'That's enough!'
'To say nothing of the husband repossessing his wife.'
Sean frowned but made no comment.
'I have your best interests at heart,' she said.
'That's what people generally say when they're thinking of themselves,' Sean replied
'I never wanted to break with you, Sean. You over-reacted.'
She cast him a sidelong badgirl grin.
'Any time you want to get together, give me a call.'
Sean ran into Deborah a second time. It wasn't accidental. In fact, he had been waiting for her outside the newsagency across the road from the coffee-shop.
As he crossed the road he could imagine her; stockings, suspenders, even a garter belt - instead of the usual pantyhose. You were fascinated by these relics of an older generation, you thought. The sort of women who were once called Ladies, in the days when women aspired to a bit of class.