Cross Off by Peter Corris Read Free Book Online

from the tee. A ball hitting a buoy made a loud ring, a misswas signalled by a spurt of water. A mechanism under the surface of the lake collected the balls and regurgitated them.
    He was about to walk on when he noticed a party of three take up position at one of the tees. Two men and a woman, and there was something about the woman . . . He moved closer. The taller of the men drove three times, hitting the fifty-metre target and twice narrowly missing the one at a hundred metres. The shorter man hit the closest buoy and the next one. His third drive landed within centimetres of the furthest buoy. Money changed hands. The woman stepped on a cigarette and selected a club. The tall man teed the ball and she swung vigorously. Her first swing missed completely, on the second try she topped the ball which dribbled a short distance in front of her.
    'Shit!' Her voice carried to Tate, who edged along in the shadows towards the threesome.
    On the third attempt the woman sent the ball sailing out over the water to land between the second and third buoys. The tall man removed the woman's hat and kissed her. Tate was in no doubt—the woman was Ava Belfante.
    From previous experience, Vance Belfante knew it was necessary to stay focused on his immediate problems—surviving the mind-numbing prison routines, staying out of trouble with the heavies and the queers, maintaining good relations with George Frost. He coped pretty well, presenting a tough front to the system and its threats. He continued to deny to Frost that he had any idea of what had turned Avaagainst them, but, privately, he knew that it must concern Shelley. There was just no other explanation. Frost was impatient for news of the steps that had been taken to deal with Ava, but Vance had nothing to tell him.
    At night, in the cell he shared with two other men, Vance thought about Shelley. So different from Ava, different from any other woman he'd ever known, Shelley had worked in a florist's in Oxford Street. Vance had gone in there to buy flowers as a make-up present for Ava after an argument. He wished he could recall what the argument had been about because he wanted to be able to remember every detail of his meeting with Shelley. But he couldn't. There had been so many arguments back then. It was a hot day, he remembered that, and he'd had on his white sharkskin suit. Shelley had worn her pink smock.
    Shelley Lamb was tall and slim with a heart-shaped face and a pile of curling blonde hair. Later, Vance decided that it was her hands that had attracted him first. Shelley's hands were pale, with long slender fingers and carefully tended nails, painted pink. Not like Ava's meaty paws with their scarlet nails, often chipped. She wore no rings, Vance noted that straight off. She looked to be about twenty and she wore a tiny gold cross on a chain around her long neck.
    Vance started lying to her immediately. He told her the flowers were for his mother. Shelley smiled, showing small, white teeth. She caught her tongue between them as she made out the docket. Vance felt himself get hard as the pink tongue was clamped by the white teeth. He looked down the front of hersmock and caught a glimpse of a white cotton bra. After twenty-five years almost exclusive experience of black and red, silk and lace, peek-a-boo lingerie, Vance found the sight powerfully erotic. He had togged up to take Ava out to lunch—suit, silk shirt, haircut—he knew he looked presentable. He asked Shelley to have dinner with him and she agreed.
    It started then, a slow and elaborate courtship that involved a great deal of ingenuity and deception on Vance's part—the flat in Dover Heights, the phoney business cards describing him as an 'Importer', the seriously ill mother requiring much of his time, the frequent interstate trips. Shelley's sweetness allowed her to accept it all. She shared a house in Paddington with two supermarket checkout girls who did no housework and were slow in coming up with