A Time of Secrets (14 page)

‘A song,’ someone else called out. ‘Give us a song, Tuck. Where’s Friar Tuck?’

‘He’s over here.’

‘Sing a song or two.’

‘Go on, Tuck.’ There was a cacophony of calls for a song.

Tuck had been watching Ross and Dolly with a malicious little smile, and he leaned towards me, whispering, ‘Try to keep Dolly out of trouble, darling – and I’ll tell you now, Nick Ross is trouble.’

He raised an arm to the room in a gesture of affected weariness. ‘If I must,’ he said, and grinned at the three of us. ‘My public awaits.’

We followed him to the piano. Tuck stared at the keys for a moment as the phonograph was turned off and a crowd gathered around him.

I looked across at Ross, who was standing beside Dolly, resting his hand on her neck and gently massaging it. She was playing with fire, flirting so blatantly with an officer in front of all these people. People who knew Stanford. My mouth tightened and I looked away, towards Tuck.

Gently, delicately, Tuck ran his fingers along the keys in a cheerful trill of notes. Then he settled into the melody.

He began to sing ‘If Love Were All’. It was my favourite Noël Coward song, and its bittersweet melody and words changed the mood of the room to one of introspection and melancholy. Tuck had a light tenor, similar to Coward, and his self-accompaniment was polished. And, of course, it was a lovely song. It made me think of Eric, whose smile had touched me in a way that no one’s had done for a long while. Tuck finished the song with a few twirls and began to play ‘I’ll See You Again’, which also made me think of Eric.

I looked again at Ross, who had put his arm around Dolly. She was resting her head on his shoulder and seemed happy.

After that Tuck sang ‘Mrs Worthington’ and the mood lightened.

Tuck kept on singing until his voice was hoarse, and then Violet came over to sing some old favourites. We sang along with her to ‘Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree’, ‘Be Like the Kettle and Sing’, ‘Coming in on a Wing and a Prayer’ and ‘Someday I’ll Find You’.

I looked around at the flushed faces and eager expressions, as we sang ‘We’ll Meet Again’. Its sentimental words told of longing for love, and hope despite fear of what might happen in the future. Every person in that room – whether they were in uniform or in evening dress – had fought in the war or had a loved one who had fought or was still fighting. We all sang together, to show our determination to carry on fighting despite the cost, to show our resolve to win this war. And once victory was ours? We’d be in a world that had been changed utterly, and we’d learn to live in it.

Eventually, at Ross’s urging, Tuck sang ‘The Party’s Over Now’. The guests took the hint, shrugged on coats and made their way out into the cold gloom of a Melbourne winter in the brownout. Ross insisted on accompanying Dolly and me home in a taxi, and I was close behind when he carried a very intoxicated Dolly up the stairs, into our flat and into her bedroom. He put her carefully on the bed, then waited in the lounge room while I undressed her as best I could with only one working hand. I decided she could sleep in her slip, and I pulled up the blankets.

Dolly looked very young, lying in bed with her hair fallen across her face, her mouth open and snoring softly. She looked like a little girl who’d got into her mother’s make-up; her lipstick was smudged and there were streaks of mascara around her eyes and on her cheeks. As I gently brushed her hair away from her eyes I thought I’d bring in a damp flannel and wipe her face once Ross had left.

When I entered the lounge room it was clear that Ross had made himself at home. He was sitting on the couch leafing through the newspaper and nursing a glass of scotch that he must have poured from the bottle on the sideboard. The bruises and the black eye were almost shocking on such a handsome face.

‘Hope you don’t mind,’ he said, raising the glass. ‘I felt I’d earned a snifter after hauling Dolly up that flight of stairs.’

‘Of course not,’ I said, wondering how much he’d had to drink already. ‘I’ll join you.’

I crossed to the sideboard, poured myself a measure of brandy and sat in the big armchair facing Ross. I wanted to talk to him about Dolly, to warn him off, but I wondered how to introduce the subject. He was regarding me steadily with a look in his eyes that was a mixture of curiosity and expectation.

‘I hear you paint,’ he said.

‘I used to. A hundred years ago. Before the war.’

‘Too busy?’

I leaned over my brandy, looking down at the amber liquid as I breathed into the glass to warm it.

‘There were a number of reasons. I’m still interested in art, though. Before I joined up I was working as assistant to the manager of the Manly Art Gallery.’

‘Dolly mentioned that you’d lost your husband in North Africa.’

‘In the Syrian campaign. February 1941.’

‘I’m so sorry, Stella.’ His voice was gentle and when I looked up, his face showed nothing but sympathy.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I said, flushing. I took a deep breath. ‘Actually, I’m thinking of starting to paint again. If I can find any materials. Everything’s in such short supply nowadays.’

‘I can probably help you there.’

I was surprised. ‘How?’

‘Leave it to me. If you make a list of what you need, I can get hold of it.’

‘I couldn’t possibly –’

‘I said, leave it to me. I’ll get what you need.’ He took another sip of whisky and looked at me, eyes half closed. I thought I saw a calculating gleam, deep inside those eyes.

‘You must be a very special woman,’ said Ross, now looking down at his scotch with a wry smile.

I tried to keep my voice light. ‘Why?’

‘Eric Lund’s interested in you.’ He laughed. ‘He doesn’t speak much at the best of times, but closes up like a clam when he’s around the girls. The men were always having a go at him about it.’

‘So you were his senior officer as well as his school friend?’

The bruises on his face and the black eye gave him an air of unreality, as if he’d been made up for a part. He didn’t reply.

I took a tentative breath, wondering what to say about Dolly. ‘Tonight, you were very –’

‘They’ve offered him a commission time and again, but he’s always refused,’ he said, as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘Says he doesn’t want to be in command, then he second-guesses me in the field. Trouble is, he’s good at it.’ He touched his bruised face, as if unconsciously. ‘He’s a ferocious fighter, but it’s more than that. He’s a thinker, too.’

Ross was now looking down at his drink. His mouth was slightly twisted, as if he had a bad taste in it.

‘It’s bloody difficult when you’re up there, you know. I was commissioned because I went to the right school, had a degree. How the hell does university prepare you for commanding a field mission?’ He took a gulp of whisky and his cheeks reddened as he stared at the glass. ‘I – Eric shouldn’t –’

He was silent for a while. I decided to try again.

‘You know that Dolly is –’

His gaze caught mine and held it. ‘You have this way of looking at a chap, as if you can see right through him,’ he said.

I looked down at my brandy again, unsure if that was a line. Hoping it wasn’t. After a minute or so of silence, I looked up. He was staring at me.

I said, ‘Um, Dolly was rather –’

‘I’ve had a bit too much of this tonight,’ he said, rolling the whisky around, just as I’d done earlier with my brandy. ‘Makes me maudlin.’

‘It must be so difficult to be in command,’ I said. I knew it was a trite comment, but I had no idea how to respond to what he was saying.

‘It’s hell,’ he replied, glaring at me. ‘Eric thinks I made a mistake up there. The court martial disagreed, but it’s been eating away at me.’

‘It’s easy with hindsight, I suppose,’ I murmured. ‘To see what might have been the better course. Um, Dolly –’

‘You’re a very easy person to be with,’ he said. I came in for an appraising stare. ‘And you’re very attractive. Is it serious with that Yank? With Eric?’ There was a look now in his eyes that I knew well. I stared hard at the carpet, trying to think. I really didn’t want to deal with amorous intentions. Not from him, and not now, when I was so tired and would probably say the wrong thing.

‘I’m not in the market for anything serious,’ I said firmly, looking up and holding his gaze.

He leaned forward and took the brandy glass out of my hand. He placed the glass on the low table in front of us and took my hand in both of his. His hands were hot and rough with calluses, just as Eric’s had been, but the effect on me was quite different. It was all I could do not to snatch my hand back. Instead, I gently pulled it away and smiled.

‘I’m not in the market for anything at all,’ I said.

Ross’s face was difficult to read, but I thought I saw amusement, and perhaps determination in his face. That was a worry, because I did not want to be seen as a challenge.

‘You must get lonely, Stella,’ he said. ‘Everyone needs human comfort now and again.’ He made a sweeping movement with his hand that took in the door leading to the central lobby and my bedroom. ‘We don’t need to be serious.’

He was very good at this, I thought. Nonetheless, there was something – an emptiness perhaps – deep inside that made me wary of him, and even a little scared.

‘I’m so tired at the moment that I don’t need anything at all except sleep,’ I said, smiling again and rising to my feet. ‘And I really think it’s a bad idea to get involved with colleagues, even leaving aside what the regulations say about fraternisation between officers and other ranks. I don’t want to be rude, but if you’ve finished your drink . . .’

‘Nuts to you, Stella Aldridge,’ he said, smiling still. ‘You know that no one’s following the regulations about non-fraternisation.’

‘I follow them,’ I said.

‘So we’re both going to be lonely tonight?’ His smile didn’t touch his eyes. I had the strong impression that he didn’t get many refusals.

‘’Fraid so,’ I said, also smiling. ‘And please don’t make a play for Dolly. She’s really quite serious about Stanford Randall and I’d hate for her to lose him.’

He laughed. ‘So I’m not to play with Dolly. Lots of men do, from what I hear.’

I’d had enough. I picked up his cap from the sofa and held it out to him. He took one look at my face, stood, took the cap from me and let me see him to the door. It was all I could do not to slam it behind him.

As I was falling asleep that night I tried to imagine how I’d paint Nick Ross. I’d find it almost impossible, I thought, because his face was so changeable. I did decide, however, that I’d need to place just a touch – a hint only – of Venetian red in each eye, to represent the cynicism that I thought lay deep at the heart of him, almost hidden by his undoubted charm.

I thought about it for a while, and then I drifted into sleep. I dreamed of a fight in heaven. Michael, the archangel warrior, was fair and austere and terrible. His opponent was a dark-haired angel with a face as beautiful as sin. The sound of weeping and wailing came from those of us who watched them grapple together. I awakened to realise that the muted sounds of sobbing and wailing were real. I sat upright and listened, worried for Dolly. There was a sharp cry, the sort of sound a woman made if she was being hit. I heard the surprise and horror in that sound; I heard the misery. It had come from the flat next door.

Now there were voices, a man’s voice low and compelling, Violet’s voice, high and miserable. I couldn’t make out any words. Then there was silence.

Eleven

I
had a headache when I woke the following morning, but it was nothing compared to what Dolly was suffering.

‘I can’t go in to work. You’ll have to give my excuses. I can’t move without agony.’ There was a little moan. ‘Are you sure I can’t have more morphine tablets?’

‘No. You’ve had two. You can have two more at lunchtime if you really need them, but only if you really need them. It’s dangerous to have too many, Dolly. You know that.’

I’d gone to her room to see how she was doing before I headed off for work. She was a pale, wan figure huddled in the bedclothes. My father would have said that she was ‘green around the gills’. Apart from one fevered trip to the bathroom at six o’clock, her morning had consisted of ordering me to bring her the heater from the lounge room, water, morphine pills and a cup of tea. There was a lot of moaning, too.

‘I can’t tell Captain Gabriel that you’ve got a hangover. She’ll have a fit.’

‘Tell her I’m dying. It’s the truth.’

‘You’re not dying. You’ll be fine in a few hours.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘I have to go or I’ll be late.’ She moaned. ‘Oh, all right. I’ll tell her it’s women’s trouble.’

Dolly murmured something incoherent, but I thought I heard the name Nick Ross. ‘What about him?’ I asked.

She gingerly raised her head, wincing as she did so. ‘How much of a fool was I last night?’

‘You were very familiar with him – too familiar. He insisted on accompanying us home. You passed out in the taxi and he had to carry you up the stairs.’

‘He must think I’m dreadful.’

‘Probably.’

I hoped she’d be too embarrassed to face him again. If I was honest with myself, Nick Ross unsettled me, and I’d prefer not to have too much to do with him. As I left the room I thought about it: Lieutenant Ross unsettled me, Lieutenant Cole now disgusted me and I found Captain Molloy intimidating. The only officers I liked were Captain Deacon and Captain Gabriel, and I was very grateful that they were the ones I worked with.