A Time of Secrets (18 page)

I looked at Dolly. She seemed stretched tight, nervy, and it showed in her face. ‘Is everything all right, Doll? Generally, I mean?’

‘It’s apples,’ she said. ‘Just peachy.’

‘Not many of them around nowadays,’ I said. ‘Unless you know an American.’

‘Well, I do, as it so happens. So it’s all apples and peaches and fur coats and nylons and orchids, with the moon and the stars thrown in for luck.’ She smiled brightly but her bottom lip trembled. ‘I suppose you think I’m terrible. Running around with American servicemen when I’ve got Stanford ready and waiting.’

‘No, I don’t think you’re terrible, but I sometimes wonder if you really do want Stanford. And what will happen if he finds out what you’ve been up to.’

Dolly sighed. ‘Stanford treats me as if I’m breakable, a fragile little ornament he’ll put in his china cabinet with a label reading
Made in Australia, handle with care.
You know, Stella, we’ve never . . .’ She looked down at her plate and moved her fork around in the stew. ‘He’s never made so much as a pass at me.’

That was a surprise, and I had to work hard not to show it. ‘It sounds as if he sees what’s between you as true love,’ I said.

‘I really think he does.’ She stared moodily at her plate. ‘But, Stella, he thinks I’m so modest. He kisses me as though I’m made of glass. I’m not like that. I’ve never been like that. Love – sex, I mean – I’ve always thought it’s just a part of life, just two people enjoying being with each other. That’s how I am.’

She turned her face away to look at the balcony. ‘I’m not the town bike. I don’t sleep with just anybody. Most of the men who come here only want the company. We have a kiss and a cuddle, that’s all.’

‘I know that, Doll.’

‘I – I do believe in marriage. I was faithful to my husband.’

‘And you’ll be faithful to Stanford.’

‘I’ll be faithful to Stanford,’ she repeated, in a dull voice. Then she laughed. ‘What was it that St Augustine said? “Lord make me good, but not yet.” That’s how I feel when I meet a man like Nick Ross.’ She gave me a mischievous smile. ‘Stanford is due back at the end of the month. By then I’ll have had my fun times, and
then
I’ll be good.’

‘Dolly –’ I was interrupted by a loud knocking at the front door.

She jumped up. ‘I’ll get it.’

When Dolly reappeared, Allan Tuck was with her, almost hidden behind a large cardboard box. He brought it into the kitchen and deposited it on the floor.

‘For you, Stella Aldridge,’ he said, grinning. ‘From Nick Ross. Now you can paint me and make my gorgeous visage famous around Australia.’

‘Whatever is in there?’ Dolly seemed bemused, but there was an undercurrent of pique. Her mouth tightened as she glanced across at me. ‘You can talk. Accepting gifts from officers. Didn’t you tell me that you’d be working with Lieutenant Ross from now on?’

‘I didn’t ask him for anything.’ I sounded defensive, so I softened my voice. ‘It’s painting equipment. He’s being kind, because he knows I want to paint again.’

I was tempted to ask her where she got the beef in the stew – ask her which US officer had provided it – but I kept quiet. Instead, I pulled open the box to find tubes of watercolour paint, brushes, pencils, charcoal and sketchbooks. My mouth became dry and I felt a fluttering in my chest.

Tuck was watching me closely. ‘He’s also got you an easel and paper, but I told him he could bloody well bring that up himself.’

‘However did he get all this so quickly?’ My voice was high and shocked.

‘Oh, Ross has ways.’

‘How can I accept all of this? I can’t accept it.’

Behind me, Dolly laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. ‘You should have heard Stella being all self-righteous before you arrived. Telling me off for inviting you and Nick and Lance Cole for bridge. And then she accepts gifts from her CO.’

‘He’s not my CO. That’s Captain Deacon.’ I bit my lip nervously. ‘Should I ask him whether I’m able to accept this?’

Tuck’s voice was cool. ‘Tell your CO if you think it’s the right thing to do.’

Dolly shrugged. ‘Join us for dinner, Tuck. There’s plenty of stew. I’ll set another place.’

‘Who’s the babbler?’

‘What?’ I couldn’t help a laugh.

‘Babbling brook, cook. Army slang.’

‘I am,’ said Dolly. ‘But I’m no army bab.’

Tuck regarded the thick stew with appreciation. ‘American meat?’

‘An American friend brought it over.’

‘Ah,’ said Tuck. ‘Very handy to know, those Americans.’ He sat at the table and Dolly put a plate of stew in front of him.

‘So, tell us about Nick Ross,’ said Dolly.

Tuck put his fork down to look at her. ‘What do you want to know? He’s who he is. Gorgeous, enigmatic.’ He laughed softly. ‘Don’t get ideas about him. He’s a horror where women are concerned. Love them and leave them, that’s his motto.’

‘I heard he’d been court-martialled.’ Dolly’s voice was indifferent; her eyes told another story.

Tuck stared at her, before applying himself to the stew again. ‘If he faced court martial, he wasn’t convicted, obviously. Nick has his secrets. We all do. Don’t pry, Dolly. That would be most unwise. There’s a war on, remember.’

Dolly flushed and finished her stew in silence.

After dinner we sat in the lounge room with our drinks. Never in my life had I drunk so much alcohol as in the past six weeks I’d spent at Avoca. Although spirits were rationed for ordinary Australians, Dolly’s American friends had access to as much alcohol as they wanted and they were very generous. But it meant that my nights were sometimes a haze and the day following was one of headaches and irritability. I sipped my brandy slowly and refused a refill. I’d need my wits about me now that I was to be working closely with Nick Ross.

‘What’s it like to work with him?’ asked Tuck, apparently reading my mind.

I looked up to see his expression of sly amusement.

‘With whom?’ I asked.

‘Ross.’

‘I only found out yesterday that I’m going to be working with him. It’s . . . unlikely to be boring, although I suspect it’ll sometimes be tedious.’

Dolly was sitting beside me on the sofa, legs tucked up beneath her, nursing a brandy and watching us with an intensity that surprised me.

Tuck had a whisky and soda. He lifted his glass in a mock toast to me. ‘I hear you’ve caught the interest of his Viking bodyguard.’

I kept my face expressionless, looked at him through half-closed eyes and raised one shoulder in a tiny shrug, a gesture I’d learned in Paris. It was one that said
I know you’re mocking me and I simply don’t care
.

‘Eric Lund,’ he went on, obviously pressing for information. ‘Ross’s big blond shadow. His amigo.’

‘He’s not so big,’ I said. ‘I doubt he’s much taller than Ross, or you.’

Tuck thought about it. ‘He seems to fill any room he’s in,’ he said. One side of his mouth raised in a sort of smile. ‘Fills it with menace the way Ross fills it with charm. Lund’s a taciturn fellow. I’d keep clear of the brute if I were you, Stella Aldridge.’

‘I don’t find him taciturn,’ I said. ‘Or menacing.’

Tuck’s smile widened, became real.

In our short acquaintance, I’d not thought Eric to be menacing. But then, I had an appalling record at reading men’s characters.

Tuck left soon after. Dolly saw him to the door and when she returned she seemed out of sorts.

‘So, did Nick Ross hang around after he’d put me to bed the other night?’ Her voice was high. I was annoyed at myself when I felt my cheeks become hot.

‘He had a scotch and then left. I didn’t
entertain
him, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘I can’t see that you’d be his type, anyway.’ Dolly’s eyes were narrowed and her smile malicious. The situation would turn nasty if I didn’t diffuse it. I forced myself to smile.

‘No. I’m definitely not his type. He made that very clear. I think he simply feels sorry for the war widow who can’t afford painting materials.’

Dorothy’s face lightened. ‘How sweet of him. Are you going to tell Captain Deacon?’

‘Yes. I think I have to.’

She really smiled then. ‘Sensible girl. I do hope it doesn’t get Nick into trouble. He’ll be annoyed with you if it does.’

I took the box to my bedroom. Charcoals, pencils, three brushes bound together with an elastic band, a small watercolour sketchbook and a cardboard box containing at least a dozen tubes of paint. I stared at the treasures in front of me and felt saliva in my mouth, just like a hungry person faced with a feast. My longing to start painting again had become an ache deep inside me, so strong that it was almost overwhelming. I’d never have been able to find, or afford, what was lying in front of me.

My heart was racing and my mind was already working out what I still had to do in preparation for actual painting. The bathtub would do for soaking the paper, when I got it, but I needed a board on which to stretch it afterwards. I preferred to use canvas stretcher bars, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, so I’d need to buy some gummed tape to stick the paper to the board. It looked like he’d got me sable brushes – perfect. I couldn’t see any mediums, but he couldn’t be expected to know about them. I could make do with what he’d given me and get what else I needed myself.

I would take the easel to the river and paint
en plein air
, just as I’d done in Paris. I imagined dipping the brush into the colour, sweeping paint onto the paper, showing Eric my paintings when he returned . . .

My mood plummeted, and I sat down heavily on the bed. Eric, who also loved to paint, was somewhere in Japanese-occupied territory, risking his life, while I took gifts from a man he seemed to hate, but who Tuck said was his amigo.

I can get whatever you need
. . .

I’d be working closely with Ross on this project, which was a worry. I mistrusted handsome men, and I deeply mistrusted handsome, charming men. Still, I had experience in keeping men at arm’s length. I looked again at the materials. If Captain Deacon said I could keep them, then I could start painting again. And the thought of painting again made me smile.

Fifteen

‘Y
es, Sergeant. Lieutenant Ross told me he wanted to obtain painting materials for you. Asked me if it was appropriate for him to do so in the circumstances.’

Captain Deacon hadn’t been at all fazed by my question; in fact he’d seemed relieved that I’d mentioned it. ‘I told him that there was no problem, so long as . . .’ He paused and glanced down at his fingernails. ‘You know the rules against fraternisation.’

When he looked up at me, it was obvious that he expected a response.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You seem like a sensible woman. Not the sort to be swept off her feet . . .’

‘No, sir.’

‘We’re a small group here at APLO, and we all work closely together. Some of the formalities have been allowed to slide, to facilitate a sense of camaraderie.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

He smiled. ‘You’ll have to show me some of your paintings.’

‘Of course, sir.’

I saluted and left him, feeling very pleased with myself; I could accept Ross’s gift and I could begin to paint again. The feeling lasted less than a minute, as long as it took to walk out of his office and down the hallway towards my room and see Dolly and Lieutenant Cole.

They were outside Cole’s office. The Lieutenant had her backed up against the wall with his arms on either side of her, boxing her in. There was a haunted look on her face. She was staring at the floor and there were tiny beads of sweat on her upper lip.

‘No more, Dolly.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ It was taking all of her effort not to cry. That was clear in her trembling lips and fluttering eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I just thought –’

‘There’s no need –’

‘I didn’t –’

He must have seen me out of the corner of his eye, because he swung around.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I’m going to my office, sir.’

‘Then get on with it.’

‘Yes, sir.’

I went straight into my office and stood by the door, listening. No sounds of conversation wafted in from the corridor, but the door was solid wood and the walls were thick. After a minute or two I felt like a fool standing there. I imagined myself in a Pre-Raphaelite painting entitled
The Eavesdropper
. I walked over to my desk and started working.

I caught up with Dolly in the corridor after lunch.

‘May I talk to you?’

Her look was suspicious. ‘What about?’

‘Lieutenant Cole seemed very angry with you.’

Her eyes darted around, behind, beside me. Checking for the enemy, I thought.

‘He went out about an hour ago,’ I said, in as reassuring voice as I could muster.