A Time of Secrets (32 page)

‘You’re in a good mood this morning.’

Ross was standing in the doorway to my office. I had been humming to myself as I worked, humming ‘The Anniversary Waltz’, and I suppose I was smiling. I hadn’t been able to stop smiling all morning. I looked across at Ross and frowned.

I was trying to gauge
his
mood.

‘Eric’s back in Melbourne,’ he said.

‘I know that.’ I’d sounded truculent, so I modified my tone. ‘I ran into him at the Palais Royale last night.’

‘Are you seeing him tonight?’

‘Yes.’

I got a grunt in reply. He put five more folders on my desk.

‘The Indigo Alpha party leave for Timor today,’ he said.

‘I know.’ It worried me that we’d be sending the men up there when I had so many doubts. But I knew we couldn’t go to Captain Molloy with suspicions, gut feelings, and expect him to abort a mission that had been planned for months.

Another grunt from Ross. He turned and left the room.

*

When Eric came to Avoca to take me to dinner, I had the impression that he didn’t really approve of Dolly, although she was at her most charming. That worried me and I was quiet as we took the tram into the city, to a secluded little restaurant he told me had been recommended by Lois Meyers. I stared into the darkness of the Botanic Gardens as the tram rattled down Domain Road, and thought about it. Dolly could be hard work. She was brittle and chatty and a bit of a snob. Not the sort of woman that a man like Eric would particularly like. I forced myself to relax.

We settled in to a leisurely meal and began the probing conversation of a couple that wanted to get to know each other quickly, but not appear too inquisitive. I told him about my childhood in Malaya, my years at boarding school in Kent, about my sister in England and my father in Sydney.

‘How long were you married?’

I’d been dreading questions about my marriage. I concentrated on the lemon delicious I’d ordered for dessert, on not looking at him when I replied.

‘We were married in June 1937. Frank shipped off to North Africa in February 1940 and died in Syria a year later. So not quite four years.’

‘You were, what, nineteen when you married?’

‘Nearly twenty. My birthday’s in August.’

‘And Frank was . . .?’

‘Thirty.’ I looked up at him. ‘If you don’t mind, I don’t want to talk about my marriage.’

His face gave nothing away. ‘What do you want to know about me, then?’

‘You said your parents are looking after your house. Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

He was very still for a moment and when he spoke his voice was so soft I hardly heard it. ‘My two sisters both died when I was nine. Diphtheria. They died within a day of each other. Lisa was eleven and Rosie was three.’

‘Oh, Eric. How dreadful.’

I reached out to touch his hand where it lay on the table. He flinched, and I pulled my hand back. I picked up my fork and continued eating, despite the nausea that came with the thought of how it would have been if I’d lost my sister, Jill. She was two years older than me and we’d been inseparable as children.

He gave a brief nod. ‘After they died I wouldn’t go to school. Wouldn’t do anything much. Just stayed in my room and sketched. So they sent me to boarding school in Perth.’

‘And you met Lieutenant Ross there?’

The tension in his shoulders released. ‘That’s right. Scotch College – it’s in a leafy Perth suburb, in an old gold-boom mansion.’

‘You and Nick Ross seem very different. To be such good friends, I mean.’

‘We sort of fell into friendship. The first time he saved my life was six months after I arrived at school.’

‘Saved your life?’

‘Four of us found an old punt on the riverbank. Didn’t even have oars, so we used some old pickets we’d found in the sand.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It capsized in deep water. The Doctor had come in and conditions were rough.’

‘The Doctor?’

‘Fremantle Doctor. The sea breeze. It was blowing hard and made the water very choppy. I couldn’t swim. Nick kept my head above water. Nearly drowned himself, but wouldn’t let go of me. Another boy did drown.’ Eric shuddered and blew out a breath that could have been a laugh or a sigh. ‘Later we swore an oath that Nick had made up from a film he’d seen and we cut our wrists and became blood brothers.’

‘He said you saved
his
life on the Kestrel mission.’

‘I suppose I did. He hated that. Nick prefers to do the saving.’

I glanced around. We were in a corner, and the other tables weren’t close. I lowered my voice anyway. ‘I think that the failure of Operation Kestrel has been tearing him apart, made him a little crazy.’

Eric looked down, away from me. ‘It seemed clear to me that the mission had been compromised and the enemy knew we were there. I strongly disagreed with Nick’s decision to go to the drop site anyway, but he forced the issue and it was a disaster.’ His breathing had quickened. ‘Nick’s mistake resulted in the enemy destroying two native villages and around twenty natives were killed. One of our men died, too.’

‘A man called Mike,’ I said. ‘Who had a girl called Irene. Who you visited, to tell her about his death.’

His head jerked up. ‘How –’

‘Irene came up to me that night in Leggett’s and asked me not to report you. It was sweet of you to go to see her, give her the letter.’

‘All he said to me was her name. Said her name and then he died. He was holding the letter addressed to her. When we got back I delivered it. Owed him that much. He’d radioed for help when we were attacked and he kept transmitting even when he was –’ He stared at the table. ‘Because of that they knew to pick us up.’

‘Eric . . .’ I wasn’t sure how to ask my question and busied myself loading my fork with dessert. ‘Why did you assault Lieutenant Ross after you left me at Leggett’s?’

He looked at me with a quizzical expression. ‘I didn’t. Did Nick tell you that?’

I froze, fork halfway to my mouth. ‘No.’ My voice was hesitant. ‘I suppose I simply assumed it. His face was a terrible mess.’

Eric’s gaze hardened. ‘You see that Nick’s been bashed and you assume it was me who did it?’ All trace of good humour was gone from his face.

I swallowed; the sweet dessert caught in my throat, as if it would choke me. ‘On Saturday afternoon I heard you say you’d like to kill him. You ducked out of Leggett’s in a tearing hurry on Saturday night, leaving me sprawled on the floor. On Sunday he was black and blue. On Monday, your knuckles were bruised, as if you’d been in a fight.’ I raised my head to hold his gaze. ‘Yes, Eric. I assumed it was you who’d injured him.’

‘You’ve heard I’m good at fighting?’

I nodded.

‘So you assume I like to fight?’ His voice was low, bitter. ‘Soldiers come up to me in pubs and pick fights because they’ve heard I’m good at fighting. They assume I like to fight, too.’ He put his fork down with a clatter that made me flinch and stared at me. ‘I
don’t
like to fight.’

‘I’m sorry, Eric. I just assumed.’

‘But you assumed the worst, Stella.’

‘I’m sorry. I misread the situation. I’m really sorry.’

‘Nick’d been warned not to go to Leggett’s that night.’ He picked up his fork and dug it into his pudding with a vicious thrust. ‘A marine had a grudge against him because of some girl. That’s why I was there, to check up on Nick. The reason I ran out on you was because I’d seen Nick leave, followed by a bunch of tough marines. And I mean really tough. They were laying into him when I turned up. I got him out.’

‘He didn’t tell me any details,’ I admitted.

He looked at me steadily. ‘Has Nick tried to . . .’

I flushed. ‘It was fairly half-hearted. I wasn’t interested and it annoyed him, I think.’

‘Some things you should know about Nick Ross. He’s a bastard to women. Treats the ones who fall for him with contempt. Goes all out to reel in the ones who aren’t interested. Usually succeeds, too.’ He looked up, stared at me. There was a question in his eyes.

‘I’m not interested in Nick Ross,’ I said, my voice as determined as I could make it. ‘For one thing, he’s my CO at the moment. And he . . . he’s not the sort of man I like.’

‘What sort of man is that?’ It was the light uninflected voice, the one he used to cloak his feelings.

I squirmed. ‘I don’t know. Level-headed. Reliable.’

‘Sounds like a job description for a clerk or a bank johnny.’

I made a face at him. ‘Also must appreciate art and be kind to children and animals. And to women. I couldn’t like a bad-tempered man, a violent man.’

I looked up to see a brief spasm pass over his face. ‘We’re all violent at times,’ he said. ‘Soldiers have to be.’

I flushed. ‘I mean – I mean
here
. In Australia. I hate bullies. Men who are needlessly violent.’

He stared into my eyes, so that I felt almost trapped in that blue gaze. ‘Some men like to fight, some men enjoy killing. I’ve seen it, seen the – I suppose you’d call it glee – in their faces when they shoot to kill.’

I swallowed nervously.

‘Not me. More than anything in the world I hate to kill another human being,’ he said. ‘It’s never got any easier.’

I had no idea how to respond, so I put my hand on his hand, where it lay on the table. Again he flinched at my touch and I wondered if I’d done the wrong thing. Then he threaded his fingers through mine. He seemed to relax.

‘Loud noises make me jump and I have bad dreams sometimes. I think it’ll go away when this is over.’ He looked down and began to play with my hand, moving the fingers, running his thumb over my palm, making it tingle. ‘I can get angry – what man doesn’t? – but I think I’m pretty level-headed usually. People tell me I’m reliable.’

He released my hand, but held my gaze, and again I felt as if I was drowning in the deep blue of his eyes. ‘I’m not a Yank and I don’t have any fancy lines, Stella, so I’ll tell you the truth. When I was away, you were all I could think about. I must have sketched you from memory a hundred times, but I just couldn’t capture you on the page. I think you’re beautiful, but it’s a lot more than that. I feel at ease when I’m with you, which is . . . remarkable.’

‘Oh,’ I said, heart thumping. There was a silly smile on my face that simply wouldn’t shift. Eric was flushed, but he seemed calm, as if he’d got through a test he’d set himself.

‘You don’t have to reply,’ he said, with a brief, rather embarrassed shrug. ‘At least you’re smiling.’

‘Of course I am,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t capture you on the page, either. I kept trying, the whole time you were away.’

His answering smile seemed to light up the room.

*

Bourke Street was crowded with men and women in service uniforms as we left the restaurant and walked towards Swanston Street. We were intending to catch a tram to the Trocadero Dance Palace near Princes Bridge. The Dug-out – the service canteen run by Myer – was full and the line to get in stretched down the street. There was a carefree, party atmosphere that matched my mood. Dark doorways contained couples entwined in close embrace. When Eric put his arm around me I rubbed my face in the rough wool of his jacket and felt the hard muscles beneath the fabric. I looked up at him and he smiled. We moved into the shadows and he bent towards me. This time there was no hesitancy in his kiss, and none in my response.

The Trocadero was hot and smoky and full of revellers. We danced until it closed at midnight, and walked home along St Kilda Road. His arm was tightly around me and I clung to him, matching my steps to his. Our footsteps were loud in the silence and my heart was thumping the whole way. When at last we reached Avoca I’d made up my mind.

‘You’ve missed the last tram. Stay here tonight.’

‘On the couch?’

‘The bed’s more comfortable.’

‘You sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

Twenty-nine

H
e brought the little bar heater into the bedroom and it stayed on all night. When I protested about the waste of electricity, he put paid to further talk by kissing me.

So when I awoke the next morning the bars still glowed orange and the room wasn’t as icy as usual, although it was still dark outside. Anyway, how could I be cold? For the first time since I’d arrived in Melbourne – for the first time in years – I hadn’t woken to chilly loneliness. Instead, I was sleepy and happy and snug, my mind befuddled with the pleasure of sound sleep after energetic and enjoyable activity.

I propped myself cautiously on one elbow and regarded the man lying beside me. The heater lit the room sufficiently for me to make out the features of his face. With his face relaxed in sleep, his thatch of fair hair tumbling over his forehead, Eric looked much as the schoolboy must have looked – the one Nick Ross had saved from drowning so many years before.

I didn’t want to disturb him, but I did rather hope that he’d wake soon. When I smoothed his hair away from his forehead there was a change in the rhythm of his breathing. He made a contented noise, deep in his throat. Without opening his eyes he felt for me with his hand and when he pulled me to him I marvelled again at how hot his skin was against mine.