Araluen (13 page)

Solly didn’t mind the American’s drunkenness, vulgarity, or style of play. Solly didn’t mind anything. Solly was winning. He’d been right, he thought, knocking back another vodka and nodding for Millie to fill the glass. This was his night.

‘As a young man I was going to go to America,’ he said while Paddy shuffled the cards. ‘But I come here instead. From Poland. She is a difficult country to live in, Poland. But she is beautiful. So beautiful.’

Sam stared balefully at him. Who the hell cared about Poland? And how come the yid was winning every hand? The bonhomie he’d felt towards Solly earlier had long since soured. Sam now found him irritating. But then Sam was finding the whole evening irritating. He wasn’t enjoying the game and he wanted it to be over. It wasn’t because he was a poor sport. He normally weathered his losses well. But he was too distracted to enjoy the night. He was too distracted by the woman.

Sam could see her lush body through the fabric of her modest, well-cut dress. Who did she think she was fooling, dressing like one of the gentry? She was a working woman, Sam could see that. And who the hell did Franklin Ross think he was, introducing her like she was a woman of class? She was no lady. Sam could sense Millie’s sexuality and it was driving him mad. The more he drank, the more he became consumed by his lust.

As Millie put the glass of vodka down beside Solly, Sam held his own glass up to her, deliberately brushing her breast with the back of his hand. ‘Another bourbon,’ he said and he held her look before allowing his eyes to travel down her body.

No one had noticed. Paddy was busy dealing the cards, Solly was leaning back in his chair, waxing loquacious and Franklin had just stepped out onto the balcony to join Peter Lynell and escape the cigar smoke.

Millie felt her cheeks flush. It wasn’t the American’s desire that was insulting, it was his assessment of her. She knew he saw her as working class. She knew, furthermore, that he saw her as the type of woman who was accessible to men. The type of woman who would moan in bed as she gave herself to a lover. The final humiliation for Millie was her knowledge that the man’s assessment was right. She walked back to the bar, deeply disheartened. How could she ever have thought there was a place for her in Franklin’s life, among his class, when she could be so easily read?

‘Now more than ever Poland will be a difficult
place to live,’ Solly continued, enjoying his own conversation. ‘This Adolf Hitler, he is greedy, and now that he is Chancellor of Germany there will be a war, I know it. A big war that will involve everyone. Including Australia.’ He picked up his cards. ‘Australia will ally with Britain just like in the First World War and it will be a bloody one, I tell you. I put my money on it that I am right, you just see.’

‘Try putting your money on the table,’ Sam growled. ‘It’s your bet.’

Paddy smiled at Solly. ‘If there is a war there’ll be a lot of people making a lot of money, you can bet on that,’ he said amiably. There was no need for the American to be so rude to Solly, he thought.

Solly grinned back. If anyone knew about making money out of a war it was certainly Paddy Conway.

‘Not just guns, mind,’ Paddy corrected. ‘People get rich a lot of ways in a war.’ And he turned his attention to the cards.

That was when the idea hit Solly and he stared back at the Irishman. Of course! That was it! That was how he was going to repay Franklin. That was how he was going to once more become a man of honour in Franklin’s eyes. He was going to make Franklin rich! Everything was suddenly clear to Solly.

‘Are you in or out, for Christ’s sake?’ the American barked.

‘Sorry. In,’ Solly said and he opened the bidding.

An hour later, Solly’s money was gone, but he was happy. He’d won what he’d set out to win and he had the piece of paper in his pocket to prove it.

Franklin had been downstairs fetching more bourbon and vodka and hadn’t witnessed the final bidding. Peter Lynell had retired for the night, Paddy Conway had been well and truly cleaned out and the play had been left to Solly and Sam. Solly had called the American’s bluff. A big risk. All or nothing. But he’d won. He couldn’t wait to tell Franklin.

‘Thank you, Mr Crockett,’ he said as he put on his jacket. The American’s belligerence was so extreme now that even Solly couldn’t ignore it so he’d dropped the first name and the camaraderie. ‘I have enjoyed this evening.’

‘Yes, I’ll bet you have,’ Sam said, hauling himself to his feet. ‘Get me a drink.’ He clicked his fingers at Millie.

‘Mr Ross is fetching another bottle of bourbon,’ she answered stiffly. ‘He shouldn’t be long.’

Sam looked at her. ‘Mr Ross.’ She called him Mr Ross. He wondered whether they were lovers. Of course they were. They didn’t let it show in public, but of course they were. Franklin Ross knew the woman’s body. He’d caressed her breasts. She’d opened her thighs for him. She’d panted like a bitch on heat for him.

‘He’s taking too long,’ Sam said, crossing to her. ‘Let’s go downstairs and find our own bottle.’ He put his arm around her and, before she could pull away, his hand was on her breast.

‘Let her go.’ Franklin was standing at the door.

Sam took his hand from Millie’s breast but kept
his arm draped around her and looked malevolently at Franklin. Millie tried to edge to one side but Crockett gripped her shoulder.

Franklin handed the two bottles he was carrying to Paddy. ‘I said, let her go,’ he repeated.

‘I thought I might take the little lady down to the lounge for a drink.’ Sam’s smile was insolent. ‘Away from this cigar smoke. It’s so close in here.’

Millie stared at the floor. Why did she feel guilty? Why did she feel responsible for this hideous confrontation?

Franklin saw her reaction and he felt a rush of anger. He walked over to Sam. ‘I’ll say it one last time.
Let her go’

‘Oh come on now, Mr Ross, I’m a guest in your establishment.’ The smile was now goading. ‘A drink with the little lady, that’s not too much to ask, surely?’

Franklin pushed Sam’s arm roughly from Millie’s shoulder, took her by the hand, and led her away.

The American’s smile faded and his face turned ugly. ‘What’s all the fuss about, Ross? Who do you think you’re kidding anyway? She’s a working woman.’

It all happened in a split second. Two paces back to the big man, then Franklin’s arm shot out and Sam was on the floor, dizzy, clutching the side of his face. He stared up in disbelief.

‘You’re drunk, Crockett,’ Franklin said tightly. ‘We’ll forget this happened.’

If Sam was drunk, he certainly didn’t feel it. Not any more. He felt enraged. Angered beyond belief. His eyes were stone cold sober as he pulled himself
to his feet and confronted Franklin. ‘I demand satisfaction.’

‘You’ll have none. I refuse to fight.’ Franklin turned away.

‘A duel.’ Sam picked up his jacket which was hanging over the back of his chair. He reached inside it and pulled out a Colt .38 revolver from its leather holster sewn inside. ‘I demand a duel.’

Millie, Franklin, Solly, Paddy, all stared at the American in disbelief. Was the man mad?

‘A duel,’ he repeated. ‘You owe it to me.’

Paddy Conway was the first one to try and reason. ‘Don’t be a fool, man,’ he said. ‘Put the gun away.’

‘You struck me to the ground and I demand satisfaction,’ Sam repeated, not taking his eyes off Franklin.

‘Paddy’s right,’ Franklin said. ‘Don’t be a fool. This is 1934. No one fights duels any more.’ ‘You refuse?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you’re a coward then.’

‘No,’ Franklin replied evenly. ‘I don’t have a gun.’

Sam took one step forward and, with the back of his hand, struck Franklin hard across his right cheek. ‘I say you’re a coward,’ he repeated.

A shocking second passed. A second when Franklin didn’t move but his eyes turned to steel. ‘Now I come to think of it,’ he said, and the voice was deadly, dangerous, ‘I know where I can find a gun.’ He turned to Paddy Conway and held out his hand.

Paddy reached inside the jacket he’d kept on all
evening and took the Webley .455 from its shoulder holster. He handed it to Franklin.

There was a gasp from Millie but, apart from that, silence as Franklin broke the breach and checked the cylinder. Then he turned to Paddy and Solly. ‘Are you prepared to act as seconds?’ he asked. The two men agreed and Franklin turned again to Sam. ‘Acceptable to you, Mr Crockett?’ Sam nodded. ‘Then make your choice.’ Sam chose Paddy Conway.

‘I think we’ll find the light is best on the lawn,’ Franklin said and he led the way. No one spoke as they followed him out of the suite, down the central staircase and into the main hall.

Through the arch to the left, a number of guests were still gathered in the lounge. There were several houseguests playing cards in one corner and a group of late diners were dawdling over final cognacs and being entertained by Robert Mitchell. They all turned and stared at the two men and the guns they carried as Franklin paused and motioned for Robert to join him. ‘Stay with Robert, Millie,’ he muttered. And, before he could protest, he and the others had walked away.

The guests followed at a respectable distance and they were joined by The Colony House staff members who were still working. Everyone spilled out onto the front verandah to watch as the men crossed the main driveway and walked towards the harbourside lawn.

A couple of staff members disappeared upstairs and, several seconds later, french windows opened and people appeared on balconies.

Finally the hushed whispers died down and an
eerie silence settled upon the proceedings. The men took up their positions on the grassy slope in the hazy light of the gaslamps, their reflections flickering in the harbour waters behind them.

Paddy Conway was elected duel marshal. ‘I’m not positive as to the correct etiquette, gentlemen. Back to back, fifteen paces. Does that sound all right?’ he asked.

‘It’ll do.’ Sam gave a curt nod. ‘Call the paces out loud. At fifteen we turn and fire in our own time,’ he instructed.

Solly took Franklin’s jacket and stood to one side. He muttered a quick ‘Good luck, Boss’, but Franklin didn’t acknowledge it.

‘Are you ready sir?’ the American demanded.

‘I’m ready.’

They stood back to back and Paddy started counting slowly and loudly. ‘One … Two … Three
From the front verandah and the balconies, a crowd of people watched, breathless. Although it was a warm, balmy night Millie started to shiver. How had it come to this? What had she done? She knew she was somehow responsible, but what had she done? It had all happened so quickly. ‘Five … Six … Seven … ’ What if Franklin were killed? Oh God! She started to shake uncontrollably. Robert Mitchell put his arm around her shoulders and supported her.

‘Nine … Ten … Eleven … ’ Paddy Conway’s voice rang out clear in the night air. Solly watched Franklin, each step precise and measured, his back, as always, ramrod straight. Solly couldn’t see his face but he could see the tilt of the head
and he knew the jaw would be set and the eyes cold and clear. Sure, the Boss was a strong man, not easily frightened, but what did he know of duels?

‘Thirteen … Fourteen … Fifteen.’ The two men stopped. They turned. Paddy Conway’s voice hung in the air, then the crack of a pistol shot rang out in the night and a spurt of flame leapt from the American’s gun.

Franklin, his right arm extended, revolver pointing at the American, felt the bullet enter his body. It was rather like being hit with a hammer, he thought vaguely. Although there was no immediate pain and although he was still standing, he felt the warmth of his blood as it rolled down the skin of his arm from the hole in his left shoulder. But he continued to stare along the barrel of his revolver. There was no rush now. Plenty of time. One shot each, that was the agreement. He squared his gun sights.

Solly had been right, Franklin knew nothing of duels. But Franklin knew a great deal about guns and targets. He’d been taught at a very early age. And as a child, whether he’d been sighting on the potatoes his father had placed on the top of the fence posts or whether he’d been sighting on the marauding birds over the vines, Franklin had always liked to take his time.

Now the sights of his revolver were perfectly set on the bridge of the American’s nose. The bullet would hit right between the eyes. The back of Sam’s head would be blown away and he’d drop like a stone.

Franklin waited for the American to falter,
waited for him to show some sign of fear, perhaps even to beg. But he didn’t. He stood motionless, waiting, a massive figure in the lamplight. Franklin had to admire him for that.

As Samuel Crockett looked at the unwavering barrel thirty paces away he realised that Franklin Ross knew his business. Franklin Ross was going to kill him. Sam cursed himself. He’d been too eager, had fired too quickly. Unlike him. It was the liquor of course. What a fool he’d been. And why wasn’t the Australian firing back, damn him? Because he wants to make me sweat, that’s why, Sam thought.

Beads of perspiration sprang out on his upper lip and his brow. Well, I’m sweating, you bastard. Shoot!

A tiny vein started to twitch in Sam’s left temple. He wants to break me, he thought. He wants me to beg. Be damned, Ross! I’ll die before I grovel to any man.

Samuel Crockett stood his ground.

At the very last second, just before the gunshot rang out and the flame flashed, Sam saw Franklin alter his aim. Then he felt a tearing pain in his left shoulder and he dropped to his knees.

Slowly Franklin walked over to him. Sam rose to his feet to face him, his left arm hanging uselessly by his side.

‘A shoulder for a shoulder, Mr Ross?’ he said.

But Franklin didn’t answer. His wound was starting to ache and he was annoyed that he’d allowed himself to be landed in such a situation. The whole thing was a wasted exercise.

‘Would you care to accompany me to my doctor’s
rooms?’ he asked and he handed his gun to Paddy Conway.

The following afternoon Sam and Franklin sat down in the front lounge for coffee and a business meeting, their shoulders bound and their arms in slings. The meeting had been arranged at Sam’s suggestion.