Araluen (14 page)

‘Mr Mankowski tells me we’re partners,’ he’d said when he’d tapped on Franklin’s door an hour ago. ‘Let’s meet for coffee and discuss the situation.’

Franklin had been utterly mystified but the man seemed amiable enough, besides which he’d actually apologised for his behaviour towards Millie. In a very oblique way, admittedly: ‘May have overstepped the mark a little’ was what he said. But Franklin took it as an apology. ‘The front lounge in one hour?’ he suggested.

‘So,’ said Franklin, lifting the steaming coffee to his lips, ‘in what way are we partners?’

‘I believe you own fifty per cent of my Queensland beef cattle.’ Sam also took a sip of his coffee. ‘Good and strong,’ he said approvingly. ‘I like it that way.’ Then he put his cup down and continued. ‘And that means Mandinulla, my ranch -well, you call them stations down here, don’t you?’ he corrected - ‘and my one hundred square miles of grazing land as well as my prime stock.’

He shook his head in disbelief. ‘That was some win, I tell you.’

He drained his cup and exhaled loudly as it burned the back of his throat. ‘Mind you,’ he said,
pouring himself another coffee, ‘I was gambling like a fool last night.’

Franklin continued to stare at the man, bemused, thinking that perhaps the duelling wound had addled his senses. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t betting.’

‘No, but your friend Mankowski was. And when I met him this morning to discuss our debt, he said he was winning for you.’ Franklin looked at the American, dumbfounded. ‘You mean you didn’t know?’ Sam asked and when Franklin shook his head, he shrugged. ‘Well, I guess you better sort it out with Mankowski, but he was very insistent and I’ve contacted my lawyers to start drawing up the necessary papers.’

Sam dropped his air of indifference and leaned forward in his chair. ‘I must say, Ross, if I have to share my property with anyone, I’m honoured that it is a man of your character and courage.’

It was a big thing for the American to say and Franklin realised that, whether he liked it or not, he had probably won a friend for life. ‘Thank you, Sam,’ he said.

‘What the hell do you mean, you were winning for me?’ Franklin demanded.

‘Just what I say, Boss, and the proof – here it is.’ Solly took a piece of paper from his pocket and, with a flourish, handed it to Franklin. Sure enough, it was a letter of agreement from Samuel Crockett signing over a half-share of his Queensland holdings.

Solly couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. He
had never before seen Franklin Ross at a loss for words. ‘I do good, eh?’

After a moment’s dumbfounded silence, Franklin looked up from the letter. ‘You’re a madman, Solly,’ he said. Solly nodded in happy agreement. ‘What the hell am I going to do with a cattle station in Queensland?’

‘Get rich, Boss. Very, very, very rich. There will be a war in Europe, I tell you … ’

‘Yes, time and time again you tell me.’

‘And Australia, she will ally with Britain like the last time. And the army, the army, it will need supplies.’ There was no stopping Solly now. ‘Paddy Conway, he say it, "People, they can become rich in a war".’ Then he added hastily, ‘Not bad rich, Boss – good rich. Sell beef to the army, sell leather goods to the army.’ Solly’s eyes were shining enthusiastically. ‘I design good boots and belts, we buy a factory and we make thousands and thousands … ‘He stopped briefly. Franklin’s expression was still enigmatic. ‘Of course, we always give good price for the army,’ he added. ‘We help the allies.’

Finally Franklin had to give in. ‘You’re a madman but you’re right,’ he agreed.

They talked for an hour or so and, as usual, many of Solly’s ideas were excellent. They both agreed that Franklin should start making some firm contacts in the British military. And soon. For two reasons. Inside information on the state of the European situation was needed, and, with well-established contacts, Franklin would automatically be one-up on his competitors when it came to bidding for an army contract.

It was time for Franklin’s appointment with his doctor. The dressing on his shoulder had to be changed daily. But, as he was about to leave, Solly had one last request.

‘Hey, Boss, I look for factory to buy. You trust me?’ Franklin nodded.

A week later, Viscount Peter Lynell returned to England with a request to prepare his considerable contacts in the British military for Franklin’s arrival in six months. He was more than happy to oblige.

Franklin accompanied him to the passenger terminal and shared a brandy with him in his stateroom on A deck. ‘Don’t forget to bring some prize vintages with you,’ Peter added after they’d made their farewells. ‘We’ll educate the top brass in Australian wines. That’ll get them on side.’

It was late afternoon when Franklin arrived back at The Colony House and he was tired. He’d been tired for over a week. Although the shoulder was healing well, it ached constantly, which was debilitating. Also debilitating was the camaraderie it bred between him and Sam – or rather, the camaraderie Sam chose to believe it bred. Sam told everyone about the duel, referred to Franklin as a legend, calling him ‘partner’ to his face and boasting of their undying friendship. The man was utterly exhausting and Franklin couldn’t wait for him to go back to America.

‘Come on up for a drink, partner!’ Sam called. He was sitting on his balcony with a set of cronies,
preparing to watch the sunset as he did each evening.

Franklin waved back with his good arm. ‘Sorry, too busy,’ he said and ducked inside. It wasn’t as though Sam were starved for company, after all.

Safely in his suite, Franklin had no sooner sunk into an armchair than there was a tap on the door. It was Millie. She was pale, but her eyes were glowing and she looked excited.

‘I need to talk to you, Franklin,’ she said a little breathlessly.

‘Of course, my dear.’ He rose, kissed her on the cheek and crossed to the cabinet. ‘May I get you a drink?’

‘No, please,’ she said. ‘Sit down, you look weary.’

Franklin took her by the hand, led her to the sofa and they sat together. He waited. There was a hesitancy about her. ‘What is it, Millie?’ he asked.

She hadn’t prepared a speech. She’d decided she would just come out with it. She had no idea what his reaction would be but there was such tenderness in his eyes now, surely it would be the one she’d been praying for. Indeed, he’d been very loving towards her for the past week. Ever since the duel.

‘I’m going to have a baby,’ she said. There. She’d done it.

His reaction was unlike any of the possibilities she’d contemplated. It was nothing. He simply stared ahead, as if he hadn’t heard her.

‘Franklin?’ she said, finally. ‘Did you hear me, I said I’m – ’

‘I heard you,’ Franklin replied, still not looking at her. And he crossed to the cabinet and poured himself a brandy. ‘How far gone?’

Millie felt a tightening in her chest.
Far gone -
what did he mean, talking like that? ‘The doctor said I’m between six to eight weeks.’

‘Still time to get rid of it, then.’ He took a deep swig of brandy.

The tightening in Millie’s chest shifted to her stomach and she felt suddenly nauseous. ‘You can’t mean that.’

‘What are the alternatives? Marry you, is that what you want? Or acknowledge the child out of wedlock - which is it to be?’ He drained the brandy, then turned and looked at her for the first time. ‘I will never marry you. And I will never give my name to a bastard.’

There was no anger in Franklin’s eyes. Millie would have preferred it if there had been. Instead, they were cold and dead. ‘You haven’t played by the rules, Millie,’ he said.

The sick feeling in her stomach slowly disappeared as Millie realised what the outcome was to be. ‘I won’t get rid of it.’ It came out a whisper but her decision was just as irrevocable as his.

‘Very well.’ Franklin put down his glass. ‘I shall make arrangements for a monthly allowance to be transferred to a bank of your choice. Under the proviso, of course, that you are never to contact me nor ever to divulge the identity of the father of your child. Should you do so, all funds will be – ’

‘I don’t want your money, Franklin.’ Millie suddenly felt very strong. ‘And I promise you, you shan’t see me again.’

‘Very well.’ Franklin opened the door for her. ‘That is your decision.’

‘But you can’t do this, Boss … ’ Solly was shocked almost speechless.

‘I’m not telling you in order to elicit your opinion, Solly.’ The eyes were still cold and dead. ‘She won’t accept my money but when she becomes desperate she will no doubt accept yours – for the child’s sake. I am going to open a separate account from which you may draw funds and I expect you to see to her needs.’

‘That I would have done anyway,’ Solly answered.

Before he could continue, Franklin interrupted. ‘She will need to move out of that poky little room at some stage. You will see to that too and, when you do, I have no desire to be informed of her whereabouts.’

‘You’re a hard man, Boss,’ Solly said as Franklin turned to go. ‘You want to watch one day that it does not catch up with you.’ But the words hung in the air, unheard.

Franklin had closed his mind to Millie. She belonged to the past and he must concentrate on the future.

V
ISCOUNT PETER LYNELL
stepped out onto the balcony of his club and breathed deeply. The dozen or so friends with whom he’d just dined were all smoking cigars and he was grateful to escape the stale air of the club lounge.

London was well into spring but the evenings retained a winter nip and the breeze which now swept up from the Thames was chilly. Lights glowed along the Victoria embankment and intriguing pinpoints flickered on the black waters as the night traffic made its mysterious way up and down the river.

Peter could hear the men carousing in the lounge behind him. He even heard one of them mention the name Franklin Ross. Yes, he thought, pleased with himself, the wheels were well and truly set in motion. Everyone was looking forward to meeting the Australian.

It was the story of the duel that did it, of course. It impressed men and women alike, but particularly the top brass, and it was the military, after all, that Franklin was out to impress. Peter congratulated
himself. He’d done well. He was looking forward to Franklin’s arrival next week. It would be amusing to show a novice around London.

He looked at his watch. Eleven o’clock. Time to pick up Miss Greenway from the theatre. It was the final performance of
Quality Street
and she wanted him to accompany her to the closing night party. He didn’t particularly fancy a gathering of theatricals but he certainly fancied the company of Miss Greenway.

Penelope Jane Greenway had forgotten the time when she used to be Penny Green from Brighton-Le-Sands, Sydney, and she’d made sure that everyone else had forgotten too. Not that she had anything to be ashamed of. Brighton-Le-Sands was a good, middle-class suburb, her parents were good, middle-class people and her upbringing was as proper as that of every other good, middle-class girl of the twenties. But Penny knew she could do better. So, in 1933 at the age of twenty-one, she set sail for Europe aboard the SS
Invercargill
and, despite the fact that she shared an eight-berth cabin on F deck, she was Penelope Jane Greenway when she arrived. Penelope Jane Greenway, actress.

The six weeks at sea were eventful and Penelope learned a lot. Most importantly, she learned the power of her beauty. She’d been aware of it before, of course. She’d been aware throughout her childhood that she could use her beauty to bewitch her parents and their friends. During her
school days, and at Ladies Business College, she’d been aware that her contemporaries wanted to be like her. And of course she’d been aware that her many young suitors were very much in love with her. But it was aboard the SS
Invercargill
that Penny realised she could use her beauty to manipulate men. It was there she discovered male lust and the fact that she could evade it, control it and turn it to her advantage.

It started with the besotted purser who smuggled her regularly into first class where she partied and flirted with the wealthy. That was when she decided to become Penelope Jane Greenway. And ‘actress’ sounded glamorous. It was what she wanted to become, after all, and she’d played Cecily in the Brighton-Le-Sands Amateur Theatrical Society’s production of
The Importance of Being Earnest
so she knew what she was talking about.

The purser was easy enough to keep under control. She opened her mouth for his kiss, even though she detested the feel of his tongue. And she let his fingers stray briefly to her breast. But the moment he pressed his groin against hers and she felt his awful hardness, she excused herself and headed for the eight-berth cabin.

Deluded by the belief that he would one day bed her in his comfortable cabin on B deck, the purser continued to be accommodating and the following evening saw Penny once again mingling in first class.

His hopes were futile. Penny intended to keep her final gift for the man who bought the full article. Penelope Jane Greenway was a professional virgin.

London proved as easy to conquer as the SS
Invercargill.
She kept her part-time secretarial job a secret while she attended the elitist social functions to which she was invited by virtue of her beauty and the influential contacts she’d made in first class and, over the next six months, her field of contacts broadened to include actors of note and influential entrepreneurs. Finally, Penelope Jane Greenway got her break. She was cast as Poppy Dickey in
Rookery Nook
and the critics were kind.

‘Miss Penelope Jane Greenway is a beguiling Poppy. Tall, slim and dressed in camiknickers, she displays a generous amount of well-proportioned leg while singing ‘Yes Sir, She’s My Baby’. However, with her short-cropped auburn hair, porcelain skin and perfect features, she rises above the possible tasteless nature of the role.’

A number of minor roles followed ‘Poppy Dickey’ and, although the critics rarely commented upon her talent, or lack thereof, they were unanimous in their appreciation of her beauty and charm.