Golden Hope (41 page)

Don't get excited. You thought you saw him watching you at the cemetery – but it was nothing but shadows.

Surely this time it was no mere trick of the light.

Rom stood smoking a cigarette. Dressed in a shabby khaki uniform, his dark hair was lank and longer than she remembered. The intensity of his unblinking stare was unmistakeable.

‘Rom! It's really you! You kept your promise!' The words dried in her throat. Conscious of the pot of boiling water, she placed it carefully on the stove.

Untying her apron, she tossed it behind her. Stumbling in haste down the back steps, she called his name joyously over and over.

Halting by the gum tree she looked around in bewilderment at the cow pasture in the next property, the grove of trees, the English hawthorn hedge. There was precious little cover. Rom was nowhere in sight.

She cried out in grief and anger and sank to her knees, beating her fists on the rocky ground, the physical pain a release from her inner anguish.

‘Rom! Stop it! Why are you playing games with me?'

The sharp, ugly sound of her sobbing drew Shadow to squat a few paces away.

Her hand shook as she pointed at him. ‘You go tell your master to stand and face me like a man, you hear?'

Shadow growled and instantly ran off in the direction of the hedge that must have concealed his master's get-away.

Clytie was shaken to the core by a sighting that moments later began to feel unreal. Was it no more than an image of Rom she had created in her imagination, a desperate desire to bring him back to her?

She felt buffeted by waves of confusion. Her emotions were in conflict, as if responding to the beat of a metronome that rapidly swung her between deep longing and anger at being cheated of touching him, hearing his voice. Had Rom bolted yet again?

Clytie stood transfixed, staring at the space at the end of the garden where she had seen him. Then she ran to explore the exact spot.
Her fingers traced the broken twigs on the earth, looking for tell-tale signs of footprints. There was nothing to prove that Rom had been standing there.

When Shadow reappeared he eyed her warily. She grabbed hold of his collar and yelled at him.

‘You saw him too, didn't you! It
was
Rom!'

Shadow lowered his head as if he expected to be reprimanded for his failure to retrieve his master.

‘That soldier must know if Rom's hiding out somewhere. I'll make him tell me if it's the last thing I do.'

It was then she remembered Madame Zaza's warning the night the circus arrived in Hoffnung. She repeated the prediction aloud, a bitter laugh at the edge of her words: ‘Beware of the man with no name. He's not to be trusted . . . Well, Shadow, that's hardly surprising. Show me the man who
can
be trusted.'

As if to prove his own worth to her, Shadow encircled her legs in the manner of rounding up a lost sheep to return her to the fold.

‘All right, all right, Shadow. I get the message – we'll go home. But at the crack of dawn we'll hunt down that bloke who claims to be Rom's friend. And heaven help him if he tries to lie to me!'

•  •  •

Rom hurtled through the bush, dodging between thick patches of scrub to camouflage his flight. His stomach churned. He felt waves of shame, triggered by the memory of Clytie on her hands and knees as she desperately searched the ground for his footprints. He tried to shake off his unexpected reaction to the sight of her.

I'd forgotten just how damned beautiful she is. Having a kid has changed her. From a pretty girl – into a real woman.

Feeling distinctly uneasy, he replayed the sound of Clytie's voice – her cry of joy on seeing him that had swiftly turned to anguish, confusion and rage.

Watching her scavenge among the leaves and twigs for some proof of him, he had stretched out a hand towards her back, wanting to stroke the thick plait of hair that hung down to her waist. Sensual memories stirred in him of the times he had unwound that braid and draped her hair over her naked body. A preliminary act to their love-making that had aroused in him unaccustomed feelings of tenderness
and awe entangled with his usual lust – like the three strands of a new braid, a cluster of feelings no other girl had ever aroused in him.

Yet why was it that this time, only moments earlier, his hand had frozen in the act, unable to connect with her body? Overcome by a sudden surge of panic, he had fled, feeling more guilt than a deserter from a battlefield.

What the hell made me bolt? Clytie wants me. I want her. I tricked Finch into playing go-between for
his
sake as well as mine. But I've never knocked back the chance to bed Clytie before. It doesn't make sense. Maybe the timing is wrong.

Maybe first off I have to clean up the mess I left behind me. I can't take care of her while I'm a down-and-out swaggie.

At the bottom of the hill Rom was stopped short by the creek, its floodwaters hurtling over rocks and banks as if something was in hot pursuit of it. Too dangerous to cross – even for him, a strong swimmer.

Shadow had him cornered, growling in warning, about to spring on him as if he was nothing but some renegade who had endangered Clytie.

‘Hey, Shadow, it's me! Jesus, don't tell me you've forgotten me already!'

Shadow approached him stealthily, sniffed him, then rubbed his head against Rom's trouser leg.

‘Good boy, that's more like it.'

Rom squatted on his haunches and ruffled Shadow's ears in their time-honoured greeting.

‘I can see you've been taking good care of Clytie, like I told you to. Good lad. He paused. ‘The problem is, I can't come back right now. I've got to sort things out first. Tricky stuff. Meanwhile, keep my return secret, right? Don't worry, I'll work things out – you know me. I've had more lives than a cat. I'll face Clytie when the time is right.'

Shadow reacted to Clytie's name, wagging his tail, his eyes fixed intently on Rom's face, ready to take orders.

‘Go back to Clytie, mate. Take care of her for me, right? That's an order!'

His voice had taken on a military tone. Shadow cast him a final glance before bounding back into the bush.

Content with that excuse and an undefined plan of action, Rom walked in a zigzag pattern through the bush until he came to a fallen tree trunk that acted as a safe conduit across the creek. He remembered exactly where to find his target. The cluster of isolated cottages lay half-concealed in dense bush that had not only grown close to the house but in some cases had pierced the broken windows and empty doorways. Conscious of his duty of care, the mateship that had been his strongest emotion in South Africa, he scouted among ruined cabins and isolated farms where the owners were absent, no doubt at some service on the hill of churches.

‘Finders keepers,' he muttered in reassurance as he commandeered what was needed for Finch.

Only once did he hesitate. In the barn of a stingy farmer who had short-changed Rom's pay after he had done labouring work for him, Rom spotted two rifles affixed to the wall.

‘That bastard doesn't need two shot-guns. He's a rotten shot anyway. Couldn't hit an elephant at ten paces.'

He liberated one of the rifles and slung it over his shoulder. Then helped himself to an old shovel for good measure.

‘A labourer's worthy of his hire, so the Bible says – if you can believe that stuff.'

He began whistling
The Girl I Left Behind Me
as he turned his footsteps towards the miner's right cabin, enjoying the feeling of the warm night air as the shadows multiplied and danced around him.

Sunrise was the most reliable clock in the world. The rays that fell across Finch's face caused him to blink awake, surprised by the strange new surroundings that had looked very different on his arrival the previous evening. As if by sleight of hand, the damp foul-smelling chaff had been removed and he found he was lying on clean straw.

He was surprised to see a rifle standing on the earth floor, propped against the wall. Finch instinctively turned away from it.

Through the door-less frame he could see that his only other shirt, underpants and socks were hanging on a clothes line rigged up out of fencing wire slung between two saplings. The darker blotches on the khaki shirt proved they had been washed and had almost dried overnight.

Better still he found a billycan of fresh milk on top of the tree stump that some past woodcutter had levelled to form a table. Beside it lay a pile of bush fruit and a box of matches ready to boil a second billycan, blackened by fire but useable and filled with water. He was elated by the greatest luxury of all – a crumpled packet labelled ‘Billy Tea' that was almost half full of tea.

Finch rolled over, laughing out loud. ‘No matter what else you've done wrong, Rom, you'll get into heaven for this.'

‘Give me your written guarantee on that, will you?' Rom was leaning against a tree trunk, arms folded across his chest, a twisted smile on his face.

‘You should be awarded the Victoria Cross for saving the life of a wounded soldier.'

Rom gave him a sly look. ‘Yeah, I reckon we could pawn a V.C. for a few bob. But there's a catch. First I'd have to get my name struck off the list of Missing Presumed Dead.'

They squatted around the campfire and breakfasted together in companionable silence.

‘I was a bit of an arsehole yesterday,' Rom said at last. ‘Seeing little Robert's grave was a real blow.'

‘Think nothing of it. It must have been a hell of a shock.'

Finch poured another mug of tea before judging the time was right to tread on delicate ground. ‘What do you want me to do about Clytie? We can't keep the poor girl hanging much longer. It's clear she believes I'm the key to finding you – and I am.'

‘Continue acting as my go-between a bit longer, while I sort out my plan of action.' Rom tried to disguise the rasp in his voice. ‘I care about Clytie – more than I ever told her. But I feel lost somehow – like I don't really belong here anymore. Understand? I reckon war changes everyone.'

‘Can't argue with that.'

‘Sometimes I envy you, Finch, not being able to remember a bloody thing.'

Finch tried to sound neutral. ‘You wouldn't say that if you had my nightmares.'
Or my fear.

They sat staring into the fire as if seeking answers.

Finch gently prompted him. ‘Your woman – Clytie's only a kid herself. She must have been through hell. Waiting for you, losing the babe. She deserves a man who'll stick.'

The implied criticism stung Rom.

‘Don't you think I'd change the past, if I could?' he shouted. He threw the dregs of his tea into the fire. ‘I'm trying to work out what's best for her. I can't go back – and I can't go forward. I feel like I'm stuck in quicksand. I'm counting on you! You owe me!'

Finch felt a shudder of unease. Rom's eyes had a strangely haunted look.

‘Take it easy, mate. Just tell me exactly what you want me to do – I'm totally in the dark.'

‘So am I. Some stuff doesn't make sense. I've got to handle things on my own. When the dust settles, I'll let you know.'

Finch was curious. ‘How the hell are you going to avoid being noticed? You're some kind of local hero.'

‘Local villain, more like it.'

‘Whatever, if someone recognises you, that'll only make things worse – prove to Clytie that you're dodging her.'

‘Listen mate, I was a great scout. I managed to report on Boer laagers without them ever once spotting me. I'm a master at doing
the disappearing act. And it's only for a few more days – then I'll let you off the hook. And you can go back to being . . .?'

‘The Unknown Soldier,' Finch supplied wryly.

They laughed together at the black humour of that, and clinked their tin mugs together in a toast.

‘To the Unknown Soldier!'

•  •  •

Clytie knelt down and looked deeply into Shadow's eyes.

‘You Kelpies are supposed to be the cleverest dogs on the planet. Let's put it to the test, shall we?'

She knew from her experience of circus life that animals had uncanny gifts of communication. She tried to keep the image of Finch firmly fixed in her mind in the hope that Shadow would see what she saw – his face, his snowy hair, his soldier's khaki greatcoat and those strangely penetrating blue eyes.

Shadow gave a low growl. A moment later he bounded off at a pace that was not too arduous for Clytie to follow. At regular intervals he checked if she was keeping up with him.

With a painful jolt she recognised he had brought her to the derelict miner's right cabin. A man's washing was strung across a line of fencing wire. Her throat constricted. Memories flooded back to the night Rom had initiated her into the world of love-making – and the many sensual days and nights that followed.

Why did Finch have to come here of all places?
She felt angry that a stranger had trespassed on her very private territory.

The sight of Finch stretched out and mumbling strange words in his sleep twisted her feelings between nostalgia and bitter anger.
How dare he sleep like an innocent child?

Clytie picked up the rifle that stood propped inside the doorway, checked whether or not it was loaded. It was. She prodded Finch awake with the butt of the rifle then sat on the floor, resting it across her thighs, her fingers tapping the trigger.

Finch jerked himself awake. Startled by the sight of her – and the rifle – he quickly regained control. His chest was bare and he remained lying under the blanket.

‘Good morning, Miss Hart. No need to protect yourself from me. I'm a friend of Rom Delaney's.'

‘Allow me to be the judge of that. You know why I'm here. You've been dodging me. Save the small talk. No niceties. I just want plain hard facts. Is Rom alive or not?'