The Sequin Star (15 page)

‘I . . . we met . . .' began Claire.

‘I met them recently while I've been doing some research for our charity event,' Kit explained vaguely. ‘Miss Sterling has been helping me with some ideas for the children's entertainment.'

Rosina raised her eyebrows slightly but nodded. ‘We were thinking something along the lines of a circus?'

Mr Hunter frowned. ‘A circus? That sounds terribly vulgar. However, I suppose that would appeal to working-class children.'

Jem, outraged, began to reply but stopped in time.

Kit smiled. ‘I don't think the children would be very interested in opera, Father, but I'm sure they'd love some juggling, acrobatics, magic tricks . . . and perhaps some bareback equestrian displays,' he said, turning to Claire. ‘I would like to host a large event where our firm invites unemployed men and their families for lunch. I thought it would be beneficial to organise some entertainment to cheer them up, as well as providing food and care packages.'

‘That's a big job,' Claire agreed. She thought of Jem's family living at Happy Valley. ‘I'm sure the children would love it.'

‘Well, just make sure you don't invite any communist agitators,' Mr Hunter ordered. ‘I won't spend my hard-earned money feeding revolutionaries and their brats. We'll leave that job to that lunatic Lang, shall we?'

Mr Hunter glanced back towards the dais, where the Premier would be presiding. Planes roared overhead. A military band was marching down the road, followed by a regiment of soldiers carrying rifles and bayonets. Union Jack flags fluttered overhead.

‘I bet ten pounds at the club that the brute would not still be in government to open the bridge today,' Mr Hunter announced gloomily. ‘It appears that I've lost my money. However, it won't be the only money I lose if we do not get him out of the way.'

‘Father, I don't think that Mr Lang is a communist,' Kit began. ‘I heard him speak at –'

‘The official party is arriving,' Mr Hunter said, turning away. ‘We should take our seats.'

Rosina glanced at both Jem and Claire and shrugged.

A convoy of limousines drove up, depositing the officials one by one at the base of the steps leading up to the dais.

‘There's our illustrious Premier,' said Kit. He pointed to a tall man in a three-piece suit, with a thick moustache and a fedora hat. He escorted his wife from the vehicle and stood at the bottom of the steps, ready to welcome the remaining dignitaries.

Claire took a close look. Jack Lang seemed quite ordinary, laughing and chatting to his wife.

‘So the New Guard didn't succeed in kidnapping him after all?' whispered Rosina.

‘Frank told me a rumour that they tried but Lang foiled the plan because he was driving his own car instead of travelling in the official limousine,' Jem said in a low tone. ‘Frank reckons Eric Campbell and the New Guard had some half-baked scheme of kidnapping Lang and the New South Wales cabinet and incarcerating them in Berrima Gaol. I imagine their only motive could be to overthrow the Lang Government and install Campbell as the leader.'

‘That's ridiculous,' said Rosina. ‘Not even Campbell would be quite so mad.'

Kit glanced at his father. He was deep in discussion with the men next to him.

‘Here's the Governor-General, Sir Isaac Isaacs,' Kit observed, quickly changing the subject.

An open-topped limousine arrived, escorted in front and behind by a number of cavalry officers on cantering horses, all carrying their swords aloft.

Mr Hunter turned and looked. ‘It should be the Governor-General opening the bridge today, if not His Majesty himself.'

The crowd cheered and clapped. At the rear rode a final officer on a chestnut horse, wearing a British hussar uniform and a chest full of medals, Instead of the usual ceremonial cocked hat, he wore a cap. He saluted the Governor-General as he rode past and was saluted in return.

Everyone moved forward, pressing against the barricade. Their stand had an excellent view of the proceedings. The State Governor, Sir Philip Game, read a message of congratulations from King George V, accompanied by more cheering. The band struck up ‘God Save the King'. The Premier made a speech, calling for unity and reconciliation, then unveiled a plaque.

A wide, blue silk ribbon stretched across the road, waiting to be cut by the Premier with his golden scissors to officially open the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

Suddenly, the officer in the hussar uniform surged forward, spurring his horse towards the ribbon, his cavalry sword aloft. The horse pranced and cavorted, nervous of the noisy crowds. The officer hacked through the ribbon and it fluttered free.

The crowd roared. Pandemonium broke out. Dozens of police ran forward to try to restrain the officer. Photographers and reporters shoved forward. Flashes popped. People cheered loudly. Others booed and hissed.

The cavalry officer raised his sword to the sky in a gesture of triumph. ‘I declare this bridge open in the name of His Majesty the King and all the decent and respectable citizens of New South Wales,' he announced.

‘By Jove, it's Captain Francis de Groot,' cried Mr Hunter. ‘He's done it. He stopped Lang from opening the bridge.'

A police officer grabbed the bridle of the horse, which reared up and backed towards the stand where the Hunter party watched on.

‘Stand back,' warned the rider. ‘I am a King's officer.'

Police officers wrestled Captain de Groot's sword away and dragged him from the saddle. His foot caught momentarily in the stirrup, his cap fell off, and Claire heard his head hit the ground with a sickening thud.

From the stand next door, Claire could hear angry voices shouting. People jostled and pushed, trying to get closer. She felt a flutter of nerves at the anger in their voices.

‘Chuck him over the bridge,' yelled someone.

‘Stab him with his sword,' cried another.

By contrast, the men sitting next to Mr Hunter were all talking with great excitement about the stunt.

‘That will give those reds something to think about,' said Mr Hunter. ‘De Groot has just shown them that we will not let them take over this country of ours without a fight.'

Francis de Groot, lying on the roadway, looked up at the policemen towering over him. He turned to the one clutching his sword. ‘Be careful of that sword – I carried that in France.'

Captain de Groot was hauled to his feet, and he dusted himself off.

He glanced towards the crowd in the stand and smiled. Claire thought she heard him murmur, ‘I did it.'

The policemen surrounded the captain and hustled him away into a car. Someone led the riderless horse away. Other police began searching the crowd, looking for further troublemakers.

The blue ribbon was hastily retied and the Premier stepped forward to cut it again, this time with his scissors, to a thunder of applause and cheers. RAAF planes roared overhead, ships tooted from the harbour below, and a twenty-one gun salute rang out in a deafening volley. Charles Kingsford Smith flew his famed
Southern Cross
high above the bridge. The crowd settled down, excited by the pageantry.

The grand parade began to pass in an orderly march – bands, school children and various floats, all coming from the city and crossing the bridge to finish in the streets of North Sydney.

A highland pipe band paraded past in their tartan kilts and sporrans, their bagpipes wailing and drums pounding. These were followed by one hundred men in suits, a large banner pronouncing them as the Sydney Harbour Bridge Workers. A lone rider followed them, a small boy in a big hat, shorts and long socks, trotting along on a chestnut pony.

‘That's Lennie Gwyther,' Rosina said. ‘The nine-year-old boy who rode alone six hundred miles to be here.'

‘He's tiny,' said Claire in disbelief.

Lennie was followed by a group of Aborigines, then a parade of colourful horsedrawn floats depicting various historical scenes and themes.

At last, the final group in the parade marched past. The official party climbed into the waiting limousines and drove across the bridge to attend the opening celebrations on the northern side.

‘Do you want to walk across the bridge?' asked Kit. ‘Are you feeling up to it, Rosina? Or we could get a lift with my father?'

‘Let's walk,' Rosina said. ‘It's a beautiful day and there's still so much to see.'

Thousands of people were now streaming forward to make the historic crossing. Claire stepped out between Jem and Rosina, wearing her new two-tone blue velvet shoes, her broad-brimmed hat shading her face from the hot autumn sun.

14
The Ball

It was late afternoon when the four walked to Kit's home after a huge day of festivities. It was a sprawling mansion called Beaumont in Kirribilli on the northern foreshore of Sydney Harbour. A high wrought-iron fence separated it from the street, and it was surrounded by perfectly manicured lawns and fragrant rose gardens running down to the water.

To the left was a large garage, which had once been the stables and carriage house, where the limousine was already parked. A gardener was raking the gravel driveway.

Claire was fascinated. Nanna had told her stories about her grandfather's family mansion – Mum had even taken her to see the spot where it had once stood. However, the mansion had long since been bulldozed and the site turned into a huge block of blonde-brick flats. It made Claire feel sad that Beaumont would be demolished.

The housekeeper, Mrs Bruce, opened the door and let them into a wide entrance hall. Servants were bustling around, arranging flowers, moving furniture and setting up tables for the party. A grand staircase swept up to the floors above. The girls were shown to an upstairs bedroom where they could get ready. Jem was given another room to change in.

‘There's a bathroom through that door there for you to use,' said Mrs Bruce. ‘Your bags have already been brought up from the car.'

‘Thanks, Mrs Bruce,' said Claire.

‘If you need anything else, just ring the bell there and one of the servants will attend to you.' The housekeeper withdrew, closing the door behind her.

Rosina looked around with sparkling eyes. The room was spacious and elegant with windows looking out over the harbour to the city. Original artworks hung on the duck-egg blue papered walls. Chinese silk rugs were scattered on the floor. A large carved double bed, a chest of drawers and a dressing table – all in matching inlaid timber – dominated the room.

‘This house is utterly gorgeous.' Rosina took off her hat and laid it on the bed.

‘It certainly beats the caravan.' Claire stood by the window looking out. The view was breathtaking. ‘I would love to live in a house like this.'

‘Look at this bathroom, Claire,' said Rosina. ‘It has a rose-pink bath!'

Claire peeked in to see the white-and-black chequered floor and pink bathroom fittings.

‘It's bright,' said Claire. ‘I'm not sure that pink is a good colour for a bathroom.'

‘It's
modern
,' Rosina said as she opened a jar of gardenia-scented bath salts.

Claire laughed. She couldn't imagine the room being described as modern. To her, it was quaint and old-fashioned.

‘I'll toss a coin to see who gets the first bath,' Rosina suggested. ‘I can't remember the last time I had a soak in a real bath tub. This will be heavenly.'

‘No,' replied Claire. ‘You go first. I don't mind going later.'

‘Look at the bath towels,' Rosina called, sticking her head around the door. ‘They are huge and soft and fluffy – no flour sacks here.'

Claire listened to the sound of water rushing into the bath. She felt dejected as she looked out at the harbour, the view at once so familiar, yet so alien.
Will I ever get home to my own Sydney? My own time?

Rosina eventually finished in the bathroom and it was Claire's turn to bathe. After a week of living in a caravan, Claire couldn't believe how lovely it was to sink into a bath full of warm, bubbly water and just lie there. The bath helped soak away her pensive mood.

Afterwards, Claire dressed in her underwear. When she came out, Rosina was already made up and dressed. Rosina helped Claire put on her own make-up in front of the huge mirror. Finally, she pulled on the evening dress that Malia had helped Rosina make.

Mrs Bruce knocked on the door, just as they were finishing their toilette, bearing a tray. ‘Master Kit sent you these.' The tray held several beautiful white rosebuds from the gardens. ‘He said he hopes they might be useful to wear tonight. You're expected downstairs in five minutes.' She closed the door behind her.

Claire smelt a delicate rosebud. ‘Oh, they are beautiful. They smell divine.'

‘It was so sweet of Kit to send them to us,' replied Rosina. ‘He's very thoughtful, isn't he?'

Claire felt a nervous feeling in her stomach. She didn't want Rosina to get too interested in Kit – Kit had to marry Nanna.

Rosina pinned a rose in her dark hair. ‘Smile, Mademoiselle Claire. This is going to be so much fun.'

Claire obediently smiled at her reflection. She swung back and forth in front of the mirror. With her hair styled short, she looked older and more sophisticated. Her grey-blue eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Malia and Rosina had created a stunning new dress from the sack-like frock from the markets. The soft pale-green of the velvet was a shade that Rosina called celadon. The halter neck was tied with a ribbon and the rest of the dress fell close to the knees, then flared out into a floor-length train. With a rose in her hair and elbow-length ivory satin gloves, Claire felt truly elegant.

Rosina's crimson satin dress was equally beautiful, with shoestring straps and a skirt draping to the ground. She wore long black gloves with a diamante circus bracelet that glittered in the light. Rosina danced in front of the mirror with a pretend partner then curtsied to her reflection.

‘Come on, Princess Rosina,' called Claire. ‘It's time for us to go down.'

The girls walked together down the wide, sweeping staircase and into the entrance hall. Kit and Jem were already down there, dressed in their evening suits. Kit wore the traditional white bow tie with wingtip shirt and waistcoat, black tails and trousers, and a white rose in his buttonhole. Jem had borrowed a spare evening suit from Manfred the Magnificent, which was a little too big for him.

‘Well, you both look stunning,' Kit said. ‘But aren't you missing your little monkey stole? I quite expected you to have smuggled Lula in your bag.'

Claire laughed. Sometimes Lula did look like a little brown fur cape.

‘Lula is safe at home,' said Rosina. ‘Otherwise, she would be pilfering food and probably stealing the family heirlooms as well.'

‘Then I'm glad you came without her – and without Elsie as well. I have seen firsthand what she is capable of doing to our supper room.' Kit grinned as he led the way towards the back of the house.

A long, wide ballroom ran across the back with a timber parquet floor, cedar-panelled walls and crystal chandeliers. Large urns held massive flower arrangements. The only furniture in the room was a grand piano in the corner, which was being played by a musician in a black tuxedo. The band musicians were set up beside it, playing drums, a saxophone, trumpet and trombone in a mellow waltz.

French windows opened onto the terrace and the lawns running down to the harbour. The scent of roses wafted in on the warm breeze. Coloured lanterns hung in the trees. On the harbour, a flotilla of boats, bedecked with lights, sailed back and forth as part of the Venetian carnival.

‘It looks like a fairyland out there,' said Claire.

‘We'll get a stunning view of the fireworks later,' Kit replied.

Waiters circulated, carrying silver trays of crystal glasses filled with various beverages. Rosina and Claire sipped on tall glasses of icy lemonade, while Jem and Kit had a ginger beer. The room was filling with people, chatting, laughing and dancing. Claire loved watching the couples dance together in complicated routines.

Kit's father came over, accompanied by a group of his cronies, all dressed in formal white tie and tails. One man was tall and confident, with a neatly trimmed moustache.

‘There you are, Christopher,' said Mr Hunter. ‘I wanted you to meet my very good friend and business associate, Colonel Eric Campbell.'

As everyone was introduced, Claire realised that she was meeting the infamous leader of the New Guard that she had heard so much about.

‘Eric says that the police are trying to have Captain de Groot declared insane,' said Mr Hunter.

‘They won't succeed, of course,' said Colonel Campbell, smiling at Claire and Rosina. ‘He's as sane as you or me, and certainly saner than that scoundrel Lang.'

‘Well, I think the whole performance was an ill-advised scheme,' said one of the other men. ‘He could easily have started a riot. There were plenty of Lang supporters who were ready to lynch de Groot.'

Claire exchanged glances with Rosina and Jem. Kit fidgeted.

Colonel Campbell nodded sagely. ‘We were prepared for that. We had hundreds of well-trained, patriotic and loyal men, many of them ex-army officers and veterans, standing by in the crowd, ready for trouble. The New Guard have been drilling for months, ready to defend our country against the communists, so a few rabblerousers would have been easily dealt with.'

‘It was an excellent notion of de Groot's,' replied Mr Hunter. ‘I wish I'd thought of it myself.'

Colonel Campbell clapped Mr Hunter on the back and laughed. ‘I still have work for you, my good friend. Our mission will not be finished until that tyrant is gone.'

Kit glanced over towards the band, looking uncomfortable. ‘Well, Father, if you'll excuse me, I think it is time that we asked these ladies to dance.' He offered Rosina his arm. ‘Rosina, would you care to join me?'

Rosina's hazel eyes sparkled. ‘Thank you, Kit,' she replied, draping her gloved hand on his arm. ‘I'd love to.'

Jem turned to Claire and grinned, gesturing towards the dance floor. ‘Shall we, Mademoiselle Claire?'

As Claire and Jem followed Kit and Rosina, Claire could hear Mr Hunter talking loudly behind her.

‘I'm not sure where that son of mine has dug up those new friends of his,' confessed Mr Hunter. ‘I think he's going through a rebellious stage. The sooner he meets a lovely young girl from a
respectable
family the better.'

Colonel Campbell laughed. ‘A few years at university and he'll settle down. In our generation, the Great War made sure we grew up very fast. There was no time for being rebellious then.'

Claire tossed her head. She didn't appreciate the suggestion that she and Rosina were not respectable.

‘Ignore them,' Jem advised. ‘The whole lot are clearly snooty upper-class snobs talking a load of twaddle.'

‘Mutton-heads?' asked Claire.

‘That's being too kind,' Jem decided with a grin.

Claire's annoyance quickly passed as she was caught up in the sheer fun of dancing. Kit had a word to the band and they switched from playing old-time dances to modern jazz tunes.

Rosina and Jem had taught Claire some dance steps on the sawdust floor under the Big Top to some scratchy gramophone records. She had learned to waltz, foxtrot, quickstep and, her favourite of all, some of the latest swing steps. These were fast-moving routines where partners improvised as they went along, spinning out and back in again, dipping and weaving.

The four friends lost themselves in the rhythm of the music.

Claire danced with Jem, then with Kit, then with another couple of young men, until she was pink-cheeked with exertion. When she was feeling quite puffed out, Kit led them to the supper room to partake of a delectable feast of oysters, smoked salmon, caviar, lobster, mushroom canapés, roast beef and asparagus. It was a stark contrast to their usual circus meals of gravy and potatoes or bread and dripping. Claire, Jem and Rosina had to restrain themselves from gobbling their meals like starving children.

After supper the band beckoned once more and they danced out on the lawn under the light of the moon and the lanterns, which looked enchanting reflected on the surface of the harbour, especially when the cascade of fireworks began. They stopped to watch the spectacular showers of multi-coloured explosions. Rosina shivered in the cool autumn air, and Kit quickly shrugged off his black evening jacket, gently wrapping it around her bare shoulders.

‘You're cold,' he murmured. ‘Would you like to go back inside?'

Rosina snuggled into the warm jacket. She lifted her hair from under the collar and shook it out. ‘Thanks, that's lovely. Let's stay out here – it's so very beautiful.'

The band struck up a slow melody. Rosina turned and slipped into Kit's arms. ‘One more dance?'

The two of them seemed oblivious to everyone else around them. Kit was ignoring his duty as host to dance with other girls. The pair gradually moved down towards the shadows near the water, dancing close together. At last, the band stopped to take a rest.

The spell was broken. Kit and Rosina strolled back to join Claire and Jem, who were sitting on a low garden wall.

Rosina glanced at Kit's watch and sighed. ‘It's nearly midnight.' Claire had a sinking feeling: the magical evening was nearly over.

‘I've asked Larry to drive you back to the lot at midnight,' offered Kit. ‘I don't like to ask him to drive too late.'

‘That's kind of you,' said Jem. ‘There aren't many trams at this time.'