A Time of Secrets (20 page)

Sam smiled. ‘I’ve been assigned to assist Lieutenant Cole, because of my local knowledge. And to do translation.’

‘Stella speaks Malay,’ said Mary, ‘and she trains operatives in it. Or she used to. Now she works with Lieutenant Ross.’

At Ross’s name Sam stiffened and his mouth became a thin line.

‘Ah, yes. I know Lieutenant Ross.’

I thought that I’d lay London to a brick that Sam de Groot had been on Operation Kestrel, with Ross and Eric. I wondered if he’d been one of the men I’d overheard. I wondered if he wanted to thrust a knife into Ross’s neck.

*

When I arrived home from work that evening the scarf wasn’t on the door but I heard voices in the lounge room, Dolly’s and a deep male voice. Dolly was sitting on the couch, flushed and smiling at Stanford Randall.

Dolly, small, fair and pretty, looked like a Dresden shepherdess dressed in khaki. There were tears in her eyes, but she was obviously happy. I wondered if Stanford had brought her another expensive present, or if he’d set the wedding date at last.

Stanford was sitting close beside her, a fine-looking older man of military bearing in a sharply pressed US Army uniform. No paunch – well, not much of one. A lined face, but what could you expect at forty-eight? If I were painting him I’d concentrate on the firm chin, the thin-lipped but not unattractive mouth and those keen grey eyes. I’d paint him as a man who was determined and intelligent, but as one who could be implacable, because there was an almost Puritan asceticism about Stanford sometimes. I hoped he’d be easy on Dolly, and try to understand rather than change the charming amorality that defined her.

I made a sound and they looked up and saw me in the doorway. Dolly smiled.

‘Stanford only got back to Melbourne today, and he came straight to see me. I’m such a lucky girl,’ she said, as she turned towards Stanford again. ‘So lucky to have found Stanford.’

When he smiled at her his face softened.

‘We’re going out to the Oriental Hotel to celebrate,’ said Dolly. ‘I’ll just get my face fixed up.’

I was heading for my bedroom when she caught me. ‘I’m so sorry, Stella,’ she whispered. ‘Just play along. Please.’

When I’d put my satchel in my room I returned to the lounge room. Stanford looked up as I entered.

‘Stella, I’d like to have a quick word.’

I smiled. ‘A quick word about what?’

He frowned at me. ‘Stella, you’re an artist. I know that artists have a different . . . morality, perhaps, is the word I’m looking for. A different morality from the rest of society.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ I murmured. ‘What’s this all about, Stanford?’

‘I’ve been hearing things. About the goings-on in this apartment. It’s not pleasant to be told that this place has a revolving front door when it comes to American and other servicemen. I know you’re a widow, and you’re probably looking for a new husband, but I can’t be expected to like it when your – I’ll be charitable and call them romantic – entanglements reflect badly on my Dolly.’

I wanted to laugh, and looked down to try to compose myself. Dolly had asked me to play along. I’d play along, then.

I looked up again, straight into his eyes. ‘I’m so sorry if that’s what you’ve been told, Stanford.’ I took a breath. ‘I’m not a –’

He fixed me with his cold grey eyes. ‘We’re both adults. Frankly, I don’t care if you entertain the entire Asiatic Fleet, but people have been associating your shenanigans with Dolly.’

My jaw was aching, from gritting my teeth. I was angry now that Dolly had put me in this situation. Stanford picked up his gloves and pulled them on.

‘Dolly’s very fond of you. She admits that your lifestyle is freer than she’d like, but she doesn’t want you to move out. Stella, you’ve got to stop behaving in ways that could adversely affect my girl’s reputation.’ He stood as Dolly came into the room, smiled and held out his arm. Dolly scurried over. His arm came around her, holding her tightly against his body. Trapping her, I thought. And yet Dolly’s face was alight with happiness. Maybe it would work out for them. Who was I to judge?

‘Have a good evening,’ I said. ‘Stanford, you don’t have to worry at all. I promise.’

He smiled and nodded as if we’d brokered a deal. Dolly wouldn’t meet my eyes.

Seventeen

H
e was at it again. I lay in bed in the early hours of Thursday morning, wondering if I were the only person who could hear Lieutenant Cole terrorising Violet Smith. Was I the only person, apart from Violet, who knew of the beast within him? I turned away from the window and put the pillow over my head, trying to muffle their conversation. But his words, so familiar, could still be heard.

‘You’re lucky that I put up with you, you know.’

‘You’re so stupid, Violet.’

‘You embarrassed me tonight. You should shut up when we’re with my friends.’

And a little while later, ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to grab you so hard, but if you’d only listened then I wouldn’t have been so annoyed. Forgive me?’

*

‘Violet.’ I caught up with my neighbour on the footpath later that morning. We were nearly at Park Street. I assumed she was going to catch a tram to work.

She stopped walking and looked at me, a question in her eyes. They were dark eyes, under straight dark eyebrows in a lean face. Her dark hair was neat under the blue cap that was part of the WAAAF uniform.

I got straight to the point, pitching my voice low, in a confiding tone. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I think Lieutenant Cole’s a bully.’

Violet flushed. ‘I beg your pardon, but this is really none of your business.’

She pointedly looked away from me to fish around in her satchel and extract a packet of cigarettes. When she took one out and lit it, her hands trembled.

I tried again. ‘You should be afraid to
stay
with him, not afraid to let him go.’

‘Thank you for your concern, but I’m a big girl.’ She inhaled quickly and deeply, and dared me to say more with dark eyes that glittered with annoyance.

‘I know that, Violet. I don’t mean to interfere. I just want you to know that I’m available to talk, whenever you feel ready. I’ll keep whatever you say absolutely confidential, and please – just know that I’ll help you in any way I can.’

She exhaled in a whoosh of smoke and watched me coolly. ‘I really don’t need any help. Lance and I are very happy together.’ She began to turn away.

‘It’s harder to hide the bruises in summer,’ I said.

When she swung around to face me, her eyes seemed to flicker. ‘I suppose you heard the argument last night. It was my fault. I flirted too much, and said some silly things.’

I’d almost lost her, but I had one more card to play. ‘You know, Nick Ross was telling me only the other day how pretty you are.’ I lowered my voice. ‘I think he’s interested in you.’

She drew hard on her cigarette again, blew out a stream of white smoke and stared over my left shoulder. ‘Lieutenant Ross is interested in me?’

‘He told me so. He was quite open about it.’

Her smile was coy and calculating at the same time. ‘He’s coming to Dolly’s bridge party on Saturday, isn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘I heard that he’s quite wealthy.’

‘Mmmm,’ I said, though I really had no idea whether he was or not.

‘And he isn’t seeing anyone at present?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Doesn’t he often turn up at the Oriental Hotel of an evening?’

‘I wouldn’t know what he does outside of work.’

She threw the cigarette butt on the footpath and stubbed it out firmly with a scrunch of her sensible WAAAF shoe. ‘There’s my tram. See you later, Stella.’

*

I bumped into Violet, literally, the next morning as I left for work. I pushed open the door and it banged into a couple embracing on the doorstep.

‘Sorry.’

Violet was hugging a man in army uniform who had a duffle bag over his shoulder. She laughed and took hold of his arm, pulling him away from the door. She rubbed her cheek against the sleeve of his jacket and smiled at me.

‘Hello, Stella. This is Lawrie, my brother. He’s arrived yesterday, on leave.’

Private Lawrie Smith was heavily built, although not very tall. He had Atebrin yellow skin, dark hair and steady brown eyes. He looked to be in his thirties and had the serene demeanour of a medium-sized tank. On his sleeve patch were double diamonds. That meant he was a commando. Like most of Australia, I admired the commandos very much. They were specially trained in jungle warfare and reputed to be brave and ruthless fighters. I suspected that Eric had undergone commando training.

‘G’day, Sergeant.’ His voice was low, gravelly.

‘Stella, please,’ I said. ‘Stella Aldridge.’

He smiled. ‘Stella, then.’

‘Are you in Melbourne for long?’ I asked him.

‘Not long this time,’ he said. ‘I dossed down with Violet last night, but now I’m off to Coolangatta for a week to see the family.’

‘Which number brother are you?’ I asked. ‘Violet’s got four, hasn’t she?’

‘Yep,’ he said. ‘I’m the eldest. Violet came along last. Have you heard her sing?’

‘She has a wonderful voice,’ I replied. He nodded forcefully.

‘I’m the spoiled baby of the family,’ said Violet. ‘I had to leave Coolangatta because my big brothers scared off every boy who came to visit.’

‘Mongrels, the lot of them,’ Lawrie replied.

‘Lawrie’s a commando.’ Violet’s pride in her brother was endearingly obvious. He smiled down at her. ‘People go on and on about how fierce commandos are,’ said Violet in her light pretty voice, ‘but Lawrie’s the sweetest thing, really.’

He ducked his head, embarrassed, pulled off his slouch hat and ran a hand through his hair. She reached up to pat his cheek. ‘See you in a week.’ There was another hug and she went indoors.

‘You walking to Park Street and the trams?’ he asked.

‘I go beyond Park Street, but please, walk with me.’

‘Everyone seems to think that’s it’s something wonderful, being a commando,’ he said, walking on the street side of me, like a gentleman. ‘We’re trained specially, but all the boys, militia or regular army, they’re all fighting hard up there.’

‘How do you switch it off?’ I asked. It was something I’d been pondering since Eric left.

He seemed unsure about my question.

‘You’ve been taught to fight tough and hard,’ I went on. ‘How can you switch it off when you’re home and it’s not needed any more?’

Ross said Eric could kill in the blink of an eye and Jimmy saw him beat Americans hollow in unarmed combat. I’d experienced first hand the horrors of a violent man. I didn’t want to risk facing those horrors again.

Lawrie seemed to consider the question carefully as he walked along beside me.

‘It’s not who I am, deep down,’ he said at last. His voice changed. ‘You know someone who can’t switch it off?’

We’d reached the corner of Park Street and I turned to face him. His eyes were set deeply in a lined face. There were pouches under them, and he seemed tired.

I looked away, down at the footpath. ‘I know someone who’s been trained like you, who’s fought up there. It worries me. I . . . hate violence.’

As the silence stretched out I looked up at him again. Now he was frowning at the footpath.

‘It’s hard to let it go sometimes,’ he said. ‘When you get mad. Hear about bloody stupid things happening here at home. Got a name, this bloke you’re worried can’t turn it off?’

I pulled at a loose thread on my sleeve, avoided his eyes.

‘Eric Lund.’

There was a short laugh. ‘Lund’s not so tough. I’ve seen him cry.’

I looked up. He was smiling. Teasing me? His face became serious. ‘That’s the deadset truth. Mind you, I wanted to bawl, too. It was . . . bad, that day. Lund’s an odd bod. Always scrawling pictures in that notebook of his.’ He shook his head and gave a brief laugh. ‘Looks like he’s half asleep, but not much gets past Lund. Not a bad sort, for a sergeant.’

‘Staff sergeant,’ I said.

I wondered what terrible things Eric had seen ‘up there’. The ones that had made him cry.

There was the usual coming and going on the street around us. Workers were heading for the Park Street trams, going to offices, shops and factories. AWAS girls and WAAAFs walked past also, and servicemen. It was a bustling atmosphere on a chilly morning. Lawrie had lit a cigarette and was watching the scene with a faint smile.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘these people have absolutely no idea what’s going on up there. I can pick a man who’s seen real combat by the look in his eyes.’

His eyes held mine, and he was very serious. I thought of Sam de Groot, and I nodded.

‘Most blokes don’t like war,’ he went on. ‘It seems exciting when you’re down here, or in training, getting to know your mates, know your way around the weaponry. But when you’re up there . . . well, then it’s another story. Black, yellow, white, purple; they’re all just men. None of us wants to die.’