A Time of Secrets (6 page)

As we stood among the couples waiting on the floor for the music to begin again Eric smiled and lifted his hand to wave at someone behind me. When I looked around a sweet-faced woman was smiling at him. Her thick coppery blonde hair had been swept back into a victory roll and she was expertly made up, but her pink organdie gown seemed to be a size too big, as if she’d lost weight since she bought it. I thought she seemed fragile; there was sadness in her smile.

‘Irene,’ said Eric, as she came closer. ‘Good to see you.’

The jolt of irritation I felt to see him smile so sweetly at her was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. I’d just met the man; why should I care if he smiled at a pretty woman?

‘Stella Aldridge,’ said Eric, ‘meet Irene Hicks.’

Irene threw me an apologetic look. ‘I don’t mean to interrupt. It’s nice to see you again, Eric. And nice to meet you, Stella.’ She slipped away.

‘Irene was seeing one of my men,’ Eric said quietly. ‘He died suddenly a month or so ago.’

No wonder she’d seemed so fragile, I thought.
That poor woman
. Not even in the frantic gaiety of a Melbourne ballroom could we escape this terrible war. I murmured something appropriate as the band began to play ‘Moonlight Serenade’. Eric swung me around with a flourish, and we moved into the steps of a foxtrot.

‘So, is that US Captain your boyfriend?’ His voice was nonchalant, as if he really didn’t give a toss.

I laughed, to show that I didn’t care whether he gave a toss. ‘Hardly a
boy
friend, he’s thirty-eight.’

‘Bit old for you, isn’t he?’

‘Not at all. I’m nearly twenty-six.’

‘You look about sixteen when you laugh,’ he said. ‘Older when you . . . When you’re sad.’

I didn’t know what to reply to that, so I said nothing.

Leroy swung by us with a brunette on his arm, carefully avoiding catching my eye. When I looked back at Eric, he seemed amused.

He swung me to the left, out of the path of a clumsier couple, almost doubled over because they were laughing so much together and not watching where they were going. We settled into the steps again. The music swelled around us, and the trombone kept the tune.

‘Enjoying Melbourne?’ he asked.

‘Mmmm,’ I said. ‘It’s a lovely city – although I wonder if I’ll ever get used to this beastly rain. And the cold, brrrr. I’m a summer girl. The cold wind’s no friend of mine. What’s it like in Brisbane?’

‘Wet. Hot. Steamy. I haven’t spent that much time there.’

I assumed that meant he’d been fighting or on missions in New Guinea or somewhere else on the Pacific Front. A place where one of his men could die suddenly. That reminded me of the conversation I’d overheard and I decided to cut to the chase.

‘Is your friend with you?’ At his raised eyebrow I elaborated. ‘The one from the cafe.’

‘No.’ He caught and held my eye. His look was slow and appraising, and utterly without expression. ‘You understand Malay, don’t you?’

I stumbled; his hand, hard against my back, held me upright.

Lying did not come easily to me, so I simply gave a quick nod, and watched his chest. ‘How did . . .?’

‘You tensed when we began speaking in Malay in the cafe.’

I wondered why he’d been watching me so closely in the cafe that he’d notice, but operatives were trained to watch everything around them. I wondered if they’d spoken Malay in the cafe to trap me into giving away that I understood it.

‘Stella.’

I glanced up at him.

‘Whatever you think you heard this afternoon, just forget it.’

‘How did you know . . .?’

I’d given away that I’d overheard what they’d said in the laneway. We’d been warned about such interrogation tricks, where the interrogator stated something they weren’t sure about as if it were a fact already known, just to get you to confirm it. Anger at my stupidity made me reckless.

I looked him straight in the eyes. ‘You said you were going to kill a man. An officer. How do I forget that?’

His hold on me tightened, and my heart began to race. He swung us past a slower couple, and the tense grip loosened.

‘First,’ he said, ‘it’s really not your business. Second, I said nothing of the sort. Third . . . please trust me on this.’

‘Promise me you won’t kill anyone, then.’ I held his gaze, and made my expression as determined as I could.

His face was smooth and blank and when he spoke his voice was curt. ‘I’m a soldier, Stella. How can I possibly give that promise?’

I felt like a fool. The song was wrapping up. We danced in silence until the music faded and stopped.

Without warning, his hand gripped mine tightly, convulsively. It was painful and I gasped. Around us people were leaving the dance floor, but Eric Lund was standing absolutely still, staring over my shoulder at something or someone across the room.

‘He’ll never bloody learn,’ he muttered, in a flat, bitter voice. He let go of my hand.

I twisted my head to see what he was looking at. In the crush of people by the door were men in the uniforms of America, Australia, Britain, New Zealand, the Netherlands and even a couple of Free French sailors. A few men in suits. Some women in uniform, others in floor-length evening gowns from before the war, or in knee-length ‘austerity’ frocks. I recognised no one.

I turned back to Eric. His face had become tight and drawn, his eyes were narrowed in a glare and his mouth was a thin hard line. His anger was almost palpable. He made a low, animal noise and a quick movement towards the door. Instinctively I put my hand on his arm, although I had no idea why, other than that the fierceness of his stare terrified me. The muscles in his arm were tensed and it was like grabbing a steel bar. He pushed me aside roughly. My foot twisted and I fell, landing heavily on my outstretched left hand. Lying in an ungainly heap on the floor, I was painfully aware that I’d hurt my hand badly.

Eric was looking down at me, obviously horrified. ‘I’m sorry – really, I’m so sorry,’ he said. His voice was sharp, angry; not at me, I suspected, but I glared at him anyway. He shook his head. ‘Please, Stella.’ His gaze had already returned to the doorway. He shrugged, grimaced an apology, turned away and disappeared into the crush near the door. People gathered around me, asking if I was all right. I pulled my injured hand close to my body and stroked it.

‘What the hell is going on here?’ Leroy pushed through the crowd to kneel beside me. He put a comforting arm around my shoulder and lifted my hurt hand gently to examine it. It was very tender in the area between the thumb and first finger.

‘I should horsewhip that sergeant,’ he said, in a soft voice edged with fury.

His arm tightened around my shoulder.

‘Let’s go back to the table,’ I said. My hand was throbbing and I felt a little faint. Also very embarrassed, because people were staring.

The band had started another song, and around us the dance floor was filling up again. Leroy led me away, but I couldn’t stop myself from turning my head to look for Eric Lund. He’d disappeared.

Five

W
hen we were back at the table Leroy vented his anger in talk about how he wanted to report Eric to his commanding officer, court martial him, execute him at dawn.

All I could think about now was the intense throbbing pain in my hand and that a headache was beginning to take hold.

‘I’m fine, Leroy. Please don’t go on so. He didn’t mean to hurt me.’

‘That’s no excuse, honey. I think he broke a couple of bones; at the very least you’ll have bad swelling for a week or so. There’s no excuse for hurting a woman.’ He looked up, straight into my eyes and his expression was dangerously intense. ‘Not for hurting you.’

‘I can move all my fingers,’ I said, ignoring the message in his look and wiggling my fingers painfully. ‘See. So I don’t think any bones are broken.’ I wished he’d be quiet.

‘You should put ice on it,’ said Kathy. ‘The powder room attendant’ll be able to help. Come on, Stella.’

I mouthed,
Thank you
, to Kathy, who smiled in response and helped me walk to the lobby. She pushed open the pink door marked ‘Milady’s Powder Room’ and led me to a velvet-covered seat in the corner. Half a dozen women were sitting in front of mirrors, fixing their make-up or their hair; others passed through on the way to the lavatories. It was much quieter than the noisy ballroom and I sank onto the soft seat with relief. In the mirror my face was pale and there was a wounded look in my eyes. My hand was beginning to swell and the pain had increased to a sharp, constant throb at the base of my thumb. Clearly it was sprained, at the very least.

At Kathy’s request the attendant brought me some ice from the bar, wrapped in a tea towel. The icy bundle was uncomfortably cold, but after a while it did seem to improve the pain. I didn’t want to return to the noisy ballroom but neither did I want Kathy to miss out on her dancing.

‘I’ll be fine,’ I said to her. ‘I just want to be alone for a few minutes. Could you make some excuse to Leroy? Say I’ll be out in five minutes or so?’

‘Of course. A nasty fall like that can really shake you up. Take your time, Stella.’

As she left the powder room another woman slipped inside, glanced around and came across to me. It was Irene Hicks, the woman who’d greeted Eric on the dance floor.

‘Your poor hand,’ she said. ‘I saw you fall. What happened?’

‘Oh, it was an accident,’ I said. ‘But Eric bloody Lund could have had the common decency to stay and see I wasn’t badly hurt.’ My tone was brusque. I didn’t usually swear but I was seething at his bad manners in running off without trying to help me.

‘He must have had a reason,’ she said earnestly. ‘Eric’s a good man, one of the best. He’s so kind. You don’t know . . .’

‘Don’t know what?’

Irene ran a trembling hand over her eyes. ‘It’s a bit of a story. I probably shouldn’t say anything.’ She sat beside me, but seemed unable to speak. Instead she became engrossed in making pleats in the fabric of her skirt.

‘Tell me,’ I said.

She glanced around to see if anyone was listening and continued in a whisper. ‘I had a special friend. We were . . . Well, he told me he was in the Commando section. Only, once he left Melbourne there was just no way of knowing where he was or what he was doing. He wrote as regularly as he could.’ Her hands became still. ‘A couple of months ago the letters stopped coming. Just stopped.’

She swallowed convulsively, and blinked back tears. ‘Anyway, last week Eric Lund turned up at my house. Said he’d known Mike, that Mike had spoken about me often.’ The nervous pleating began again. ‘He – he was very kind. Told me how brave Mike was. How he’d been with Mike when – That Mike spoke of me just before –’ She took a deep breath. ‘They were on some hush-hush mission together and Mike didn’t make it out.’

The men in the alley had spoken of Mike’s death. So I’d been right in thinking that Eric Lund was a field operative. It made sense. I’d seen the same air of toughness, self-reliance and wary reserve in the operatives who passed through Goodwood. But what – who? – had Eric seen in this ballroom that could cause him to forget everything so completely that he’d fling me aside like that?

Irene’s fingers stilled again and she looked up at me. ‘I never would have known what happened if Eric hadn’t come to see me. Mike’s father lives in Townsville, you see. The army wrote to him as next of kin, but he never knew about me. So I’d never have known.’ She ducked her head, as if warding off a blow and said, very quietly, ‘Not knowing was worse . . .’

Now she was gazing at me, willing me to understand. I found it hard to meet the misery in her eyes, but I forced myself. I held her gaze.

‘Eric Lund’s a good man, a kind man,’ she said, in a more normal voice. ‘The men – they come back changed after they’ve gone through such terrible things and I think they can hurt people without realising it. I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you.’ Her voice was an entreaty.

I managed a trembling smile. ‘He won’t be reported. Don’t worry.’

‘He gave me Mike’s last letter. It was in his pocket when . . . I carry it with me, always.’ She paused, blinking rapidly, holding her mouth tightly to stop the trembling. ‘I – I just thought you should know.’

She stood and walked quickly out of the powder room.

Leroy leaned back in his chair and regarded me solemnly when I returned to the table a short while later.

‘Do you know that sergeant’s name? I want to report him.’

‘Just leave it, Leroy. I’m fine, really. I think he’d completely forgotten I was there. I got in his way and he pushed me aside. It was my fault that I fell.’

Leroy made a sound like a soft snort. ‘Honey, no man would ever forget that you were there. Not if he’d been holding you as close as that.’ His voice became subtly challenging. ‘He was holding you real close all through those dances. Too close.’

I shook my head. And yet . . . Leroy was right; Eric had held me very close in the two dances we’d shared. I squeezed my hand around the ice and felt the pain intensify.

Leroy took me home not long after that. The headache had taken hold, and my hand was very sore. Dolly opened the door to us, already in her pyjamas . . . and a scarf, and a sweater and a greatcoat and several pairs of socks. The city had a coal shortage, a wood shortage and an oil shortage, and our little two-bar electric heater couldn’t chase away the cold of a Melbourne winter. I sometimes wondered if Dolly had been playing around simply to get a warm body beside her in bed.