Gallipoli Street (29 page)

She climbed in, delighting in the soft new seat and shining chrome, laughing as he turned to the back and pulled out two enormous hats. ‘Shall we?'

They sped off, up towards the cliffs, tantalising glimpses of ocean beckoning as the wind whipped at the hats; he handed her his scarf to keep hers tied down. Climbing steeply, they reached the summit and the view opened into glorious expanse around them, the light burning orange against the lace of clouds overhead.

She got out and stretched, breathing deeply of the fresh salt air and revelling in the freedom of senses left bruised by the violent assault they bore each day. The gulls rode the wind and she watched them, envying the simplicity of their existence. When had it become so complicated?
Rose wandered forward, mesmerised by the movement of the ocean, dancing in a thousand shades as gold met silver and the twilight approached. Taking off her hat, she lifted her hair, feeling wonderfully small against the vastness of sky and water.

‘Dinner is served,' Clarkson announced and she turned to find a full picnic laid out, complete with gramophone. Noticing the boyish expression on his face she felt something akin to pain within and she swallowed her tears, moved by his thoughtfulness. They ate without talking, lost in their own thoughts as the sun bid its spectacular farewell. She wondered what was on his mind.

‘Penny for your thoughts.' He beat her to it.

She sighed, pushing her hair back. ‘I saw the men today, thousands of them all up near the front, and one of those horrible tanks. I even saw a certain plane flying over a few times as some madman tried to assess the enemy. I'm just feeling worried tonight and then of course here we are,' she gestured outwards, ‘and it all seems so…pointless…this war.'

‘I'm sure they know what they are doing,' he assured her, though his tone suggested otherwise, ‘and I'm glad you enjoyed my flying. Which reminds me, I'll be picking you up at five o'clock tomorrow morning so don't sleep in.'

‘What are you talking about? I can't go anywhere tomorrow.'

‘Stella is aware you have an important assessment mission to assist me with. Just make sure you don't eat too much breakfast.'

‘What do you mean “assessment mission”?' she asked, eyeing him with suspicion. ‘Are we driving to the front?'

‘Something like that.'

He smiled at her, holding out his hand to help her up, and all thought left her mind as he stopped still in front of her and they stood close, close enough that she could smell the leather of his jacket and the soap on his chin. She froze as his hand slid up to her shoulder and he felt her skin through her blouse. The lightest of touches, but it beat at her heart.

‘You should have brought your coat,' he murmured, pulling her gaze into his eyes.

She nodded, feeling herself drawn closer as the burnished light fell across his features, his mouth only inches from hers. Then the image of Gregory came unbidden into her mind and she broke the spell, pulling away and packing up the picnic. It was one thing to want another woman's husband; it was quite another to risk his life. If she let her passion loose and they became lovers his life would be at risk if Gregory ever found her.

He stood for a moment behind her and she knew he was battling with himself. Then he walked over to the gramophone and before long the music reached her ears. She looked up as he held out his arms to dance, his handsome face in soft invitation. She gave in to it and moved with him as the words fell to the wind and the ball of the sun met the water. It descended in blazing farewell, marking time that would never return; unique forever and felt keenly by two would-be lovers forbidden to love.

Clarkson felt her cheek against his, so soft. Everything about her was soft: her skin, her hair, her face. She was so beautiful and so incredibly strong. And sensual. He'd never met a woman this intoxicating. It was as if everything she did made him want her, whether she was packing supplies or taking off her hat or holding a glass. Everything she said brought him closer into her. Every word was another tie that held him. He didn't just want her flesh: he wanted her soul. He wanted to lose himself in her, everything else be damned. The song ended and she moved away, taking the scent of her, the touch of her, from his arms.

They drove back and he walked her home the long way through town, not wanting to leave her. Looking up, he wished they could take a bed inside one of the brightly coloured buildings where the little balconies opened out from darkened rooms, hinting at hidden passions and secret lovers. The city's stone led them along and he felt himself clinging to its prison, knowing that their time was running out and soon he would leave her here in this fortress town. Theirs would be just another love story locked away in the ancient walls, unspoken and unfulfilled.

It was the best outcome, he told himself. He could face Pattie with a clear conscience, knowing he'd kept his marriage vows and remained faithful. It was the right thing to do. The only choice for an honourable man to make. But as she turned slightly to say goodbye, the streetlight touched her hair in a glow about her face and she twisted one curl around her ear in that now achingly familiar way, and he realised it was too late. He'd already betrayed Pattie in his heart.

Montreuil-sur-Mer, General Headquarters, France

Gregory Chambers stepped out of the car and strode across towards the Officers' Mess, his mind on the upcoming offensive. It was about bloody time they got this whole damn thing over and done with, as far as he was concerned. Giving in to his mother's insistence that he take on his commission had been unavoidable in the end. Forced as he was to stay in Europe in his search for Rose and Elizabeth, he knew he would have to comply with family pressure and do his duty eventually. He'd just hoped that the war would only last a year or so and he would be able to avoid it altogether.

It was an inconvenience he could do without if he was ever going to get on with the two things in his life that actually mattered: his business and his runaway wife and child. The former would surely continue to grow under the careful eyes of his lawyers and associates; locating the latter, however, was proving a frustrating enterprise. He knew they were somewhere in France, or at least that the trail had ended here. Rose had been seen arriving in Calais, a thin woman with red hair carrying a small, white-haired child, but that was where the clues to their whereabouts had stopped. It seemed no amount of money could uncover their location in the chaos that was France right now.

Gregory slapped his gloves on the counter and ordered a glass of wine, nodding at some of the other officers alongside.

‘Sir,' saluted Lionel Pankhurst, his second lieutenant, standing to attention. A bumbling fool, in Gregory's opinion. Too many years at pompous boarding schools and not enough life experience to fill a stamp amongst the lot of them, he thought contemptuously as he scanned the room.

‘Looks likely we'll see some action soon, eh what?' Captain Charles Rollings tipped his glass towards Gregory. He looked to be well into his afternoon drinking session with his usual partner in crime, Captain Lewis Jenkins. ‘Looking forward to getting stuck in?'

Gregory gazed at him over the rim of his glass, thinking how useless this overweight windbag would be in battle. ‘Quite.'

‘The Australians are arriving: lots of veterans from Gallipoli,' Rollings continued. ‘And a load of fresh troops as well. You may have some friends among them.'

‘I doubt it,' Gregory returned dryly.

‘I didn't know you were a colonial,' Jenkins said, looking up and down at Gregory's English uniform, his eyebrows raised high. ‘Bit of convict blood, is it? A few secrets in the closet?'

Rollings swayed, patting Gregory's arm. ‘I don't think Lady Chambers has many secrets in her closets,' he chuckled. ‘I was referring to Chambers' associations by marriage. The new Lady Chambers is Australian, is she not?'

Gregory felt the glass stem between his fingers, stopping himself just in time before he snapped it. Damn Rollings and his gossipy wife.

‘Imagine that! A kangaroo bouncing around in the family. Any young joeys about yet?' Jenkins sneered.

The glass stem did snap in Gregory's hand and he grabbed Jenkins by the throat, holding the sharp edge close. ‘Don't ever mention my family again, do you understand?'

Jenkins eyes were wide and he managed a nod before Gregory let him go, leaving the murmurings and musings behind him as he walked out. Let them talk, let them drink, let them stumble their way into battle and get shot for all he cared. But beware the man who mentioned the bitch he'd married, lest he feel first hand some of the vengeance that clawed at him every day.

Bring on the war, Gregory dared the rain as it began to fall hard upon him. The sooner the killing is done the sooner he could track her down and send her traitorous soul straight to hell.

St Omer, France

She felt the ground leave them with every inch of her body as she clenched the seat tightly, watching in awe as the airstrip fell away beneath them and they whirred over the treetops. She held her breath as they cleared the forest, then the farmhouse then, all of a sudden, the earth dropped. They sailed out over a golden patchwork quilt where little dollhouses rested on soft folds and tiny beings moved about in the early morning light, going about their daily ritual of survival. Clarkson banked and Rose let out a cry of delight, laughing at the sheer madness that they were actually flying. She knew that's what he did of course, sometimes secretly feeling he exaggerated the role these flying machines played in the war, but now she could believe it. Such a viewpoint would take hours to plot on land, yet these marvellous contraptions gave one the eagle's advantage, and she
felt
like an eagle as they veered left and she looked out at the coast. The dawn touched the jagged cliffs, igniting the waves as they hurled themselves against the rocks then fanned in spectacular farewell.

Rose had thought France beautiful on land, but from the air it was even more so. The emerald greens of the trees, the crisp whites and yellows of the houses, the red of the rooftops and the gold of the sand all vied for attention and she felt intensely alive as exhilaration washed through her. Clarkson turned and pointed out the train line and the approach of Calais and she waved at Elizabeth and Joelene, knowing they were probably asleep in their beds. Her baby's soft little face filled her mind for a moment; she blew her a kiss. In the distance she could make out England and felt grateful for the expanse of water that separated her from the dangers lurking there.

Clarkson banked again, turning inland, and she watched the patchwork quilt reappear. The hay rolls she saw yesterday were scattered on the blanket in tiny dots as silvered trails of the river meandered in their creases.

Then it came. At first a distant rumble, then louder, as dark clouds of explosives rose skywards, marking the battle line long before anything was visible on the ground. The soft beauty of France had a death line locked and wrestling across her breast. Two angry beasts roared and screamed, rending the air and clutching at her with sharp claws. Rose saw the line reach in two directions as far as she could see: the beasts stretched out their mighty arms in anticipation of the real battle to come, when this wrestle became a fight and they unleashed full vengeance upon each other.

Clarkson kept heading steadily towards the line and she grew afraid as the German army came into sight. She saw them swarming and hovering at the back behind the firing line, a mirror of their enemy, and felt strangely as if she were watching Iggy play with the toy soldiers he'd had when they were children. These little tiny specks that each had a soul felt like pawns in a giant game of chess, necessary but expendable, a distraction intended to protect the back row. For the first time she saw the war for what it truly was, a deadly game played by men who were once boys, with toy soldiers and chess sets, and who now had the real thing at their disposal.

Clarkson flew for a few minutes as close as he dared with Rose on board, taking photos of the German developments from a camera perched on the wing, then turned for home. He was satisfied that he'd confirmed what they had unfortunately all expected back at base: an enemy on full alert. Just then he noticed something out of the corner of his eye and cursed. Rose, watching him, turned as well, and blanched to see a German plane headed their way. It was unusual for this hour and Clarkson guessed he was on a scouting mission much like his own and that the pilot was probably just as surprised as he was. He made for the clouds and cut through above, knowing that the German could no longer see him and would turn back rather than stay behind enemy lines. Sure enough, ten minutes later, they cleared the clouds and sailed out into blue sky, once again over calm fields.