Papua (18 page)

The sign read
Sullivan, Levi & Duffy, Solicitors
and the offices in a three-storeyed sandstone building just off Circular Quay seemed to be bursting at the seams with wads of legal papers stuffed in manila folders and tied with pale pink ribbon.

Jack was ushered into an office marked
Thomas Sullivan MC
. He was pleased to note that the solicitor had obviously seen war service and been awarded a Military Cross. A strongly built man about his own age greeted him across an untidy desk strewn with papers. It was when he stood that Jack noticed the brawny lawyer had lost a leg.

‘Mont St Quentin,’ he grunted at Jack’s obvious glance at his wooden limb. ‘Bloody war was almost over when the Fritzes stitched me up with one of their bloody machine guns. Hear you saw a bit yourself in France.’

Jack warmed to the man despite a great dislike for lawyers generally. ‘Yeah, enlisted just after the Dardenelles campaign.’

‘I read that in the report about yourself and the late Lord Spencer. Seems he held you in the same esteem as he might a blood relation. But come to think about it George Spencer was not very close to his family after he resigned his commission. Seems that he was accused of diddling mess funds and looked like he might face a court martial at the time. His father’s regiment and all that. But the culprit was caught red handed and the army did not apologise for their mistake. The stiff upper lip – or something, I suppose.’

‘So that was it,’ Jack mused as he made himself comfortable in a chair.

‘Would you like a whisky or gin?’ Tom Sullivan asked when he was seated. He turned to the bottles stashed behind a pile of documents in the corner of his small office. ‘Think you will need a stiff drink for what I am about to tell you,’ he grinned.

‘If you think it’s a good idea, I will have a gin.’

Sullivan reached over and retrieved a bottle. He placed two glasses on his desk and poured liberal tots into each. ‘Sorry, I haven’t got any tonic,’ he apologised as he pushed Jack’s glass across the table between reams of papers. ‘Place is always like this. Got to hate the neat and tidy ways of the army so I suppose this is my way of staging my own mutiny to everything that reminds me of those days.’ He raised his glass. ‘To the late Lord George Spencer.’

Jack responded by raising his glass in a silent salute to his old friend. He was bursting with curiosity as to why he had received the summons to the solicitor’s office. All the letter had said was that as a beneficiary of the will he was required to be at its reading on this appointed day.

The lawyer placed his glass to one side and produced a formal looking document. ‘We were appointed Lord Spencer’s executors while he was in Sydney. Then we received his will by mail some months ago when he went north to Papua. It seems that he did not have much faith in the more expensive and English dominated law firms here. My family’s firm has always had a tradition of being a thorn in the side of the Australian establishment. I think that he was wise in his choice considering the beneficiaries of the will. In the hands of a more respectable firm of solicitors – not that we aren’t respectable,’ Tom hurried to justify, ‘but a more conservative firm, especially British linked, might have wanted to have the English aristocracy dispute the terms of the will. But as Lord Spencer was the very last of his line it seems they would probably have to drag out some poor half-witted imbecile from the dungeon where he was locked away to avoid a family scandal. Anyway, I gather from the shock you have exhibited on learning that your former friend was of noble birth – in a pommy sort of way – that you require some more explanation.’

‘It would help,’ Jack said taking a swig from the bitter clear liquid. ‘I always suspected George had some surprises in his background – but a title was not one of those things I suspected.’

‘He was only Lord Spencer for a short time whilst he was in Papua,’ Tom explained. ‘Up until then his older brother had inherited the title from his father who died in ’19. But his brother was a serving officer, a family tradition of the Spencers, and was killed last year fighting at Archangel in Russia against the Reds. George automatically inherited the title – not that it seems to have helped him any from the report I read that was sent to us with his death certificate. I see that you were with him in his last hours.’

Jack stared at the wall behind the solicitor for a brief moment as the memory of the attack came back to him. ‘George was a fair dinkum mate. Best pom I ever knew,’ he said finishing the contents of the glass in one swallow.

‘You don’t get the title,’ Tom said with a smile, ‘but you get the whole shooting match of estates and accounts held in the Spencer name. And that amounts to a lordship’s fortune.’

‘Is that what George said in his will?’ Jack asked as the shock wore off.

‘Well, not precisely,’ Tom Sullivan said as he shuffled the papers before him. ‘It seems that the terms of the will specified that in the event of his death his estate was to be equally divided between yourself and a young lady called Iris. From a report sent to me by the Papuan administration it appears that Miss Iris was unfortunately killed.’

‘She is not dead,’ Jack said. ‘I received a telegram from Port Moresby to say that she had been sighted still alive by a reputable witness.’

‘Ahh . . . that somewhat complicates matters then,’ the solicitor replied. ‘You see, under the conditions of the will we cannot release any of the estate until the lady signs for her share.’

‘Well, easy come, easy go,’ Jack laughed bitterly. The chance to independently bankroll himself had existed for the time it took him to finish a glass of gin. ‘I doubt that getting her signature will be that easy.’

‘Why is that?’

‘I don’t have all the facts and have to wait for a letter that will brief me on the situation. But about all I do know is that she is out of reach.’

The pained expression on Tom Sullivan’s face said it all. The will was at a stalemate. ‘I am sorry – there is nothing else we can do for you for the moment. We require confirmation that either the young lady is dead – or her signature. Sorry, old chap.’

‘I hope you get Iris’s signature,’ Jack said as he rose from the chair. ‘I owe that to my old mate.’

When Jack returned to Strathfield he was met by Harry who said that Erika had returned home in a chauffeur driven car to pick up the last of her things. She had told him that she was not coming back. Jack stood on the doorstep, stunned by the news. Maybe Harry had got it wrong.

‘Did she actually say she was leaving us?’ he asked in a strained voice.

‘Afraid so,’ Harry replied sympathetically. ‘I don’t think you will be seeing your young lady again.’

Jack felt numb. What had gone wrong? This was worse than the old dreams of war. ‘Tell young Lukas that I won’t be able to take him to the park today to play cricket. And I am not sure when I will be in tonight.’

Harry could see that his brother-in-law had a set expression that was disturbing. ‘Don’t do anything rash,’ he warned, but Jack ignored him as he spun on his heel and strode down the footpath. Jack knew where he was going – and knew what he must do.

Jack stood at the front of the Point Piper mansion and rapped sharply on the door.

‘I am sorry, Mr Kelly, but you cannot enter,’ the butler said firmly as he blocked the entrance. ‘I have orders from Mrs Arrowsmith.’

He was not a young man and Jack felt a twinge of guilt as he forced his way past him. ‘Mrs Arrowsmith,’ he called out, planting himself in the large airy chamber below a set of marbled stairs that led to the upstairs living area.

He was about to climb the stairs when Caroline appeared at the top wearing little more than a cream silk chemise. Behind her stood Erika in a similarly short undergarment with the addition of a black suspender belt and stockings.

‘You are not welcome here, Mr Kelly,’ Caroline stated in a commanding voice. ‘If you do not leave immediately I will call the police and inform my husband of your uninvited intrusion into our home.’

‘I am here to speak to Erika,’ Jack said, staring past Caroline to Erika, who appeared pale and frightened.

‘Say your piece and leave,’ Caroline conceded coldly. ‘I hope that it will be brief.’

‘Are you coming home?’ Jack asked, directing his question to Erika.

‘I am sorry, Jack,’ she replied, almost in a whisper, ‘but my life is here. Not with you. Caroline has arranged for me to take a position in her house.’

‘Are you and she . . . ?’ Jack could not find the words but Erika knew what he wanted to ask.

‘That is not of your concern,’ she replied with a defiant tilt of her chin. ‘My life is my own. And after what I have now learned about you, I never ever want to see you again.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Jack asked in confusion.

Erika glared at him. ‘The letters,’ she said in a trembling voice. ‘I found them when I was packing to leave. I was not prying into your affairs, I found them by accident. How could you be in possession of my words to Wolfgang? They were sacred and private. Did you kill Wolfgang?’

Jack paled. He did not know how to respond. He had meant to tell Erika about the letters and how they had come into his possession, but every time he had considered doing so he always felt a touch of guilt. Now he wished he had destroyed them.

‘I did not kill your fiancé,’ he replied softly. ‘I swear on the life of my son that it was not me who killed Wolfgang.’ And Jack uttered the words in the genuine belief that they were true. He did not know that all for the sake of a war souvenir a soldier had lied to him that day.

Erika stared at him for a short time then turned to walk into the room behind her. She was not sure whether she could believe him but felt that Jack was not the kind of man to lie. It did not seem to be in his forthright nature. But doubt was something she also harboured in her feelings. She knew that she was not likely to ever turn to him again.

Jack watched Erika walk from his life and stood helplessly swamped by his sorrow for what could have been. Somehow the matter of the letters was not a thing he could explain in simple terms. But Jack was not a man to beg.

That afternoon Jack got blinding drunk. This time his two erstwhile drinking companions had to help him home, holding him between them as they had helped wounded comrades from the battlefields. Jack was no less wounded now than he had been at times on the Western Front. At least his physical wounds had healed. This was a different kind of wound, one that he doubted would ever heal.

Jack remained in Sydney for another three months. He was reluctant to leave whilst Erika was in the city, hoping against all hope that she might return to him. But it was not to be.

Soon the money he had made from his find was almost gone and he knew that he must make a decision. He could remain with his brother-in-law and seek employment with his printing firm or return to the land that he loved. Jack purchased two railway tickets for Townsville en route to the mysterious island to Australia’s north. Whatever was to be his destiny still lay in those wild, unexplored mountains.

‘N
ext stop Townsville,’ the conductor called as he walked down the carriage past the weary travellers.

Jack glanced at Lukas sitting by the window, peering out at the landscape of the new place his father said would be his home. The paddocks were green and the spindly gum trees seemed to have taken on a new lease of life. The Wet had come to the north and Townsville had benefitted.

Christmas of 1920 was almost upon them and Jack wondered if his dwindling supply of money could stretch to buy his son a decent gift to go under the tree. He stared out the window at the paddocks and felt their welcome. He was back in the country, away from the grey city people and their suits. His only regret was that he hadn’t smashed the smirk from Arrowsmith’s face when he confronted him in his office. At least he had the satisfaction of telling him where he could stick his suggestion of a partnership when he still refused to invest. He remembered how the bigger man had trembled when Jack got past his secretary and burst into his office demanding an answer and still angry about Erika’s defection. Jack had stated that one day he would come looking for Arrowsmith and that when he did, he would settle scores with him. What that meant he left to Arrowsmith’s imagination. Quentin had led a privileged life of luxury and was not used to dealing with men who did not think twice about putting their lives on the line on a daily basis.

‘Almost there,’ Jack said gently to Lukas. At least the Sydney to Townsville train trip over the last few days had helped Jack develop something of a paternal bond with his son. It dawned on Jack one night out of Brisbane that he was looking at himself as a young boy when he gazed upon the sleeping face of his son. And it also occurred to Jack that his son was now the only living relative in his life. Both awesome realisations that made him appreciate how important it was to succeed, that he must leave something of substance behind when he finally joined his old comrades in the eternal sleep of death.

A letter had arrived from Papua in which Paul Mann gave Jack an account of his expedition into the Fly River delta in search of Iris. He was sketchy in his description of sighting her, but Jack got the picture. He also mentioned that he would be back in Townsville for Christmas to be with his family. He hoped that Jack could join them, should he be in the area at the time. Jack accepted the invitation. It would be good to share a Christmas with his son in a family atmosphere. So he telegrammed his acceptance to Karin and they were all standing on the railway station as the train pulled in.

Their greeting was warm and Karin made a big fuss over Lukas. Jack was pleased to see that his son seemed to take to her and their boy Karl. Although young Karl’s English was not perfect, he was learning fast at school and the two boys immediately struck up a conversation about the animals of the region. Jack could see that Paul had suffered a severe bout of fever as he was gaunt and hollow-eyed.

‘Sen was good to me,’ he said, as they walked to a horse and sulky that Paul had been able to buy. ‘He paid me well and purchased my ticket home for Christmas.’

‘Smart bastard,’ Jack said with a grin as he slapped Paul on the back. ‘Knows he won’t get a better man than you.’

‘I have you to thank for that,’ Paul replied modestly. ‘I think fate meant us to meet that terrible day.’

‘Maybe,’ Jack mused. ‘Kind of need a good mate right now.’

As they approached the little house outside of town Jack was amazed to see how Karin’s garden had sprouted a cornucopia of fresh vegetables. When he commented on it Karin scowled. ‘Those damned kangaroos have tried to eat all my vegetables,’ she said.

‘You sound like an Aussie already,’ Jack laughed.

Karin seemed pleased by the comment.

‘It is a good country,’ Paul added. ‘Lots of sunshine and food. And the people are proving to be a little more friendly – well, most of them.’

Paul brought the sulky to a stop and the two boys immediately jumped off to run and see something that Karl had told Lukas about.

‘Karl!’ Paul called in a commanding voice. ‘Help me with the horse before you go off to play.’

‘Yes, Papa,’ he replied, obediently scooting to a stop and idling back to his father with his hands in his pockets.

Karin showed Jack through to a gauzed-in verandah at the back of the house. It had a simple iron bed with clean sheets. ‘You can sleep here,’ she said, patting the bed. ‘Lukas can sleep in with Karl.’

Jack dropped his swag on the bed.

‘I have heard from Erika,’ Karin continued as if reading Jack’s mind. Being in the house had reminded him of the first time he had set eyes on her. ‘She wrote me a letter to wish us well for Christmas and she said that you were good to her in Sydney.’ She paused. ‘I think you were a little in love with her.’

‘How did you know?’ he asked.

Karin smiled. ‘I saw it in your eyes the day you came to visit us. Men are so easy to read in such matters but complicated in all other ways.’

‘Not that complicated,’ Jack replied with a sad smile. ‘Just naive.’

‘She was not meant for you, Jack,’ Karin said sympathetically. ‘She is not a good woman despite the fact that she is my sister-in-law. I think she would destroy any man in her life. But I should not say such things to you as I can see she has hurt you already.’ Jack nodded and sat on the bed. ‘I have something for you and Lukas to eat. I have made a stew with dumplings. I hope you like it.’

Flavoured with herbs and spices, the stew was delicious and both Kelly men had a second helping.

‘Great tucker,’ Jack grunted as he ladled the rich dark meat and gravies into his mouth. ‘Can’t quite figure out if it is beef or lamb though.’

‘Neither,’ Paul grinned. ‘It’s one of those pesky kangaroos.’

Jack laughed. ‘Takes someone new to this country to make something out of a bloody nuisance. Got to get the recipe from you, Karin,’ he added and she beamed with happiness. How lucky Paul was, Jack thought, when he looked at Karin. She was everything a man wanted in a woman.

That evening Jack and Paul sat outside the house on a log and shared a couple of bottles of beer under the constellation of the Southern Cross. It was time to swap their experiences since they had last seen each other at Sen’s house on the outskirts of Port Moresby. The night had a balmy breeze and Jack felt at complete ease. How ironic life was – a little over two years earlier they were at war and would have tried to kill each other to satisfy the whims of power hungry politicians. Now they sat together sharing a beautiful night in the tropics of Australia.

Paul recounted his expedition in search of Iris. After relating the events of his planned attack on O’Leary he became subdued.

‘You made the right decision not to play your hand,’ Jack said, guessing Paul’s sense of failure. ‘The odds were against getting yourself and your men out alive. O’Leary will turn up again and when he does we will find out where Iris was shipped to.’

Paul nodded. ‘I do not want to pry, my friend,’ Paul said quietly, ‘but I fear you must be low on funds by now. Sen told me that the gold you found would only keep you for a while.’

‘Bit like that,’ Jack answered, and took a long swig from the large beer bottle. The fizzy ale felt good in his throat. ‘But I will get back to Papua and see if I can do anything about making the best of the strike.’

‘That will cost money,’ Paul said. ‘I wish I were in a position to help you.’

‘My old mate George Spencer – sorry, Lord Spencer – was almost in a position to help me,’ Jack said. ‘But it all hinged on finding Iris to satisfy the terms of his will. I doubt that will be easy until we get our hands on O’Leary.’

‘What will you do?’

‘Work for Sen for a while until I have enough to put together some stores and a couple of boys to go back into New Guinea. It can only be a matter of time before the administration up there start issuing licences to mine leases.’

Paul said no more. He had a surprise for his friend, but that would wait until Christmas Day. His present was also intended for his family. He smiled in the dark and gazed up at the Southern Cross twinkling overhead in the crystal clear skies. Australia was a new land of bounty and opportunity. And so too was Papua.

Christmas day soon came with the patter of four very excited feet in the early hours before dawn. There were presents under the scraggly young gum sapling Paul and Jack had dragged from the bush. It had been adorned with coloured paper cut from women’s magazines by Karin and shaped into stars and angels. The previous evening they had all sat up singing carols in German. Karin had left the men by the tree to reminisce about their days at the Front. Although on different sides, the conditions were basically the same for both men: mud, barbed wire and hideous death.

A highly agitated Lukas shook his hungover father awake and dragged him to the decorated tree to see what Father Christmas had left for him during the night. Stumbling after his son, Jack felt the throb of each footfall on the timber floor. Karin was already sitting by the tree in her long nightdress with her legs tucked under her knees, her hair like a golden fountain down her back. She smiled up at him when he entered the room.

‘A happy Christmas to you, Jack Kelly,’ she said sweetly.

Jack responded, wishing the clanging of Christmas bells would leave his head.

‘Look Daddy,’ Lukas shouted. ‘Father Christmas has left me a real cowboy gun and hat.’

Jack peered curiously at the present Lukas held up to him. He had not been able to buy Lukas a present but a knowing look from Karin explained it all. He mouthed a thank you and she looked away. Karl had also received a cowboy outfit and the two boys blazed away at each other in the small living room dominated by the sapling, which already had wilted in the heat of the hot Australian Christmas morning.

And so Christmas 1920 was one of the best Jack could remember in a long time. Not since he was a boy growing up in the colony of South Australia could he recall experiencing such warmth and happiness.

But Christmas got even better over a lunch of a roast haunch of beef with baked vegetables, followed by custard and fresh fruit. Then, after the meal, Paul announced that he had been able to purchase a copra plantation just down the coast from Port Moresby. Sen had helped him with the red tape and after Christmas they would all return to live on their new property. ‘And I will need a manager, Jack,’ he said leaning onto the table. ‘How would you like the job?’

Jack glanced at Lukas. ‘If the offer is open, you have your man.’

As they shook each other’s hands Karin served coffee. The day couldn’t have been happier, Jack thought. Not only had Lukas been part of a real Christmas but now Jack could spend more time with his son. Next time he would make sure he put the present under the tree himself. Maybe 1921 would prove to be a better year than the one that had passed.