Women and War (10 page)

Tara did not know whether to be glad or sorry about the change in her status and eventually settled for an emotion midway between the two. She missed singing but she enjoyed the advantages of being Red's woman too. That was like playing a part in a way for she had to walk right, talk right, behave as he expected in a variety of situations. It was, she thought, almost as much fun as performing on stage – and a great deal more lucrative!

As for her place in Red's bed, that had never been as bad as she had expected from her observations of Maggie's life – not even that first time when he took her to his scarlet and gold bedroom dressed just as he was in the monogrammed towelling robe with his hair still wet from the sauna. Red, who held most of the hardest men in Sydney in a grip of fear, was a tender and generous lover – and the luxury of those black silk sheets and a tub of scented water to relax in afterwards removed all feeling of having been used.

She enjoyed, too, the schemes she could weave in order to get her own way. It was a sport to find ways of winding Red around her little finger and she liked the feeling of power when she scored a small victory.

Tonight, however, as she sat at the dressing table the thoughts that occupied her were too serious for any game. There was a certain subject she wished to broach and she was unsure of the best time to do so – before making love or afterwards. Red was impatient for her. She could tell from the way he watched her every move as he sat propped against the pillows. If he was impatient he might cut her short whilst afterwards there would be all the time in the world and if she worked at making it good for him he would be in a rosy glowing mood, able to refuse her nothing. On the other hand, he might simply go to sleep before she finished telling him what she wanted whilst now he might agree to anything in his eagerness to have her.

She drew the brush through her curls again, raising her arms so that her breasts thrust enticingly against the silk wrap and watching his reaction in the mirror.

‘Oh Red, it's so lucky I am! Sometimes I just can't believe anyone can be as lucky as me.'

‘And what brought that on?' He sounded amused but she knew he was pleased.

‘It's when I get reminded of how I used to live – when I see friends deep in trouble and think it might be me.'

‘And what has reminded you just now?'

She avoided the question. She was not quite ready for it yet.

‘I just wish with all my heart that I could do something to help. Just a little thing to ease the suffering …'

She was watching his reflection from beneath her lashes and was not altogether pleased to see one corner of his mouth twist upwards.

‘Come on, Tara, what is it you want? Out with it and then perhaps you'll be ready to come to bed.'

She put down the brush and ran over to plump down on the edge of the bed, resting a hand on his chest. ‘It's Maggie. I saw her today and …'

She felt him stiffen and knew she had chosen the wrong moment.

‘You know I don't like you seeing Maggie,' he said shortly.

‘Oh Red, please don't be angry!' she begged. ‘She's my friend – she practically brought me up after Mammy ran off and left me – she's been more like a mother to me ever since. And she's ill Red, really ill!'

‘I'm not surprised, living in that squalid room,' he said. ‘And that's not all. If she escapes food poisoning she's liable to get a dose of the clap.'

‘Red!' she admonished. ‘ It's nothing like that.'

‘What is it then?'

‘If you ask me I think she has a growth – cancer. It doesn't bear thinking about, she looks so bad.'

‘Where did you see her?' he asked.

She hesitated. As he had said he didn't like her visiting Maggie in Darlinghurst, she went when she could sneak across town undiscovered and for some time she had been concerned by the look of Maggie. ‘You're not eating enough – you look so thin!' she had told her repeatedly and Maggie had just laughed and replied that if she was putting on weight like some people, then Tara would have something to chide her over.

But today there had been no jokes. Tara had found her in bed, too weak to get up, and though her thinness was hidden beneath the tumbled sheets the dark circles beneath her eyes and the hollows in her cheeks were more noticeable than ever. Horrified, Tara had questioned her and for the first time Maggie had admitted just how ill she was.

‘Red, please!' she begged now. ‘She needs medical attention – the best. If she doesn't get it I dread to think what will happen to her.'

He shrugged. ‘Maggie is not your problem, Tara.'

‘Red …'

‘And she is certainly not mine. Good God, if I was expected to help every sick down and out and whore in Sydney …'

‘Not every one. Just Maggie.'

‘If she has got cancer I doubt whether money would help anyway. It would just be wasted.'

‘No!'

‘Yes.' He reached out spreading his hand around the back of her neck and drawing her towards him. ‘Forget about Maggie and come here.'

‘But Red …'

‘Come here I said!'

Obediently Tara tipped her face to his kiss, twining her arms around his neck and thrusting her breasts enticingly upwards. But inside a little knot of anger was growing. How could Red be so callous? To dismiss Maggie that way with less consideration than he would give to one of his dogs …

His hands were on her breasts easing them out of her wrap and running down across her belly and, for a moment, she stifled a manic urge to thrust him away and scream her anger and disgust. But as his fingers moved downwards, lingering with long gentle strokes on the soft inner part of her thighs, she began to forget her anger as the first stirrings of desire sent weakness coursing through the deepest parts of her.

How could he do this to her? she wondered. When she was hating him so, how could he make her feel so good? She moved her knees restlessly and he tugged at the sash of her robe, loosening it, then pushing the silk back over her hips.

‘Come here,' he said, his voice vibrant with desire.

She twisted round and half rose to turn back the sheet and get in beside him and as she did so the robe slipped back exposing one knee and thigh. Seeing it snapped her back to cold reality for it was as if she was seeing Maggie's leg that day when she had told her to go to Red, that same day when she, Tara, had decided she would do anything to escape the fate that was stalking Maggie. An aching emptiness flooded through her and with it the compulsion – she must do something to help Maggie. Whatever Red said, she must!

Automatically her body obeyed his dictates while her mind raced. Perhaps she had chosen the wrong moment. Perhaps afterwards she could try again. He had so much – surely he could not continue to deny Maggie just a little …

The silk sheet slid sensuously across her back as he turned her, then his muscular bulk was towering over her, and she felt again the surger of inner weakness. As he thrust into her, her sensitized flesh rose to his and she moaned softly, unable to resist, unable even to keep her mind detached any longer. Red was power – power – and she was his! If he was cruel and hard it did not make any difference. It was
him
. And it was so good to be his woman – so good …!

But afterwards, when she lay languorous and still sticky from the heights of passion, the wretchedness began to creep in again, a heaviness that began in the pit of her stomach then swelled like leavening yeast until there was no room within her for any other emotion.

She must help Maggie. She would. Somehow, whatever it cost her, she could not allow Maggie to suffer and die. Throughout the weeks that followed Maggie was constantly on Tara's mind and the first creeping anxiety turned gradually to frantic worry and then to despair. She had hated Red when he had said money spent on trying to cure Maggie would be wasted; but before long she was forced to admit that it would be a miracle if a cure could be found.

Her later attempts to persuade Red to help had been no more fruitful than the first – Red was as stubborn as he was hard and nothing Tara could do or say could induce him to part with a single penny piece for Maggie – not her pleas, not her tears, not her wiliest wiles or her most ardent loving – and eventually the state of his temper when she raised the subject made her realize that it would be wise to allow it to drop for a while at least. But that did not mean she had abandoned Maggie – far from it. Tara's determination to do the best she could for the friend who had taken the place of her mother burned more fiercely than ever and she made up her mind that if Red wouldn't give her the money to help Maggie she would get it elsewhere.

In spite of her spoiled status in Red's household Tara had no access to ready cash – whatever she wanted he paid for, so she had to explore other avenues, and the one that came to mind first was her jewellery. During the five years she had been with him Red had showered her with gold and gems of every description – now she decided that if she were to sell a few he would never miss them.

Sneaking away from the bodyguards one day she took them to a downtown jewellers and was shocked by how little she was offered for diamonds and sapphires she knew had cost Red thousands of dollars. But argument proved to be useless and Tara took what she could get and left. It was something for Maggie – enough to get her away, perhaps, to a doctor who could do something for her.

But Maggie, when Tara told her this, only shook her head and laughed, a hollow parody of the shriek of merriment that had used to fill the apartment.

‘No point wasting good money on fancy doctors. Mac the Knife is good enough for me.'

‘He's a drunken old fool!' Tara had said hotly.

Maggie's face turned grey as a spasm of pain creased through her. ‘ Drunken he might be, but he's no fool,' she said as it passed. ‘I've trusted him since I was your age, Tara, and believe me there have been times when he's saved my neck. If Mac says there's nothing can be done, I'll take his word for it.'

‘No!' Tara urged desperately. ‘I can't just let you get worse, Maggie, and not even try to do something for you! There must be a way! If you were rich …'

Maggie smiled sadly. ‘Even the rich have to die, Tara.'

‘No!' Tara could hold back the tears no longer; she threw her arms around her friend, burying her face in the now-scrawny breasts. ‘No, Maggie, no!'

‘Oh sweetheart!' Maggie stroked Tara's hair with a thin hand – she, who was sick, was the comforter now. ‘ I'm not afraid. But I don't want to be carted off to some fancy hospital to die, I'd rather be here in my own home. And it's not as if I'm alone. I've got Jack now.'

Tara nodded silently swallowing her tears. Yes, at least Maggie had Jack. He would not have been Tara's choice but who was she to judge? Jack was a seaman who had jumped ship. He and his mate, a big brawny Irishman named Mick O' Neill, had visited Maggie one night and had grown friendly with her, attracted by the fact that she too was Irish. She had given them both a roof over their heads and then, as a relationship developed between her and Jack, Mick had moved on, while Jack had stayed to share her bed and her life. For a little while Maggie had become almost respectable. Jack had objected to her way of life saying he was no pimp and he would walk out before he would take advantage of a penny piece she might have earned in that way, and Tara had teased her that after all this time she was actually going to settle down.

‘See how lucky I am, Tara,' Maggie had said. ‘Having someone to spend my old age with. I never thought that would happen to me. I always thought that when I lost my looks I'd be alone.'

But that had been before the illness struck her down – a pitifully short time before. Now it looked as though Maggie would not have an old age to spend with anyone or to be alone.

Tara wept tears of frustration and premature grief, but nothing she could say would induce Maggie to change her mind. Not being allowed to pay for the best treatment for Maggie did not mean not being able to help her at all, though, and Tara was determined to remain firm on that point. All her life Maggie had lived from hand to mouth. Now she could not work there was no money coming in and none put by either, while Jack, though able bodied and willing, had been unable to find employment.

‘It's not his fault, Tara,' Maggie said. ‘There just aren't enough jobs to go round any more – and Jack has to be careful he isn't seen around the harbour. If they caught up with him and took him away from me now, I don't know what I'd do.'

Tara had turned away swallowing at the tears. Her mind was made up. She would make Maggie's last weeks comfortable if it was the last thing she did. So a few more items of jewellery found their way into the downtown jewellers and a few to the pawnshop and Tara was able to buy the things she wanted for Maggie – some delicacies in a vain attempt to persuade her to eat, perfumed soap to try to wash away the smell of death, and a silk nightgown to replace the cheap art silk.

‘Oh Tara, all my life I've wanted a real silk nightgown!' Maggie said when she saw it.

Mac also had to be paid and the drugs that were needed to keep Maggie's pain under control did not come cheap. And there had to be enough, too, when it was over, to bury her properly.

All this had to be kept from Red and Tara planned her visits to Darlinghurst with military precision. At first, when she went only once a week, this was not too difficult but as Maggie's strength failed Tara wanted to visit her more and more often. The house in Elizabeth Bay became like a prison to her and she paced the rooms, fretting and thinking of ways she could get over to see Maggie. Even when Red took her out she was preoccupied. There seemed something obscene about wining and dining at one of the clubs when her friend lay dying and the music and laughter echoed in her head like a manic nightmare.