Women and War (27 page)

‘There you are, then. Don't let me hold you up, for goodness' sake.'

He touched her shoulder lightly yet somehow it was almost a caress.

‘Make it a good show, Tara. Good luck.'

Nerves jangling she thrust him aside. ‘You mustn't say that!'

‘Mustn't say what?'

‘Good luck. You mustn't say it. You say break a leg.'

‘All right – break a leg!' He sounded amused. But Tara had already gone and he did not know if she had heard him.

More than halfway through and it was going well. Still so tense she was almost afraid to admit it yet beginning to flush with cautious relief. Tara stood at the side of the stage and watched Kath Rice rattle the spoons in an astonishing rhythm accompanied by Joe Hanks on the piano. She was good – she really was good – and a born performer too, milking her audience for every last scrap of applause. Which was more than could be said for the drag act, Tara thought a little crossly. The two medicos, overwhelmed by stage fright, had rushed through their routine so quickly that much of the humour of it had been lost. But then the audience didn't know what they were supposed to have done and they had simply lapped up the spectacle of two respected doctors prancing about in skirts.

The loudspeaker system was working reasonably well now – it only gave the occasional whistle if someone got too close to the microphone and Tara had done her utmost to impress upon all the performers not to do that. And the lights were a dream – well done, Dev! thought Tara and – Oh, Holy Mother, don't let me be the one to let the show down!

After the spoons it was the turn of the tenor MO. He made a false start, coming in on the wrong note, and Tara's nails dug into her palms as she whispered frantically to George Marshall, the dental officer who – was compèring for her. But Joe Hanks, thumping the true notes so loudly that only a deaf man could fail to hear them, got him back on the right track and Tara breathed again. He did have a good voice, all he lacked was confidence, and with an audience as big as this one it was enough to give anyone stage fright.

She craned forward to look at them – nowhere in the clearing was there a square inch of space to spare. Soldiers and airmen from nearby camps had arrived by the truckload and every patient who was fit enough had been brought out of the wards too. Please God we don't have a raid, Tara thought. But the coast watchers had not reported any enemy activity and raids did not penetrate this far inland.

The tenor finished his first number ‘ I Dream of Jeannie' and a burst of applause rose like a bubbling living roar from the massed audience. It was an ovation such as Tara had rarely heard for a professional performer, and this MO, though his voice was pleasant enough, was scarcely a virtuoso. It's because they want to enjoy it, I suppose, she thought. They would applaud anything. But though it eased her anxieties about the show it did nothing to lessen the spiral of tension that was tightening within as her own spot approached. The other performers were amateurs – they were allowed a little leeway. She was a professional. She had to give the performance of her life. More. She had to prove herself again. And the moment when she had to do it was coming closer and closer. One more song from the tenor, a five minute spot by Sister Grace Dunwoody on the harmonica and she would be on!

‘Tara!' The urgent hiss from the darkness behind her caught her jagged nerves and she turned sharply as one of her backstage helpers caught her arm.

‘What's wrong?'

‘It's Grace Dunwoody. She's collapsed.

‘Collapsed? What do you mean – collapsed?'

‘She hasn't been well all day, it seems. But she's said nothing to anybody because she was so keen to do the show. Now she's fainted.'

‘Oh no! Is somebody with her?'

‘Of course. The place is crawling with doctors. But she was due to go on next, wasn't she?'

‘Yes. Yes!' Tara was icy cool suddenly. ‘I'll have to go straight on. Find George and tell him. He was here a minute ago. And Joe … can you get a message out to Joe?'

‘Sure.'

‘Now! This minute.'

‘Yes.'

‘Go on then.'

She climbed the rickety steps to the side of the platform and stood behind fronds of greenery, hands clenched. into damp fists, heart beating so hard it echoed in every pulse and nerve. Calm down, Tara. Deep breaths! The tenor was coming to the end of ‘Granada', thoroughly enjoying himself now. The deep breaths drew a path of calm through her panic. Almost time. Almost. Where the hell is George? Another moment of threatening panic. Don't be foolish – George will be here. All he has to do is introduce you instead of Grace. Another deep breath. Applause for the tenor, like the roar of the sea in her ears, and George was there beside her, totally unruffled and smelling of alcohol.

‘All right, sweetheart?' she nodded, unable to speak. He squeezed her arm. ‘Here we go then!'

This is it. The moment of truth. They are waiting for you.

She stepped out onto the stage and was no longer afraid. She felt the anticipation of the tight packed audience and Dev's lights hot and bright on her face, heard Joe's piano tinkling out the bars of her opening number. As she began to sing all the nervousness she had bottled inside her acted as a cataclysmic force, generating power and electric magnetism. Her voice rose sweetly in the clear soft night: ‘Yours – till the stars lose their glory …', and it was not only the purity of her tone which entranced but the force of her personality. On and on she sang, one war song after an other, carrying them with her. And when at last she came to the end of her programme it seemed they would never let her go. They clapped, they cheered, they whistled, they stamped their feet. She came back for one encore – ‘Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye!' – determined to do no more. First rule of the variety theatre – leave them wanting more! But after she had left the stage, they were still yelling and cheering and she stood in the darkness beyond the pool of light, hands pressed to her mouth to contain the bubbling excitement, savouring every moment of her success.

Oh, this was what she could live for! If there was nothing else – nothing – it didn't matter. As long as she could feel this thrill, ride this breathtaking wave, she could ask for no more …

Arms caught her around the waist, swinging her round.

‘And who is the cleverest girl in the whole of the Northern Territory?'

‘Dev!' she hugged him, laughing and almost crying. ‘Oh Dev, what did you think?'

‘I just told you. You want to hear it again? You were wonderful.'

‘And the rest? The rest was all right, wasn't it?'

‘The rest? Oh yes, the rest was fine. The audience enjoyed it, anyway. But there was only one star for me.'

‘Oh!' she kissed him, a quick warm kiss on the lips. ‘That is to say thank you for all you did. Your lights were marvellous.'

‘Good. So how about coming for a beer to celebrate?'

‘Oh Dev, I still have so much to do here …'

‘Come on, leave it.'

‘Oh, I don't know …' He felt her stiffen suddenly, drawing herself upright, and her eyes, narrowed slightly, were no longer meeting his but looking at something – or someone – behind him. ‘I don't think …'

She sidestepped his arms. He turned and swore softly.

‘The good doctor.'

She seemed not to hear him. Her sparkle was still there, shining out of every pore, but it was no longer for him. If it ever had been.

‘Richard! Did you see the show?'

‘I certainly did! It was splendid. I had no idea we had such a talent in our midst!'

The cultured tones annoyed Dev; he felt irritation begin to ferment in the pit of his stomach. ‘ Careful you don't give me a swollen head, sport,' he said with biting sarcasm but no one was listening to him.

A couple of backstage workers came past carrying one of the pieces of scenery from the drag act; Richard stepped back to let them past and into the pool of brilliance thrown by one of the lights Dev had left on. In it his hair shone like molten gold, a halo above the perfect lines of his face.

‘Tara, I'm not only here on my own behalf,' he said with the easy manner that twisted Dev's irritation another knot tighter. ‘I'm also speaking for my brother officers. We have a bottle of something rather old and special in the mess and we would be most honoured if you would come and share it with us.'

‘Oh yes – thank you!' she was too high still on excitement even to hesitate. First the thrill of the concert's success, now Richard asking her to the mess for a drink – it was all too much. She felt intoxicated already. ‘Have I time to do something about my face? I've caked on all the make up I could find because of the lights …'

As if the mention of lights had reminded her of Dev she turned, half embarrassed. ‘Oh, look, I should introduce you. This is Sean Devlin – Dev – who did all the electrics. He's been marvellous …'

‘Congratulations, Mr Devlin. Fine show.' Richard was smiling but the bright lights showed it for a polite smile. ‘Perhaps you would care to join us too.'

Sod you, mate, Dev thought. Aloud he said: ‘Thanks, but I'm sure you don't want me.'

‘Nonsense.'

‘Thanks all the same, but I have all my equipment to dismantle and get out before the army requisition my ute again.'

That caught Tara's attention. ‘Oh Dev, they're not going to do that, are they?'

‘ 'fraid so. I've had great difficulty persuading them to let me keep it this long.'

‘Oh no! You mean if I do another concert I'll have to do it without your lights?'

‘Well, well, it's a sad life!' he said mockingly. ‘ Here was I beginning to think that at last I was wanted for my own charming self and all the time it was my lights she was after.' He patted her shoulder. ‘Don't worry, Tara, I'm sure it will all work out for the best. The army will probably requisition my lighting equipment too!'

‘Oh Dev, you're impossible! He is impossible, isn't he, Richard?'

There was no mistaking the way her eyes were shining. And to think that for the last couple of days he had been harbouring the illusion that he had made her see the pair of them in a different light! Ah well! The knot hardened in the pit of his stomach. I shall land a punch right on his well bred nose if I don't get the hell out of here, thought Dev.

‘I'll leave you now,' he said dryly.

She turned quickly, guiltily. ‘Dev …'

He caught one of her curls between finger and thumb and tweaked it down behind her ear. ‘Have fun, Tara.'

Then he turned and walked away.

Watching his stocky frame disappear into the darkness Tara was aware of a tiny falling away deep inside her, a strange, poignant, anonymous ache. Then she turned to see Richard smiling at her and the excitement of the evening returned, bubbling in her veins like champagne.

‘Just give me ten minutes to make sure everything is being taken care of here and I'll be with you!' she said.

The clearing was empty now. The stage stood deserted and ghostly in the light of the moon and the air was full of the smell of crushed grass. Tara closed her eyes and lifted her chin, breathing it in and imagining she could still hear the roar of the crowd.

Oh, what a night – what a night! And it hadn't ended there. The adulation had extended to the mess party where the officers young and old had vied for her favours, flattering her, teasing her, falling over themselves to buy her drinks. Finally, the CO himself had made an appearance and staked a claim.

‘She's my find, this one!' he had declared putting an arm around her and pulling her uncomfortably close. ‘ The moment she came to me for help I knew we would have a winner on our hands. And splendidly right I turned out to be!'

Tara dimpled him a sideways smile while her eyes skeetered around the room looking for Richard. Tricky! She couldn't afford to offend the CO but neither did she want Richard to think she was leading him on.

Richard was at the bar; at the very moment she saw him he turned to look at her and she managed to mouth at him with her back to the CO – ‘Help!' His expression did not alter but the slight narrowing of his eyes told her he had understood. She saw him lean forward to say something to his companion, then make his way across the mess in her direction. Her lips twitched as she suppressed a smile, wondering how he would handle it.

‘How about an encore, Tara?' It was casually elegant – so natural!

She hesitated, feigning modesty. ‘Oh, I don't know …'

‘By special request! Round the evening off with a song. What do you say, sir? We'd all like to hear her again, wouldn't we?'

The CO nodded. His movements were slightly deliberate and above the sandy moustache his face was rather flushed. ‘Capital idea! Go on, my dear, favour us with a song.'

‘Well, all right, just one,' Tara conceded. ‘ Then I really think it's time I left. It's been a very long day.'

‘Quite right. And if you will give us the pleasure of this one song, I will see you get back to your quarters safely afterwards,' Richard said.

Tara smiled demurely but she felt like laughing out loud. It had worked!

‘What on earth am I going to sing?' she asked Richard as he steered her across the mess.

‘Does it matter? I'm sure whatever it is will be splendid.'

He clapped his hands for quiet and announced her. I'd never do this normally, she thought. No rehearsal, no accompaniment, but tonight …

Tonight was special. And she knew just the song. Too new yet for any pianist to have the music but she had heard it on the wireless and learned it by heart – a song from a new Hollywood musical:

A journey to a star would not be very far
As long as I'm alone with you,
Romantic as we are a journey to a star
Could start before the dawn breaks through.
You're right beside my heart,
We're just about a kiss apart
And we could make a dream come true,
A moment of your love would have the feeling of
A journey to a star with you.