Women and War (42 page)

‘Yes, of course,' Tara said falsely. ‘It really does sound like the most incredible evening.'

And that, she thought, was the most accurate way she could think of to describe it.

Alys Peterson put down the telephone and stood looking at it for a moment as if she still could not believe she was not dreaming.

Richard Allingham here in Melbourne. And Tara Kelly. No – not Tara Kelly any more, Tara Allingham. They were married. One of those facts alone would have been surprising enough. Taken together, Alys found them almost stupefying.

When Norma had called her to the telephone saying a Mr Allingham wanted her, she could not at first think who she had meant. Then when she heard his voice, low and cultured, she had known.
Richard
Allingham. It had been a shock but a pleasant one.

‘Richard! What on earth …?'

And then he had told her. And suggested they should all meet.

‘Yes. Yes, of course. Can I bring someone? I have a friend … we could make it a foursome.'

There had been just a fractional pause and Richard had agreed. A foursome would be splendid.

Alys reached for the phone again thinking, Thank heavens for John! It would be lovely to see Richard and Tara again but she would have felt very much the odd one out with them on their honeymoon. In fact, thank heavens for John full stop. Having him around had made all the difference these past weeks between feeling lonely and frustrated and enjoying life again in a way she had thought impossible while she was still trapped here in Toorak. As she dialled his number Alys remembered the moment when things had begun to brighten.

It had been two days after the altercation with her mother when Frances had tried, yet again, to tighten the screw of emotional blackmail. Alys had spent them in an abyss of depression, unusual for her, but after the glimpse of sunshine when she had spent a few enjoyable hours with John, the prospect of being returned to the prison of loneliness had been almost too much to bear. How long did she have to go on paying Alys had wondered bitterly. Yet she had not dared to risk upsetting Frances, ridiculous as her objection to Alys' friendship was.

She had been in the bathroom washing her hair when she heard the front doorbell jangle its musical chime. She wound a towel around her head and went to the top of the stairs as Norma opened the door. She could not see the caller but the voice was that of a man. She held onto the banister, craning forward and unwilling to believe what her ears were telling her – it sounded like John.

‘Just a moment,' she heard Norma say.

She dived across the landing and into her room, looking out of the window, and her heart came into her mouth as she saw the Buick drawn up on the drive. It was John! She reached for her wrap and slipped it on, twisted the towel more tightly round her head and hurried down the stairs. She had to get him away from here before Frances became upset again!

As she ran down the stairs he came into view bit by bit. First his boots, then his well-tailored lightweight slacks, then …

He was carrying an enormous bouquet of flowers. Roses, orchids, something fine and feathery which spread out like a mist behind the bright summer colours. She checked, startled, then ran on. Flowers or no she had to get rid of him. She had reached the hall before the thought struck her – where was Norma? Why had she left John standing there yet not come to call Alys?

‘John!'

‘Well, hullo there!' He smiled, that twisting ‘S' of a smile, but made no attempt to hand her the bouquet. From along the hall, Alys heard Norma say: ‘Yes, she will see you now, Mr Hicks.'

John touched Alys' arm. ‘I thought perhaps I should make your mother's acquaintance,' he said easily. ‘Maybe I'll see you afterwards.'

He followed Norma to the drawing room and Alys was left gaping. She heard Norma announce him and then the door closed and there was only the murmur of voices beyond. For a moment she hesitated, then ran back upstairs. No time to dry her hair but at least she could get dressed.

It was ten minutes later when the drawing room door opened again. John emerged and smiled at her.

‘Sorry, I can't stay to be sociable now as I have an appointment with my accountant,' he said. ‘That will take about an hour. Afterwards, I'd like to buy you lunch – if you'd like it, that is.'

‘Thank you, but …'

‘Don't worry.' His smile broadened and he nudged his head in the direction of the drawing room. ‘I've got your mother's permission.'

‘Oh!'

‘About an hour then?'

She watched him go then hurried into the drawing room. In spite of what John had said she was still afraid of what she might find. But Frances was seated serenely in her chair, the bouquet lying across her knees. As Alys approached her diffidently she raised her eyes from her lap. They looked very bright and shrewd.

‘Charming man,' she managed. ‘Lovely flowers.'

Alys felt the beginnings of a smile tugging at her own lips.

‘I'm glad you think so, Mummy. Shall I put them in water for you?'

Frances nodded and Alys experienced a pang of sympathy. Once Frances had been so talented at flower arranging.

‘Hope … we may see … something … of him.' It was as long a speech as Frances had made since the stroke. She looked thoughtful but pleased, like a cat that has got the cream, Alys thought.

Whatever John had said he had worked a miracle.

She had asked him later over lunch in a small but exclusive restaurant, ‘What did you say to her? She's absolutely charmed by you.'

He had smiled, crinkling the sun-dried skin at the corners of his eyes.

‘I haven't reached the grand old age of fifty-two without learning a little diplomacy.'

‘Well, whatever it was, you have done her a world of good – and me! She is actually saying she hopes to see something of you. I hope you realize what you have let yourself in for!'

For answer he had merely refilled her glass from the bottle standing in the ice bucket on the table.

‘Maybe I've done for her what you have done for me, Alys. If so, it's a fair exchange. Do you think if I pay her another visit she'll approve of me taking you out sometimes?'

The bubbles tickled Alys' nose and she laughed.

‘Oh, I do hope so!'

In the weeks that followed John and Alys had become companions. John was a busy man, under great pressure to run his farm with a reduced labour force, so Alys often drove out to Buchlyvie, riding the paddocks and turning her hand to whatever jobs she could. But, when he was able to come to Melbourne to take her out, he always stopped off to spend a little time with Frances.

‘He would make … a good husband,' Frances said. Her speech, though stilted, had improved rapidly – suspiciously so, Alys sometimes thought. ‘He's too old for you … but …'

Alys wondered if she should tell her mother that John already had a wife – and thought better of it.

‘We are just friends, Mummy,' she assured her. ‘We just happen to like one another's company.'

That was no more or less than the truth. Close though they were there was no hint of anything other than friendship between them. They discovered they shared the same sense of humour and they joked and laughed, enjoying the easy communication of humour both had been missing from their lives for too long. They talked about their mutual interests – cars and horses and, inevitably, the war. And sometimes they dropped their guard and revealed a little more of the deeper, secret side of themselves.

‘Have you ever been in love, Alys?' John asked her one afternoon.

She was bending over the engine of the Buick, her hair hanging down across her face, and wearing her oldest shirt and shorts. The question was totally unexpected; it stopped something within her momentarily. Yet it did not occur to her that John might be asking because of his own romantic interest. The affinity between them was too warm and platonic for that.

‘I'm in love with motor cars, or hadn't you noticed?' she said lightly.

He stood wiping his hands on a rag and looking at her; she had no idea of the picture she made which had prompted the question.

‘Yes, I have noticed,' he said. ‘I'd have to be blind not to see the way your face lights up when you look at a car. But it should light up like that for a man, too. Hasn't there been anyone?'

She adjusted a tappet, not looking up. ‘There was someone once. But that was a long time ago. I don't want to talk about it, John.'

He respected her desire for privacy and did not ask again, and Alys loved him for it, in a way which had nothing to do with romanticism or sexual attraction, the love between two very dear friends.

Christmas had been one of the best she could ever remember. John had had to go to the hospital to spend some time with Anne but had accepted an invitation to eat the main meal of the day with the Petersons. He had arrived during the afternoon and the tired sad look of him told Alys that the visit had been a difficult and trying one. But after sitting in the garden for a while, relaxing in the warm sunshine, the tension began to fall away and she was glad. What sort of Christmas would it have been for him if he had had to return alone to Buchlyvie where he could do nothing but brood? And what kind of a Christmas would it have been for her without him?

John had brought presents for all the family. There was a handsome leather hip flask for her father, a crystal rose bowl for her mother, a huge Mama doll for Robyn and handmade chocolates for Beverley. But when Alys opened her own present she had to laugh with delight – a gold pendant shaped like a Buick motor car!

‘Oh John, how clever! How did you manage to find it?' she asked.

And he had to admit he had had it made especially for her. After that her own present for him, cufflinks and tie pin, seemed very ordinary, but he expressed his pleasure and the seal of perfection was set on the day.

Yes, it was good, so good, to have someone to whom she could turn for support and company. Good to have someone who enjoyed
her
company without imposing any restrictions. Good to have someone she could ask along to make up a foursome with Tara and Richard, knowing that he would help cover any slight awkwardness and help make the reunion a success even though he had never met either of them before.

He answered the telephone now himself and she explained the situation.

‘Can you make it, John? I know you're busy, but …'

‘Of course I can make it. It'll be good for you to see old friends.'

‘I'm looking forward to it,' she said. But as she replaced the receiver she wondered.
Was
she looking forward to it? Really, she was still so startled by the news she honestly was not sure.

Tara was nervous. She had been nervous from the moment she awoke, wondering at first what it was that seemed to be hovering somewhere between her throat and solar plexus like a plate of oysters eaten too late at night. Then she remembered. Tonight she and Richard were going to dine with Alys.

The nervousness remained all day and it was not helped by the fact that Richard, too, seemed tense and a trifle abstracted. Perhaps it was her imagination – or a reflection of her own tension. But somehow she did not think so.

When it was time to get ready Tara took special care over her toilet. Thank heavens for the dress that Richard had bought her! She would have felt so terribly conspicuous meeting Alys and her friend in uniform – though almost everyone seemed to be in uniform these days. She put the dress on and surveyed herself in the mirror – cornflower blue to match her eyes, with a pretty sweetheart neckline and a small peplum that exaggerated the neatness of her waist. Yes, she looked nice – if only she could feel as confident as she appeared.

They drove to Melbourne in one of the family cars. A nerve was catching in Tara's throat as they were ushered into the lounge bar of the restaurant and her eyes skeetered round the couples and groups already there. Oh, but they all looked so grand! Again, Tara thanked heaven for her dress, which on the surface at least, made her one of them.

‘It doesn't look as though they are here yet.' Richard checked his watch. ‘ We're a bit early.'

Tara thought uneasily it might be another sign of Richard's eagerness. But he always liked to be punctual, she comforted herself.

They ordered drinks and sat sipping them, watching the door. After ten minutes or so Richard checked his watch again.

‘Perhaps they are not going to come,' Tara said hopefully.

‘I'm sure they will – ah! Here, they are now!'

Tara looked up. A couple were coming in through the doorway, a young woman with auburn hair falling gracefully to her shoulders, dressed in soft green – unmistakably Alys, though she bore little resemblance to the pale girl close to death whom Tara remembered – and a man in a light-coloured suit. As she took in the silver hair and the weathered face Tara realized with a slight shock that he was considerably older than Alys.

Richard rose and Tara followed suit, setting her glass down on the low table. The nerve was jumping in her throat again. Oh Holy Mary, she was beautiful! There was no other word to describe her. That smile. It seemed to light up her face, making it glow like a stained glass window when the sun shines through.

‘Tara! How lovely to see you! Tara – Richard – this is John. Tara saved my life you know.' She took Tara's hands, kissing her on the cheek, ‘You are looking marvellous, Tara. Marriage obviously suits you. When I heard the news I simply could not believe it! But I'm very happy for you.'

‘You are looking marvellous yourself,' Richard said, and Tara heard and hated the admiration in his voice. ‘When I last saw you you were at death's door.' He held out his hand. ‘ Good to meet you, John. Now, will you have a drink before we go in for dinner? What will it be? Alys?'

But beneath the easy manner Tara sensed something else and felt sick with apprehension.