Women and War (59 page)

‘How was it?'

‘Fine … fine …'

She collapsed against the counter, ran her hands through her hair, straightened again, paced, the adrenalin still flowing too fast to allow her to rest. The mirror threw back her image now, glowing face, shining mop of curls, skin gleaming with the film of perspiration. Oh wonderful – it was wonderful! And over so soon! But think about that tomorrow. Tonight just revel in how wonderful it was!

There was a tap at the dressing-room door. The dancer wearing the cardigan answered it, keeping the door pulled almost closed behind her to protect her half-naked friend. Then she came back in.

‘Someone to see you, Tara. A man.'

‘A man? To see me? Who …? She crossed to the door and opened it. A man was leaning against the wall opposite. As she appeared in the doorway he straightened and came towards her.

‘Dev!' Surprise almost robbed her of her voice.

‘Hello, Tara.'

‘What are you doing here?'

‘I might ask you the same.'

From inside the dressing-room one of the girls shouted to her to close the door. She did so and in the half light his bulk seemed to fill the corridor.

‘Dev, I don't believe it!' But her brain was beginning to function again. ‘I can't take you into the dressing-room. I have to share. But there's another little room just along here …'

She led the way. In keeping with the rest of the building the lights were on in the small room next door. It was empty except for a table and an overflowing ashtray and the air was heavy with the aroma of perfume – someone connected with the show must have been using it. She went in and perched herself on the edge of the table.

‘How are you, Dev? Last time I saw you you were … Oh, you're looking fine. Back to normal!'

He laughed, his teeth showing white in his swarthy face.

‘I'm glad you think I look fine when I'm normal.'

‘You do. But what are you doing here?'

‘I'm here because of you, of course. I saw the show advertised, starring Tara Kelly.'

‘Hardly starring!'

‘Tell your audience that! Radio comics might top the bill but they have no doubt who the star is! Anyway, when I saw the poster, I thought – Tara Kelly! There can't be more than one of them. So here I am.'

‘Oh Dev!' she scolded. ‘But that doesn't explain what you are doing in Melbourne.'

‘I'll fill you in on that later. It's you I'm interested in. What have you been doing? I left you in New Guinea, remember.'

‘Oh, there's so much to tell …' she did not know where to begin.

‘How is Richard?' he asked conversationally.

‘Fine – I think. I haven't seen him for ages. He's in Singapore.'

‘Still married to him are you?'

‘Of course …' she broke off. ‘What do you mean?'

‘When I saw you were using your maiden name – I wondered.'

‘It seemed more tactful. Richard's mother didn't approve of me disgracing the family by flaunting myself on the boards – and besides Tara Allingham is a bit of a mouthful, isn't it?'

‘Yes. It certainly is hard to swallow,' he said dryly.

‘So I thought – Tara Kelly. I've always been Tara Kelly and I suppose I always will be. Now, tell me about you.'

He thrust his hands into his pockets looking sheepish. ‘Oh, I've diversified.'

‘Don't throw the dictionary at me, Sean Devlin. Just tell me what you mean in plain English.'

‘All right. I have an interest in the theatre.'

‘
You
?'

‘Yes, me. Doing that show with you whetted my appetite.' He threw her a wicked look and when she did not react he went on, ‘As you know I was pretty groggy in New Guinea, groggy enough for the powers that be to decide I wouldn't be any further use to them as a fighting man. When I recovered sufficiently they dumped me. So there I was, no business left in Darwin, no army paycheck. – meagre as it was it kept the wolf from the door – just my few little talents and that was it. Then, quite by chance, I met up with someone else from the theatre world. Stephen Craigie.'

‘Craigie?' Her eyes went big. ‘Not one of
the
Craigies?'

‘The very same. Duke Craigie is his father.'

‘Phew!' Tara's lips pursed into a soft whistle of surprise. Duke Craigie was probably the biggest impresario in Australia – even people not even remotely connected with the theatre knew his name. A larger-than-life figure with all the trappings of success and some of the scandal that accompanied it too. But throughout it all Duke Craigie had ensured that Craigie Enterprises remained very much a family concern. He had held the reins, supported by his three sons, until …

‘Wasn't one of them killed in an air crash?' Tara asked.

‘Yep. That was Marcus. His plane went missing over the Pacific two years ago – he'd been off arranging concert parties for the troops. That left Phillip and Stephen. Phillip is more concerned with a new project – a string of hotels. But Stephen works closely with his father.'

‘How on earth did you meet him?' Tara asked.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. His lighter she noticed was chunky gold – a far cry from the cheap one he had used before.

‘It's a long story. Suffice it to say we passed one very long night together stranded in a dry pub in the back of beyond. Naturally we had plenty of time to talk and by the time the ninth cavalry had arrived in the shape of one of his fleet of chauffeur driven cars we were mates. I'd told him some of the ideas I'd mulled over since we did that show about the ways lighting could be used to create special effects and he was very interested. To cut a long story short, he offered me a job.'

He drew on his cigarette and as his cuff fell away from his wrist Tara noticed that his watch, too, was gold.

‘And a hefty salary to go with it, I imagine,' she said pertly.

‘Oh Tara, marrying into the aristocracy hasn't changed you one bit, has it?' he chided. ‘You're just as mercenary as ever.'

‘I am not mercenary!'

‘Oh yes you are. And you've still got your eye on the main chance, too. Which is why I risked getting the length of your tongue in coming to see you. I thought I might stand a chance now I have something to offer you. It seems I was wrong.'

‘What do you mean – something to offer me?'

One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘Well, what you always hankered for, of course. A career in the theatre. But of course, since you are still married to the good doctor …'

The adrenalin had begun to tingle in her again.

‘Explain yourself.'

‘If you were back in business as Tara Kelly, singer, I could make you a star.'

‘Oh!' she said.

‘Tara! Where are you? Everyone on stage – final curtain!' Footsteps in the corridor and a voice calling urgently. She sprang into action.

‘I'll have to go.'

He pushed a card into her hand. ‘Think about it. Here's where you can contact me if you are interested.'

‘Right. Thanks, Dev.'

When she came offstage again he had gone but she still had his card. In the bright light thrown by the bulbs around the dressing-room mirror she looked at it. Sean Devlin. Craigie Enterprises. Melbourne – Adelaide – Sydney. The knub of excitement deep in the pit of her stomach welled up into a fountain.

A star, he had said. I could make you a star.

Oh, Tara thought. If only I could!

Her fingers closed over the card again. It was one tangible thing in the glory that had been this evening. She did not intend to let it go lightly.

Tara lay on top of the counterpane in the hotel bedroom. Beside her on the small wooden cabinet a tray set out with cup and saucer and a pot of weak tea stood untouched. The very thought of it made her stomach churn and a wave of nausea rise in her throat.

Oh Holy Mary, she thought she should have known better than to drink water straight from the tap. Dev had warned her not to. In Adelaide sensible people drank only water that had been boiled or came out of a bottle. The dark brown water from the River Torrens was notorious for causing stomach upsets. But she had been tired and thirsty, drained by her sixth performance in as many days, and she had thought that just this once it would not matter.

It had mattered. She had woken a few hours later wondering vaguely what was wrong with her, raised herself in bed – and then had to rush to the bathroom. Back to bed, dozing a little, and then up again for another dash along the dimly lit corridor. All day it had gone on until she had thought there could not be another drop of liquid in her body and still the slightest movement made her heave. Her stomach ached to the touch and she felt floaty and unreal, dozing off occasionally into nightmare ridden sleep and waking to worry frantically – whatever shall I do if I am no better tomorrow? I have a show to do – I'll never be able to go on stage like this …

Today at least was Sunday. Her one day off from the exhausting round of nightly performances. Dev had called her at lunchtime and when she had told him how ill she was he had sounded concerned.

‘You'll be all right tomorrow, will you? You have another week to do here in Adelaide. I don't want to have to replace you.'

‘I'll be all right,' she had said with more optimism than she was feeling. ‘It's probably only a twenty-four hour thing.'

‘I hope so! Do you want me to come over?'

‘No. All I want at the moment is to die.'

‘Don't do that. I don't want a dead star.'

She had managed to smile at that. The word could still cheer her, sick as she felt. A star. She was going to be a star. It was the one thing which had kept her going these last months through all the upsets and ructions, the exhausting rehearsals and draining performances, the sheer loneliness of endless hotel rooms. She was going to be a star. At last. The one thing she had ever really wanted!

Now, in the small hotel bedroom overlooking the city parklands, her mind drifted back across the events of the last six months since Dev had come to see her perform in the Charity Concert in Melbourne.

She had known, she now believed, even before she left the Town Hall, what she was going to do. Richard was in Singapore – heaven only knew how long it would be before he came home – and if he could take decisions without consulting her then why shouldn't she do the same? The thought of more months living under his mother's roof with nothing but endless dinner parties and stultifying politeness to look forward to was more than she could bear. Even Margaret didn't really need her – she only slept, wet her nappies and took her feeds, and Nanny made it quite clear she was far better qualified than Tara to look after her. And here was Dev offering the kind of life she had always dreamed of. Margaret is too young to miss me and Richard doesn't give a damn, Tara thought. Why shouldn't I make a life of my own?

That night with the adrenalin still pumping in her veins it had all seemed so easy. But of course it had not been.

First there had been Richard's mother to contend with.

‘How can you think of such a thing?' she had asked, shocked, when Tara first told her of her plans. ‘It's scandalous – an Allingham on the stage!'

‘Don't worry, I won't use your name,' Tara assured her.

‘What difference does that make? Oh, I knew we should never have agreed to your taking part in that concert! What will Richard say about it?'

‘Judging by your remarks when he went to Singapore it will be a long time before Richard is in a position to say anything,' Tara returned acidly.

‘What about Margaret? She needs you.'

‘Margaret is well looked after. And I'm not going to the moon, only to do a few dates here in Australia. I shall be able to come back and see her every so often. Anyway,' she added, ‘when she's a bit bigger she can travel with me. It's time we had a home of own own. You've been very kind but we can't impose on you forever.'

Only Mrs Allingham's good breeding allowed her to check her temper.

‘This is Richard's home and you are his wife. Kindly remember that.'

‘Perhaps you should remind Richard of that fact,' Tara said sweetly.

It still hurt, hurt badly, that he should have chosen to go to Singapore rather than come home. Little as she had wanted to believe that he had in fact volunteered, the suggestion had taken root and spread like a cancer in her, fed and watered by her own nagging guilt and her observation of him since their marriage. And the antidote to the pain it caused her was anger.

He was doing good work she had no doubt – his letters were full of suffering of the men he had gone to help. Ragged skeletons he called them, men deprived of nourishment and medical care, forced to live and work under appalling conditions and who now had to be helped back onto the road to recovery. But none of this eased her hurt that he should choose to be anywhere but with her. There were other doctors who could have gone to Singapore, equally well qualified and with fewer responsibilities. Perhaps if she showed him that she too was capable of stepping outside the accepted framework he would take notice of her. Perhaps he would think more highly of her. After all, it had been after he had seen her perform for the first time he had begun to notice her.

And so she had contacted Dev.

As always he had been matter-of-fact. His wry amusement had raised her hackles.

‘Good. I'll meet you at the Craigie offices, introduce you to the management and we can discuss contracts.'

‘You don't seem very surprised,' she said coolly.

‘I'm not. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist, Tara my sweet.'

‘I might have done. I'm not only a wife, I'm a mother, too, you know.'

‘You – a mother! Heaven help your child!'

‘Sean Devlin, if you continue to be rude to me I might still change my mind.'