The Summer of Secrets

by Barbara Hannay

  During this time, they managed occasional telephone calls and one or two letters, and a miraculous weekend where they hardly left their hotel. In those precious hours they didn’t talk about the war, or even about flying.

  Lying in the hotel bed, with Izzie nestled in his arms, looking out through a high window to a pale-grey English sky, Geoff told her about his home in North Queensland where his father had a farm on the edge of a lake. Izzie told him about her home in Cambridgeshire and about her sisters and Jem. Geoff added that his older brother would take over the farm.

  ‘And thank heavens,’ Geoff said. ‘I’ve never wanted to be a farmer.’

  ‘So what do you want to do?’ Izzie asked, even though it felt reckless to talk about life after the war.

  ‘This probably sounds crazy, but I’d like to start a newspaper.’

  ‘Goodness.’ Starting a newspaper was the last thing Izzie had expected her pilot husband to announce, and it did sound a little crazy.

  ‘A small country newspaper,’ Geoff said. ‘With its own printing press. Country towns need to have their own stories told.’

  ‘Are you trained as a journalist?’ Izzie didn’t want to be pedantic, but it did seem pertinent.

  He merely smiled. ‘No, but I wasn’t trained as a pilot until this bloody war.’

  Then he promptly changed the subject by drawing her close and kissing her so comprehensively that all thought of conversation was abandoned.

  Too soon – way too soon – the very next month, in fact, brought the news Izzie never wanted to hear. After a flight over the Ruhr, Geoff was missing, presumed killed. His plane had taken a direct hit. It had been reported by others in his squadron as spiralling to the earth in a blaze of fire.

  Izzie asked her commanding officer, June Brightman, if she could go to the Red Cross in London, to see if they had any more information.

  It was the worst journey of her life. The Red Cross had no news.

  Back at Hamble, Izzie rang June. ‘I couldn’t find out anything, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, my dear,’ said June. ‘I’m so very sorry. Not knowing is so difficult.’

  Izzie was trying desperately to be brave. Despite her new married name, she was still an Oakshott by birth. It helped that, in spite of the dire reports, she had a strong conviction that Geoff was alive. Surely, if he was really dead she would know? She would feel the emptiness, the utter hopelessness, deep inside her.

  ‘I’d like to get back to work,’ she said.

  After a beat, June replied. ‘I think that’s probably the best thing to do.’

  ‘I’m so glad you agree.’ Sitting around waiting for news was impossible.

  Izzie’s housemates were wonderful. They arranged things between them so that someone was always around to keep her company whenever she wasn’t working. But even with their help, Izzie might have given in to grief if she hadn’t been so sure, deep inside, that she would see Geoff again.

  She didn’t talk about this certainty, but she clung to it in secret, even when she received an official letter from the War Office telling her that her husband was missing, believed killed. Her stubborn belief and the flying kept her going. At least when she was flying she was so occupied with what she was doing, so busy concentrating on the task at hand, she had no room to worry or focus on other things.

  And in the end, Izzie’s belief and trust were rewarded. Another month later, a postcard arrived, addressed to her, care of Ian Forsythe. Ian passed it on to her as quickly as he could. The card was from Geoff.

  Such brilliant news. Geoff and three of his crew had managed to use their parachutes to jump free of the crash. All of them were still alive, although Archie Bell had been badly injured. Geoff was in a prisoner-of-war camp for officers in Münster, Germany.

  Izzie allowed herself to cry with relief and she even did so in front of her friends. But the next day she was back to work. It was only a matter of weeks later, she heard on the BBC Home Service news that Allied troops had reached Geoff’s camp. The POWs were transported to Brussels and then flown home.

  She was working at Hamble when Geoff phoned.

  ‘Izzie?’

  His voice. At last. Her heart jolted so hard she felt dizzy. Gripping the receiver in two hands, she had to lean against the nearest wall. ‘Hello, Geoff.’ So this was yet another level of happiness, so strong it made her numb. Izzie couldn’t think what to say. ‘Where are you?’

  Geoff laughed that wonderful, easy-going laugh of his. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure. I’m just so bloody glad to be back on English soil, I didn’t ask. Somewhere near the coast. I’m going to have to find a train.’

  The girls who shared the house with Izzie wanted to put out bunting and a welcome mat. She wouldn’t let them. ‘Geoff would hate it,’ she said, although she couldn’t be sure about that. She suspected that she was the one who would hate it. It was, after all, the way she’d been brought up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  On the day Ben’s story was due to appear in the Bugle, Chloe rose early. She planned a morning run down to the lake and back, a new routine she’d started as an antidote to the nerve-jangling edginess that had plagued her ever since Saturday night. She was still trying to shake off distracting memories of the way Finn had looked at her, his eyes burning, and then the surprise of his invitation to the Drummonds’ barbecue.

  It was crazy the way her emotions had seesawed. She had known the invitation wasn’t a date, and her reaction was totally over the top. And yet now, whenever Finn was around, she felt as if she was standing too close to the edge of a cliff.

  Naturally, she had given herself several stern lectures.

  Okay, so maybe she’d finally conceded that her boss was hot. But she wasn’t looking for a new relationship, thank you very much, and she was absolutely certain that he wasn’t either. Finn was grieving a truly terrible loss, and while Chloe’s issues were minor by comparison, her scars from Jason were still tender and painful.

  These days, she was a relationship cynic. So yeah, even if there was a bit of a vibe happening between her and her boss, they were both too wounded and too wary to act on it.

  Chloe hoped that, in time, the lectures would sink in. Meanwhile the running was part of her de-stress strategy and she planned to call in at the newsagency on her way home.

  After more than a decade in journalism, she was used to seeing her stories in print, but this morning she was keener than usual to see Ben’s story on the page alongside the great photo that Tammy had provided.

  She was sure it was important to keep Ben on the Burralea radar. As Tammy had said: it ain’t over till it’s over.

  Chloe went to the bathroom, splashed her face with cold water, then changed into running shorts and a singlet and tied her hair back before heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. Her first coffee of the day would be her reward on her return.

  The flat’s kitchen and living area were open plan and as Chloe crossed the space, she sensed something different about one of the red armchairs.

  She turned to check. Froze.

  Screamed.

  The something different on the chair was olivey-brown. It was also coiled and scaly. Oh, God. The snake was huge. And it was staring at Chloe with evil eyes.

  Panic flashed, making her heart pound and her skin crawl. At any moment, the snake would slide off that chair. And it would probably slither towards her. Bite her?

  One thing was absolutely certain. She couldn’t possibly deal with this.

  And, really, there was only one person she could turn to for help. Without taking her eyes from the coiled monster that was trying to disguise itself as a chair cushion, Chloe backed into the bedroom. Then she shoved the door shut and dashed to grab her phone from the bedside table.

  Her fingers were shaking as she scrolled to find Finn’s number and she prayed that he would answer.

  The phone rang and rang and Chloe’s desperation mounted, along with her terror of what might be happening on the othe
r side of the door. She could picture the snake slithering over the furniture, the floor, hiding somewhere, waiting to strike at her. As she listened intently to the phone’s ringing, she inched the door open again, hoping the wretched thing hadn’t moved.

  To her relief the snake was still coiled on the chair. At what must have been the very last ring, she heard Finn’s voice.

  ‘Is that you, Chloe?’ His question ended in a sleepy yawn.

  ‘I need your help,’ she said, not caring how wimpy and girly she sounded. She’d lived her whole life in Sydney and she was used to snakes remaining in the wild. In her experience, at least, they’d never scaled walls and crawled into her lounge room.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Finn asked.

  ‘There’s a snake. It’s here, in my flat. It’s huge.’

  ‘Is it upstairs? It climbed in?’ Finn didn’t sound nearly as concerned as he should have under such dire circumstances.

  ‘Yes!’ Watching the snake from the doorway, Chloe saw it lift its long skinny head. She saw the flicker of its ghastly tongue. She squealed. ‘It – it’s moving!’

  ‘Okay. Don’t panic.’

  How could she not panic? ‘I hate snakes.’

  ‘Yeah, fair enough. What colour is it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Olivey-green, I guess, with yellow splotches.’

  ‘Sounds like a jungle python. They’re not really dangerous.’

  ‘A snake’s a snake, Finn.’

  ‘But yours isn’t likely to be deadly. The really poisonous snakes don’t usually climb. And they don’t have those markings.’

  Chloe supposed she should feel a measure of relief, but it wasn’t easy to stop freaking when the thing was still there in her lounge room. And anyway, a fear of snakes was natural. It was universal, wasn’t it? Part of human DNA.

  ‘I’ll come over,’ Finn said at last. ‘Stay cool and I’ll see you soon.’

  For the next five minutes, Chloe hovered in the bedroom doorway, not daring to move as she watched the dreaded intruder. During this time, the snake also remained motionless and kept its beady eyes pinned on her.

  It was a stalemate of sorts, but Chloe knew that when Finn arrived, she would have to move. She would have to cross that room, passing within a metre of that chair before she could head downstairs to let him in the front door.

  Was she brave enough?

  She was still wondering this when she heard the doorbell ring. Her heart skidded.

  Just do it. Run.

  With a terrified whimper, she took off, barefooted. Why hadn’t she thought to put on shoes? Scurrying across the room, not daring to look at the snake, she reached the stairs in safety, but she was breathless with terror as she opened the door.

  Finn. Unshaven, dressed in tattered jeans and even more battered sandshoes and a thin grey T-shirt with a hole in one shoulder. He held up a sugarbag and offered her a smile. ‘Good morning. Latimer’s Snake Removal Service.’

  ‘Thanks for coming.’ Chloe was so grateful to see him she almost hugged him.

  Finn continued to smile at her, but then clearly changed his mind. Perhaps he’d realised how scared she was. ‘Is it still upstairs?’ he asked.

  Chloe nodded and stepped back to let him in. She closed the door and, without another word, Finn followed her through the Progress Association’s office and up the stairs to her flat.

  ‘It’s right there, in that armchair.’ Chloe pointed as they reached the top of the stairs. But then —

  ‘Oh, crap! It’s gone! Oh, God, Finn! It was right there on that chair.’ Primal instinct took over. Chloe dashed the short distance to the dining chairs and leaped onto one, her legs shaking so badly she almost missed her footing. ‘Where can it be?’ she wailed.

  ‘You’re sure it was definitely still here before you came downstairs?’ At least Finn wasn’t panicking.

  ‘Yes, I swear,’ Chloe vowed. ‘It was right there in that armchair. Coiled up. I didn’t imagine it. You’ve got to believe me.’

  ‘Okay. Don’t freak. I’ll find it.’

  She supposed Finn’s calmness came from the years he’d spent living in Africa and Asia with God knew how many scary creatures. Chloe watched in fearful admiration as he moved carefully around the lounge area, checking behind the chairs and tipping them to see underneath.

  ‘How big was it?’ he asked.

  ‘Huge. At least, I – I didn’t see it stretched out, but I think it was huge.’

  A corner of his mouth twitched. He looked behind the TV cabinet with no apparent luck. ‘It may have gone into your bedroom,’ he said. ‘Do you mind?’

  Chloe shook her head. ‘No, of course not. Go ahead.’ The bed was unmade and she’d left her nightie flung over a chair, but now wasn’t the time to be coy. Still perched on the chair and clinging to its back for balance, she leaned as far as she dared, craning to watch Finn as he investigated her room. He looked under the pillows and sheet, under the bed, the wardrobe, the cushions on the window seat.

  He went into the bathroom.

  ‘Aha!’ she heard him cry. ‘There you are, you cheeky bugger.’ There was a sound of bumping, of something being knocked over. ‘Got you.’

  It wasn’t long before Finn emerged, gripping the now-closed neck of the sugarbag. He lifted it triumphantly.

  ‘You can get down now,’ he told Chloe with a grin.

  ‘You swear you’ve got him in there?’ She had to make sure, even though she could see an obvious bulge in the bag.

  ‘Yep. He was in your shower, trying to climb the taps to the high window. Wouldn’t have done him any good, though. It’s fly-screened.’

  Chloe kept her eyes glued on the sugarbag as she stepped down from the chair.

  ‘I’m afraid he knocked over a bottle of shampoo. A fair bit spilled.’

  ‘A small price to pay,’ she said. She could feel magnanimous now the snake was in the bag. ‘What are you going to do with it?’

  Finn shrugged as he took a piece of rope from his pocket and tied it around the mouth of the bag. ‘Guess I’ll take him a kilometre or so away and let him go in the rainforest.’ He glanced towards her kitchen. ‘Did you leave that window open last night?’

  ‘Um … yes.’ Chloe turned to the gaping window and winced. ‘Do you think that’s how it got in?’

  ‘I’d say so.’ Finn crossed the room. ‘There’s a handy tree right outside.’

  ‘It was a hot night. I was trying to catch a breeze.’

  ‘Might be worth closing it in future before you turn in. Or asking Moira Briggs to fork out for a flyscreen.’

  Chloe nodded emphatically. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t make that mistake again.’

  She looked again at the safely secured mouth of the bag. ‘I suppose it’s not cruel to leave it in there for a little while?’

  ‘No, it’s fine. Why?’

  ‘Well … I was thinking I owe you breakfast.’

  It seemed the least Chloe could do, but when Finn didn’t respond immediately, instead regarding her with a complicated smile, she started to have second thoughts. And then she remembered she was wearing skimpy running shorts and a singlet. Not the best apparel for offering her boss an impulsive invitation.

  And not the brightest move, given the tension that had been zinging between them over the past few days.

  ‘Or maybe that’s not such —’ she began.

  ‘I’d love breakfast,’ he said before she could complete her retreat, and it was hard to tell if he was pleased, or simply amused.

  ‘Right.’ Chloe flashed a smile that probably looked way more confident than she felt. ‘Bacon and mushrooms okay?’

  ‘Brilliant.’ Finn held up the bag. ‘I’ll just duck downstairs and stow this in the vehicle.’

  As Finn disappeared, Chloe considered dashing into her bedroom to change into something more ‘suitable’. But it was a bit late now. Finn had already seen her in this gear and time was ticking away.

  She told herself this was no big deal. Finn had simply
done her a good turn and she was repaying the favour. Nothing more.

  She needed to chill and try to produce a half-decent breakfast.

  Grabbing the bacon rashers and a paper bag filled with mushrooms from the fridge, Chloe set them on the bench and tried to quell the stupid buzzing inside her.

  Finn’s footsteps sounded on the stairs and she found a chopping board and knife and began to dice the bacon as if her life depended on it.

  He came into the kitchen. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘Um —’ Concentrate, girl. ‘I only have plunger coffee. But perhaps you could take care of it?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Without hesitation, he filled the kettle and set it to boil and after that, their morning was relatively plain sailing. Chloe told him where to find the coffee and the plunger and she set the bacon in a pan to fry while she sliced the mushrooms and chopped thyme. He offered to make toast and she told him about the ciabatta in the freezer.

  They shared the butter – she added a dollop to the pan of mushrooms, while he attended to the toast.

  Chloe sprinkled the thyme. Finn found the coffee mugs hanging on hooks. It was all ridiculously domesticated and in no time they were sitting down to breakfast. Like a couple.

  Except they weren’t, of course, and Chloe suspected that Finn was even more definite about this than she was, which no doubt explained why he remained quite casual and relaxed.

  ‘This is sensational,’ he said, tucking into a small mountain of mushrooms and bacon piled onto toast. ‘If I bother to cook breakfast, the best I manage is a boiled egg.’

  ‘I usually make do with muesli and yoghurt,’ Chloe admitted.

  ‘But you had all these ingredients in your fridge, just ready to go.’

  She shrugged. ‘If I hadn’t used the mushrooms for this, they probably would have gone into a risotto. But it was a good excuse for me to cook one of my favourite breakfasts.’

  He grinned. ‘Well, you can count me as impressed.’

  Despite her best efforts to quell any reaction, her cheeks grew distressingly hot. Quickly, she said, ‘Would you like marmalade for your other piece of toast? It’s local. I bought it at the markets. It’s cumquat.’