Chapter Six
Mid morning they left for Wangaratta in the yellow Buick, driving with the windows wound down. Daphne wore a pink linen dress, Paul tailored sports pants and an open necked white shirt.
They stopped at Seymour for lunch, before journeying onwards. The tinder-dry grass in the paddocks shimmered in the summer heat.
“It’s good to be out of the city,” she said on a sigh. “I can’t wait for you to meet my parents. I know you’ll like them.”
“If they’re like you, I’m sure I will, but what if they don’t take to me?”
“They will, silly.” She gave him a friendly punch on the arm.
Euroa, Benalla, Glenrowan, the closer they got to Wangaratta the more excited she became. She was obviously eager to show him off to her family and friends.
Paul thought it wiser not to mention that he had recently passed this way. Would she have been to Dixon’s Siding? He was tempted to ask, but decided not to, for the moment. It could lead to awkward questions that he didn’t have the answer to.
They finally arrived in Wangaratta. Daphne pointed out the Woolen Mills, which employed much of the town’s population, the school she attended and the shops in Murphy Street. She was eager to impress him.
The Clarke house was painted white with a green galvanized roof, and its garden beds were a riot of color, its lawns green and neatly tended. A lazy ribbon of smoke drifted from the red brick chimney and hovered for a moment before disappearing into the atmosphere.
A large green rocking chair reposed on the front verandah, and an old black dog of indiscriminate breed lay stretched out on a mat.
“That’s Max.”
Paul raised his eyebrows.
“The dog.” She smiled. “He’s terribly old, belongs to Rob. He whiles away his time eating or sleeping.”
They had barely stepped from the car when a slim, attractive lady with wavy, corn colored hair hurried towards them. Surely this couldn’t be Mrs. Clarke?”
“Mum!” Mother and daughter hugged each other enthusiastically. “Oh Paul, I’m so sorry, Mum, this is Paul...”
“How are you, Paul?” Mrs. Clarke cut off Daphne’s introduction. She spoke in the same quick, breathy way Daphne did.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Clarke.” He spoke formally, feeling stiff, ill at ease. He had the strangest sensation. Had they ever met before? Ridiculous, they couldn’t have, and yet...
He carried his own and Daphne’s cases inside. It was cool indoors away from the heat of the sun, and he glanced around as they passed down a hallway leading into a sitting room.
The furniture appeared shabby, but well cared for. The place shone, yet a paper left carelessly on the arm of a chair, a pipe and tobacco pouch on the mantel beside several photographs, gave it a comfortable, lived-in ambience.
“You won’t mind sharing a room will you, Paul?” Wide blue eyes, surrounded by only a few wrinkles, stared at him enquiringly. “We moved Tom’s things out on to the verandah. He won’t mind sleeping there. He’s coming home for the holidays too.”
“It will be a real family Christmas. You’ll like Tom, everyone does. Where are Dad and Rob?”
“Your father’s still at work. He wants to clear everything up today so he can finish early tomorrow. Rob’s tinkering around in the shed, I think. You’ll have some tea, won’t you, Paul?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“While I’m putting on the kettle, Daphne can show you to your room. You’re much too pale, darling. You’ve lost weight, too. City people don’t eat or rest enough, too busy dashing around all the time.”
Paul smiled. He was going to like it here, especially if the rest of the family were as friendly as this pretty blonde lady. Mrs. Clarke had a presence about her; he felt it straight away, a special warmth that created a comfortable, nurturing environment. When he thought of his own cold, impersonal upbringing, he envied Daphne.
“Come on, Paul.”
He picked up both cases and followed Daphne back into the hallway.
“This is my room.”
He put the case down in a pretty room decorated in pink and white. Yes, he could visualize her in there quite easily.
At the back of the house was a large sleep out, really a closed-in section of the verandah, with twin beds. The boards were bare and unstained, but colorful mats were scattered around. Shelves bulging with books, lined one wall.
“Someone likes reading,” he remarked.
“Rob.”
Paul put the case down and pulled her into his arms. “Sunshine, I’ve wanted to do this all afternoon.” His lips covered hers in a long searing kiss, and their bodies strained close together.
“Oops, sorry,”
Paul stepped back quickly. A tall thin boy with dark curly hair grinned at them.
“I’m Rob, you must be Paul.”
Paul shook the grease-stained hand that was thrust at him.
“Your hands, Rob, they’re filthy,” Daphne scolded.
“I’ve been tinkering with an old motor Dad gave me. Know anything about cars, Paul?”
“A little.”
“You can help me. I’m making myself a car.”
He was over six feet tall and rather gangly, almost too thin. He would be a big man later on when he filled out, Paul thought.
“How are you, Sis? Let’s go. Mum’s sure to put on a spread. A fellow could starve around here. She’s been cooking all week, wouldn’t let me touch anything except for a couple of burnt cakes.”
“Serve you right.” She gave him a little punch. “You would have eaten the lot.”
The three of them went back to the sitting room together, where Paul and Daphne sat on the couch while Rob dropped himself carelessly into an armchair.
Paul rose to his feet when Mrs. Clarke entered carrying a tray.
“I could have helped you, Mum,” Daphne said.
“It’s all right, darling you look tired. Afternoon shift must be quite wretched.”
“Oh it’s all right. Night shift is worse.”
“Milk and sugar, Paul?”
“Yes thank you, one sugar.” He ate a piece of jam roll, complimented her on it, and glanced with interest around the room.
“I’m home, dear.”
“Frank, you’re just in time for tea.” Mrs. Clarke stood up and started across the room.
Paul watched the tall, grey-haired man enter the room. Daphne had said he was an army officer during the Great War, and he still had a military bearing. He stood well over six feet in height, with the same slimness as his children. No wonder young Rob was so tall.
“Dad!” Daphne flew into his arms and they hugged and kissed until he disentangled himself.
“Now, where’s this young man you want me to vet.” His smile took the sting out of his words.
“Dad, please. Paul, this is my father.”
They were close, he noticed immediately and he felt a twinge of envy, their relationship was so different to the one he had with his father.
“How are you, Mr. Clarke?”
“Frank, please. I’m happy to meet you, Paul. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”
“Thank you for putting me up.”
“Daphne’s welcome to bring any of her friends around,” Frank said.
“Never brought a man friend before, though,” Rob chipped in with a grin. “Always silly, giggling girls.”
He neatly fielded the cushion his sister threw at him.
“At least my friends aren’t grubby like yours.”
Paul enjoyed their light hearted banter.
“I’ll go and give Mum a hand,” Daphne said as she left the room.
“Go on, Dad, ask him his intentions.”
“All right, son, you’ve said enough. Do you follow the cricket, Paul?”
“Yes.” They chatted in a desultory manner about the cricket and soccer.
“What do you think of this Adolf Hitler fellow?” Frank asked.
“He looks like Charlie
Chaplin with that stupid little moustache.” Rob got up and goose-stepped around the room.
“It’s no joking matter, son. The man is a bigoted maniac. I read where he has forbidden German children to even speak to Jewish ones.”
“I’m not sure what to make of it but my father is convinced there’s going to be a war.” Paul grimace. “He doesn’t agree with England and France’s policy of appeasement at all costs. Reckons you can’t trust the Germans.”
“I agree with him, I had enough of them in the war, fanatics some of them. Still…” Frank rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Your Prime Minister might be trying to buy England some time to prepare for war.”
“Well, before I left England I did hear that the government have started building air-raid shelters, and school children have been issued with gas masks as a precautionary measure. Paul knew he was being summed up, yet it was done in such a skilful way as to be inoffensive.
“Tom will be home either tonight or tomorrow. Can never tell when he will breeze in, but he knows how much Christmas and the family mean to his mother, so he won’t let us down. He’s rather a rolling stone, always wanting to try something new.”
Paul got up to inspect the pictures on the mantel. His eyes were drawn to a large colored photograph of Daphne when she was about eight, sitting between two boys; the small one would be Rob, the older, fair boy probably Tom. Another photo showed Daphne as a toddler, and in the corner stood a sepia photograph of two young men in army uniform.
The women returning with a fresh pot of tea interrupted his inspection.
“You’ll have another cup, Paul?” Daphne smiled into his eyes. “Stop eating all the cake, there won’t be any left for Dad,” she scolded her brother.
“Nothing to eat thanks, Princess I’ll spoil my dinner.”
Paul refused the cake also, not Rob, he devoured it like a starving man. Paul drained his cup and stood up.
“If you would excuse us, come on, Daphne?”
“Well, what do you think?” She asked as they strolled hand in hand towards the back of the house.
“They’re nice, I like all three of them.”
“I’m glad.” She rubbed her cheek against his bare arm. “Mum thinks you’re very English.”
“Oh.” He nearly told her he was in fact born in Australia, but stopped himself in time. He was too scared of the ramifications of illegitimacy to risk unburdening himself right now.
The apricot trees in the orchard were loaded with plump, ripe fruit. He lifted Daphne up and sat her on the top rail of a wooden fence, bringing her face on a level with his own. They fed each other plump, ripe apricot halves.
“Love you,” he said softly.
“I love you too.”
“I’ll speak with your parents as soon as I can about us, but I suppose they must guess something is in the wind.”
“Mum does anyway.”
Seeing the shadows in Daphne’s eyes he knew that even now, she felt unsure of his love. He couldn’t find the words to reassure her, so he held her close. “I’ll never hurt you, Sunshine. You have to believe me. I only wish we could go away and get married straight away.”
“Wait until after Christmas to talk with Dad.”
“I planned to say something tonight when we got your parents alone.”
“It’s only a couple of days. Speak to Dad on Boxing Day. I always feel flat then. Mum says there’s a Christmas Eve dance at the North Wang hall.”
He grimaced.
“If you don’t want to go, we won’t, but I’d like to show you off to all my friends. We could go the midnight service afterwards.”
“Midnight service?”
“At Holy Trinity,” she said.
“Oh.”
“It’s Church of England. You aren’t Roman Catholic are you, Paul?”
“No, I’m Church of England.”
“You don’t want to go to church with me?”
“If you want to go we will, but I thought I picked you up from a Methodist church.”
“I am a Methodist, but lots of my friends up here are Church of England, and I used to go with them sometimes. Mum’s Methodist, and Dad’s Church of England, but he never goes. He’s bitter about them for some reason, believes in God but not in churches.”
“I share his sentiments.”
“Paul.”
“Mm.” He nuzzled her throat.
“You’ve never told me much about your family.”
“There’s not much to tell. My mother,” his mouth twisted, “is a very social person. An utter snob in other words.”
“Paul!”
“It’s true. She’s never shown any interest in me. My father, well the old man’s not so bad. Ruthless as hell if you cross him, though. He got a knighthood a few years back.”
He watched fear darken her eyes, and her lips started trembling.
“It won’t make any difference to us,” he reassured.
“I’m frightened, our backgrounds are so...”
“Shh.” His lips cut her off. “We love each other. We won’t live with my parents. My grandfather left a half share of the business to me, held in trust until I came of age, so we can live without any financial support from my father.”
“They won’t approve of me. You know they won’t. They would expect you to marry someone from a similar background.”
“My father has already picked someone out for me to marry.” He felt the tremor passing through her, and tightened his hold. “I told him before I left England, I would only marry for love. Caroline Bowater is all right I suppose. She’s recently returned home from some Swiss finishing school. Her father’s a Lord.”
“Oh no.”
“I’ve never had any intentions of marrying her. I told the old man that. We had a hell of a row before I came out here. He’s not going to run my life, Daphne. I love you and we will get married. If he doesn’t like it, too bad. Once we present him with a grandson to carry on the name, things will be all right, wait and see.”
“I love you so much I’m frightened something might happen to spoil it.”
“Silly girl.” He tweaked a strand of chestnut hair. “I suppose we better go back inside or your parents will think I’ve spirited you away with lecherous intent.”
“Did you?” She laughed.
“Yes. Give me a kiss before I lift you down.”
Her lips were soft and warm as she shyly did as he asked, but his mouth soon took over, drawing from her all the sweetness of youthful ardency that he could not get enough of.
Regretfully he pulled away and lifted her down, and they started back towards the house. Pink-breasted galahs and brightly colored parrots covered the trees now. A roughly made scarecrow, flapping his arms limply in the slight breeze, proved to be useless against the greedy marauders.
“Shoo, shoo.” Daphne, dropping Paul’s hand, ran around waving her arms madly, and he watched her, drinking in every movement. What a lovely girl she was. He wanted to go away somewhere, just the two of them, so he wouldn’t have to share her with anyone else.
* * *
Paul enjoyed the lively discussion over the Clarke dinner table, although he did not agree with their politics. “It’s a disgrace,” Frank said. “Men who fought for this country can’t get a job. I know there has been a depression, but the government could do much more. We need a labor government to give the working man a fair go. The sustenance is a pittance; a man can’t even support his family on it.”
If only Sir Phillip could see him now, in this staunch socialist home.
“You’re not one of us?” Frank asked.
“Afraid not.” Paul grinned. “Politics doesn’t hold much interest for me, really.”
“What religion are you?”
Daphne’s fork clattered against her plate. “Dad!”
“I’m Church of England.”
“What do you do for a living?”
Paul glanced across at Mrs. Clarke, whose eyes danced with merriment. Something struck a
chord in his memory, but it was so elusive he could not fathom it out. Had they met before? Of course they hadn’t.
“I work in my father’s business.”
“Business?”
“Wool, importing and exporting.”
“You’re from Yorkshire, I understand,” Frank said.
“Yes.” Something made him glance up. The laughter had disappeared from Mrs. Clarke’s eyes, her face turned ashen. She looked as if she had seen a ghost. He had a sudden inexplicable desire to rush over and comfort her, but forced himself to remain seated.
“Are you all right, dear?” Frank must have noticed also. “You’ve lost all your color.”
“I’m fine. More custard, Paul?”
“No, thank you.”
“Rob and I can do the dishes for you, Allison.”
Paul’s spoon clattered against his plate. What a coincidence. Daphne’s mother was called Allison too.
“Fair go, Dad, men don’t do the dishes.”
“It’s all right, I can do them, maybe you could help me, Paul.” Daphne’s eyes twinkled.
“Certainly not. Paul can go to the sitting room with your father and Rob.”
Later in the evening, they all sat on the verandah listening to the nightlife, and Paul was glad to feel the caress of a cooling breeze. He still wasn’t acclimatized and up here it was even hotter than in Melbourne. The aroma of Frank’s pipe tobacco drifted into his nostrils. It was peaceful. Pinpricks of light a short distance away were obviously the town, yet further out he could see nothing except the black emptiness of the Australian bush.
“What would you like to do tomorrow?” Daphne asked.
“Let’s take a drive, we could have a picnic somewhere.”
“Sounds nice.” She sat on the step next to him but shifted closer to rest against his arm.
“Will you come for a walk with me now?” he asked softly so the others would not hear.
“I don’t know,” she whispered back. “What about Mum and Dad?”
“They would expect me to want a goodnight kiss. They’re not so old they would have forgotten what it is. I’m going to hate sleeping alone tonight.”
“You’ll have Rob.”
“I want you. I wish it were possible for us to spend a couple of days away from here, just the two of us.”
A Mortal Sin Page 7