by Peter Watt
Charles had been transferred to Sydney on behalf of the Prime Minister’s Department to oversee procurements for the American armed forces in Australia. He was recognised by his peers as a capable young man with a bright future in the public service. Sarah also knew that he supplemented his income with family money, which allowed him his lavish lifestyle. It was obvious that he was interested in a future with her, but one small matter concerned her, and that was Charles’s business relationship with her brother. She had been present at a tennis game at the Macintosh residence when she had overheard the two discussing a deal with James Barrington in the USA. From what she could glean there had been some unethical matters arising from the deal.
‘What were my brother’s dealings with Mr Barrington?’ she asked Charles later, when they were alone.
‘What do you mean?’ he countered.
‘I heard you mention to Donald that you were pleased with your share of the contracts.’
‘It was nothing of any importance,’ Charles replied. ‘How about you and I go to the flicks tonight?’
‘Don’t change the subject,’ Sarah persisted. ‘My brother uses every opportunity to cut me out of as many deals as he can. If it was not for my father, he would like to see me out of the business altogether.’
‘I think perhaps you’re being a little paranoid, my dear,’ Charles responded.
‘Don’t patronise me,’ Sarah said angrily. ‘Donald is up to something, and the way you are avoiding my question makes me think you’re siding with him against me. So, forget us going out tonight, I have other things to do.’
Sarah turned her back on Charles and stormed off. ‘Sarah, don’t walk away,’ he called, but she ignored him.
‘I say, old chap,’ Donald said, sidling up to Charles, ‘trouble on the domestic front?’
‘Your sister asked me about your dealings with James Barrington,’ Charles replied. ‘She’s under the impression you’re out to have her removed from the family businesses. I told her she was being paranoid.’
‘My sister is not paranoid,’ Donald said quietly.
Charles glanced at his friend. It seemed that all he had heard about the ruthless Macintosh family was true. But perhaps this time Donald had bitten off more than he could chew.
12
David Macintosh considered himself and the rest of the battalion fortunate to have a British ship, the Devonshire, supplied to take them from Ceylon across the Indian Ocean to Australia. The Devonshire had been built before the war to carry peacetime troops and their families from India to Britain, and David was at the signs for governess quarters and the nursery.
There were about eighteen hundred troops aboard the Devonshire and the men knew they were lucky to be on the best ship in the convoy of fifteen. It had a very good hospital, and one of the medical officers with the Australian General Hospital contingent was showing his fellow medicos a strange green pear-shaped fruit he identified as an avocado pear. All who tried it, including David, agreed it was very tasty and the MO said it was full of goodness. When the war was over, he said, he would start a plantation in Queensland to grow avocadoes. One or two of his colleagues felt that the exotic fruit didn’t have much of a future, but this did not seem to deter the MO.
For the first week the Devonshire sailed into the jaws of a monsoon. Very few turned up for breakfast each day, and David’s cabin mates, two fellow platoon commanders, cursed him for his good health as they lay on their bunks, buckets close by.
Slowly the seas abated, and orders came down that training would commence with tests of elementary firearms handling. Although they were returning to Australia, their ultimate destination was New Guinea, and the news from that part of the world was grim. The badly trained and armed militia troops currently engaging the Japanese were falling back down a jungle trail referred to as the Kokoda Track. Lectures about the terrain were conducted by a Captain Sanderson, who had lived in New Guinea before the war. New and dreaded medical terms crept into the list of exotic diseases, one being scrub typhus, caused by the bites of ticks whose habitat was jungle vegetation.
After dinner David stood down from his role as platoon commander and sat on the deck in the darkness for a while. The ship was blacked out, but soft music drifted in the air from the ship’s amplifying system. ‘Dearly Beloved’, a popular love song by a well-known American singer, Dinah Shore, provided the backdrop to the serene evening as the troopship slid through calm seas.
David’s thoughts were on returning to Australia, and were it not for the constant threat from Japanese and German submarines in the Indian Ocean, and the Japanese ships and aircraft, the trip home would almost be akin to a pleasant cruise. He tried to picture Sarah Macintosh’s face and wondered what it would be like to see her again. She had been one of his most consistent letter writers and her letters warm and almost romantic.
‘Share the night with you, David?’ said Lieutenant Peter Herbert, joining David on the deck.
‘Sure. Pull up a deckchair,’ David said and reached for his pipe. Regulations said that he could not fill and light it, but it provided a comforting feeling in his hands.
‘You would think we were on a holiday cruise after all we’ve seen in the last couple of years,’ Peter said, easing himself into a deckchair. ‘Are you looking forward to getting home, even for a short while?’
‘I’m looking forward to finding a pub near a beach. I’m going to get drunk and then stagger off for a swim.’
‘You do realise that it’s winter at home?’ Peter asked. ‘Anyone waiting for you at the dock?’
‘Not me,’ David answered.
‘That surprises me. I’ve heard a whisper that you’re related to Sir George Macintosh, and that you’re a partner in his businesses. From my reckoning, that makes you a man of good looks and means, and thus highly attractive to the opposite sex.’
David shrugged. ‘When I came back from Spain I made a deal with Sir George that I would abstain from any participation in the business until the war was over. In return, I would be paid a stipend to keep away, which I used to travel. That didn’t leave me much time for any serious contact with the fairer sex. I was considering settling down in one place when the war broke out, and my uncle, Sean Duffy, wrangled me a commission. It wasn’t easy because the government thought I was a communist because I’d fought against the Fascists in Spain, but Uncle Sean convinced them I was just a foolish young man with absolutely no communist tendencies. He pointed to the fact I was a Macintosh capitalist.’
‘No family money for me, I’m afraid,’ Peter said. ‘But I do have a wife in Sydney, who I hope welcomes my return.’
David thought he noticed a tone of doubt in his friend’s voice. The war had changed so much for soldiers, airmen and sailors returning after so many years away. Children viewed fathers as strangers, and wives left to fend for the family resented the absence of their husbands and then the restrictions of their return. Now the Yanks were arriving in their thousands with more money, better uniforms, and manners straight out of the Hollywood movies; by all accounts, the women were going crazy over them.
The two men sat in silence for a short time, gazing out at a placid ocean illuminated by starlight, and David wished that he could light his pipe and puff on it.
Peter broke the silence. ‘Do you think we can turn back the Japs?’
‘We don’t have much choice, or we might end up suffering the same fate as the Chinese in Nanking,’ David said. ‘We’re in a fight for survival, but I think the Yank victory at Midway Island might have tipped the balance in the Pacific. I read that the Japs lost a few of their precious carriers to Yank dive-bombers.’
‘But we still have the Nips lodged in New Guinea, and from last reports pushing back our chokos,’ Peter countered. ‘If they get to Moresby we are in deep shit.’
‘Well, Pete, old son,’ David grinned, ‘it’s a good job we’re on our way to
save the day.’
A bell clanged and both men knew it was the call to return to sleeping quarters. All going well, they should see the Western Australian coast within a couple of days, and not long after that, Sydney, where most of the men of the battalion had family awaiting them.
*
The chokos were lying on their stomachs, facing the approaches to the suspension bridge. Sergeant Tom Duffy had placed himself beside the young soldier who had cracked during their first contact with the Japanese. The boy was young enough to be his son, and Tom hoped that his presence might help him face the oncoming enemy with more steady nerves.
‘What’s it like to die, sarge?’ the young soldier whispered.
‘I don’t know,’ Tom answered. ‘I’ve always tried to avoid finding out – as you should.’
The soldier fell into silence and around midday Tom’s keen eyesight picked up the first Japanese soldier approaching the bridge. He was moving cautiously, his head swinging from side to side, looking for a possible trap. Tom hissed to those closest to him to pass on the order that no one was to fire until the platoon commander said so.
Satisfied that the terrain was safe, the Japanese scout signalled for the rest of his section to come forward and cross the bridge. Another ten men joined him and it was then that the ripple of small arms fire ripped through their ranks, felling each and every Japanese soldier exposed in the open space of the bridge entrance. Tom was relieved to see that the young soldier beside him was firing and reloading with a new determination to survive.
Another section of Japanese soldiers stormed from the jungle and attempted to rush across the bridge but were cut down. The steep banks of the river below thwarted any enemy attempt to engage the Australians while using their units to encircle by outflanking the defenders.
A ripple of relief went down the ranks of Australian soldiers. It all seemed so easy. For the next four hours the firing fell silent, except for the occasional shot coming from both sides. Tom wondered what the enemy were up to. From the little he had seen of their tactics, the Japanese rarely disengaged, even when the odds were stacked against them, and around 5 pm he found out what they had been doing.
Suddenly Japanese small arms fire destroyed the sense of victory that had prevailed through the afternoon. Tom’s previous experience as a sniper told him that the fall of shot was coming from the treetops on the other side of the river, where the enemy snipers could spot and fire down on Australian defensive locations. They had re-formed to take positions looking down on their adversaries.
Lieutenant Hall had already realised that they were under deadly sniper fire and had issued the order for his men to fall back. At Kokoda village, Lieutenant Colonel Owen sent a desperate signal to Port Moresby:
Clashed at Gorari and inflicted approximately 15 casualties at noon. At 5 pm our position was heavily engaged, and two tired platoons are now at Oivi. Third platoon now at Kokoda is moving to Oivi at 6 am. Must have more troops, otherwise there is nobody between Oivi and Dean, who is three days out from Ilolo. Will have drome open for landing. Must have two fresh companies to avoid being outflanked at Oivi . . .
The requested strength of troops did not arrive. Only one platoon of reinforcements was sent up. The chokos were forced to fall back. Little did they know that the campaign ahead would change the course of Australian history. All each young soldier knew for now was exhaustion, sickness, hunger and the ever-lurking spectre of death. A long, vicious war lay ahead for these soldiers deemed inferior by the standards of any army.
*
The winter’s day in Sydney was perfect for a wedding. The sun shone in a cloudless sky and the air had lost its bitter chill. The bride wore a lavish white silk dress. Beside her, under the archway of drawn swords, the bridegroom was dashing in his officer’s mess dress blues. The air force officers forming the arch cheered their popular colleague, who was beaming with happiness at having the very beautiful Allison Lowe, now Jenkins, on his arm.
Sarah threw a handful of rice over the pair.
‘One could almost become tearful,’ Charles said beside her. ‘They make a lovely couple. Is it true that Alli is up the duff?’
‘What a question!’ Sarah snapped. ‘It’s none of your business.’ In fact it was true, as Allison had confided in her best friend days before the wedding. Allison said that Paul welcomed the pregnancy – he felt that if he died fighting, at least something of him would live on in his child.
When the couple had emerged from the honour archway to receive the usual congratulations, Sarah kissed Allison on the cheek and stepped back to admire her. Allison’s wan smile hinted at a sadness Sarah understood. After a brief honeymoon up the coast from Sydney, Paul was to be deployed overseas on active service. He was unable to tell even his new bride where he was being posted, but Sarah guessed it was somewhere in the Pacific. The Japanese were still advancing and the control of the skies was vital. The Japanese still had the best fighter aircraft, and that made the odds of survival very poor for Allied pilots.
‘You look radiant,’ Sarah said, not quite truthfully. Allison was beautiful but the underlying sadness took away some of her bloom.
‘I just want to thank you now for organising the reception at your place,’ Allison said, squeezing her hand. ‘Paul’s pay could not have afforded what I know you have laid out for us.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Sarah said, shrugging off her friend’s gratitude. ‘It’s the least we can do for our brave boys in blue, and their beautiful brides. Besides, you’re my dearest friend.’
‘Alli, we’re required for photos,’ Paul called out, and Allison smiled at Sarah and then turned to her new husband.
As she walked away, Sarah reflected on the event. Marriage was not an idea she would entertain in the near future – management of the companies came first. Charles had hinted that they would make a fine couple, but she had ignored him. He was proving to be a good lover, but he was the only man she had ever known, and she was starting to find his attitude towards her just a little patronising.
She looked across the courtyard to her brother. He was dressed handsomely in an expensive tailored suit, and Olivia Barrington was hanging on his every word. She was in her Red Cross uniform and it had not diminished her natural beauty. Sarah did not like the American woman. She could tell that Olivia did not think it proper for a woman to be involved in business; after all, she took no role in the Barrington enterprises. Sarah thought her weak and pathetic. However, this was her best friend’s wedding, so she might as well be pleasant.
‘Wasn’t it a beautiful wedding ceremony?’ Olivia said as she walked over.
‘It was,’ she agreed. ‘Hello, Donald, you look very debonair all dressed up for the occasion.’
‘You don’t look so bad either,’ Donald responded with a smile.
‘Will you be attending the reception back at the house?’ Sarah asked.
‘Wouldn’t miss it for quids,’ Donald said, and Sarah remembered that this was an expression David Macintosh used. Her brother idolised him, and copied some of his mannerisms.
She knew that David was returning to Sydney and the thought stirred something in her she now recognised as carnal desire. What was it about her cousin that so obsessed her? Was it that her research into a distant ancestor, Michael Duffy and his larger-than-life adventures, made her think he was reborn in David? She did not really believe in reincarnation but still David could have been Michael Duffy from all that she had been able to glean in her family research. The more she thought about him, the more she imagined him holding her in his arms and making passionate love to her. She suddenly felt weak at the knees. ‘If you will excuse me,’ she said, ‘I must speak with the bride.’
When she was away from Donald and Olivia, the warmth left Olivia’s expression. ‘You have to watch her, Donald,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’ Donald asked.
‘S
he is out to take complete control of the family enterprises and will see you sidelined.’
‘Be assured that I know my sister well,’ Donald said with a smile. ‘She is more like my father than I would have ever guessed. She is showing her true colours.’
Olivia placed her arm through Donald’s. ‘I am thinking of our future,’ she said. ‘It’s not right for a woman to be involved in running such a vast empire as that has been established by your forefathers. It is only natural that you eventually become the captain of your business empire.’
Donald glanced at Olivia beside him and for a moment wondered who was more ruthless – Sarah or Olivia. It seemed that Olivia was also looking to her own interests, through him. An old expression suddenly popped into his head . . . the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.
They retired to the Macintosh harbourside mansion white-clothed tables had been set up in the ornate gardens. White sail-like canopies had been erected in the garden to provide shade from the winter sun or, if it rained, shelter. The food was plentiful and did not reflect the austere rationing of the war. Sir George had contacts and they barely knew what rationing meant. Champagne corks popped, and Paul’s fellow pilots were quick to fill their crystal flutes, toasting their friend and his bride.
Sarah looked on with satisfaction and was grateful that the weather had held for the outdoor reception. Other than a handful of young pilots, there were no other guests. Sir George was present and made a speech. He did not look well but seemed able to carry out his function as patron. Sarah noticed that her brother and father had little to do with each other as the guests mingled into the late afternoon. Her father was in company of a distinguished-looking British lieutenant colonel who was introduced to her as Lord Albert Ulverstone. Sarah had to admit that he was a good-looking man, but there was something about him that made her skin crawl. He had cold eyes and his hand felt clammy when she shook it. Her father explained that Ulverstone, who had recently been promoted from major, was attached to a unit in Sydney, having escaped from Singapore at the last possible hour.