Papua

by Peter Watt

  As they lay in wait at the edge of the camp the night seemed to go on forever. Never before as a commander had Paul Mann faced such daunting odds. He was once again a soldier fighting what seemed to be a hopeless war. But he had his orders – and loyalty was his forte.

  The mists from the river swirled around the clearing as the sun rose over the green canopy of interlocked forest giants. The camp was stirring and Paul rubbed away the weariness from his eyes after what seemed to be one of the longest nights of his life. He strained to see Iris but she was not manacled with the captives.

  The flap to O’Leary’s tent flew open and he emerged to stretch and scratch his crotch as he gazed over his camp. Behind him Iris emerged in a simple cotton dress. Paul could see how the young woman could enchant a man with her exotic beauty. It was no wonder Jack Kelly’s English friend had been in love with her. Although a captive, she carried herself with dignity.

  ‘The boat comes,’ Paul heard one of the native porters from O’Leary’s camp say softly. He had spoken French, something Paul thought unusual.

  The boat appeared from around a bend in the river and suddenly all Paul’s questions were answered. A large wooden sailing ship with a high stern and sweeping, triangular lateen sails came into view. She had a sharp bow and her appearance in the Fly River struck him as completely out of place. Paul had only seen such craft in the Indian Ocean sailing off Ceylon on his voyage to Australia. ‘God almighty,’ he hissed in his dawning horror. ‘She’s an Arab dhow!’

  Dademo stirred beside Paul and glanced at him for an explanation. ‘O’Leary isn’t recruiting labourers – he’s taking slaves!’

  ‘Slaves’ was not a word Dademo understood but from the shocked expression on Mr Paul’s face he guessed it was something very evil. Paul had heard rumours that slavery still existed in some Middle Eastern countries and when he now more closely examined the porters he realised that the majority of them were in fact Africans – not Papuans.

  The dhow sailed confidently towards the shore, her decks bristling with heavily armed Arab and African crew. Paul knew that his plan was doomed to failure as soon as a gangplank was dropped on the riverbank and the crew met with their comrades on the shore. The former soldier knew that he would be spitting into a cyclone. To open fire and kill O’Leary now would gain nothing.

  He watched helplessly as the prisoners were hustled aboard and groaned with frustration as Iris was taken below decks. O’Leary was last to board. Paul kept him in the tip of his rifle sights all the time, so badly he wanted to pull the trigger. But he resisted the temptation for more than one reason. As far as he was concerned his mission was not over yet. Sooner or later O’Leary would return to Moresby as he always did. And when he returned Paul would be waiting for him. There were ways to get a man to tell. He would find out where the dhow had sailed.

  By midday the Arab slaver had gone. Paul stood and stretched his legs. At least he could return to Sen and tell him Iris was indeed alive.

  NINETEEN

  When Erika learned of Arrowsmith’s invitation to his harbour house she was intrigued. From what Jack had mentioned of the man he sounded like someone she would want to meet. After all, it did not hurt a young lady’s social opportunities to be seen in the right company. And she had been bored sitting around the house while Jack had gone into town each day in his attempts to raise capital.

  At first he seemed reluctant to allow her to accompany him to the Point Piper house. He was there on business and Arrowsmith was not the sort of man anyone would want to know, he argued. But she persisted and he relented when she accused him of being ashamed to be seen with her in public because she was German.

  The day arrived and Erika disappeared into her bedroom to prepare for the visit. When she emerged Jack was stunned. She wore a fashionable new dress that clung to her body, accentuating its curvaceous lines. It was in the current style, flowing to just below the knees, and the young woman had the looks to turn any man’s head.

  Jack whistled softly, more out of surprise than admiration for the transformation. ‘You could pass muster for Buckingham Palace,’ he said with a smile. ‘Reckon you will be the most beautiful woman in Sydney today.’

  Erika made a small pirouette that caused her dress to swirl, flashing brilliant coloured sequins sewn in the hem. Besides the new dress Erika had used lipstick and rouge to accentuate her beauty. ‘Do you think I will impress Mr Arrowsmith and his wife?’ she asked with an appealing smile.

  Jack nodded and they left for his rendezvous with destiny. Today he would learn if the dream he harboured for their future would be realised.

  The house was impressive, a great white stuccoed mansion that seemed to sprawl down to the harbour’s edge. Its lawns were perfectly manicured and a wide, open patio curved around to take in a spectacular view of the harbour, east to west.

  ‘You must be Mr Jack Kelly,’ a slim young woman said when the butler ushered them inside. ‘I am Caroline Arrowsmith.’ Jack shook hands with the very attractive woman whose hair was bobbed in the new style. She also wore the latest in body clinging dresses. Both women made subtle appraisals of each other before introduction and Caroline passed a complimentary comment on Erika’s appearance. Jack could see that Erika was also impressed by Caroline.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Arrowsmith,’ Jack replied. ‘May I introduce Miss Erika Mann. Miss Mann is recently from Germany and a friend of mine.’

  ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance,’ Caroline said in reasonably good German.

  ‘You speak German, Mrs Arrowsmith,’ Erika said as Caroline took her hand and held it. ‘I am surprised that an Australian would speak my language.’

  ‘My husband is quite fluent in German although I am still learning,’ Caroline replied modestly. ‘The knowledge of German has long been a tradition of the Arrowsmith family. I attended my final years of school in Switzerland. French was my preferred language but we did speak a reasonable amount of German.’

  Erika immediately warmed to Caroline and was momentarily reluctant to let go of her hand when Caroline turned to escort them to the patio outside, where a mix of elegantly dressed men and women were sipping cocktails. Jack knew he stood out in his old suit and felt uneasy. He would have liked to impress the Arrowsmith guests. He noticed that one or two of the guests wore white flannels and guessed they had been playing tennis. Caroline steered Erika away when her husband pushed his way through his guests to Jack. Toe to toe, Jack noticed that Arrowsmith was a couple of inches taller than himself.

  ‘Mr Kelly, what is your drink?’ Arrowsmith asked, and held out his hand by way of greeting.

  Jack was surprised at the gesture although he noted the other man’s handshake was limp and fleeting. ‘I’ll have a beer if there is one going.’

  Jack glanced over his shoulder to ensure that Erika had not been left alone and was surprised to see her in a bright and animated conversation with Caroline. When he turned back to Arrowsmith a waiter was approaching with a glass of beer on a silver tray.

  ‘As I said I would, I have made some considerable checks on you, Mr Kelly, and it seems you are quite a remarkable man.’ Jack was not sure whether Arrowsmith was being facetious or praising him. The man was an enigma. ‘I heard that at one stage during the war that you were recommended for the Victoria Cross but granted a DCM in lieu of our highest award for bravery. And that you rose through the ranks to become an officer. That before the war you worked in Papua gold prospecting. Also of interest is that you are fluent in German – that happens to be of interest to me as I also admire the language,’ he continued in German. ‘I overheard my wife introducing your lovely lady friend as German. I presume she is a lady friend, as I also learned that you are a widower with a young son and not known to be remarried at last report.’

  ‘You seem to have a good source of intelligence,’ Jack said as he took a mouthful of cold beer. The afternoon was warm after days of drizzling rain and the ale tasted good. ‘I doubt that you will tell me where yo
ur information comes from.’

  ‘Not really a matter of interest to you,’ Arrowsmith said. ‘More of interest to you is whether I am prepared to bankroll you. You are yet to convince me that your proposal has financial merit.’

  ‘Whenever you have the time, I have the proposal.’

  ‘Right now is as good a time as any, Mr Kelly,’ Arrowsmith replied. ‘We can go to my library where we won’t be disturbed. I will have a bottle of beer sent to us, so that you do not go thirsty.’

  Jack followed Arrowsmith into the house and to a room not unlike the man’s office in town. Arrowsmith slumped into a great leather armchair while Jack outlined his scheme. He spoke in mining language with military style logistics, and finally estimated what it would all cost.

  Arrowsmith raised his eyebrows at the figure. ‘One thing you failed to mention in all your talk, Mr Kelly, was exactly where your strike was made.’

  Jack had expected the question. ‘If I told you where I made my strike you might not need me. You might bypass me with a team of your own geologists and claim the field for yourself.’

  Arrowsmith made the faintest of smiles. ‘You have a valid point there,’ he said. ‘I could do exactly what you suggest. But I am a man who adheres to the expression of not killing the goose that lays the golden egg. I would still have to employ a competent man to manage my enterprise.’

  ‘I did not come here to offer my services as a manager,’ Jack stated firmly. ‘I came here to see if you would want to invest in the mining project – not buy me out and then let me run the show while you and your companies raked off the cream.’

  Arrowsmith raised his hand in protest. ‘I did not intend to suggest that you would be my employee, Mr Kelly. I hope you did not get that idea.’

  Jack was no fool and knew exactly what Arrowsmith meant. For a reasonable amount of money, he expected Jack to hand over his discovery and then allow the Arrowsmith companies to assume control. But this was definitely not in Jack’s plan.

  Arrowsmith attempted a counter. ‘It seems that at this stage it is unlawful to make gold claims in the former German territory, if that is your proposed location.’

  ‘Have you ever visited Papua or New Guinea?’ Jack asked quietly.

  ‘I am afraid the place has never held much appeal to my company interests,’ he replied. ‘No, I have not.’

  ‘I can tell you something about the place and its problems. It is probably the most inhospitable island on earth. Mountains that reach to the sky covered in almost impenetrable jungle. No roads, and just a few native tracks along narrow ridges that a man can hardly traverse. The climate will suck a man dry and what is left the local natives will eat. I think I can safely say that only a handful of men alive are capable of finding where I made my strike – and they are all in Papua. No, Mr Arrowsmith, even if you think you know where my strike was made, I doubt that you would find anyone stupid enough to go in and end up like my good friend George Spencer. He died with a Kuku arrow in him.’

  ‘I take your point,’ Arrowsmith said. ‘I might offer you a partnership in the enterprise.’

  ‘Investment or nothing,’ Jack responded stubbornly. ‘Or I go elsewhere.’

  ‘You have already,’ Arrowsmith smirked, ‘and they all knocked you back. So consider my offer. That is, if it still stands in a week’s time.’

  ‘You are giving me a week?’

  ‘A week – no more.’

  ‘Thank you for your time,’ Jack said, wanting to be out of the house. ‘I will bid you a good day.’

  ‘Don’t be so hasty, Mr Kelly,’ Arrowsmith said quickly. ‘You may as well stay and chat with some of my guests. I believe Hugh Hopkins served in your theatre of the war. I have no doubt that you and he could reminisce about old times together over a beer or two.’

  ‘The war is not something I want to remember,’ Jack replied with a bitter note in his voice. ‘I get enough of it every time I lay down to sleep.’

  Arrowsmith shrugged. ‘So be it,’ he said as Jack turned to leave the library. ‘It does not pay any man to be my competitor – or enemy.’

  The echoing threat did not worry Jack. Many men had made them before, but he was still standing.

  He found Erika still in Caroline’s company at the edge of the patio. They were laughing together with the backdrop of the magnificent harbour behind them. Erika held a cocktail glass delicately in her hand and leaned forward to place her hand on Caroline’s knee. They hardly noticed Jack’s approach.

  ‘We are leaving, Erika,’ Jack said gruffly, and she glanced up at him with surprise.

  ‘But I am having so much fun, Jack,’ she protested. ‘Why can’t we stay longer? Caroline was telling me about her time in Germany before the war. We have so much in common.’

  ‘Why don’t you let Erika stay with us for a little longer, Mr Kelly,’ Caroline said smoothly. ‘I can get our chauffeur to run her home when she is ready to leave.’

  Jack was not in a mood to argue but when he gazed into Erika’s eyes he saw her desperate plea and softened. She had not been out much with him and to force her to return to Strathfield now would be cruel. ‘I will see you when you get home tonight,’ he said, and Erika beamed him a grateful smile.

  Jack left the house preoccupied and frustrated at not getting a straight answer from Arrowsmith. The raising of money seemed to be an unsolvable problem for him. His problems grew when Erika did not return that night.

  The next morning he telephoned the Arrowsmith house. Caroline explained that Erika had decided to stay over. She was sorry that she had caused Jack any worry but would ask Erika to call him back when she returned from shopping. The phone clicked and Jack stood with the mouthpiece in his hand, wondering why he felt apprehensive. After all, the explanation was perfectly sound.

  Erika finally telephoned Jack that evening. She explained that she would like to spend some more time with her new friends. Caroline was going to take her up to their summer house at Palm Beach. She hinted that her growing friendship with the Arrowsmiths could be very helpful to Jack’s cause and grudgingly he had to admit that she was right. So he bowed to her wish to spend the rest of the week with Caroline and her husband.

  While he was marking time, hoping that Arrowsmith would fold on his conditions for financial backing, Jack spent some more time with Lukas. At first they felt awkward together, but a trip to Taronga Park Zoo and a ride on the elephant – along with copious quantities of boiled lollies – started to thaw the coldness between them.

  On the train trip home, Lukas fell asleep with his head in Jack’s lap. Jack carried the dozing boy home and returned him once again to Mrs Casey’s maternal care. He put Lukas to bed, stooping to kiss his son on the forehead. ‘Good night, young fella,’ he whispered as he crept out of the bedroom shared by three of the Casey boys, none of them much older than Lukas.

  ‘He’s a very good young fella,’ Mrs Casey told Jack as she saw him out. ‘But he’s had a rough time first losing his mother, and then Mary, God bless her.’

  Jack agreed and despite her protests left a five-pound note on the kitchen table before walking down to the hotel. He again shared the company and conversation of the two argumentative ex-servicemen he had befriended. This time they were in agreement that those who had been eligible for military service – but chose to stay at home in civilian jobs rather than face the dangers of the battlefield – should now give up their jobs for the men who had fought for King and country. Jack listened to his comrades and was in sympathy with them, but did not enter the conversation. His mind was on Erika and her silence since the telephone call asking to stay on with the Arrowsmiths. He brooded on his decision and realised just how much he missed her in his bed. Love had never been mentioned between them but he presumed she knew how he felt about her. He had never told her of the letters or the photo he had taken from her dead fiancé and wondered if he should ever let her know. Maybe she would see his possession of them as robbing the dead.

  When closing time came,
Jack staggered back to his brother-in-law’s house and shared a bottle with him before collapsing into bed. He hoped that for once his dreams would be of Erika and not of men he had shared life with until a hideous death came to claim them.

  The next morning a young man arrived on the doorstep with a telegram from Papua. Jack hardly had time to digest the contents when the mailman arrived with an important looking letter. Both pieces of paper were about to turn his life upside down.

  The sign read Sullivan, Levi & Duffy, Solicitors and the offices in a three-storeyed sandstone building just off Circular Quay seemed to be bursting at the seams with wads of legal papers stuffed in manila folders and tied with pale pink ribbon.

  Jack was ushered into an office marked Thomas Sullivan MC. He was pleased to note that the solicitor had obviously seen war service and been awarded a Military Cross. A strongly built man about his own age greeted him across an untidy desk strewn with papers. It was when he stood that Jack noticed the brawny lawyer had lost a leg.

  ‘Mont St Quentin,’ he grunted at Jack’s obvious glance at his wooden limb. ‘Bloody war was almost over when the Fritzes stitched me up with one of their bloody machine guns. Hear you saw a bit yourself in France.’

  Jack warmed to the man despite a great dislike for lawyers generally. ‘Yeah, enlisted just after the Dardenelles campaign.’

  ‘I read that in the report about yourself and the late Lord Spencer. Seems he held you in the same esteem as he might a blood relation. But come to think about it George Spencer was not very close to his family after he resigned his commission. Seems that he was accused of diddling mess funds and looked like he might face a court martial at the time. His father’s regiment and all that. But the culprit was caught red handed and the army did not apologise for their mistake. The stiff upper lip – or something, I suppose.’