by Peter Watt
TWENTY-NINE
Jack Kelly shook his head as he stood on the jetty. The briny smell of the harbour water was strong, as was the lingering odour of long dead fish. But he was also laughing.
Lukas knew that was a good sign. ‘I know she is the answer to all our problems, Dad,’ he said eagerly as Jack walked backwards to better appraise the lines of the old lugger, rocking at her moorings just off shore. She looked old but sturdy. A bit like himself, he thought. ‘And the owner wants to sell her as soon as possible.’
‘What would we do with a lugger?’ Jack asked, slipping his pipe from his pocket. ‘Sail around the world so that my creditors can’t find me?’
‘I was thinking that we could sail her up to Papua and use her in charters – or transport goods back to Queensland. Anything that comes up.’
‘More money in her if we sailed her to America and ran grog for the Yank bootleggers from Canada,’ Jack said with a twinkle in his eye.
In his eagerness to convince his father that the lugger was their way to make a fortune, Lukas fell for the suggestion. ‘We could do that but . . .’ Then he realised that his father was joking and broke into a broad smile. ‘Or we could sail to Papua.’
‘I will think about it,’ Jack said, as he stuffed his pipe with a plug of tobacco.
‘We don’t have much time,’ Lukas warned with the impatience of youth. ‘They are taking everything we have.’
‘But not the house,’ Jack reminded firmly. ‘We still have that as an asset – along with the land in Queensland.’
‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ Lukas apologised, realising he was pushing his father into making a decision. He knew his father would think it out.
And Jack did think about it as they drove home. He had pondered on his future for some time. What could he do as he approached his middle years? Crocodile shooting? Maybe even working for Paul Mann back on the plantation near Moresby. But he had learned that searching for gold was a job for much younger men with unshakeable dreams and no family commitments. Not that he had to worry about Lukas. He was old enough to look after his own future. If nothing else, he had provided him with an education that could take him anywhere. Not to mention his natural charm and good manners – acquired more from the Jesuit priests than Jack’s own example.
The trouble with this plan was that boats were as foreign to Jack as going to the moon. Lukas seemed to have a reasonable knowledge of sailing but only in skiffs on the harbour with his rich friends. This was a totally new venture in his life. But hadn’t going north to Papua and New Guinea been a totally new venture for Jack when he was around his son’s age? He glanced at Lukas who sat staring at the passing gum trees as they drove along the bumpy dirt track from the jetty.
‘We will buy her,’ he said with the pipe clenched in his teeth.
‘Really, Dad?’ Lukas exploded. ‘We will really buy her and sail to Papua to make our fortunes?’
Jack felt warmed by the sudden change in his son’s demeanour. ‘Probably cost us a fortune,’ he grunted but with a smile. ‘And we will have to give her a name I suppose. I believe that is part of the tradition of the sea.’
‘I thought about calling her the Sarah,’ Lukas said. ‘A reminder of a girl I once knew.’
‘The one that did you wrong,’ his father observed. He had spoken to Tom Sullivan who had told him the news about his foolish daughter’s behaviour towards Lukas, though Tom and Jack remained close friends. ‘In that case we will christen her the Erika Sarah to honour a lady who once did me wrong,’ he added.
‘It has a kind of ring to it,’ Lukas conceded. ‘The Erika Sarah she will be.’
Caroline Arrowsmith sat opposite her husband, knitting as the sun shone warmly down upon them in the garden. Like most men he was blissfully unaware of the change that had come to her life. He had his head buried in the papers and was muttering curses about unionists, seeing them as a threat to all God fearing industrialists. They were just trying to make enough to buy another beach house or trip to France on a luxury liner. The stark photographs portraying the bleak poverty in the lines of the unemployed did not touch him. As he glanced up to reach for his cup of tea from the silver salver ornately embossed with the Arrowsmith coat of arms his wife caught his eye.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked in a puzzled voice. He had never seen Caroline in any domestic pursuit other than mixing a cocktail when the manservant was not available.
‘Knitting booties for our baby,’ she said, waiting with a sly smile for his reaction.
‘You mean . . .’ he blustered.
It was not often that she had seen Quentin look so confused. ‘Yes, according to Doctor Vinefield the baby is due around early next year.’
Quentin Arrowsmith realised that his hand was still poised to reach for the tea. ‘Congratulations,’ he said in a flat voice. ‘Do I know the father?’
Caroline ceased knitting to gaze at him. ‘I don’t think it matters except to say I believe he has qualities you would approve of.’
Quentin was not convinced. One part of him wanted to know what bloodline would inherit his fortunes whilst the other half dreaded the thought that it might be a close friend, smug in the fact that he had cuckolded him.
For Caroline the choice of Jack Kelly had been perfect. Not only did the man have all the qualities desired in a future heir – courage, intelligence and ambition – but he was also definitely not a friend of her husband. The irony of Jack Kelly being the father was not lost on her nonetheless, and she smiled at the thought. But she also knew that no one other than herself must ever know her secret.
Quentin once again buried his head in his paper and continued reading about the traumatic effects the economic depression was having on the masses of ordinary Australians. Of slight interest outside the financial situation was an item about Australian Jews meeting at the Melbourne Town Hall to protest at the treatment of Jews in Germany. He moved on from the article with a grunt. Bloody Jews were always unhappy about one thing or the other. Maybe Herr Hitler would stop their whining one day, he thought. An article about Australian beef exporters making complaints to Britain regarding the Argentinian practice of exporting beef under the guise of offal – now that was of a lot more importance than the bloody whining Jews. The birth of a child in his family was another item of lesser interest, at least for the moment. It would all depend on whether Caroline bore a son or daughter.
‘Well,’ Jack said as his son tossed the last of their provisions aboard the Erika Sarah. ‘Time to cast off, I suppose.’
Lukas leapt aboard with the agility of a cat and patted the great spoked teak wheel. The sun was still below the horizon and other than the gentle lapping of the calm waters around the hull and the sad call of a curlew on a sandy spit nearby, the morning was silent. Like a hush of expectation for the great adventure before them, Jack idly thought, gazing out over the harbour’s waters. There was a chill in the late winter air. Soon would come spring, and then the heat of summer with its bushfires encircling the city.
He had settled all his affairs with creditors and the sale of the house had provided a stake in the lugger along with provisions and a few luxuries. He had to admit when he had gone to buy the boat that there was a real appeal in being free of the office he had come to resent. One by one his enterprises folded and he had done his best to ensure employees were placed in other jobs. In this he had mostly been successful on account of his charitable work for the families of servicemen who had died for their country – and one or two of his political contacts had not deserted him in his quest for help.
He had only a few regrets when the house was sold. It had been the place where his son had spent the latter part of his teenage years when on leave from school. It was a place of laughter and good times together. And now here they stood, on the deck of a lugger. Neither knew much about sailing, although Lukas would not admit it. He had devoured every book and journal on navigation as well as taking every opportunity to go sailing in the time they had waited
for the house to sell. And what he had learned was to be admired – unfortunately, it was all theory. Now it was time to see if what was in the lad’s head could be transmitted into the hands. But Jack trusted his son.
What lay ahead was unknown but at least they were sailing home to Papua. Maybe they could do a bit of fishing and swimming on the way through, Jack thought with a smile. It was the holiday he had always denied himself because all his time had been spent just keeping the intricacies of his business running smoothly. And how easily it had all disappeared.
Under her engine the lugger puttered out of the harbour with Lukas at the helm. By early morning as the sun began its ascent and the city was waking to another day at the office or factory, the Erika Sarah was through the great sandstone cliffs that protected the harbour from the rolling Pacific Ocean and steering a course due north, a brisk wind speeding her progress. She was now under full sail and Jack was quickly discovering muscles that had remained long dormant. But for a couple of amateurs, he thought that they were doing okay so far.
The Erika Sarah sailed well and Jack took a back seat to observe his son’s superb handling of the big boat. Within a few short days, Jack ascertained from the charts that they were approaching the scenic towns of Tweed Heads and Coolangatta which straddled the state borders. It was time to go ashore and stretch their legs.
They sailed into the Tweed River and anchored just off the main street of the New SouthWales town of Tweed Heads. It was a Saturday and the town was busy with visitors, many of whom had travelled down from Brisbane by railway train to enjoy the vast stretches of beautiful surfing beaches. Jack still liked the feel of the place; it was lively and sported all the facilities of a major city. Over the border in Queensland, Coolangatta even boasted the finest picture theatre anywhere between the major cities of Brisbane in the north and Newcastle in the south.
They spent a week more than they had planned for in the coastal resort. ‘This place has a lot of potential,’ Jack said one evening as he and Lukas sat on the aft deck of the lugger, sipping mugs of tea. The boat rocked gently on a rising tide and overhead a full moon bathed the surrounding hills in a silver light. ‘Wouldn’t mind retiring here one day.’
‘I thought you would want to retire in South Australia,’ Lukas said.
‘I’ve been too long in the tropics to ever go back south,’ Jack said, as a big fish leapt from the water near the lugger and plopped back into the river. ‘Kind of got used to the warm winters. Besides, I don’t have any family back there now. The only family I have is you, son.’
Lukas fell silent and gazed at the tall, craggy ridge known as the Razorback. He knew his father had purchased a lot of land on the slope, with a panoramic view out to the ocean as well as south and north along the stretches of beaches. It was hard to imagine his father sitting on the verandah of a house, wearing slippers and puffing on his pipe. He was such a dynamic and adventurous man. Lukas had come to understand what the medals were that his father kept in an old cigar box. For years the Great War had been just dull accounts in his history books, yet his father had actually fought in those old battles. He felt his heart swell with love for this man who seemed to have always been a part of his life. He could hardly remember his mother, apart from a vivid and disturbing vision of her lying in an eternal sleep, and adults speaking in hushed tones as if they did not want to wake her. But there was still a lingering sadness for something taken too early from his life.
‘I love you, Dad,’ Lukas suddenly blurted and Jack ducked his head. He had not heard his son say that since he was nine years old. ‘I love you, son,’ he said softly and the two men went back to gazing upon the tranquillity of the sub-tropical night as they sipped their mugs of tea.
After a week that had turned into a holiday, the next day they set sail. Lukas seemed to mope as they put the headland of Point Danger behind them and sailed over into Queensland waters, en route to Papua via the Great Barrier Reef.
‘A girl, was it?’ Jack said as he nudged Lukas in the ribs with the end of his pipe.
‘I met her at the flickers the night you were at the pub,’ Lukas sighed, gripping the helm. ‘She was a really nice sheila.’
Jack chuckled. ‘You know the old saying about having a girl in every port. Well, you are only following the tradition of sailors in such matters.’
Lukas cast his father a sad smile. It could have been love if they had stayed longer, he thought with just a touch of regret. But to stay longer would have meant deserting his dream of adventure and he brightened somewhat from his melancholy. Could life get better than it was when he was the master of his own fate and had the man he loved not only as a father but also his best mate beside him, a man of infinite wisdom and courage – even if his luck in business had failed him?
THIRTY
Gerhardt had told his superior that he would not be at home the evening he went to question Erika and was not surprised at the pleased expression on Spier’s face. Not even the dour Colonel Spier could resist her after a few brandies and Gerhardt was able to search his superior’s discarded clothing as he slept soundly beside Erika.
Gerhardt’s late night visit did not seem to raise the suspicions of the night watchman at the Intelligence headquarters. After all, Gerhardt had worked back before to complete his reports so a casually offered explanation gave him access to the guarded corridors. He avoided the night duty officer dozing in his office when he was meant to be alert to any early morning telephone calls; the less people who were aware of his presence the better.
The safe door swung open and Gerhardt quickly went through the neatly stacked colour coded files. Finding the one he sought, he scanned the lists of names until he found his own. Worse still, he noted that his dismissal had been given a priority on the list and he well knew what that meant.
His eye was caught by one of the other files, its title referring to German nationals abroad. Gerhardt was curious as he planned to become a national abroad as soon as he could. He opened the file and found a categorised column of names divided into occupations. It was a file, Gerhardt knew from experience, that also marked the men for death, and under the heading ‘Scientists’ one name in particular caught his attention. It was of a German–Jewish scientist now resident in the United States of America whose brilliance had caused media interest around the world. He was obviously to be eliminated should conflict occur between the two nations. German paid agents abroad would be activated to carry out executions.
The name of the scientist was Albert Einstein. Gerhardt realised the sensitivity of such a file personally signed by Himmler and also realised that the file could be his passport to a new identity in another country. To take the file and be discovered with it in his possession would surely sign his death warrant but the information was far too valuable as a key to opening doors to the British or Americans. He also knew that he could not smuggle the file itself safely out of Germany – too many customs officials and border guards were in the party and might recognise its importance. The only thing he could do was take the file, photograph it with his new Leica camera and then destroy it. An attempt to return the file to the safe would be pushing his luck too far. Besides, the unexposed film would be a lot easier to conceal than a bulky file.
Gerhardt could hear the night watchman doing his rounds and knew he must decide now. It was a gamble that Spier would not notice the file missing immediately as there were so many in the safe. Gerhardt snatched the file and thrust it down the front of his jacket. With shaking hands he carefully replaced the other files in their order. Spier was a very observant man. He closed the safe and felt quite giddy. Now he must get home and pray that Spier was still sleeping off the combined effects of alcohol and sex.
Gerhardt could not remember another time when he had been so frightened except for his days at the front. At least then his enemies were foreigners and not his own people. He crept up the stairs to the bedroom and was relieved to hear a loud snoring. Very cautiously he replaced the crumpled paper in
the pocket of Spier’s trousers. Satisfied, he walked downstairs to the living room where Erika stood by the fire, with a cigarette in her hand.
‘Well, I have done my part,’ Erika said. ‘What did you learn?’
‘That I am also on the list,’ he said, his weariness apparent. ‘You will get your divorce for the part that you have played so well.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Erika asked.
For just a moment Gerhardt thought that he heard a trace of concern in her question. ‘I would rather not tell you as it might endanger your life,’ he replied. ‘What you don’t know will be your safest ticket.’
Erika frowned as she examined her husband’s face for signs of deceit. But there were none. ‘I truly wish you well,’ she said in a gentle tone he had not heard her utter since the day she had accepted his proposal of marriage. ‘I have not been a good wife or mother.’
‘That does not matter anymore,’ Gerhardt said. He placed his hands gently on her bare shoulders in a tender gesture. She gazed up into his face, eyes glistening. ‘What matters is that I take measures to protect our daughter from the madness that I know will come to Germany if Adolf gains power. The democracy that we have will be gone forever and we will be part of a terrible machine which will suppress all that is good. I was a fool to think that he truly cared for the people. The man behind the fanfare of parades and flag dedications to so-called martyrs is a liar and bully on a grand scale.’
‘I thought that Adolf would lead the way,’ Erika said. ‘But now I share your doubts. I wanted to divorce you because I thought that you were weak, but I can see that they have used you. You are a good man. I am sorry for the pain I have caused you and Ilsa.’