A Time of Secrets

by Deborah Burrows

  ‘Nick, you’re so naughty,’ she said. She saw me. ‘The boys have been telling me blue jokes. They’re so wicked.’ She smiled at Tuck. ‘Tell her the one about the Archbishop and the goat.’

  Tuck threw me a satyr’s grin. ‘Stella’s broad-minded, but I think we’ll keep that one for when she’s less a picture of sobriety.’

  ‘I don’t know how you escaped from Mrs Busybody with any secrets intact,’ said Dolly with a shudder. ‘I swear, if the Japanese invade she’ll be the first they’ll go to for all the information they need.’

  ‘Mrs C’s no traitor,’ said Tuck. ‘She’d lob some of her silver at them and drive them back into the bay.’

  Dolly, Ross, Tuck and I ate Dolly’s stew with some of Ross’s wine. And because Dolly had cooked and Ross had provided the grog, washing up fell to Tuck and me. Dolly followed Ross into the lounge room with a hungry look in her eyes that saddened me.

  ‘I’ll wash,’ said Tuck. ‘Save your delicate hands.’

  ‘I’m a painter. My hands are already ruined.’ I held them up.

  ‘You badly need a manicure, my dear, but they’re not too bad. Still . . . if you’d rather wash, who am I to say no?’ He inspected his own slim hands.

  I laughed. ‘I’ll wash.’ I turned on the tap and put in some soap scraps and swirled them around until the water became frothy.

  ‘Dolly’s making a play for Nick, then?’ said Tuck.

  I looked at him, surprised, because it wasn’t his usual light tone. His face was serious.

  ‘She’s besotted,’ I admitted. ‘I don’t think he’s interested, although he flirted with her shamelessly at her birthday party. Stanford is busy tonight, so she feels free to flirt all she likes.’

  His eyebrow rose. ‘She’s playing with fire. Stanford’s got some interesting friends. By that I mean dangerous friends. And Nick had better watch himself with Dolly. She can be vindictive; it’d be stupid to get her offside.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t bristle up. You’re very loyal, Stella, but there’s a lot you don’t know about Dolly.’

  ‘I’m not interested in nasty gossip about my friends.’ I turned to the sink, slid the glasses into the water, and began to concentrate on scrubbing them clean. ‘Lipstick’s the very devil to remove, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s not gossip, my dear. Forewarned is forearmed.’ He took a wet glass from me and began to dry it. ‘I’m just saying that Dolly can be a dangerous enemy and she’s made some bad choices in her life.’

  I began washing another glass.

  ‘Her husband, Albert Harper, now he was crooked as a dog’s hind leg.’

  ‘She divorced him,’ I said.

  ‘Poor form to divorce him just before the trial, though. Rather like heaping burning coals on his head.’

  ‘Trial?’

  ‘He got eight years with hard labour in ’39 for embezzling his clients’ trust funds. They made an example of him because he was a lawyer.’ He put out his hand for another glass. ‘Mind you, I liked Albert. And he certainly adored Dolly. I suspect that most of the money was used to keep Dolly happy.’ His eyes were bright, and he was obviously enjoying the gossip. ‘He was released early to join the AIF and he’s fighting in New Britain, now. Were you aware that they’ve been allowing some of the crims to join up rather than go to gaol?’

  ‘Really?’ I looked down and began scrubbing the plates.

  ‘Anyway, don’t go thinking Dolly’s a poor little innocent – she’s not.’

  ‘Is anybody? What do you know about Stanford?’

  ‘Very wealthy, self-made, tough. Like I said, he’s got access to all sorts of people and enough money to get their assistance on any matter he wants.’

  I turned to look at him. ‘So what you’re saying is that if Ross continues to flirt with Dolly, Stanford could pay to have him assaulted.’

  Tuck’s look of horror was very real. ‘I’d never say anything so blatant. I’ll just say that Ross is playing with fire if he plays with Dolly. She’s on a knife-edge with Stanford. She’s made some bad choices in the past year – don’t worry, it was before you arrived – but if Stanford finds out then I don’t know what he’d do.’

  I stared at him, unsmiling. ‘How do you know any of this?’

  ‘I have friends who work in all sorts of places. Friends who talk. As I said, in my position it pays to have information. I know things about people that would amaze you. Things they wouldn’t want known.’

  ‘Sounds dangerous to me,’ I said.

  ‘Too right, Stella.’ He smiled. ‘Good thing I’m such a careful man.’

  Twenty-one

  Tuck was my partner and he bid one spade to my one heart. ‘Have you heard the latest joke? The Yanks are calling Australia the land of milk and honey.’

  I humoured him. ‘Why do they call it that?’

  ‘Cow’s juice three times a day and a honey in every town.’

  There were groans and polite laughter from the other couple, Lieutenant Rob Sinclair and Miss Moira Gilchrest. Moira was the pretty redhead from Dolly’s party. She was obviously much taken with Sinclair. I couldn’t work out if Sinclair reciprocated her feelings, as he was not the type to give much away. He was, however, an excellent bridge player, as was Tuck; the evening had turned into a contest between them. Tuck had taken to chattering annoyingly throughout each rubber, which I suspected was designed to put Sinclair off his game.

  Sinclair had asked to speak alone with Ross just after he’d arrived and a mysterious conversation had taken place between them on the balcony, in the dark and the cold. When they’d returned to the lounge room they’d both seemed sombre, out of sorts. But they were well-mannered men and soon reverted to good humour. I noticed, though, that Ross had been drinking steadily all evening.

  After a few social niceties Dolly had split us into two groups of four. She was partnering Ross on the table across the room, against Lance Cole and Violet. We’d all played three rubbers already and after this one we’d break for a light supper.

  Sinclair studied his hand. ‘Pass. The Americans seem to drink inordinate amounts of milk. Whenever I see a marine he’s guzzling a quart of the stuff.’

  I bid two diamonds, and earned a sharp look from Tuck.

  ‘Double,’ said Moira, and earned a similarly sharp look from Sinclair.

  ‘They say it’s much creamier than the milk in America,’ said Tuck. ‘If they don’t watch out, though, they’ll all go back to the front looking like baby elephants. Three spades.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll work off any excess weight dodging Japanese bullets,’ said Sinclair. ‘Pass.’

  I looked at my hand and took a leap of faith. ‘Four spades.’

  There were passes all around. So with Tuck as declarer, I was dummy. Sinclair made the opening lead. I spread my hand on the table and offered to refresh everyone’s drinks. I collected the dirty glasses and went into the kitchen.

  Dolly slammed a cupboard door shut as I entered, and when she turned around her eyes were blazing and her lips were flat against her teeth in a snarl. ‘Nick’s been flirting outrageously with Violet Smith all night. It’s just not on, Stella. It’s just bloody not on. Lance Cole is furious and so am I.’

  ‘Dolly –’

  ‘Don’t say it. I know I’m almost engaged, but he flirted with me at the party, and all week at work he’s been . . . You should see that little minx. Laughing and flicking her hair back and pouting.’ Dorothy’s voice dropped to a harsh whisper. ‘She’d better watch it. Cole is not the man to cross.’

  ‘No,’ I said hotly. ‘He’s a nasty brute and she’s better off without him.’

  Dolly crossed her arms and laughed, not nicely. ‘She chose him.’

  ‘And now she’s choosing Nick Ross.’

  ‘I should have known you wouldn’t understand. You’re such a cold
fish – what would you know about passion?’ She swung around to face the sink and grabbed onto the side of the bench. I could see her knuckles whiten. ‘No. No, I’m sorry, Stella. I didn’t mean that. It’s just that he’s really got to me.’

  ‘Dolly –’

  ‘I know. Stanford is a marvellous man and I’m lucky to have found him. Nick’s younger than me, and a shocking flirt. I just wanted – oh, I don’t know what I wanted.’

  ‘Dolly, you can’t let yourself feel like this about him. He’s not very nice, really. I’m not cold, but I think he is. Cold and calculating.’

  She stared into the sink.

  ‘Why don’t you pop into the bathroom and fix your face?’ I said. ‘I’ll get the drinks organised. What did they want at your table?’

  Dolly’s voice was low and sullen as she replied, ‘Nick wants a scotch. Lance wants a beer. Violet bloody Smith wants a pink gin.’ She took a deep breath and became very still. ‘Thanks, Stella.’ She walked out with her head high and proud and her shoulders back.

  I made the drinks, put them on a tray and carried them back into the lounge room. Once I’d delivered the drinks to my table I went over to the other three. Ross was lounging back in his chair making eyes at Violet who, just as Dolly had described, was touching her hair and smiling at him over her cards. Cole was sitting rigid, a sheen of sweat on his face and his nostrils flaring. He was staring first at Ross and then at Violet. A vein pulsed in his neck.

  I handed Ross his scotch. He thanked me with a smile and, watching Violet, tossed the drink down in one gulp. Violet giggled. She took her pink gin without looking at me and sipped it delicately, watching Ross with flirty eyes. Cole took the glass of beer from me without a word and threw the contents into her face.

  *

  ‘Need any help with the washing up?’ It was Ross’s voice.

  I straightened and looked around to see him, one hand jammed into the pocket of his khaki jacket, the other holding a drink, shoulders resting against the doorway that led to the landing. The door to Violet’s flat was open and I could hear Tuck on the piano accompanying Violet, who was singing about moonlight in Vermont.

  After Ross, Sinclair and Tuck had tossed Cole out into the night and Violet had cleaned herself up, we’d all gone to her flat to finish the night with songs in an atmosphere that didn’t reek of beer. Dolly was still over there, pretending that she didn’t care how obvious it was that Ross would be spending the night with Violet. I’d just finished mopping our lounge room floor. Now I was collecting the dirty glasses and tidying the room.

  Ross looked cool and unflustered, but there was a glitter in his eyes that suggested he was drunk. He’d certainly had enough scotch that evening; our bottle was nearly empty.

  I smiled. ‘I’m fine, but thanks for the offer.’

  Lifting the tray, I headed for the kitchen. As I placed it on the bench next to the sink, I felt, rather than heard, that he had followed me into the room. Very faintly, I could still hear Tuck on the piano and Violet’s sultry contralto.

  When I glanced over my shoulder Ross was sitting at the table, watching me. Ignoring him, I went to the sink and turned the hot water tap. The gas heater roared into life and the sink began to fill. I folded a tea towel and put it on the other side of the sink.

  ‘So, you’ve been writing to Eric,’ said Ross. ‘Deacon told me. Just how serious is it between you two? I thought you’d only met him once.’

  I took a deep breath, and faced him. ‘It’s really none of your business.’

  ‘None of my business? Eric’s like a brother to me.’

  I doubted that. I picked up a glass, washed it and put it to drain on the tea towel.

  ‘My brother in arms,’ said Ross. He raised his voice to say, in a declaratory tone, ‘For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.’

  A second glass went onto the tea towel. I thought that quoting Shakespeare was probably a good indicator of drunkenness.

  ‘We’ve certainly shed blood together, Eric and me. It’s not murder when it’s done during a war, is it? You can kill and kill and they give you a bloody medal and call you a hero.’

  I debated asking him to leave, but I thought that he’d probably refuse, and I was too tired to press the point. He’d go when he was ready, and in the meantime I’d ignore him and hope he’d get bored and return to the others.

  ‘Blood will have blood – that’s one from Macbeth.’ I heard the sound of a match striking and the scent of tobacco filled the air. ‘Shakespeare was right. It becomes so much easier when you do it over and over again. Killing, I mean – especially if done in hot blood.’

  I washed another glass and put it to drain.

  ‘What about this,’ he said. ‘Shakespeare again. Hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love. Seeing Stella Aldridge at the sink begets hot thoughts. Why not, Stella? We’re both free and over twenty-one.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you leave? Go back to Violet and the others.’

  ‘I’d be willing to bet that you’d have a different response if it were Eric sitting here.’

  I looked down at the water, suddenly very weary. ‘Why don’t you leave now?’

  ‘It’s been a while since your husband died, hasn’t it? Come on, Stella.’ His voice hardened. ‘I’ve seen you looking at me. You and I both know what you want. Just admit it.’

  I whirled around at that, furious.

  ‘Get out. Just get out. You’re drunk and you’re vile. Eric’s –’ I shut up, unsure of what I wanted to say.

  His eyes were really glittering now, but his expression was closed and mocking. He raised his glass in a toast. His voice had changed, roughened, and there was an odd catch in it. ‘You’re right, of course. Eric’s a better man than me. Only . . .’ He leaned back in the chair, lifting the front legs off the ground. Tilting his face up to the ceiling, he drew deeply on his cigarette. Smoke escaped from the corners of his mouth. ‘Only, Eric Lund has been posted as missing, presumed dead or captured.’

  ‘What?’ I clutched at the dish flannel, my heart racing so fast that I felt faint. ‘What have you heard?’

  ‘The bastards sent him up there again on another bloody dangerous mission.’ Ross was still addressing the ceiling. ‘And now he’s probably dead.’

  My heart was thumping against my chest so hard that it was painful. There was a thud as he sat up straight and the chair legs hit the floor. I flinched. His gaze was fixed on his shoes.

  ‘Before he left Melbourne he told me to keep away from you.’ He swallowed the rest of his drink in one gulp and looked up. It was then that I saw the empty misery in his face.

  ‘When did you find out about him?’

  ‘This evening. Rob was told this afternoon.’ He pulled hard on the cigarette and blew out the smoke forcefully. ‘I think I’ll leave now.’ Standing in one graceful movement he turned and left the kitchen.

  *

  I hauled myself out of bed, moaning as the chilly air hit me, and stumbled to the bathroom. Dolly was just coming out and her face was pale and drawn through lack of sleep. I suspected I looked just as bad.

  Dolly was sitting at the tiny kitchen table sipping a cup of tea when I came into the kitchen for breakfast. Our teapot, covered with a knitted cosy in cheerful colours, was in front of her. An empty cup and the milk jug were beside it. She lifted the pot to pour me a cup of tea.

  ‘Porridge is on the stove,’ she said in a listless voice. ‘It needs stirring.’

  I gulped down hot, strong tea as I crossed to the stove to stir the porridge and started to wake up properly. I took another sip of tea as I stirred the porridge, watching the spoon move, trying to lose my thoughts in the repetitive action but only managing to feel ill at the thought of actually eating it.

  There was a lump at the back of my throat that c
aused me pain when I swallowed. My muscles were sore, as if I’d spent the night in hard physical labour, not tossing around in sleepless misery. We all knew what ‘missing, presumed dead’ meant. It meant dead. Eric was dead.

  I’d only met him three times; how could knowing that I’d never see him again make me feel like this? Perhaps he wasn’t dead. Dear Lord, please don’t let him be dead. When I’d found out that Frank was dead, I’d felt numb, like this, only slightly relieved as well.

  This was my punishment for feeling relieved that Frank had died.

  I sucked in a shaky breath. I was being stupid. Please don’t let him really be dead. I hardly knew Eric. It was stupid to feel anything. Men died in war. Field operatives died. They were volunteers. They died.

  Eric’s death was my punishment for being a bad wife.

  The porridge was sticking, and I went to the sink to get some water. Our kitchen faced the backyard and the sink was under the wide window, next to the back door. That led onto a wooden landing and the rickety back stairs we shared with Violet’s flat.

  The back door to Violet’s flat opened and she came out onto the landing. She said something to whoever was standing in the doorway. Ross followed her out and kissed her. It was perfunctory, an obvious goodbye kiss. She frowned at him and said something, tossing her hair as she did so. He smiled, and was turning to descend the stairs when he caught me watching. He moved back to Violet and wrapped her in a theatrical hug, bending her backwards, making her laugh. Her laughter stopped as he moved in for the kiss.

  It went on for a while and when he released her he looked straight at me. I stared at him without expression, filled a glass with water and returned to the stove to pour it into the porridge.

  ‘Looks like Violet had company last night,’ I said.

  My hand was shaking. I hated Nick Ross. I wished that Ross had died, and not Eric. Then I thought that maybe Eric had died to punish me for being a nasty, vengeful woman.

  No, I was being stupid. How I felt had nothing to do with Eric’s death.