A Time of Secrets

by Deborah Burrows

  *

  Someone was stroking my hand, pulling me out of sleep. I opened my eyes and turned my head to the right. The woman with the terrified eyes was gone from the bed next to me. I wasn’t wearing a mask, remembered that they’d taken it away late the previous day, and I slowly drew in a breath and felt the air move deeply into my lungs. I expelled it and took another breath. Air. There is something sweet and wholesome about a proper breath. It brings joy.

  I turned my head to the left and saw Nick Ross. There were grazes on his face, bruises. No one was holding my hand.

  ‘I can breathe,’ I said. My voice was husky.

  He smiled. ‘I know. They say you can go home today. Amazing.’

  ‘They need the bed.’ I glanced around the ward. ‘Lots of lung problems in this city.’ I took another easy breath. ‘I began to breathe more easily yesterday. Once I can breathe easily I’m all better.’

  His mouth twisted in a wry grimace. ‘Better? How often does this happen?’

  ‘Not often.’ I smiled to hear my gravelly voice. I sounded like Marlene Dietrich. ‘Sometimes I’m short of breath for a while and control it with breathing, like when we walked to Cranleigh. Sometimes I need adrenalin. I’ve only been like this – in hospital and frightfully ill, I mean – I’ve only been like this once before, and that was at boarding school in England.’ I took another breath, just because I could, and delighted in the feeling of air filling my chest. ‘I can’t wait to go home.’

  An odd expression flitted over his face, a sort of scowl mixed with exasperation as the door to the hallway opened and two khaki-clad figures bustled in.

  ‘Stella.’ ‘You’re okay.’ ‘You look wonderful.’ ‘We were so worried.’ ‘Shhhh. It’s a hospital.’ ‘You shhhh, I’m not too loud.’

  High girlish voices. Faye and Mary brought youth and exuberance with them into that ward. Now my hands, both of them, were captured and held and squeezed and stroked. Smiling faces under khaki hats, the scent of a wet Melbourne afternoon mixed with Lux soap. The bed heaved as they sat beside me. I smiled back, happy to see them.

  ‘I’m much better,’ I said.

  ‘We were so worried,’ repeated Mary.

  ‘Mary was,’ said Faye. ‘I knew you’d be fine. AWAS girls are tough.’

  She glanced towards Ross. ‘We came to visit you as often as we could, but they said no visitors except the lieutenant.’

  ‘Staff Sergeant Lund’s nearly been out of his mind,’ said Mary. ‘They wouldn’t let him in either.’

  My heart rate quickened. I didn’t need this.

  ‘I don’t want to see him.’ I hated the quick, panicky note in my voice.

  Mary seemed puzzled. ‘He’s been here all the time. They won’t let him into the ward, but he’s not left the hospital since you came in. He’s really nice. He –’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Faye, glancing at me, ‘he can’t see you while we’re in here. You’re supposed to have two visitors only. I expect one of us will be chucked out soon.’ She gave Ross a meaningful look, which he ignored.

  ‘You look wonderful,’ said Mary.

  ‘I feel wonderful – thanks to you two.’ I smiled at them. ‘What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work?’

  ‘We’ve taken a late lunch,’ said Faye. ‘Captain Gabriel said we could. Jim drove us.’ She added quickly, ‘Captain Deacon said he could use a car.’

  ‘Everyone sends their love,’ said Mary.

  ‘Any news on Cole?’

  Faye frowned and Mary’s face creased in worry.

  Ross answered. ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘In what way? They haven’t found him?’ My palms were moist; I wiped them on the sheet. ‘Have they –’

  ‘Bastards,’ muttered Faye.

  ‘What? Who?’

  ‘Everyone. They say you misunderstood. That we acted too quickly.’ Her upper lip curled.

  ‘The police spoke to Cole,’ said Ross. ‘He says that you were having an asthma attack when he met you on the road and he tried to help you. You became hysterical and the girls attacked him for no reason.’ He glanced down at his hands and wouldn’t meet my eyes. ‘They won’t take it any further.’

  I looked at him blankly. ‘That’s not what happened.’

  ‘We know that.’ Faye’s voice was low, angry. ‘Bastards. They just see his officer’s uniform, don’t see the mongrel underneath. Molloy says I overreacted and now I’m on report.’ She clenched her fists. ‘I’ll probably have to leave APLO. Wish I’d kicked him harder.’

  Ross tried to sound conciliatory. ‘We’ll work something out. I’ll speak to Molloy. It’s given Cole a scare, and I doubt he’ll trouble you again, Stella.’ He hesitated. ‘Though we think it might be best if you didn’t return to Avoca for the time being.’

  ‘You think,’ muttered Faye.

  ‘Stay with us,’ said Mary, excited. ‘Mum and Dad would love to put you up.’

  I gave her a slight smile, but I shook my head.

  ‘I can’t let someone like Cole scare me away. I want to go home.’

  Ross took hold of my hand and stared at me, suddenly very serious indeed. ‘I won’t let him hurt you again. I mean that. I’ll kill him first.’

  I pulled my hand free, worried about this development. Why was Ross suddenly so solicitous? ‘I won’t let him hurt me again,’ I said.

  ‘Nor will we,’ said Faye with a ferocious frown, directed mainly at Ross.

  ‘Nor will Staff Sergeant Lund,’ said Mary. ‘He’s been so worried about you, Stella.’ She glanced at Ross. ‘He’s really annoyed with you,’ she said to him earnestly. ‘But he hates Lieutenant Cole. He really hates Lieutenant Cole.’

  ‘Two visitors.’ The matron came into the ward like a clipper at full rig, her red cape a flapping spinnaker. ‘Two visitors only.’ Her voice sharpened. ‘And off the bed, ladies.’

  Faye and Mary stood up. Faye glared at Ross, who remained in his seat, not meeting her eyes, face stubborn.

  The matron eyed him approvingly, then looked at the girls. ‘Now, ladies, one of you will have to leave.’

  ‘Mares,’ said Faye, in a calm, determined voice, ‘let me stay. I need to speak to Stella.’

  ‘Why can’t he leave?’ Mary muttered, glancing at Ross. When she caught his eye, she flushed. ‘Sorry, sir. I’ll wait outside.’ She turned to me. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at work?’

  I nodded. She bent to kiss my cheek and whispered, ‘He cried. When we thought you were going to die, Staff Sergeant Lund cried. I saw, though he tried to hide it.’

  After she’d left, Faye turned to me. ‘Won’t you see him? Please, Stella?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘He’s . . . He feels rotten about what happened.’

  ‘I don’t want to see him. Tell the nurses not to let him in.’ I hated the petulant tone in my voice; I sounded like a five-year-old.

  ‘The staff’s not like Cole,’ she said. Her voice was dry, pragmatic. ‘Not a mongrel. He’d never hurt a woman.’ She flicked another glance at Ross, and her disapproval was clear. ‘Men, yes. Annoying men, absolutely. Sure, he thumped the lieutenant, but who could blame him for that in the circumstances?’ Ross’s jaw tightened, but Faye ignored him. ‘Won’t you at least talk to him?’

  The need to cry, to spill tears, was a tight, sharp pain in my throat and behind my eyes. ‘I’m sure Eric feels terrible about nearly scaring me to death. I’m sure he’s a very nice man when he’s not about to kill somebody. Maybe it’s this war that’s turned him into the man I saw the other night.’ My voice cracked. I was willing myself not to cry. ‘I didn’t want the lieutenant to kiss me, but if I had wanted it, well, it was my business. I hate men thinking they can own me. I won’t have any man think that he can attack someone, attack them like that, just because I prefer the other man, or –’

 
‘But, Stella –’

  I waved my hand in a brusque gesture of annoyance and she shut up.

  Thirty-four

  They discharged me two hours later.

  I didn’t see Eric as I walked through the hospital, which was a relief. I did see someone else I knew, though. A stocky figure in khaki was just coming out of a room along the corridor as we walked towards the foyer.

  ‘Private Smith,’ I said.

  Lawrie Smith turned and smiled to see me.

  ‘G’day. Stella, isn’t it?’ There was a weary sadness about him. ‘G’day, Lieutenant. She’s no better, I’m afraid.’

  I glanced at Ross, then back at Lawrie. ‘Is Violet in there?’

  Lawrie frowned. ‘She’s there, but still not conscious. If she doesn’t come around soon, she won’t come around at all, they tell us. Mum and Dad are here, but I’m the only one of the boys who’s been able to get leave. We talk to her, sing to her.’ He shook his head. ‘Nothing seems to do the trick. You visiting her again, Lieutenant? Mum was really grateful for the flowers.’

  Ross seemed almost disconcerted. ‘I’m taking Sergeant Aldridge home. She had a bad asthma attack.’

  ‘I’ll try to get back here to see Violet next week,’ I said, and I touched his arm. ‘I hope she comes out of it soon.’

  He ducked his head in a nod and disappeared down the corridor.

  I looked at Ross. ‘I thought you didn’t care about Violet at all.’

  ‘I lied.’ He lifted the corner of his lip; it was almost a smile. ‘I’m not in love with the girl. But I felt I owed her something. She’s a good kid.’

  Ross drove me back to Avoca. We’d just rounded the corner into Toorak Road when I had a thought.

  ‘Why did they let you into the ward to sit with me? If they wouldn’t let Eric or the girls in, why you?’

  A shamefaced half-smile showed itself, and he looked like a guilty boy.

  ‘I said we were engaged.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They believed me because Dr Hollis had telephoned to say I’d be bringing you to hospital.’

  I shook my head slowly and then I laughed, as the absurdity of the situation hit me. ‘You really are a manipulative so-and-so, Nick Ross.’

  His smile broadened. ‘I really am.’

  It began as he parked the car. We walked to the front path and vivid images crowded into my mind. My helplessness during Cole’s attack, Eric’s face when he saw me with Ross, the fight in the darkness. Eric had attacked Ross just there. I felt a quivering sensation in my chest, my breathing became faster, shallower as I walked with Ross to the double glass doors that led into Avoca. As we entered the dark lobby together, my hands became moist. I started to shiver as we walked up the stairs. My heart was thumping when Ross unlocked the door and it opened into an empty flat.

  He walked inside, switching on the light in the tiny vestibule. I hadn’t moved and he turned around with a query in his eyes. I regarded him blankly. All I knew was that I could not go into that empty flat with him.

  ‘It’s all right, Stella.’ His voice was surprisingly gentle. ‘He’s not in here.’

  I wondered if he meant Cole or Eric. I shook my head. I was still standing in the doorway. He walked through the dark lounge room to pull across the curtains and turned on the light.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘You can go.’ I hadn’t moved.

  An odd expression flitted over his face. ‘Come in, Stella. I won’t hurt you.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Leave the door open if you like,’ he said.

  ‘No.’ I sounded scared. It annoyed me, but I could do nothing about it. I was scared.

  ‘I’ll let you in on a secret,’ he said. ‘You’re really not my type. I kissed you that night out of habit more than inclination, in the heat of the moment. It’s a shame that Eric thought . . .’

  I stared at him, unsure how to take that. His expression sharpened and his voice was now clipped and unemotional. ‘I’m not interested in you romantically, Stella. I’m not a raging psychopath who enjoys hurting women. And certainly I don’t need to force myself on a woman. So come inside. I think that the reality of Cole’s attack has just hit you. You’re in shock.’

  Ross was right. I was in shock. Ross wasn’t like Cole. Wasn’t like Frank. Or like Eric. Ross was not going to hurt me, and he wasn’t interested in me romantically. I had to be sensible. I took my time removing my greatcoat, and that time allowed me to calm down. As I hung my damp coat on the hook in the vestibule I took solace in remembering that I didn’t even like Nick Ross.

  When I turned around Ross smiled at me, a lazy smile that highlighted his movie-star looks. ‘I’m a dab hand at scrambled eggs,’ he said. ‘You didn’t eat anything much at hospital. Care to try some?’

  It was the smile that undid me. It reminded me of Frank. I didn’t trust men who smiled easily. Didn’t want to be alone with them in an empty flat. My whole body shook as my heart thudded in dizzying palpitations against my chest. I put my hand on the wall to steady myself. The wall was cold and hard against my palm. Slowly, I edged back towards the open door.

  Ross’s smile had disappeared and he was watching me closely, considering my actions. ‘You’re in shock,’ he repeated. ‘But it’s more than that. You’re remembering something.’

  I just stared at him. ‘I don’t feel well,’ I said. I breathed in. No asthma. ‘Maybe it’s a heart attack.’

  ‘Or anxiety neurosis,’ he said. ‘Stella, trust me. Take a deep breath, hold it and let it out slowly. I’m going to come closer. If me coming closer makes it much worse, then we’ll work out what else to do.’

  Slowly he walked towards me, looking at me the whole time and pausing after every step to see if I was too upset. I concentrated on my breathing and the shadows of his lashes on his cheeks.

  When he reached me he put a hand on my shoulder. I started. It was all I could do to stop from screaming.

  ‘Easy does it,’ he said. His voice was low and gentle. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. You can breathe, there’s no need to be scared of me.’ The pressure of his hand on my shoulder felt good, as if it connected me to the real world. I remembered how he’d held me when I’d had the asthma attack, how he’d looked after me that night, got me to the doctor. Nick Ross wasn’t like Cole, wasn’t like Frank or Eric, and he wasn’t interested in me romantically. I was safe.

  Ross led me to the couch and I flopped onto it like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He crouched down in front of me, staring into my face. ‘Your husband?’

  I looked straight into his eyes. He watched me steadily. In the electric light his eyes were various shades of green with a hint of yellow.

  ‘We married too quickly. I’d only known him for a few months, but he was so insistent. It was a terrible mistake.’

  ‘Nice at first, then . . . not?’

  ‘At first it was utterly blissful.’ I stared at him, remembering. ‘We were so happy.’ I looked down at my hands, gripped together tightly in my lap. ‘And then he started to criticise me over little things. Nothing was good enough. He told me my painting was hopeless and I gave it up. My cooking, housekeeping, the way I dressed. Nothing I did was good enough. I was never good enough. It was almost a relief when the hitting started.’ I closed my eyes. No, that was a lie; it had not been a relief. He never left bruises where they showed, but the pain, the terror, had been almost unbearable. ‘Everyone thought he was so nice, that it was a perfect match.’

  ‘He’s dead, Stella. He can’t hurt you, not now.’

  ‘He’ll always hurt me.’

  ‘Only if you let him.’

  I took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. Frank was dead. He couldn’t hurt me, not any more. I looked at the man in front of me.

  ‘You said just now that you weren’t interested in me romantically,’
I said. ‘For the record, I’m not interested in you in that way, either.’

  ‘Then we each know where we stand. Pax, Stella? Friends?’

  I held his gaze, now very serious.

  ‘I didn’t want you to kiss me. I’ve never wanted you to kiss me.’

  He squirmed, shamefaced; it was a Nick Ross I didn’t know, and it surprised me.

  ‘You’d nearly died,’ he said. ‘I felt . . . protective.’

  ‘It was a stupid, rotten thing to do.’

  Now it was he who turned away, as he stood to remove his greatcoat. Ross was the reason I’d seen the wolf in Eric. For that alone, it was hard not to hate him, because he’d destroyed my dreams. But in the silence as he slowly hung up his coat, hiding his face from me, I thought about how he’d done me a favour by showing me what Eric was really like before I’d got in too deep. When he turned to look at me again, his face was shuttered, wary, with no hint of a smile.

  ‘I’ll make us some scrambled eggs.’ He turned towards the kitchen.

  ‘Lieutenant Ross,’ I said quickly, before I could think about it.

  He twisted to look at me.

  ‘Friends,’ I said.

  The movie-star smile did not appear. He nodded, and went into the kitchen.

  Thirty-five

  He did make good scrambled eggs. We ate together at the kitchen table and talked about banalities until our plates were empty and the light outside had the dullness of late afternoon. Soon it would be dark, and Lance Cole was somewhere in that darkness.

  ‘All better?’ he said, taking my plate.

  ‘Tickety-boo,’ I replied.