A Time of Secrets

by Deborah Burrows

  He tried to hide a smile. ‘They’ll all assume I’m trying to ingratiate myself with you.’

  I thought that this was annoying, but probably true.

  *

  De Groot left Goodwood just after lunch. He turned left at the gate and headed along Toorak Road in the direction of Punt Road. I suspected he’d been asked to interpret for a prisoner at Cranleigh. We went into action as soon as he had gone.

  ‘It’ll be in a waterproofed timber case,’ said Ross. ‘So look for anything resembling a small crate.’

  A couple of soldiers, the guards from the morning shift, were in the kitchen, drinking cups of tea. Ross explained about the kitten and I was fairly sure that he winked at them. The guards exchanged looks and smirked in reply. I gazed at Ross with an adoring expression.

  ‘It’s so kind of you, Lieutenant Ross,’ I said.

  ‘No need to overdo it,’ he murmured as we left the kitchen.

  We began our search. Ross took the left side and the back of the stables. I poked around the damp garden, calling ‘kitty, kitty’ occasionally, for verisimilitude. We met up fifteen minutes later.

  ‘No luck,’ I said. ‘Just oodles of snails.’ I glanced up. ‘And I think it’s going to rain.’

  ‘It’s Melbourne in August,’ he said. ‘Of course it’s going to rain. I didn’t see anything resembling a kitten either. Let’s try the front.’

  No kittens that looked like small crates were located in the front garden, either. It did rain, though, and we were soaked through by the time we came in.

  ‘De Groot shares an office with Sweeting, doesn’t he?’ said Ross, rubbing his hand over his wet face. ‘I’ll search it when Sweeting’s at afternoon tea. You keep him there as long as possible.’

  Corporal Sweeting, who shared de Groot’s office, was a grizzled Great War veteran. His main joy outside of work was growing camellias. I kept him in the kitchen for as long as I could, practically flirting with the poor man while Faye and Mary looked on in amazement.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Ross, when we met up in his office. ‘Look, Stella, let’s leave it for the time being. I’ll discuss it all with Rob tomorrow. Why don’t we go out to dinner tonight, try to forget all this misery.’

  I knew that nothing more could be done, but disappointment was like a sour taste that nothing could shift.

  ‘Thanks, but I’d rather just go home.’

  ‘Do you want me to sleep in Dolly’s room tonight? I don’t like you being there alone.’

  ‘No. Thanks for the offer, but Cole’s gone now. And anyway, Lawrie Smith is staying in Violet’s flat. He’s just across the hall. I’ll be fine.’

  Forty-two

  Mrs Campbell was waiting in her doorway when I opened the doors into Avoca’s lobby that evening.

  ‘Come in for a nice cup of tea, Stella dear. You look done in.’

  She ushered me to the couch and fussed around me. ‘I’ve hardly seen you in the last weeks,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it dreadful about Lieutenant Cole? My stepchildren are very worried about it – and the attack on poor Violet, of course. So Peggy is coming by in an hour or so to take me back to her house for a nice visit.’

  I wasn’t surprised that her family didn’t want her alone in the flat after what had happened. ‘Are you going to be away for long?’

  She gave a slight shrug. ‘Peggy is very determined that I’ll stay with her until they find the axe-attacker.’ Her smile was resigned. ‘I’ll miss my wee flat. But a change is as good as a holiday, they say.’

  Mrs Campbell went into the kitchen to put on the kettle and I pulled a small white bundle out of my satchel. A large white handkerchief, with the initials N.T.R. embroidered in one corner, was wrapped around a small silver snuffbox and a spoon with a barley twist handle, topped by a thistle. I reached up and placed them on a shelf of Mrs Campbell’s display cabinet, towards the back where they weren’t very obvious. I folded Ross’s handkerchief and put it away.

  A few minutes later Mrs Campbell and I were drinking tea out of delicate china cups.

  ‘Heard any elves dancing around lately?’ I asked, with a smile.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘I’m not ga-ga, not yet. I know very well the barn cats drank the milk my mother put out.’

  She replaced her tea cup with a nervous clatter. ‘But, Stella – what is making the noises at night?’

  I put my cup and saucer on the table and stared at her. ‘You’re still hearing sounds at night?’

  ‘At the back door. Always at the back door.’ She looked at me plaintively. ‘I’m up so early, nowadays. I don’t sleep well any more.’

  ‘Mrs Campbell, what do you mean? Are these the same sounds you told me about before? What time in the morning? Do you think it’s a person trying to get into your flat?’ I glanced at my satchel. Mrs Campbell’s new key was in there, safely on my key ring.

  She stared at me. ‘Oh, it’s not at my door. It’s at the neighbour’s door.’

  ‘The empty flat?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s empty at night,’ she said. ‘That’s what I’m telling you.’

  I took her hand and said slowly. ‘Let me understand this. You get up early, and you go into the kitchen . . .’

  ‘To make myself cocoa.’

  ‘Do you put on the light?’

  ‘Not if I hear the sounds. If I hear them I go back to bed.’

  ‘What time do you hear the sounds?’

  ‘Early morning. Oh, two, three o’clock.’

  ‘Is it every morning?’

  ‘Oh, no. That’s what I’m saying. If I hear the sounds I canna have my cocoa.’

  ‘This has been going on since when?’ I was aghast and sounded it. She shrank back at my vehemence and I moderated my tone. ‘I’m sorry for shouting, Mrs Campbell. But why didn’t you tell me before?’

  She began to make fluttering motions with her hands and her voice became high and agitated. ‘Oh, dear. I’ve annoyed you.’

  ‘You’ve not annoyed me at all,’ I said, very calmly and quietly. ‘I promise. I’m not in the least annoyed. How long have you been hearing noises outside?’

  Her hands became still, clasped in her lap, and she turned a soft white face to me. ‘I did tell you. And you had new keys cut.’

  ‘But you didn’t tell me the sounds were next door.’

  ‘I did tell you. Didn’t I tell you that? I meant to tell you. They started in the week before the blackout lifted. Lately not so much.’

  The brownout was lifted on the first Monday in July. That meant the noises had started in late June. If it was true. Could I believe Mrs Campbell? When we spoke about this, I didn’t think she’d told me the noises she heard were next door. Although, if I thought about it, she hadn’t said much at all, really. Just that she heard noises at the back door at night. And she’d talked about elves and saucers of milk at the back door when she was a child. I’d assumed she’d heard the noises in her own flat, and had been worried when I thought she had less silver.

  Mrs Campbell stood and peered at her shelves of silver. I saw her gaze sharpen as she looked at the shelf where I’d replaced the stolen silver. A smile lit her face.

  ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘I love that parable.’

  ‘Which parable, Mrs Campbell?’

  ‘Luke 15. Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.’ She turned to me. ‘Four more, and my little silver flock’s complete. You’re a good girl, Stella. Is Dolly all better now?’

  Mrs Campbell’s eyes were bright little buttons in that wrinkled-linen face. I thought that if Mrs Campbell said there were noises at night, then there were noises at night.

  ‘Dolly’s all better,’ I said. ‘Getting married in a week and then she’ll leave for America. I’ll be moving out of the flat, too. But I’m sure all your lost sheep will be back before I leave. I hope you have a lov
ely holiday with your step-daughter.’

  She saw me to the door and I began to climb the stairs. Halfway up I paused to look at the front door to the empty flat. It had been unoccupied since before I arrived at Avoca in late April. According to Dolly, it belonged to an accountant who had joined the RAAF in 1942 and been posted to Europe. It had stood empty since he left.

  I walked over to the door and laid my ear against the smooth blue paint. Nothing stirred inside. When the flat had last been occupied the brownout had been strictly enforced and the blackout blinds had been left in place. If anyone were inside the flat at night, no light would show from the outside. I turned away from the door and began to ascend the stairs again.

  There was a niggling little thought in my brain. According to what Mrs Campbell had said, the noises had started in late June. That was when de Groot arrived to work at APLO.

  I unlocked the door to my flat, trying to make sense of it all. Had Dolly mentioned to de Groot that there was an empty flat in Avoca? She and de Groot worked together, after all. In many ways it would be a perfect place from which to send radio communications.

  I made myself a poached egg for supper and I prevaricated as I undressed for bed. Should I telephone Ross? I picked up the receiver, then put it back into the cradle. It was too late to do anything now. I’d tell him tomorrow. He’d have the flat searched and then we’d know. After listening to the wireless for an hour or so, I went to bed, but my dreams were troubled and my sleep was restless.

  I woke suddenly in the darkness and was immediately wide awake. Had I heard something? I sat up in bed and listened; the wind had picked up again and was howling outside my window. The clock by my bed showed two fifteen. Mrs Campbell said the intruder usually came between two and three.

  I lay in my bed and stared into the darkness. At this hour my courage and my spirits were at a low ebb. Had Mrs Campbell really heard noises near the empty flat? I doubted that her story would be enough to convince the police to institute a search warrant or the army to intervene. No. I’d have to convince Ross that we should break into the flat to search it. But would Ross be willing to commit a crime on the basis of Mrs Campbell’s rather improbable story? The noises she heard could have been a local dog, sniffing around for food outside. Eric had been camped out there on the night Cole was murdered and no one had appeared. I gave a short laugh. Of course Sam hadn’t appeared that night, if he’d just murdered Cole in the laneway and was moving his body away from the flats.

  I had a sudden, chilling realisation. If Sam had any concerns about his lair being discovered, surely he’d move the transmitter as soon as he could. This was the third night since Cole’s murder. Perhaps he’d already moved it and we’d never find any evidence to connect him with the murder. Eric would hang for something he didn’t do. I should have asked Mrs Campbell when she last heard noises. What if he’d moved the transmitter last night?

  I tossed aside the bedclothes and got out of bed. I walked through to our kitchen and peered out the window into the darkness. It wouldn’t hurt to check if anyone was there, I decided, but I’d wait until three, to make sure. I’d just listen outside the flat. And if I heard anything at all I’d dash upstairs and telephone Ross in his lodgings.

  So I got dressed and washed my face. After a cup of tea I shrugged on my greatcoat and opened the back door. The wind buffeted against me, stung my cheeks and pushed through the thick wool of my greatcoat to chill my skin. At least it wasn’t raining. Annoyingly I started coughing and tried to suppress as much of the sound as I could. As I took small breaths through my nose, somehow the door slipped away from me and slammed shut in a gust of air. Heart thumping, I leaned against the closed door and listened.

  I heard nothing except the wind, sobbing and howling around the flats. Slowly, carefully, I pushed away from the door. The wind pulled and pushed me as I descended the rickety wooden stairs, fighting me all the way. The staircase was wet and slippery, and I had to concentrate on each step as I clung to the railing, trying not to cough. Standing on the red concrete slabs at the bottom, I took a moment to get my breathing under control, using my diaphragm. Gradually I calmed myself, trying to ignore the thudding of my heart in my chest.

  I shone the torch into the space under the stairs where Eric had been, watching out for me, when Cole was being murdered. Because of that, Eric was now in the police cells. They’d be more sheltered than this, but I doubted they were much more comfortable. All was dark inside the unoccupied flat. I shone my torch at the window, but the blackout blind was securely fastened.

  I listened intently and heard nothing except the sound of the wind. I laid my ear against the door.

  Because I was so intent on listening for sounds inside, the first I knew of him was a hand over my mouth and a gun barrel pressed into my side.

  ‘Shine the torch at the keyhole,’ he said, in his careful, slightly accented English.

  I did what he asked. The light played over the lock. He pushed me hard against the door, kept the gun pressed to my side and used his left hand to place the key in the lock, turn it and open the door. I almost fell inside, but his arm was tight around me. He swung around, still holding me in front of him.

  ‘Close the door,’ he ordered. ‘Quietly this time.’

  I closed the door very quietly. He switched on the light and as I blinked in the brightness he shoved me away so that I fell onto my knees.

  ‘Whatever are you doing here, Sam? I – I heard something and came to investigate.’

  ‘Into the lounge room,’ he said, waving the revolver in that direction.

  I pushed myself up and walked in front of him into the dark lounge room. He switched on the light, revealing a room that was bare of any furniture. There was a small crate in one corner.

  ‘Sit,’ he said. ‘Against the wall over there.’

  I sat with my back against the wall.

  ‘Now keep quiet or I’ll kill you. A knife is quieter than a gunshot and just as effective. Understand? I can do it before you have a chance to scream.’

  I nodded, remembering how Cole had died. ‘There’s no one to hear me anyway, now that Violet’s gone and Mrs Campbell and Dolly have moved out.’ That was a lie. If Lawrie Smith was upstairs, maybe I could somehow get his attention.

  Sam ignored me. He went over to the crate, opened it and pulled out a rectangular mobile wireless transmitter/receiver. I’d seen many such machines, as one of my jobs before I began working with Ross was to organise for transmitters to be available for the field missions.

  He looked across to me. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Stella,’ he said. His accent was more pronounced, but it still sounded Dutch to me. ‘I like you. So sit quietly and maybe I won’t have to kill you.’

  ‘Lieutenant Ross knows it’s you, Sam,’ I said, as loudly as I could without making it obvious. ‘Knows that you’re the spy. We spent the afternoon looking for that transmitter at Goodwood. That’s why you were called away to translate; it was a ruse to get you out of Goodwood. So killing me won’t save you.’

  He lifted the earphones, placed them over his ears and turned the machine on, adjusting the dials to find the right frequency. While his attention was on the machine I pulled my knees up to my chest and began to rock slowly back and forth, trying to work out what to do. Across the room to my right were the French doors that led to the front porch, covered at present by heavy blackout curtains. We had similar French doors in our flat. The catch wasn’t strong and I had often thought that a good push was all it would take to open them. If I ran at the doors I suspected that they’d fly open, but I’d probably get caught in the thick material of the blackout curtains.

  Sam began his transmission and I felt sick with fear and rage. This man was sending secrets to our enemy in a series of dots and dashes. Was he warning them that Destro had been found out? Had he discovered something vital, something that might turn the tide of war against the
Allies? Would men die because I couldn’t stop this transmission?

  He finished transmitting and took off the earphones, carefully laying them on top of the wireless.

  ‘So Lieutenant Ross knows it’s me, does he? I think it was Stella Aldridge who worked it out, though.’

  He stood up and walked over to where I was sitting, then crouched down in front of me. I stopped my futile rocking and wrapped my arms more tightly around my knees. Would he respond to pleading? Flirting?

  ‘What gave me away?’ he asked, watching me coolly.

  I made myself smile, hoping to appear unthreatening. Who was I fooling? I was no threat to anyone.

  ‘The first clue was liebling,’ I said. ‘I had German friends in Paris, and they called me liebling. The Dutch word is –’

  ‘– lieveling,’ he said. ‘A stupid mistake, but that’s how young Mary made me feel. I can’t remember saying it to her.’

  ‘She remembered. It made her happy.’

  He scowled and shook his head, very slightly. ‘Stupid mistake,’ he repeated. ‘But it’s a . . . a lonely life, this one. Mary reminds me of someone I once knew.’

  He seemed to retreat into his memories, but the gun was still pointed at me and his hand was steady. After a long pause, he looked up again. ‘We’re at war, Stella. I’m a soldier, just like your Lieutenant Ross and just like Eric Lund.’

  I spoke without thinking. ‘You killed Mike Teague, didn’t you? The wireless operator on the Kestrel mission. Eric left him in a safe place, but he’d been shot and was dying when Eric returned for him. It was you, wasn’t it?’

  Sam looked at me. ‘In war, soldiers must do things that in peacetime they’d abhor.’

  I suspected that killing a defenceless woman was something that in peacetime this man would abhor. In a time of war, though, he’d do it. I was watching him closely, and so I saw his eyes change when he decided to kill me, saw the decision as it was made. My hands pulled into fists and my nails dug into my palms. My heart seemed to flutter with light, terrified beats. He leaned in towards me.