‘I remembered everything about you, Stella.’
The perfume was called Shalimar, and the names Guerlain and Paris were written with a flourish on the lid.
‘Thank you,’ she said and she unscrewed it. ‘Oh, my goodness.’
It smelled exotic, like something from the Arabian Nights, very sensual and forbidden. She pressed a little to her wrist and held it up for Tom to smell.
He smiled. ‘It suits you.’ Then he nodded to the view outside of hot bitumen and shiny black cars and shopfronts. ‘I’m afraid it’s not a hut right on the beach, with palm trees and the moon rising over the sea.’
Remembering the other promise he’d made in Singapore, Stella felt close to tears, but Tom was smiling and she forced herself to be brave. ‘If we stand on the bed we can probably see the sea.’
He laughed. ‘Shall we find out?’
‘Why not?’
Grinning like children, they kicked off their shoes and held hands as they climbed onto the bed. The mattress sagged and swayed beneath them as they stood together, still holding hands, laughing softly so as not to wake the baby.
Stella pointed to the narrow strip of blue just visible over the tops of the buildings. ‘I told you. There’s the sea.’
‘Yes, and there’s even a palm tree.’
‘Two palm trees!’
They laughed. And hugged. Then tumbled together in a happy heap on the chenille spread.
Now the room was quiet apart from the baby’s soft snuffling sounds, and Tom and Stella lay, suddenly serious as they looked into each other’s eyes.
For a terrible moment, the knowledge that this miracle was forbidden and temporary overwhelmed Stella. She thought they might both give way to unspeakable sadness.
Tom touched a finger to her lips. ‘Let’s not talk about this,’ he said. ‘Not now.’
She knew he was right. There was so much to talk about. Too much, and talking would spoil the happiness of seeing him again. She nodded, pressing her lips tightly together, the way a child might when making a vow of silence.
Tom kissed her then, teasing her lips open, and as his tongue touched hers, Stella shivered happily and closed her eyes. But then she opened them again and pulled back just for a moment, because it was so perfectly wonderful to see Tom, her Tom, up this close, his eyes inches from hers, shining with emotion.
Here they were, setting aside their dreams and despair, wanting only this. Now. And now there was no war to stop them.
Tom kissed her again and, as his lips worked their magic, he began to undo the buttons on her dress. An overwhelming longing bloomed, first in her heart and then, as he caressed her skin, skimming the lacy edges of her underwear, the longing spread like fire to her breasts and between her thighs.
At last.
With a little burst of impatience, she tugged his shirt free from his trousers, then undid the buttons. She was smiling shyly as they wriggled out of their clothes, letting them fall to the floor on either side of the bed.
Reaching for her again, he kissed her nose, her chin, her mouth, teasing her breasts with gentle caresses and tweaks.
‘Ohhhh.’ The soft syllable slipped from her as sensation claimed her. She’d never felt like this before, so relaxed yet needy, like ripe fruit trembling on the branch, ready to fall.
Now she knew without doubt that this was where she belonged, in this man’s arms, in his bed, sharing his love, his life.
‘I love you.’
They lay together afterwards, beneath a slowly circling ceiling fan, and the words that filled Stella’s heart had to be said.
‘I’m so sorry, Tom, I should have kept waiting. I should have known you would come.’
He lay very still and silent, staring at the cracked paint on the far wall.
Needing to see his face, to read his expression, Stella propped herself onto one elbow. The pain in his normally sparkling grey eyes said it all. He’d endured years of cruel hardship, privation and torture in Changi, but he’d never given up hope of finding her again.
She’d let him down. So badly.
Unshed tears choked her throat and it was some time before she could speak. ‘I don’t suppose your parents showed you any of my letters?’
Tom flinched as if he’d been shot. ‘You wrote?’ It was barely a whisper.
‘Of course I wrote. I kept your address and I sent several letters to your parents.’
‘In Richmond? They moved back there in 1943.’
‘Yes, I sent them to Richmond. I even told them about our new address when my parents moved to another property.’
Tom sat up, letting the white sheet fall to reveal his long, lean torso, the dark hair on his chest and the shiny scars on his back. His eyes were wide with dismay and something deeper, perhaps horror.
‘They never said a word.’ He looked stunned as he shook his head slowly. ‘Why would they do that?’
‘Your mother told me you were in a very bad way. She said they were worried that I’d stir things up. I think they were scared you might never recover.’
‘I memorised your address. In Changi I used to repeat it to myself all the time, so I couldn’t forget it, but when I finally got home, my letters to you were all returned.’
He looked so upset Stella didn’t like to add to his misery by telling him how badly the final dismissive letter from his mother had hurt her.
‘I tried the usual channels to find you,’ she said. ‘But the army was too busy trying to bring our boys home. They didn’t have time to worry about a nurse looking for her English boyfriend.’
Tom’s lips betrayed the saddest of smiles.
‘What are we going to do?’ she said.
He glanced towards the cot. Deb was still asleep, but Stella knew it wouldn’t be long before she woke.
‘We’re going to make the most of what little time we have.’
As he reached for her again, she was already melting towards him.
27
When Deb woke they went for a walk. The afternoon was hot and still, and they found a park on the waterfront and spread a tartan picnic blanket beneath a cassia tree.
‘It’s almost as hot as Singapore,’ Stella said.
Tom shook his head. ‘Nowhere’s as hot as Singapore.’
As if to prove this, a cool breeze wafted in from the sea, dampening their heated skin and bringing the tang of salt and coral. Deb laughed and rolled happily on the rug between them, dexterously sucking her bare pink toes.
They munched on apples and shared a chocolate bar. People walking past smiled at them, no doubt pleased by the sight of a happy family enjoying some well-earned relaxation. Stella donned sunglasses and turned her face away. She was only an hour or so from home and she’d taken a risk by being with Tom in broad daylight.
But as they sat there, sedately talking about the past, about the baby, about Freddy Cornick and other people they’d known in Singapore, Stella’s head was filled with sensory memories – of Tom’s kisses, of her body loosening beneath his touch, of him being inside her.
They bought grapes and bread and cheese and a bottle of wine and took these things back to their hotel room. The bathroom was down a hallway and they took it in turns to use it. Stella bathed Deb and changed her into a smocked cotton nightdress. This time, after their outdoor excursion and another full bottle of milk, the baby went to sleep easily.
They made love again hungrily, with the urgent anticipation of lovers now familiar with the pleasures awaiting them. They ate in bed, naked with a thin sheet draped over them, nibbling grapes and cheese and drinking ruby red wine from tumblers.
The baby slumbered on and the night was theirs. A night for leisurely, slow lovemaking, a night of tangled limbs and a thousand wandering kisses. A night of precious intimacy, of exquisite ecstasy to imprint on their memories, to hold close to their hearts as a talisman against the unknown future.
In the cold grey light of dawn Deb stirred. Stella tended to her quietly, trying not to disturb Tom
. He was awake, though, and he sat, propped against pillows, watching as Deb lay in her arms, greedily sucking the rubber teat. And he asked the questions that had not yet been voiced, the questions that had to be asked.
‘What are we going to do, Stella?’ A painful pause. ‘Would you consider leaving your husband?’
Oh, yes, she would consider it. Stella knew now with a terrible certainty that she’d made a dreadful mistake by marrying Magnus. But had she the courage to break her wedding vows? To leave her husband?
She thought of his midnight terrors and shivered. How would he react to the pain and humiliation of having his wife walk out of their marriage? How would her family react? Their friends?
Thinking about it, imagining the tears, the anger, the outrage and the condemnation, she felt the colour drain from her face, saw the hope fade from Tom’s eyes. Her stomach churned. She couldn’t bear to hurt him any more than she already had.
‘I don’t want to lose you again,’ she said.
‘I love you so much.’
‘I know.’ A tear spilled down her cheek and dripped onto Deb. ‘I know.’
‘I could come with you when you spoke to him,’ Tom offered. ‘Stand by you.’
Stella shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I’m not sure that would work.’ She had no idea how Magnus might react. Given his violent outbursts, she was terrified that he might even try to kill Tom.
She would have to go about this very methodically, be very calm and sensible. ‘I’ll talk to our lawyers,’ she said. ‘I’ll get their advice and – and their help, if I need it.’
That night, after another day of walking, talking, playing with Deb . . . she traced the scars on his back with her fingertips, felt the ridges and the soft, new, reddened skin.
‘I used to dream of you,’ Tom told her.
‘I wish I’d been able to stay there to nurse you.’
‘I’m glad you weren’t there. You don’t want to know how badly they treated the women prisoners.’ He reached for her, pulling her on top of him. ‘I dreamed of you like this.’
Stella laughed. She still couldn’t quite believe how abandoned and reckless she felt with Tom. Leaning forward, her breasts brushed his chest as she kissed him confidently, nudging her tongue past his lips.
This was meant to be, she thought. The war got in the way and I lost direction, but I belong with this man. He is my destiny.
All she needed was to stay strong and she could make it happen.
They smiled bravely when they parted the next day. They’d both agreed Tom shouldn’t hang around. It would only create an undue sense of pressure. Patience was what they needed now. Patience and hope. Tom gave Stella an address in New Zealand and she promised to set up a special post-office box for his mail. He would shake off his restlessness by exploring the South Island and wait till he heard from her.
With a final embrace, he kissed her brow. ‘I hate leaving you to cope alone.’
‘It’s best this way. Magnus isn’t an easy man.’
Tom drew back, frowning as he searched her face. ‘He wouldn’t hurt you?’
‘No.’ She tried to sound confident. ‘I’ll be fine, but I’ll need to choose the right moment.’
‘Oh, Stella, I’m asking so much. Too much.’
‘You’re not asking, you’re giving.’ She hugged him close. ‘You’re giving me what I want.’
Reassured, he walked with her to the car, and watched as she strapped Deb into a basket on the back seat. Deb wailed, but she stopped when Tom reached in and waggled a finger in her face. ‘Till we meet again, little girl,’ he said with a sadly lopsided smile.
Two months later Stella wrote to him.
Ruthven Downs
9 June 1949
Dearest Tom,
I’m so sorry to tell you this, but I have dreadful news. Tom, we can’t be together. I know I promised I’d speak to Magnus, but the most unexpected thing has happened. I’m pregnant again. I didn’t know at the time, but I must have already been pregnant when I went to Cairns to see you.
I know the baby has to be Magnus’s because you used protection and we were so very careful. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe the dreadful timing. I’ve been quite weak and ill with morning sickness, and I simply haven’t had the strength to face up to the battle that divorce would entail.
Darling Tom, my heart is breaking as I tell you this, but I fear I must let you go. I have no choice. I’ve had a quiet word with a lawyer friend and he has warned me that, as the guilty party in a divorce, I have very few options.
It’s not fair to you to hold out hope, or to make you any kind of promise. I couldn’t walk away from my children, and I know that’s what Magnus would demand, especially if this baby is a boy.
I’m weeping oceans as I write this, but you need to forget me now. I love you, Tom, and I will never stop loving you, but Fate has yet again conspired against us. Be free, my beautiful, darling man. I will never forget you. I will never forget our wonderful nights in Cairns.
In my heart, you will always be mine and I yours, but I want you to get on with your life, as I must get on with mine.
All my love,
Stella
It was ten months, ten long, sad months before Tom replied. By then, baby Hugh was already smiling.
Her son had his father’s dark eyes, but he looked on the world much more gently than Magnus ever had. Such a placid, sunny little fellow Hugh was.
Stella couldn’t help but be happy with her little family, and she had all but given up hope of ever hearing from Tom again. Then, during a trip to town to have Hugh weighed at the clinic, she found a letter waiting in her special post-office box.
Villa Carmen Maria
Calle Defensa
San Telmo
Buenos Aires
Argentina
20 April 1950
Dear Stella,
By now your pregnancy should be behind you, and I sincerely hope that both you and your new baby are well and thriving. I hope little Deborah is well too. I daresay she’s running around by now and getting into all sorts of mischief. You must have your hands full.
As you can see from the postmark, I’m in Argentina. I’ve taken a job with Ferrocarriles Argentinos working on building railway bridges. It’s quite demanding work, but very satisfying, and there’s nothing like having a brand-new job in a new landscape, with a new culture and language, for jolting a man out of a rut.
The scenery is breathtaking, but I won’t go into details. You’re a busy mother and you don’t need a travelogue. I wanted to reassure you, though, that I’m enjoying the life here very much. As you’ve no doubt discovered for yourself, hearts do have a way of healing.
Keep well, Stella. I’ll write to you at Christmas.
Fondest wishes,
Tom
Hearts do have a way of healing.
Stella wept when she read this, sitting in the car on the side of the road on the way back to Ruthven Downs. She tried to be unselfish, to be glad for Tom, and she was glad that he hadn’t been hanging about miserably in England. He was having adventures, just as he’d had in Malaya before the war. He was getting on with his life, as she’d begged him to do.
She tried to be strong. She would keep the post box and she would write to Tom at Christmas, and perhaps at other times, but she wouldn’t allow herself to wonder about anyone else who might be living in Villa Carmen Maria with him. She wouldn’t think about beautiful girls in Argentina, girls with flashing dark eyes and curving bodies and long, black silky hair. But she knew for sure that her heart hadn’t healed. At best, she’d thinly papered over the cracks.
Now, in spite of her very best efforts, those cracks split wide and deep.
28
‘Hugh, we shouldn’t worry about this now. We should go to bed.’
Hugh was still sitting at the desk, elbows propped, staring gloomily at the pages in front of him, but now he turned to Jackie and reeled back in shock, as if she’d grown a second head. ‘
How can I go to bed after reading this?’
Jackie groaned. ‘I wish I’d burned it. I wish Stella had burned it instead of hiding it away, only to cause problems for someone else.’
Earlier, she hadn’t been able to sleep, but she felt desperately exhausted now, as if the strain of recent weeks had finally flattened her. She sank onto the only spare chair in the room, a spindly thing, rarely used, with a seat upholstered in delicate needlepoint. ‘I just don’t understand why Stella did this.’
‘Neither do I.’ Hugh gave an agonised sigh. ‘You know what it means. You’ll have to call off the party.’
‘No! No way! That’s crazy.’
‘I’m sorry, Jackie, you have to. How can I have a party now? How can I celebrate turning sixty-five, when I’ve been living a lie all these years? Enjoying a property that shouldn’t have been mine? I have a wrong to set right. A man’s life doesn’t amount to much if he doesn’t follow his conscience.’
‘But you’re not thinking straight, Hugh.’ He was reacting exactly the way she’d feared. He’d always been such a stickler for doing the right thing. There was every chance he would want to rush straight to Deborah to tell her the whole sorry story.
If it wasn’t for this ungodly hour, he would probably have rung his sister straight away and offered her Ruthven Downs lock, stock and barrel.
‘What would Deborah do with a cattle property?’
‘Who knows?’ Hugh threw his arms into the air with a melodramatic gesture that was completely out of character.
‘Deborah’s an artist, Hugh, not a grazier.’
But Hugh – her calm, sensible, reasonable Hugh – would not be comforted. ‘Deb never had the chance to find out, did she? Her whole life might have been different if she’d inherited this place.’ His eyes widened, as if he’d come to another realisation. ‘The fellow who fathered her son might have hung around. That son of hers might have actually put in a solid day’s work.’
Jackie almost snorted. ‘Imagine Xavier running a cattle station.’ She tried to picture Deborah’s long-haired, guitar-twanging, sleepy-eyed son rounding up a mob of runaway cleanskins, or leg-roping an uncooperative steer. Impossible.
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