Stuart who’d been the university’s middleweight boxing representative in the previous year’s Easter Tournament sensed Hamish’s expertise and adopted a defensive crouch just in time to block a second vicious left hook.
“Hey, you chaps, that’s enough!”
“Save it for the bloody Germans, mates, not each other!”
The pair had been rapidly encircled by a group of male passengers one of whom, a burly Maori, stepped between them.
“Cut it out! Both of you!” he ordered.
“I haven’t finished with you, you bastard!” shouted Hamish trying to push the Maori aside.
Gently but firmly the man pushed Hamish back and, holding him at arm’s length snapped, “Watch your language. There’s a lady present.”
“Perhaps the lady’s part of the problem,” said another man looking admiringly at Carol who was standing helplessly to one side her hand covering her mouth.
Angry at the attention that he had attracted and unwilling to challenge the well built Maori and his mates, Hamish swung round to Carol, and seizing her firmly by the arm growled, “Your aunt rang me. You weren’t on the 8.30 bus. She was worried sick. I said I’d bring my car down to find you.” He glared at Stuart, who stood angrily dabbing his mouth with the back of his hand. “And what do I find? Have you no shame, Carol? Consorting with this varsity bugger!”
“I’ve already warned you about your language,” said the large man, menacingly, “Can’t you see the lady’s upset?”
“Alright. Alright,” responded Hamish hastily. His grip on Carol tightened. “I’m taking the lady home. Her aunt’s worried about her.”
He tugged at Carol but she freed herself with a quick backward jerk. Reaching into her handbag she pulled out a small white handkerchief and stepping forward handed it to Stuart.
“Here, Stuart,” she said. “I’m awfully sorry about your lip.”
Hamish with a growl of protest moved forward to grab her arm but several of the men, whose sympathies were clearly with Carol, quickly blocked his path.
“Thanks,” mumbled Stuart. “He took me by surprise. But the blood on your handkerchief? It’ll make a frightful mess.” She smiled wanly and, ignoring the increasingly angry Hamish reached up and touched him on the cheek.
“It’s alright, Stuart. It’s the least I can do.”
Whirling abruptly she strode straight past Hamish towards the exit. With a venomous glare at Stuart he hurried after her calling, “Carol, wait! Wait for me!” as the sound of throaty male chuckles echoed behind him.
“You OK, mate?” asked one of the men turning to Stuart.
“Yeah, thanks.” He looked at the reddening handkerchief. “I think the bleeding slowed down a bit. I’ll live.”
“To fight another day?” The burly Maori grinned.
“Yeah. There’s always tomorrow.” He looked round the group and smiled awkwardly. “Er, thanks, chaps.” He paused. “Better hurry or I’ll miss my bloody bus.”
Chapter 7
“Mr. Johnson. Good morning. Good to see you, my boy. Sit down”
Professor Sterling was all affability when Stuart, having knocked on the office door, entered in response to “Come!” The enthusiasm of the often-dour academic to his arrival was solace for Stuart who, over the previous twelve hours had run the full gamut of emotions. His family had been bad enough, wanting to know how he’d split his lip – the dubious reaction by his father to the lame excuse that he’d tripped and fallen at varsity had irritated him considerably. It was not so much that his father did not believe his lie but that in doing so they had reverted to the all-too-familiar roles of suspicious father confronting recalcitrant son. Consequently he was in no mood to share the news of Professor Sterling’s offer. Added to this were the circumstances that had resulted in the injury, that had marred the memories of his tryst with Carol in the small History library.
His conflicting emotions had boiled over when the following morning at the breakfast table his younger brother Stephen, looking up as Stuart sat down smirked, “Hey, Stuart, looks like you’ve been trying to kiss a crocodile.”
A very restless night, the view of his swollen lip that his bedroom mirror had revealed a few minutes earlier, and Claire’s giggle at his brother’s witticism had resulted in his reaching over and smacking Stephen hard across the head. Then, ashamed at his action, he had leapt up from the table, grabbed his bag of books and stormed out slamming the door on the shouts and cries echoing from the dining room.
Arriving at the ferry buildings earlier than usual he had resisted the desire to wait for the eight o’clock boat but had caught the earlier one, with the result that there were few people about when he had arrived at university, where he had immediately made for Professor Sterling’s office.
Stuart came straight to the point. “I was just wondering, sir, what happens to the research position if I’m called up for military service?”
“Looks like you’re already engaged in unarmed combat, my boy,” smiled Sterling.
“Oh, this,” replied Stuart, touching his swollen lips and smiling ruefully. “Just a minor accident, sir.”
“I see. Well, in my opinion it’s highly unlikely that you’ll be called up. Now more than ever the research project has a direct relevance to this new wartime situation. Consequently your position will be considered as being essential war work.” Seeing Stuart’s frown he asked, “Will that pose any difficulties for you?”
“No, sir, I suppose not. It’s just that I was expecting to join up and to, well, fight.”
“Perfectly understandable. And, when one considers the appalling characteristics of the Nazis, also very commendable. But bear in mind, wars are won by brains more than by brawn. Therefore we’ll almost certainly be asked to shift the focus of our research onto German domestic and foreign policy over the past decade in order to assist our government and her allies gain a greater insight into the mind of the enemy.
“That makes sense, sir.”
“Of course it does.” He smiled briefly. “At times like these young men characteristically respond to their basic instincts by wanting to seize the nearest weapon and dash off to save the world. Of course there’s a time for rapid action but there’s also a time for a measured, well-researched response. Much more effective in the long run.”
Stuart felt considerable relief. The thought of travelling overseas to fight the foe had adventurous appeal, but his studies of World War I had made him all too familiar with the horrors of warfare and the detrimental effect it had had on many of those who survived. Furthermore, undertaking research at home would enable him to be near Carol. He heaved a long sigh. Carol. Ah, yes.
“Having second thoughts?”
Stuart brought himself up with a start. “Oh, no, not at al. It’s a wonderful opportunity for me and a chance, as you say, to help the war effort.”
“Excellent, Stuart. May I call you ‘Stuart’?”
“Yes, of course, sir,” he responded, immediately flattered.
“Splendid. Now what was it you wanted to see me about?”
“Nothing in particular, sir. Just wanted to make sure that I hadn’t been dreaming.”
“You hadn’t.”
Stuart smiled. “Well the other thing was, about my exams. The finals are coming up soon and I’m keen to do well. However, as the war has broken out-----.”
“Look, Stuart, you are to concentrate totally on your studies. I’m happy, as I said for you to use the History library if you want to but in the meantime, just keep our research project in the back of your mind. When you’ve finished your finals, take a couple of day’s breather then come and see me and we’ll begin to plan our strategy.”
“OK, sir, if you’re sure.”
“Absolutely. I’ve already made a start so there will be plenty for you to do when you’re ready. Now, I expect you want to get on with some swotting for the dreaded finals, unless there’s anything else?”
“No thanks, sir. I’ll look forward to s
eeing you in a couple of weeks.”
“Excellent.” Sterling stood up and stretching out his hand smiled warmly.
“Good luck, Stuart. I’m sure you’ll do very well.”
His early morning start meant that he had plenty of time in which to begin his final swotting binge. Finding a spot in the library by a window he spread his notes out on the desk, lit a cigarette and began the task of completing the summaries he had been preparing in anticipation of the exam questions. Initially confident of passing with a reasonably good mark, Sterling’s offer had increased his level of motivation. Now he not only wanted to pass, but to pass with high marks.
The 11.30 chime of an external clock caused him to pause and stretch. The weather was cool but pleasant and he’d already decided to cross Princes Street and sit by the Boer War statue in Albert Park at lunchtime in the hope that Carol would turn up. The situation with her was still riddled with contradictions. Her passion and her tenderness showed that she had considerable feelings for him. Yet her link with Hamish seemed puzzlingly strong. Perhaps by now Hamish had forced her to confess to their lunchtime meetings or, worse still, the library assignation. Not that he was worried that the fellow would take any action - just that he was bound to try to turn it into something sordid.
Just before noon he walked out of the main clock tower building and began to cross Princes Street towards the park. As he paused and waited for a group of cyclists to pass, he saw Carol walking towards him past the historic houses on the opposite side. She smiled, waved and hurried forward.
“I was hoping------.”
“I’d see you,” he finished and they both laughed.
“I’ve got my paper bag. Do you have any lunch, Stuart?”
“Sorry, no. I left in rather a hurry this morning.”
She touched his mouth. “Is the swelling’s going down?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes. Look, I’m sorry. I’ve still got your handkerchief.” He pulled the crumpled bloodstained piece of cloth from his trouser pocket. “It’s awfully messy. Didn’t want to give it to my mother----.”
“Awkward explanations?” she smiled.
“Yes, and I didn’t get the chance to----.”
“It’s all right, Stuart. Give it here. I’ll wash it.”
“Thanks. Look, I’m sorry about last night. I should have-----.”
“You’re sorry. Don’t be silly. You’ve got nothing to apologize for. Hamish behaved like a pig. He had no business attacking you like that! And,” she paused and her smile had an edge, “I told him so!”
“Well done. What was his reaction?”
“He, he tried to order me not to see you again.”
A light breeze brushed the hair from left side of her face.
“Carol, what’s that?”
His hand reached out but she quickly drew back pushing the hair back in place.
“It’s nothing.”
“Nothing? That mark on the side of your face. It’s a bruise.”
Involuntarily her hand went up to her face.
“It’s nothing, Stuart. I fell against the cupboard when I was getting out of the bath last night.”
His eyes narrowed. “You fell?”
“Yes, I fell against the cupboard. It’s nothing. The swelling’s already going down.”
He tried to hold her gaze but she quickly looked away.
“Carol, if I thought for one moment that he---.”
“You’d be wrong,” she interrupted quickly. “It was a simple accident. That’s all.” She put her hand on his arm. “Now, as I was saying, I told Hamish that we’re good friends and that I had a right to choose my own friends.”
“Good friends?” He smiled, and reaching out his hand, lifted her chin. “Obviously a mistress of the understatement, Miss Peterson.”
He was momentarily startled by the look of intense bleakness that filled her eyes before she stepped back and smiled brightly at him.
“Shall we sit here? We can share my lunch. It’s not much but we can make the most of it.”
As they both sat down on the grass he murmured. “If it’s loaves and fishes we could pray for a miracle.”
Chapter 8
The days that followed were full of excitement and challenge for Stuart. He and Carol started meeting for lunch in Albert Park on a regular basis. Although puzzled by her occasional bleak flashes he had come to the conclusion that in the meantime he was content with the pleasure of her company and to let matters take their course. She had told him that Hamish continued to disapprove of their lunchtime meetings but that she had refused to stop them. Yet, whenever he tried to further explore her relationship with Hamish she immediately changed the subject so he finally let it drop. With the memories of the library meeting still fresh in his mind he had twice hinted that they should arrange another evening rendezvous, but on each occasion she had again quickly changed the subject.
Nevertheless the regular meetings with her buoyed his spirits. He made peace with his family and informed them of his scholarship. Their congratulations were mixed with their obvious relief over his exemption from military service. His father was clearly pleased that his son would not have to join the already expanding armed forces. Yet the government-funded research position would enable him to hold up his head when telling his neighbours, friends and church members why his son was remaining in New Zealand while others were going overseas on active duty.
Stuart’s excellent exam results further lifted his spirits. After hearty congratulations Professor Sterling lost no time in finding him a small office and assigning him a series of research tasks. His weekdays became rapidly filled with combing through books, archived newspapers, letters, official government documents and communiqués. As some of the material was in German Stuart was also able to persuade his mentor to hire Brendan as a part-time translator.
Superficially Stuart’s existence was idyllic - a challenging position, a developing relationship with Carol, and relative harmony at home. Yet clouding his horizons were the continuing reminders that there was a war on. Increasingly military uniforms began to appear on the streets. Patriotic speeches from “Where-Britain-goes-we-go” Prime Minister Michael Joseph Savage and other MPs filled the pages of the newspapers, alongside photographs of young Kiwis training and marching in readiness to join the brave boys overseas. Increasingly however, the initial optimism at home was tempered by the realities of the war. The rapid advance of the German army through Western Europe and the fall of France caused widespread concern. Consequently the papers made much of the rescue of the British army at the French port of Dunkirk by the flotilla of vessels that had crossed the English Channel and braved German air attacks to bring the troops back to England.
“It was a great effort, sir,” said Stuart as he and Professor Sterling studied the Dunkirk photographs in the New Zealand Herald.
“True,” replied the professor. “But don’t let it blind you to the fact that Dunkirk was a major defeat. Now virtually all of Europe is under the control of the German army, probably the best fighting force the world has ever seen.”
The deteriorating situation motivated Stuart and Professor Sterling to increase their work rate, seeking to gain any insight, no matter how minor, into the German military and political mind. The fall of France shifted their focus to attempts to research and predict the type of occupation likely to be imposed on the conquered peoples of Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg, France, Norway and Denmark and whether or not this would differ from the brutality of the regime that had already been imposed on Poland.
They had also been asked to keep a watching brief on Japan and the USA. Japan’s bellicose incursions into China contrasted sharply with the isolationist attitude that appeared to be widespread throughout America. Although President Franklin Roosevelt reflected the considerable sympathy felt for Britain in its battle with the Germany there seemed little likelihood of his country taking up arms in support of Britain and her allies.
Professor Sterling’s privi
leged position with the government’s Ministry of Defence gave Stuart access to censored information showing in grim detail the reality of the war’s progress and the increasing success of the German forces on land and sea. The newspapers, magazines and cinema newsreels continued to paint a positive picture of ‘our brave boys’ but Stuart found it increasingly hard to remain positive when he read the casualty figures of men and material.
It was a cool morning in mid-November when Professor Sterling put his head round Stuart’s door and informed him that there was a meeting scheduled for 11 o’clock with some military personnel.
“The Prime Minister’s Department is considering increasing our funding in order to provide more information for our military intelligence sections,” he explained. “A delegation is coming to meet us and discuss the potential of our research. If they see additional possibilities they will recommend an expansion of our operation.”
“What are our chances, sir?” asked Stuart.
“Reasonably good I should think,” replied the professor. “We’ll need to convince them that our research can be applied directly to the nation’s war needs. I’d like you to report on your research into the Nazi occupation of Europe including anything you can find on resistance movements - sabotage, partisan fighters, that sort of thing. The way the conqueror and the conquered behave is always an excellent indication of his ultimate aims and objectives. The conquering of a nation is a lot easier than its occupation. Our visitors might be interested in working with us on ways to undermine the enemy through support for resistance movements.”
“The military gentlemen have arrived, professor,” announced the departmental secretary.
Professor Sterling and Stuart rose to greet the uniformed members of the delegation. The first to appear was a tall, grey-haired man who strode into the meeting room with outstretched hand.
“Major Richard Thompson. Pleased to meet you. Allow me to present my team.” Turning to the two other uniformed men who had just entered the room he continued, “May I present Captain Mark Williamson and Lieutenant Hamish Beavis.”
Uncommon Enemy Page 4