Beneath a Rising Sun

by Peter Watt

  Sarah strode to the window of her office to stare out at the cascading rain. The winter of 1943 had proven to be wetter than usual, and the rain was affecting production in the agricultural sector of the Macintosh industries. Flooded roads and drowned crops had caused vegetable shortages.

  ‘I might consider having him back,’ she said, gazing at her refection in the window. ‘But not into my bed.’

  ‘You need to show the world that you are not only a competent businesswoman but also a good mother and wife,’ Sir George said. ‘The business world is not ready to have a divorced mother in such a significant role.’ Sir George rose from his chair. ‘I have a lunch appointment, so I will say goodbye.’

  After her father left, Sarah remained standing by the window, and for a moment wondered where her estranged husband was at this time. The thought was fleeting, and she walked back to her desk to consider two important matters: how she could assert herself over her brother, and how she could destroy her best friend.

  *

  Sir George Macintosh sat in his library brooding over the file he had received from a clerk in his law firm. In actual fact, it was a file of copied notes passed to a contact in his law firm from an articled clerk inside Sean Duffy’s own law practice, who had found living on a legal apprentice’s salary insufficient for an interesting and diverse social life. For a generous fee, the Duffy clerk had been tasked with acquiring any information that pertained to the Canadian merchant sailor recently deceased at Long Bay Gaol. The clerk had found a wad of scribbled notes that included various names, and amongst them Sir George saw his own name, along with those of Lord Ulverstone and Detective Sergeant Preston.

  Sir George passed the file to the man sitting opposite him.

  Lord Ulverstone read the file and looked up at Sir George. ‘Do you consider this solicitor any real threat?’ he asked.

  ‘I have known Major Duffy for many years, and I regret to say that he is a tough and dangerous man, despite his physical disabilities. He appears to have linked the three of us to the killing in Long Bay.’

  ‘From what I can glean from his notes he does not have any evidence to substantiate that link,’ Ulverstone said, passing the file back to Sir George. ‘I do not think there is any need to worry about some minor city solicitor.’

  ‘You do not know Duffy as I do,’ Sir George cautioned. ‘He will not stop until he has evidence, and he has many contacts in the criminal class of Sydney. You might have noticed in the copy of his notes he mentions a contact recently released from Long Bay who gave him Preston’s name, and how Duffy linked that to me and completed the circle by including you as an acquaintance of mine. We don’t know how much the Canadian told him about his attempt on your life. As a matter of fact, you have not even told me very much about why some lunatic would want to kill you.’

  ‘Better you do not know, old chap,’ Ulverstone said. ‘But if this solicitor might be a threat to us, do you have any ideas of how we can smother the matter before it goes too far? Can the man be bought?’

  ‘Not Duffy,’ Sir George answered. ‘The only way he can be stopped is if he has a serious accident.’

  For a moment Sir George reflected on this option. He had tried many years earlier to kill Sean Duffy, and might have succeeded had he not lost his initial contact in the police force, Inspector Jack Firth. Sir George strongly suspected that Sean Duffy, aided by his friend Harry Griffiths, had murdered the disgraced policeman. Sir George had learned some respect for Duffy after that.

  ‘Can you arrange that?’ Ulverstone asked.

  Sir George looked sharply at the British aristocrat. ‘I have already stuck my neck out for you,’ he said. ‘And it might just end up in the hangman’s noose if Duffy succeeds in gathering evidence against us.’

  ‘I appreciate what you did,’ Ulverstone said. ‘But matters have taken a bad turn for us both, and if we let the matter continue I will be joining you on the scaffold. Permanently removing Duffy is our only option. When the Canadian was killed, the police informed me that their investigations indicated a prison argument and nothing else. As far as they are concerned, the matter is closed. We need to ensure it remains that way.’

  ‘I will think about it,’ Sir George said. ‘I am sure that Preston will have an interest in Duffy’s demise when he sees what is in the file.’

  Ulverstone rose from the leather chair. ‘I will leave it with you, then.’

  Sir George did not reply. Getting rid of Sean Duffy was something he should have done a long time ago. This time there would be no mistakes. He promised himself that.

  Thirteen

  James Duffy’s persistence in wooing Julianna did not seem to be working. She had not returned his calls, and she avoided him whenever he was at the studios where she worked. He was surrounded by beautiful aspiring actresses and several had made it known they would like to become more closely acquainted, but James had eyes only for Julianna.

  On his evenings off James would attend the Hollywood Canteen where Julianna continued her voluntary work. James would stand back in the crowd, sipping coffee and watching her whilst enjoying the entertainment of the big names in the town that created dreams.

  On one of his evenings off he attended the Hollywood Canteen wearing a civilian suit. The doormen knew him well by now and they greeted him with respect and let him in. He ordered his usual coffee and glanced at the queue where Julianna was serving doughnuts to a young marine. She caught his eye and frowned her disapproval at his attention.

  James shrugged and disappeared into the crowd, spending the evening jitterbugging with the beautiful young ladies from the studios. When it was time for Julianna to finish her shift and leave, James followed.

  Outside on the busy street he saw Julianna standing at the kerb waiting for a taxi, and he also noticed that a couple of large drunken men dressed in army uniform had stopped to talk to her. He picked up his stride and when he was around twenty paces away he could hear their raised voices and Julianna’s protests.

  ‘Hey, buddy, leave the lady alone,’ James shouted.

  The soldier, who was obviously attempting to steal a kiss from Julianna, turned with a scowl to confront James.

  ‘Push off, sport,’ he said. ‘We don’t take orders from yellow-bellied civvies.’

  James could see that neither man wore any combat ribbons and guessed that they were barrack-room heroes.

  Julianna was wide-eyed with fear. ‘It is okay, James,’ she said, as if pleading for him to go away.

  ‘This pretty boy your boyfriend?’ the soldier asked. ‘Why would a pretty gal like you waste your time with a snivelling civilian not man enough to be in uniform?’

  ‘Captain Duffy is a marine fighter pilot who has the Navy Cross,’ Julianna said, and noticed that the information made the belligerent soldier blink.

  ‘I hate marines,’ he said and swung wildly at James, who saw the punch coming and stepped aside. The big soldier followed his punch and went down in the gutter. His comrade bent to pick him up. He was just a fraction more sober, and with some difficulty hefted the first soldier to his feet. ‘Time we got home,’ he said as he helped the drunken soldier down the busy street.

  ‘Are you okay?’ James asked Julianna. He could see she was trembling.

  ‘I thought they might hurt you,’ she whispered.

  James broke into a broad smile. ‘So you do care about me,’ he said.

  ‘Of course I do,’ Julianna said with a weak smile. ‘I always have, but you betrayed me.’

  ‘We were only friends at the time,’ James said in his defence.

  ‘You might be a fighter ace,’ Julianna replied, ‘but you have a lot to learn about how women function, Captain Duffy. I have to return to the studio to prepare notes for tomorrow morning’s shoot. Would you like to share a taxi with me?’

  ‘It would be my pleasure,’ James said. ‘I have never had the o
pportunity to see how you work.’

  ‘We have a good supply of coffee and, according to your schedule, you do not have any commitments until tomorrow evening,’ Julianna said.

  ‘How . . . You have been speaking with Guy,’ he said.

  ‘Guy keeps me up to date on your busy schedule,’ Julianna replied with a mischievous grin.

  It was gradually dawning on James that he had served his period of penance and now Julianna was giving him another chance. He could not stop a big smile from spreading across his face.

  At the studio the security guards greeted Julianna warmly, as they were used to seeing her working late at night. James followed her to the building where she shared offices with other scriptwriters and editors. A Hispanic female cleaner greeted her with familiarity, and Julianna responded in fluent Spanish. The two women laughed at a shared joke, and James was impressed with her knowledge of the language.

  ‘I didn’t know you could speak Spanish,’ he said.

  ‘I also speak French, Italian and have a fair grasp of the English language.’ Julianna opened the door to a large room filled with tables, typewriters and rubbish bins overflowing with crumpled paper. ‘My desk is over there. Welcome to my world.’

  On the wall behind Julianna’s desk was a row of studio portraits of silent-movie stars. James gazed at the photos and recognised many. His eyes fell on one in particular: a beautiful young woman by the name of Fenella Macintosh.

  ‘Fenella Macintosh,’ James said. ‘I remember seeing a movie she was in when I was a kid.’

  Julianna stood back, looking at the portrait. ‘She had an interesting life. She was an Aussie, a well-known actress in her own country. When she came to Hollywood she was just starting to make a name for herself when she was murdered at her home up in the Hollywood hills.’

  ‘I know her family!’ James exclaimed. ‘Her brother is Sir George Macintosh. I spent last Christmas Day with Sir George and his family in Sydney; he is an associate of my grandfather.’

  Julianna looked at James in surprise. ‘What a coincidence,’ she said. ‘I have been toying with the idea of writing a script about her. There were rumours that her own brother plotted to have her killed.’

  ‘Sir George?’ James said. ‘I met him, and he does not strike me as a killer. Maybe a ruthless businessman, but not a man capable of having his own sister killed.’

  Julianna shrugged. ‘How can you tell what anyone is capable of? You probably did not think you were capable of killing before this war began.’ She gazed at the face of the woman long dead. ‘In my research of Fenella’s life I came across the name of a young man, Sean Duffy, who seemed to be linked to her somehow. There was also a young man named Matthew Duffy who I have traced as far as his flying career in Palestine in the Great War. From her diaries it seems they were linked romantically for a short while at the beginning of the century. Apparently Matthew Duffy was the son of an American prospector and ran away to enlist in the war in South Africa against the Boer farmers.’

  James paled. ‘That had to be my father,’ he said quietly. ‘It could be no other person.’

  ‘What?’ Julianna gasped. ‘Are you sure? I can hardly believe it.’ She shook her head. ‘Here I am with an interest in Fenella’s life, and all the time she is linked to your life.’ Julianna sat down in her shock, and picked up the framed portrait of Fenella Macintosh to stare into the expressive eyes of the former Hollywood actress. ‘What a tragic life you had,’ she whispered and looked up at James. ‘I could almost believe that her ghost destined us to meet.’

  James and Julianna gazed in silence at Fenella’s portrait and James felt Julianna’s hand slip into his own. When James departed for his hotel in the early hours of the morning, he kissed Julianna gently on the lips.

  His commitments kept him apart from Julianna for a couple of days, but eventually they were able to meet at his hotel for dinner. James was in his dress uniform and Julianna was wearing a stylish silk dress, and heads turned to admire the handsome fighter pilot and the lovely young lady on his arm as they were escorted to a table.

  When they had ordered James lifted his glass of champagne in a toast. ‘To the most beautiful creature God ever put on this earth,’ he said with a warm smile. Julianna blushed.

  She lifted her own flute. ‘May God protect the most precious man in my life.’

  ‘I thought that after dinner we might go to my room for a nightcap,’ he said.

  Julianna frowned. ‘James, I do not think that is a good idea.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, realising he had been a little forward. ‘It is just that every part of me wants to be so close to you.’

  ‘James, I feel the same way, but I was brought up to believe such things are sanctified only in marriage. I know it may be difficult for you to understand, but I was raised a strict Catholic and I cannot defy the laws of my religion. I realise that many of the girls you have known in the past may not have held the same beliefs.’

  James blinked. He had never really considered religion an issue – until now. He had been reared by his grandfather, a staunch Protestant. He was vaguely aware that his father, Matthew Duffy, had been a Roman Catholic. Other than that, religion did not play much of a role in his young life. ‘Does your religion forbid you to kiss before marriage?’ James asked.

  ‘No, no,’ Julianna hurried to reassure. ‘It is just that the most precious thing I can give you is my body, and then only in the holy sacrament of matrimony.’

  James wanted to groan. He glanced around the dining room at the other young couples and wondered what they would be doing after their meal tonight. ‘Maybe God turns a blind eye in time of war,’ he said in an effort to make her smile.

  ‘I am frightened, James,’ she said. ‘What if you return to the war and I never see you again? I could not survive that kind of grief after losing my little brother. You have done more than enough in this war, and you have nothing to prove to anyone. Guy tells me there are grounds for you to be honourably discharged. Or, if you wished to remain with the marines, you could ask for a training or administrative posting stateside.’

  The champagne in James’s stomach suddenly soured. Even though the chances of returning to combat flying seemed remote at the moment, he had not given up hope that his public relations stint in Hollywood would come to an end and he would once again find himself in the cockpit of a Hellcat fighter on the decks of the Enterprise.

  ‘That would be a difficult choice for me,’ James said. ‘I think I might be in love with you.’

  Julianna reached across the table, taking both James’s hands in her own, and there were tears in her eyes.

  ‘Oh, James, you don’t know how much I have wanted to hear those words from you,’ she said. ‘I love you, and that is the problem, because I am terrified I will lose you to the war.’

  ‘The way things are going I doubt that is any great possibility – unless I die of food poisoning or boredom.’

  Julianna tried to laugh but she could see the pain in his eyes. She knew she was demanding a lot of James, but how was it that men could be so stupid as to choose the possibility of being killed over love and a life of peace?

  That evening as they parted the long lingering kiss between them sealed an expression of desire and hope.

  James returned to his room and was about to take off his jacket when he noticed a telegram on the table by the bowl of fruit. He picked it up and read the terse lines. It was from his sister Olivia. His grandfather had suffered a stroke and James was needed urgently back in New Hampshire. Everything had changed again in the blink of an eye.

  *

  Jessica was keeping in touch with Sean Duffy by telephone, consulting with him in his investigation of Tony’s murder. There had been little to report since Sean had disclosed his suspicions about the collusion between Sir George Macintosh, Lord Ulverstone and a crooked police detective.

&n
bsp; Jessica was growing frustrated. She was determined to get justice for the young American officer she wished she had shown more love for. The war had brought him into her life from across the Pacific, and it had taken him from her. She was growing bored of sitting around the house listening to the radio, reading and cooking for her two housemates. Occasionally she would go to the movies or visit the shops to browse the few goods still on the shelves. Rationing was biting, but people were still able to live a near normal life, albeit bereft of luxuries.

  The phone rarely rang but this afternoon it did and when Jessica answered she recognised Sean’s voice at the other end.

  ‘I want you to put on your best hat and go and see a movie tonight at your favourite movie theatre,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’ Jessica responded.

  ‘Because you will meet someone there I consider a friend to our cause,’ Sean replied. ‘It is important, so please be there.’

  ‘Who is the friend?’ Jessica asked.

  ‘You will know him when you see him,’ Sean said. ‘I do not want to give his name over the phone.’

  ‘This is as mysterious as an Agatha Christie novel,’ Jessica said. ‘But I will be there.’

  ‘Good, Miss Campbell,’ Sean said and hung up.

  Jessica sat by the telephone staring at the hand piece. Sean was careful not to identify her when using the telephone, and Jessica’s past role in intelligence work made her appreciate his caution.

  That evening Jessica dressed up warmly against the bitter cold of winter and caught a train into the city, where she walked a block to the theatre. People were huddled in lines awaiting entry out of the cold and Jessica scanned the queues of men and women. She drew a sharp breath when she recognised a familiar face.

  Donald Macintosh was wearing a trenchcoat and his hands were thrust into his pockets. From his demeanour Jessica could see that he was expecting someone – and that someone had to be her. Their eyes met and he nodded his head, walking away from the entrance to the movie theatre. Jessica took his gesture as a signal to follow him. He walked to a small cafe nearby, and the two of them slipped into a booth together.