Feeling ridiculous in the new blue suit and the false make-up, she followed him as he crossed to the lift and pressed the button.
“Tell you what,” he stepped into the empty cage. “Have dinner with me tonight? We’ll talk. Okay?”
“Mum’s expecting me.”
“Phone her.”
“I can’t. You know that.”
“Don’t tell me you still haven’t got the phone connected!”
“I could telephone Brenda next door.”
“Do it.” He was his assured self again. Whatever the undercurrent had been, it was no longer apparent. Could it be that he’d been worried about her attitude to him in the laboratory? She doubted it. It had to be something else.
“Mr Macklin doesn’t like us phoning from the office.”
“I’ll see to it. See me later.”
The ascending lift was between floors 3 and 4, the moment was passing. “What do you mean, Julian? See you later?”
“Right! See me - or Macklin.”
They stepped from the lift, crossed the alcove to the laboratory, and entered. Arriving late, their entry was inevitably marked by curious eyes and knowing glances.
“See you later.” He crossed to the office, opened the door, and walked in. He had not knocked before entering.
Braving the barrage of eyes following her passage to the staff room, she changed into her laboratory coat and shoes, and suffered the knowing smirks that followed her to the comparative haven of the small laboratory.
Aaron met her. “They’re moving us out, Anne.”
Alice and Myrtle were stacking reports and equipment onto trolleys. Strangers in white overalls were setting new equipment in their place. Grace was giving orders.
“Anne! You’re late!”
“What’s happening?”
“You’re moving into the lab. They’re fitting this out for Julian.”
The entire laboratory was being rearranged. For Julian! What was he up to? If only he hadn’t come back at all.
Grace was watching her, expecting some kind of response.
Hoping her usually give-away face would not be too easily read, she managed. “That was sudden.”
“Sudden!” Alice’s aquiline features were suffused from either physical effort or ill-repressed anger or a combination of both. “No warning at all. We should have been informed. If we had a Union we could do something about it. We shouldn’t be shoved around like this. They have no right!”
“There’s a war on, Alice,” Grace scolded. “You have heard about that?”
“My back’s killing me!” Alice was undaunted. “It’s not our job to fetch and carry.”
“It’s your job to do as you’re told.”
“If there was a…”
“Alice! Don’t say it!”
“Grace…” Myrtle stepped between the antagonists. “What am I to do?”
It filled the morning, fetching and carrying, packing, unpacking, moving to one side while the overalled men moved benches and heavy equipment or carefully trundled the huge new machines into the small laboratory and painstakingly aligned them. All as Julian instructed.
Just before lunch, she reminded him: “Is it all right for me to telephone?”
“Damn! I forgot.”
“It doesn’t matter. We can go tomorrow night.”
“It does matter,” he disagreed. “I can’t leave here. Go tell Macklin it’s okay. There’s a good girl.”
She was knocking on the office door before it fully registered. Even when it concerned James Macklin, Julian was acting with the voice of authority.
“Enter.”
Jeffrey Macklin was sitting at his desk beneath the broad windows. Grace was opposite. Neither had been working; both desks were conspicuously uncluttered.
“What is it, Anne?” Grace seemed to resent the intrusion.
“Julian…” She looked to Macklin. “He said to tell you I can phone home.”
“Is it urgent?” He was plaintively terse.
“Not really.”
“Then may I ask why you’re bothering us?”
“It’s - it doesn’t matter.” She started for the door.
“Don’t go, Anne. We’ll leave you to it.” Grace vacated her desk. Macklin followed.
Astonished, she watched Grace and Macklin leave, phoned Brenda, left the message for her mother, and exited the office. Neither Macklin nor Grace was in sight. In the main laboratory Alice and Myrtle were already at work at their relocated work stations.
“Anne! Over here!” Alice commanded.
She took her place at the bench beside Alice. Despite the proximity of the officious woman, it was heartening to be back in the same room as her old friends.
Concentration was still impossible. Added to the excitement of being back in the mainstream was the mystery of Julian. There was no doubt he was in control of operations, yet it had not been spelled out. Only by his actions during the day had it become apparent. Also by the actions of Grace and Macklin. They’d very quickly jumped at his bidding!
Thinking it through, trying to comprehend what was happening, she recalled their morning meeting. He had known exactly where they were going. It had been Julian who had led the way, to the building, to the lift, to the fourth floor. He had known, too, exactly which route she would take from the tram.
Had he also known she’d arrive on that tram at that time? When he’d called out to her, where had he come from? Flinders Street? Down towards Carlton? Or had he been waiting in some unobserved doorway? It wasn’t surprising. Secrets and Julian had always gone together. So what was going on?
Lunch time she spent in the staff room, where everybody was reading and eating and exchanging only a few necessary words. Sophie had invited her to walk to the shops with her. She’d opted out. Grace’s warning about Sophie niggled. It couldn’t be true, but she wasn’t up to any more stress. Besides, Julian might want to talk to her. He didn’t appear; the door to the small lab where he and Aaron were working remained firmly closed. It was only after they’d all returned to work that he and Aaron came out and went into the staff room for a late lunch.
Watching him pass through, tall and trim and professional in his starched white coat, she was compelled to acknowledge just how incongruous their brief affair had been. Watching his brisk walk and his air of purpose, even when doing something as mundane as just going for lunch, it seemed impossible that they’d ever been close.
The differences between them were so much more than age and background and interests and beliefs. Supremely cool and secure, Julian Reeves was all the things she wasn’t. How could this mature man who wore authority like a second skin ever have been really interested in her? It was like expecting a lion to be interested in a mouse. How could he ever want to spend time with her? Yet he had, once. He’d given this mouse the right to be asking questions. Why had he spent time with her? Why had he allowed her a glimpse of his secret world? Why no word from him for months? Had his transfer back to Melbourne been a surprise to him too?
So many questions. Maybe tonight she’d see more clearly. It was just as well she’d worn the new suit after all. At least she’d look the part, even if she didn’t feel it.
In the early afternoon Macklin and Grace toured the laboratory, collected completed reports, and retreated to the office where, like their staff, they apparently worked until knock-off time.
Five o’clock. Finished for the day, they covered their machines and packed away pencils, papers and tools. Quick changes in the staff room preceded hurried exits to join the evening stampede competing for places in the crowded trams and trains.
“You’re not in a hurry, either?” Lillian, who surprisingly had not yet left, was preparing a pot of tea.
“I’ve got a date.” She hung her lab coat in the locker, put on her jacket, collected hat and bag, and slipped into her high heels.
“I like your suit, Anne.”
“It’s new. What do you think?”
“It sui
ts you.”
“I thought you usually went straight home. Have you got a date, too?”
Lillian’s answer was indirect. “Who is it, Anne? Julian?”
She blushed. “You remembered about us.”
“Why wouldn’t I? It’s not so long ago.”
She repaired her make-up, combed out her long hair and re-rolled it into its fashionably tight halo.
Lillian poured her tea. “Would you like a cup?”
“Thanks. I could have a long wait.”
“Aaron’s had a good day. He and Julian seem to get on well.”
“How do you mean?” It was difficult to imagine arrogant Julian and timid Aaron liking each other. “How do you know?”
“Aaron’s full of it,” Lillian was scornful. “Already he’s a Julian fan.”
Not so surprising. Everyone was a fan of Julian’s. On the other hand, what did Julian actually think of Aaron?
They sipped their tea without talking. True, the days in the old laboratory weren’t so long ago. But the difference was palpable. The current stand-off was heavy with tension. Uneasily trying to think of something to say that Lillian wouldn’t misunderstand, she tried not to dwell on the happy times when hurtful misunderstandings were not a hazard.
They were rescued by Aaron. Coming in just before six, wiping sweaty hands on his wrinkled coat, he was surprised to see Lillian: “I thought you’d be gone.”
“No point.” Lillian was terse.
“I have a message for you, Anne.”
“From Julian?”
“He will be a moment only. He said to tell you.”
Lillian put on hat and gloves, straightened her frock, collected her handbag, and left.
“What’s the matter with her?” Aaron frowned. “She did not even say goodbye. Is something wrong?”
“She’s not very well. She’s not talking much these days.”
“She talks to me,” he was surprised. “Not today. She is unfriendly all day.”
“Maybe she’s feeling worse.”
He shook his head. “It is most strange.”
“These days everything’s peculiar.”
“What do you think all this is about, Anne?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think I’m imagining it. I think maybe you’re right. Whatever’s wrong, it’s affecting Lillian more than ever. Am I imaging it?”
“Not by any means,” he dolefully agreed. “Not at all. It is everywhere. This unease. A product of our times, I think. Except…Except…You have known Julian a long time?”
“Ages.” It wasn’t true, it only seemed like it.
Changed into casual shirt and slacks, Julian escorted her through the streets. Monday night. It was difficult to believe it was the same city she visited on Friday nights. Like Julian himself, Monday night war-time Melbourne was dark and secretive. The poorly lit streets were almost empty. Oppressive pockets of hot air left over from the steamy day robbed her of breath. The few pedestrians scurried silently by. As though in fear of an attack, no one walked boldly down the centre of the broad footpath. Or were they on their way to forbidden places? Surprisingly, when he eventually ushered her into an up-market restaurant in the heart of the city, there was a sizable queue.
“Want to wait?” In five minutes, they’d moved only a single place ahead.
“I don’t mind.” The place was cool and elegantly inviting and obviously expensive. It would be a new experience. It would also ease the itchy discomfort of the unseasonable clothes she should have had the sense not to wear.
“Suit yourself.” He was already looking towards the door through which the tail-end of the slow-moving queue spilled out into the street.
“Do you want to go?” She knew he did, but was perversely determined to make him say so.
“It’s up to you.” He seemed equally determined to pursue this tiptoeing minuet of formal politeness.
She did not answer. Why should she? He didn’t mean it. Whatever she said, he’d do exactly what he wanted to do.
“Answer me, Anne.” Gripping her upper arm, his fingers bit cruelly through blouse and jacket and into the soft flesh. “Do you want to leave?”
“Yes.” She gave in. What was the point of challenging him? It gained nothing except twisted satisfaction, and probably risked more than it was worth.
He hurried her up the steps, down Bourke, into Elizabeth and towards Flinders Street.
“I don’t go home on the train,” she volunteered.
“I know that.”
Although his sharpness was more true to form, she wished she had the courage to walk away. She hadn’t. Where-ever this night was heading, she had to see it through.
In Elizabeth Street, he located a shabby hole-in-the-wall eating place and turned into it. “This’ll do.”
She followed. They were the only customers. No wonder. The place was a warren and the hot air stale with the sickening after-smell of greasy meals. Quickly, she removed the jacket, peeled off the gloves and set her handbag on the floor beside the uncomfortable high heels. Sitting opposite him, casually and coolly clad, she felt doubly ridiculous; she should have known better.
He ordered cold meat and salad. She did not argue. Even though she’d been looking forward to something more enjoyable, it seemed wise not to say anything. Attention focused on the passing traffic, he was silent and stern, not bright and cheerful as he’d been this morning. She was uncomfortably apprehensive.
Their meal arrived, limp lettuce, paper-thin meat, soggy tomato, and thick slabs of dehydrated cucumber.
“Coffee?” The sweating waiter was offensively disinterested in their answer.
Julian raised two fingers.
Starting to protest, she changed her mind. Again, it wasn’t worth it. She ached to be away. There really was no point in staying. It was evident that nothing was different. Her mother and father were right; she did not belong with this man.
It was not until they’d finished the meal and were drinking tepid soda water that he leaned back, spread his strong hands flat on the table, and ordered: “Right, Anne. Tell me about it.”
“What?” She was caught off balance. “About what?”
“The lab. Tell me about the lab.”
“What about it?”
“Don’t be coy, Anne. You know what I mean.”
“I don’t. I don’t know what you mean. Honestly, Julian.”
His keen eyes bored into her, impersonally appraising, as though he were assessing one of his inanimate tools.
She blushed.
“I want to know about the laboratory.” His voice was sharp, each word clipped and calculated. They might as well be strangers. “Is that clear enough for you?”
“Of course it’s clear!”
Ignoring her anger, he pressed: “The lab, Anne. Tell me about it.”
“What do you want to know? There’s so much to cover.”
“I want to know how you came to move. The building you are in now. Why there? Why that building? If you know - why you moved at all. The circumstances of the move. Do you understand?”
Sure. She understood. She understood that this was to be no idle chit-chat over a friendly evening meal. This was the beginning of a calculated, preplanned interrogation. Why? The fact that it was occurring here, over an informal meal and not in some bleak office, did not change the reality. After all the months of waiting for repercussions to their rebellion something was happening here – with Julian! Here on this burning summer night on the edge of the city, he was interrogating her.
Following the amazing events of this day, she had to believe he had some kind of authority. It was even probable that only their former relationship explained why the interrogation was here, in this sleazy café, rather than in some bleak office. Which posed the question - who else was to be interrogated?
Mystified and sullenly cooperative, she surrendered. For over half an hour, entirely dismissing the inappropriate surroundings and the intermittent intrusions of the impatient wai
ter, Julian extensively probed what had happened since he’d left. Seeking answers she often did not have, he questioned everything, even the timing of her illness. His questions, especially when she talked of the ‘strike’, confirmed her fears. Except for their friendship, this would have been a grilling in some hostile office by some unknown and hostile officer.
“Time to go.” At eight-thirty p.m., precisely, he beckoned the anxious waiter.
Shaken by the abrupt cessation of the interrogation, she objected. “There’s things I have to know too!”
“Not tonight, Anne.”
Not arguing, she watched him pay the waiter, collected her coat and handbag and tottered on swollen feet to the door. The steamy heat, locked in the city’s deep canyons, struck with cruel force.
Taking her arm, he escorted her to the tram stop.
Belatedly, she asked: “How did you know when to meet me this morning?”
“No problem.” At long last he smiled. “I know everything about you, Anne.”
Not true, he hadn’t known about her long illness.
As ever, he read her mind. “Everything that is happening to you now,” he amended.
“Julian…?” Uncertain, she turned to him.
“My dear Anne…” He soberly kissed her, a peck on each cheek; a formality. “The past is past.”
She was already on the tram before she finally comprehended that she’d learned absolutely nothing. He had asked the questions, she had answered. She’d told Aaron she had known him for a long time. She did not know him at all.
The tram rattled along with few stops. Monday night; people at home, recovering from week-end fun, preparing for bed, preparing for the rest of the week’s work. Not many passengers, no faces she recognised. Mostly uniformed men in the open mid-section, a few blue-collar workers. Inside, opposite, a worn-out frump who looked like an office cleaner, and probably was.
She barely noticed them. Frantically churning through Julian’s inquisition, she was trying to reconcile it with his parting words -‘the past is past’. If he meant she should forget the way he’d left Melbourne and the things she knew about him, then the past was well forgotten. If he meant their relationship was over, maybe it was as well. But she suspected it was less personal. Certainly he’d been totally impersonal. Could the ‘past is the past’ have been referring to the unfortunate history of the laboratory? Could it be a warning? Why had he made a point of the fact that he knew everything about her now? What had he meant?
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