She looked around to see who had heard then back at him warily.
‘No one knows where you are, Rose.’
‘Agnes,’ she corrected again.
‘Agnes,’ he conceded. Clarkson noted her face had regained its beautiful shape. ‘You’re looking…very well now.’
Rose seemed to want to ignore that and started to flip through the mail, scanning the handwriting. She looked disappointed. ‘Have you heard anything about the boys…about Iggy?’
‘Yes: I’ll be heading down their way soon actually. I’ve been re-stationed to St Omer for now though, so I’m nearby for a while. Just waiting for a few things to finish off here then I’ll be gone.’ She flicked her eyes and he noticed her take in his new captain’s uniform.
‘I heard Iggy was in the Middle East but he hasn’t replied to my letters,’ she admitted.
‘That would be because he’s been transferred to the 12th. Promoted, actually, along with Jack. There must be a shortage of officers down there too.’ He tapped his stripes and shrugged. Rose considered that for a moment then began to pack up the rest of the supplies.
‘Need any help?’
She shook her head as she walked over to a storage building and placed a crate inside the doorway, locking the door behind it.
‘That’s it.’
They stood awkwardly and Clarkson figured he’d better finish things off and leave, surprising himself when very different words left his mouth. ‘I don’t know about you but I think it’s time to wet the whistle. Care to join me?’
Later, as they sat under the canopy of a quiet café, he questioned what had made him ask her. It wasn’t as if they were old friends with stories to reminisce upon, or family members with news to share. In fact he should have shunned her, considering she’d dumped his brother-in-law in such a publicly humiliating fashion. At best they were acquaintances who’d happened to share a few days in common before the war and had mutual people in their lives. He supposed he was just homesick and, although he was unwilling to frequent the brothels like his single mates, he missed the company of women just the same.
And Rose was all woman, he had to admit. Even in her drab uniform she was a knockout and when she shook her newly cropped hair after removing her cap he found it hard to focus on what she was saying. The curls swam about her face but she tucked one side behind her ear, a habit he noticed she frequently employed as she began to relax with the wine, trusting him a little more. She was playing it safe, making idle chitchat, and he was letting her go on, waiting. Finally coming to a pause, she let out a deep sigh as he watched her closely.
‘It’s not what you think.’
‘What do I think?’ he returned, lighting a cigar, the orange glow flashing in the dusk as the streetlights flickered in their glass and metal lamps against the stone.
‘I didn’t come here looking for a new man.’
‘I don’t think that.’
She frowned at her glass, sipping thoughtfully. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you came here to escape your marriage,’ he said casually, ‘but you got more than you bargained for. You found you actually want to work.’
‘And that amuses you?’
‘Yes, it does rather. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you with a hair out of place let alone splattered in blood and guts.’
To his surprise she burst out laughing and he found himself delighting in the sound.
‘C’est la guerre,’ she said when the laughter had subsided, shrugging in the French way. ‘It’s the war.’
‘And are you still at war, Rose?’ he asked, serious now.
‘Rose no longer exists,’ she reminded him. He saluted her, ordering more wine and some maroilles cheese as the café began to fill, the murmurs of conversation surrounding them. The waiter brought out both, along with some crusty bread still warm from the oven.
‘I’m fighting two wars. One we’re sharing right now,’ she gestured at their uniforms, ‘and one I’m afraid I chose. Rather stupidly, but there you are.’
‘Why don’t you just divorce him?’
She shook her head, twining her hair about her ear again as she ate. ‘Oh, I don’t think he’d like that very much,’ she said, taking a deep gulp of wine, the glass clinking on the table. ‘Bit of a problem with his temper, I’m afraid.’
‘Yes, I’d noticed.’ He felt the anger rise in him at the thought of his former friend’s enormous fists colliding with her fragile bones. ‘Why didn’t you just go home to Australia? He’d hardly dare hurt you among your own folk.’
‘Because there’s more than one way to hurt me,’ she admitted, ‘or haven’t you heard? No, I suppose not. Pattie would hardly be interested in telling you news of me.’
Clarkson was confused. ‘What am I missing here?’
‘It’s what he’s missing, or to be more precise what he feels he owns. A rather precious commodity I took with me.’ She opened her purse and took out a photo, handing it to him.
He stared at the beautiful child, shocked. ‘But where was she at the docks when you left? And where is she now?’
‘She was with the maid inside the waiting room.’ He waited until she added, ‘She’s with my aunt during the week now.’ She took the photo back, smiling at the little face smeared with chocolate. ‘She took this photo last week on her second birthday. I really should have cleaned her up a bit, but she looked so sweet. First time she’d tasted chocolate cake…’
‘Second birthday?’
‘Yes, she was two on the fourth of June.’
‘You were married just after Christmas, as I recall.’
Clarkson’s expression had changed from shock to suspicion and she faltered, looking down at the table, seemingly unable to meet his eyes as the truth revealed itself in waves through his mind.
‘That’s why you were after Jack…and why you chose Gregory when he turned up at Greenshades. You were already…’ He shook his head, watching her twirl her glass anxiously, suddenly angry. ‘What, so you were just going to marry Jack and fob the baby off as an early arrival? How could you use him like that? For God’s sake…and here I was feeling sorry for you. That’s why Gregory’s so angry, isn’t it? Isn’t it? How can you live with yourself?’ He spat the last, causing her head to snap up.
‘I did what I had to do.’
‘Used people.’
‘Survived.’
‘Lied.’
She picked up her bag, standing a little unsteadily in the now silent café as the other diners paused and stared.
‘Running away from me too, eh? You keep running, Rose, but spare a thought for the child you’re dragging through the mud with you.’
She spun back, picking up her glass and throwing the contents in his face, hurling her words at the same time.
‘You bastard!’
He stood, enraged, wiping the wine away, towering above her, but she didn’t cower.
‘Go ahead. Hit me,’ she dared him wildly, ‘make the blood pour down my face. Down my legs. Smash me around the room. Lock me away. Starve me. But don’t ever accuse me of not thinking about my child. Not that…’ she choked, breaking down.
Something twisted inside him and the anger faded as quickly as it had come, and then he was holding her, trying to comfort her as the words poured out between sobs.
‘I had to…to find a home…I couldn’t bring my child up in sh-shame. And J-Jack was so kind. I would have been a g-good wife to him. I never would have told him. I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t…and then I saw him outside arguing with bloody Veronica at Greenshades and I…knew then he loved her and I…couldn’t so…I chose. I went to Gregory’s bed…I couldn’t do it to him…I couldn’t…’
He stroked her back as the racking shudders through her body gradually subsided and then sat her down, still holding her hand.
‘Haven’t told anyone that,’ she confessed, wiping away her tears with her handkerchief, a small embarrassed smile surfacing as the people around them began to t
urn away.
‘Well I’ll bet that feels like a bit of a load off, then.’
She nodded and he patted then let go of her hand. He ordered another bottle of wine and poured, offering her a cigarette.
‘I don’t really smoke,’ she sniffed.
‘After what you’ve been through, I’d say that’s the least of your worries,’ he replied, lighting it for her.
They sat in silence, each processing their thoughts, as the café continued its nightly rituals, lovers and friends in murmurs about them.
‘Did they marry then?’ She broke the silence.
He stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Yes, last year, in Cairo. She was working as a VAD.’
‘Really?’ Rose nodded thoughtfully. ‘Bit more than meets the eye there with Veronica. I’m afraid I made rather a habit of underestimating her.’
‘Jealous?’
She twisted her curl back. ‘No…Well, yes. I kind of hated her for a while, seeing her as stealing my potential husband. It’s pretty scary being pregnant and unmarried, let me tell you. Brought out the worst in me, I’m afraid, and I was already something of…’
‘A spoilt cow?’
‘Thank you, yes. Anyway, she’s with him now and I seem to have got what I deserved.’
‘Did you love him?’ he asked, wondering why it suddenly mattered.
‘Which one? Gregory? No, it wasn’t like that.’ She leant back in her chair, tucking one leg underneath, stroking her ankle thoughtfully. ‘It was more just a thrill with him. The forbidden affair with the big powerful man and all of that rot. I didn’t mean to let it get out of hand and then we were together and…he kind of frightened me into it. I didn’t even tell him we were moving to Sydney, just that it was over. Gregory was very controlling…he would have talked me out of going and I needed to get away from him.’
‘And now history repeats itself.’
‘So it seems.’
‘So why did you choose Gregory? Why didn’t you just marry Jack?’
‘I told you, I would have chosen Jack if I hadn’t seen him with Veronica…and with Gregory turning up like that…marrying my child’s actual father just seemed the logical choice at the time, although I don’t think I’ve many friends in that town anymore.’ She shrugged. ‘Not that I had many in the first place. Never been much good at that at the best of times, although here it’s…different.’
‘Maybe you’re different,’ said Clarkson.
‘Not different. Just damaged goods.’ She waved her hand dramatically at her uniform. ‘The airs and graces have fallen by the wayside.’
‘Good riddance, I say,’ Clarkson raised his glass. ‘To the wayside!’
She laughed a little and they drank. ‘So now you know everything. Perhaps I have changed. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone all my secrets.’
‘Well now, not quite. You only answered half of my question. Did you love Jack?’
She turned the bottom of her glass as he waited. ‘No, I couldn’t say I did. He is a good man and a great kisser.’ She threw Clarkson a wicked look and he felt his pulse quicken. ‘I’m not sitting around daydreaming about him, if that’s what you’re asking. I just wish for Elizabeth’s sake I could be happily married. I feel that I’ve failed her a bit.’
‘Oh I wouldn’t say that.’
‘You just did, really,’ she reminded him.
‘Typical bloody woman. Holding things against you.’
‘It only just happened!’
‘Have a little more wine,’ he suggested, filling her glass.
‘Typical bloody man. Trying to get a woman drunk.’
‘Can’t blame a fellow for trying,’ he grinned and Rose’s mouth twitched in response.
Only he wasn’t smiling about it later as he lay awake thinking about how soft she’d felt against him when he held her, stirring feelings he knew he couldn’t afford to be feeling after a year and a half away from his wife and a baby he hadn’t even met.
Rose was like French wine, he mused. A delicious red with a dangerous kick.
Twenty-three
Highview
Veronica stared out her bedroom window. After almost two weeks back she was still trying to accustom herself to the green and gold landscape outside. Spending a year surrounded by desert or endless, deep ocean, made the fields and bushland along Cowpasture Lane seem surreal to her now, with their constant abundance of wildlife. She watched as the king parrots picked their gentle way along the branches of the wattle tree, the vivid red chest of the male almost glowing amongst the leaves. She counted the family this year: three females, one young male and this fellow, the magnificent patriarch.
How she wished she and Jack could be building their family here, in their home, together.
‘Vera! Vera!’ Pattie ran into Veronica’s room, waving a letter happily. ‘I’ve got the latest from Mr C!’
‘Thank goodness for that.’ Veronica smiled, stretching out her back. ‘I don’t know how many more times I can hear you re-reading the other chapters.’
‘I never believed it when people said expectant mothers are crotchety old things but you’re starting to prove their point,’ she sniffed, pretending to be offended. ‘Now listen up! All comfy?’ she asked as she jumped onto the bed and fluffed up their pillows, lying next to her to begin reading. Veronica loved Clarkson’s ‘Chapter’ letters almost as much as Pattie did, laughing at the funny stories and humorous drawings that filled every page. He had taken to sending one every now and then between his usual letters, claiming they would one day be his famous ‘memoirs’, which he would name The Heroic Misadventures of Mr C. It was just what Veronica needed this afternoon to distract her from her thoughts.
‘Chapter Eight: A Fly in the Appointment.’ Both girls giggled before Pattie continued.
I had the unfortunate duty of having to report to Major several days ago and searched my mind as to its reason. Had he found my secret stash of chickens in the plane? Did he know about my nightly riding sessions on Daisy the milking cow next door? Or, worst of all, had he discovered the master tunnel diggings to Australia under my floorboards?
They laughed at the drawings he had provided for these three scenarios. One was of a man flying a plane with chickens in the back seat, an extra chicken on the top wing, waving with her little goggles in place. The next of a man riding a plump cow across a paddock, saddle and stirrups flapping and a rather crazed look on the cow’s face. The third showed a half-dug tunnel through the sphere of the earth, an arrow pointing to Mr C’s quarters in London on one side, another arrow pointing to his home in Australia at the bottom of the globe. Mr C was sitting in the centre of the earth, cooking what appeared to be a sausage on a fire at its core.
The dreaded day arrived and I scrubbed myself up, making sure there were no chicken feathers to be seen, and I made my way to his office. It seemed my fears were unfounded. He knew nothing of my secret activities at all! He wished to speak to me regarding a totally different matter: French trousers. It seems the greedy man has outgrown all of his pants due to the amount of milk and eggs he’s been served since his arrival at the base. (Daisy and the chickens have a lot of explaining to do!) As a consequence, he has ordered me to fly over to France and stay there awhile until I have found French trousers large enough to accommodate him. I opened my mouth to object to this outrageous waste of my precious digging time when a daring fly flew in and did the tango with my tonsils.
Pattie and Veronica fell about as they looked at the comical drawing of Mr C clutching at his throat as a fly actually seemed to dance with his tonsils, a very fat man standing behind him, frowning.
So, my dear wife, I will now be stationed in France in search of large pantaloons. Tell my little chick her father is a courageous, gallant hero to take on such a quest and give her a thousand kisses from me. Then give yourself about ten thousand more.
Try using a mirror. I do.
Yours in constant, heroic misadventure,
Your loving husband,
Mr C
PS Please send me a little spade. The others are becoming suspicious about all the missing forks.
Veronica made Pattie read it twice and they sat, wiping at tears as they pored over the clever little drawings.
‘He’s really very good, you know. He should send something in to the newspapers,’ Veronica said, pointing at the man on the cow. ‘Look at that cow’s expression,’ she giggled.
‘I wish he was working for a newspaper and not flying about Europe,’ Pattie sighed, lying back and staring at the ceiling. ‘Do you think he is really off to France? Maybe Mr C is trying to break it to me gently.’
‘Wait for the next letter. He’ll let you know if he is,’ Veronica assured her, yawning. ‘Lord, is it normal to be this tired all the time? I can’t seem to stop sleeping.’
‘Make the most of it,’ Pattie said, patting Veronica’s rounded stomach. ‘It’ll keep you up soon enough.’
‘Oh,’ Veronica gasped. She held Pattie’s hand still at a spot under her ribs where the baby liked to push its little feet, and Pattie smiled as she felt it kick about.
‘He’s awake at any rate,’ Veronica said.
Pattie grinned. ‘You said “he”…’
‘I told you I don’t know at all; I just have a feeling…’
‘I know you know, you witchy thing!’
‘Hmm,’ said Veronica. Truth was she did feel that she knew. From the moment she suspected it was true, and had started hiding it lest they send her home, she’d believed her baby was a boy.
They lay for a while and the baby settled back down, content beneath Pattie’s hand.
‘I wish I could have hidden it for longer,’ Veronica sighed.
‘Jack is far from Cairo now anyway. You may as well be home with us,’ Pattie reminded her and Veronica knew she was right.
‘I just wish I could snap my fingers and have him suddenly here, just for an hour or so.’
Pattie sat up and crossed her legs, holding the letter in both hands. ‘Sometimes I sleep with all of Clarkson’s letters under my pillow, hoping I will dream of him and spend some time with him that way. Silly, I know.’ She shrugged.
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