by Peter Watt
‘They will be safe,’ Saul said when the automobile was out of sight. ‘May God look over them.’
Although Matthew was not particularly religious he found himself thinking about Wallarie, and silently asked his protection for the woman he loved.
‘I suppose that I should return to my base,’ Matthew said as both men walked away. ‘I will need your Russian to make sure I am displaying AFC markings and top up my tanks from the fuel supply I see you have in the village.’
‘That will be done,’ Saul answered. They had seized the drums from a hastily deserted German airfield in one of their raids. ‘We thought it might be best if your aircraft was not identifiable to the Arabs.’
‘Joanne said that you pretty well slaughtered all the men of the village.’
Saul stopped walking and stared across the fields covered in vineyards and orchards. ‘Ever since I have lived here the Arabs from the village have periodically attempted to wipe us out,’ he said. ‘Had you not helped us they would have used the German gun to shell our settlement and the Ottomans have no real desire to protect us. Today, I solved the problem of any future threat from our Arab neighbours. We spared the women and children and I know that they can settle further up the valley with their relatives. This country has been at war forever,’ he continued. ‘Even Moses sanctioned the complete destruction and death of his enemies in the past. He ordered that every man, woman and child be put to the sword when his people entered the lands promised by God.’
‘That was then,’ Matthew argued. ‘This is now, and what you have done is going to come back on you in the future.’
‘This is my land now,’ Saul said. ‘I have given the blood of my eldest son in the defence of freedom from persecution. We are merely returning to the land the Romans forced us out of – not attempting to take someone else’s land.’
Matthew desisted from continuing the argument with his old friend. He could see that Saul had grown to be a pioneer in his adopted country. After all, had not his own relatives on the Macintosh side slaughtered the Aboriginal people of the lands they took for themselves? Who was he, as an Australian, to judge another’s ideas on the occupation of land?
With his crowd of curious wellwishers waving goodbye, Matthew took off to make his way south to his airbase. He was dreading the homecoming as he’d have to account for being so long overdue. He knew that he would have to answer a lot of awkward questions and only hoped Joanne had been able to get a message through to London to explain his unplanned mission.
His return flight was without incident and he landed just before sunset to be met by his ground crew who beamed broad smiles of relief for his return. Forced landings due to mechanical problems were not uncommon, and Matthew guessed that his squadron comrades would have presumed his overdue return had been put down to such an event. His name would be removed from the MIA list.
When his aircraft came to a stop and he cut the engine he was met by the sergeant in charge of the ground crew.
‘Heard the news, sir?’ he asked, helping Matthew from the cockpit.
‘Sorry, Sarge,’ Matthew said, adjusting his hearing to the silence of the desert airfield. ‘What news?’
‘The Yanks are in the war,’ he replied. ‘The show should be over soon enough, when they arrive to give us a hand.’
Matthew paled. If that was so, Joanne would now be considered an enemy alien by the Turks. She would surely be taken prisoner and, knowing the Turks, possibly tortured. After all, from what he had learned about her, she was already a suspected spy.
He turned away from the sergeant and vomited in his gut-gripping fear.
Sean Duffy had hardly settled back into his life as a solicitor when he had his first matter to deal with concerning the Macintosh estates. With utter disbelief he had read the contract delivered by George Macintosh’s legal representatives, and when he had telephoned Giselle to confirm the papers before him she had instructed him that her signature on the contract was indeed genuine. When he asked her why she should be a party to such a ludicrous contract, Giselle had made it clear that she had her reasons and that her husband’s power of attorney had given her absolute authority to make such a decision.
Sean pleaded with her to reconsider but she remained firm in her resolve to be a party to the contract as it stood.
With a sigh of frustration, Sean had replaced the handset. He flicked through the formal papers that gave George full ownership of his brother’s house and land on the harbour in the event of his death. Why in hell would Giselle sign such a ridiculous agreement? What did George have over his sister-in-law? Whatever it was, Sean knew it was legally binding in a court of law.
‘You had better come home alive, Major Macintosh,’ he said quietly to an empty room. ‘Or your wife and son are going to be homeless.’
It was now that Sean could see why Colonel Patrick Duffy had appointed him to take care of his legal matters in his absence. He eased himself away from his desk to stretch his legs. Reaching for the walking stick he pushed himself to his feet and, with unsteady steps, walked towards his office window to gaze out at the busy street below. It was as if his three-year absence from legal practice had never occurred. The staff and his fellow lawyers treated him with the amount of respect due to a decorated war veteran but, other than that, every time he took a step he was reminded of what he had given for his country. Sweat broke out on Sean’s brow. He turned and tottered back to his desk where he opened a drawer to retrieve a bottle of Scotch. He took off the top and gulped down a large mouthful – followed by another. The soothing liquor soon began to flow through him. His reliance on alcohol had been noted by the senior partner of the firm but he had been given some leeway considering this was to be expected of someone who had lost his legs for his country and King.
But this time he was drinking because he felt impotent to stop Giselle Macintosh’s stupid decision. How could he protect the colonel’s interests if his own daughter-in-law was signing away rights to a bastard like George Macintosh? A knock on the door and Sean slipped the bottle back in the drawer.
‘Yes,’ he answered.
‘Major Duffy, a Mrs Macintosh would like to see you,’ a young articled clerk of seventeen said. ‘She does not have an appointment but said it was urgent.’
‘That’s okay, Harry,’ Sean replied. He was annoyed that the young man persisted in using his old military title, but had been informed by his receptionist that the young trainee solicitor idolised him as a war hero. ‘Please show her in.’
Sean wondered at the unexpected appearance of the wife of the man who had virtually robbed his own family. He was curious as to what brought her to see him. When Louise entered the room, he remembered just how beautiful she was.
‘Louise, please take a seat,’ he said without rising, as would be his normal custom.
‘Thank you, Sean,’ she replied. ‘I know my visit is unexpected, but I have learned of my husband’s despicable act.’
‘I presume you mean getting Giselle to sign over the deeds on the house in the event of Alex going west?’ Sean said.
‘Yes,’ Louise answered, folding her hands in her lap. ‘My husband was boasting last night how he was gradually taking his rightful place at the head of the family, and there was no place for fools like his brother to share it. It was then that he told me what he had done.’
Sean shook his head in disgust. It was obvious that the man who had remained behind to manage the family fortune was some kind of mad megalomaniac. ‘I am surprised that you have come here,’ Sean said. ‘Is that not being a disloyal wife?’
‘Wife!’ Louise snorted. ‘A wife according to the law. I have attempted to gain a divorce, but George has threatened to take my son from me, and I know that he is powerful enough to do so. I have no feelings for my husband other than hate and loathing.’ Sean was taken by surprise at her candid confession and left at a loss for words. ‘I am here to explain that my dear friend and sister-in-law signed over the deeds because she had no
real choice. You may not know, but she confided in me that her mother, Karolina Schumann, has been threatened with being arrested as a spy and possibly executed. George claims he has evidence that he would release if Giselle did not sign the papers.’
‘God almighty!’ Sean swore. ‘I hate to say it but your husband is more of a bastard than I gave him credit for. His father and brother are overseas risking their lives, and he skulks back here sitting on his shiny arse, robbing his own family.’
‘Is there anything we can do?’ Louise asked. ‘I could not bear to imagine my dear friend thrown out on the street penniless should anything happen to Alex.’
‘It helps that you sympathise with Giselle’s situation,’ Sean said. ‘I will need time to make a case to break the agreement and at the same time protect the interests of Frau Schumann. It will be like a war fought on two fronts. But for now, all I can say is thank you for your generous help protecting your sister-in-law. Be careful though. George is still your husband and I presume if he found out that you were helping me he might do something rash.’
‘He cannot hurt me anymore,’ Louise replied defiantly. ‘But I fear for my son. I am afraid that he will find a way to take him from me. With that in mind, I have secretly employed the services of a legal firm.’
‘Well, you also have my assistance if you need it,’ Sean offered.
Louise nodded her thanks and rose to her feet. ‘I must excuse myself. I have an appointment to attend the theatre tonight. I have been told it is very good show.’
‘I understand,’ Sean said, this time rising awkwardly behind his desk.
Louise was about to say that he should not bother considering his recent wounds but stopped herself. She could see the gritty determination behind the grey eyes and took Sean’s hand lightly in her own. ‘I hope that we have the chance to meet again in the future, under more pleasant circumstances,’ she said with a warm smile, releasing Sean’s hand.
‘So do I,’ Sean replied. When Louise had gone Sean called for the articled clerk.
‘Yes, Major?’ he asked.
‘I want you to get me a ticket to the theatre for tonight’s performance,’ he said, taking some pound notes from his pocket and passing them to the boy. ‘Bribe the ticket sellers if you have to.’
Sean opened the drawer of his desk to remove the bottle of whisky. He stared at it for a moment and then replaced it unopened back into his drawer, closing it. If nothing else he was getting his confidence back, and the company of a beautiful woman would be a welcome change from the monastic life he was living in his city apartment. That she was the wife of the powerful George Macintosh made the chase even sweeter, he thought, brooding on what lay ahead in both his social and legal worlds. Morality was also a casualty of war and Sean Duffy cared little for the judgments of others. After all, he had lost his legs so why not his moral scruples about courting a married woman?
15
Over the week Karolina had been placed under informal house arrest, the tension between mother and daughter was inevitable. Karolina had reluctantly admitted the circumstances of her arrest after the policeman had conveyed her to the house with instructions that she was not to leave without his permission. For a week mother and daughter avoided the situation until Giselle could no longer control her exasperation.
‘How could you do it?’ she finally asked in her anguish.
Karolina continued with her sewing as they sat in the drawing room of the Macintosh mansion. ‘I was doing my duty to my countrymen and the Kaiser,’ she answered simply.
Giselle stood up and paced the room. ‘Your son-in-law is an officer in his country’s army, and all the time you have been sending information to Germany that could endanger his life. We are fortunate that your activities have been concealed by George or the revelation may have cost you your life – and shame on my husband’s family name.’
Karolina glanced up from her sewing. ‘Because of the actions of the Australians at the outbreak of the war by invading the Fatherland’s territory in the Pacific your own father is dead. Have you even considered that?’ she snapped. ‘Or is your father’s memory nothing to you?’
Giselle slumped into her chair. ‘You know I loved Papa. But his death at native hands is not the fault of the Australians.’
‘You can convince yourself but I was just doing my duty,’ Karolina said, returning to her sewing. ‘As it is, I am a virtual prisoner here and it seems that you and I will just have to learn to get on.’
Giselle stared at her mother sitting so serenely amid the storm of her own doing. How had it come to this? That her beloved mother should become so estranged from her? At least David was still too young to know of his grandmother’s treachery, and Giselle prayed that Alex would never find out. The contract that she had signed depended on her husband returning from the war – otherwise she and her son could find themselves homeless. For a moment she had a fleeting image of Sean Duffy. The poor man bravely struggling to walk with the aid of a cane and the obvious pain in his eyes, not only because of the loss of his legs, but the terrible things he had witnessed. At least Giselle and her mother shared a common love of David. Karolina could not be a more doting grandmother. She would sit by her grandson’s cradle at night and sing to him German lullabies until he drifted off to sleep.
‘You do know that George Macntosh has corrupt policemen working for him,’ Karolina said. Giselle strongly suspected that Alex’s brother was a cold, ruthless man – but corrupt was something else. ‘The policeman who came to arrest me must be working for George, considering the deal you made over the deeds to the house.’
Giselle pondered her mother’s statement and had no reason to think that she might not be right. She had always felt something evil lurked in her brother-in-law’s soul. How could two brothers be so different? But all she could do now was pray that her mother remained safe, and that her beloved husband returned to his family.
‘Mrs Macintosh,’ Angus said quietly from the open door to the drawing room. ‘There are some policemen at the door demanding entry. They say that they have a warrant for the arrest of Mrs Schumann.’
Karolina stopped sewing, looking with fear towards the Scot.
Giselle rose. ‘You must let them in, Mr MacDonald,’ she said, ashen-faced, reaching out to grip her mother’s outstretched hand.
Escorted by Angus, two uniformed policemen entered the room. Although they looked awkward in such palatial surroundings, without any preamble the first of the policemen, a sergeant, looked directly at Karolina. ‘Are you Mrs Karolina Schumann?’ he asked.
‘I am,’ Karolina answered.
‘I have a warrant for your arrest under the enemy aliens act and have been instructed to take you from here to the internment camp at Holdsworthy.’ He then turned to Giselle. ‘Who are you?’ he asked bluntly.
‘I am Mrs Macintosh, and my husband is Major Alexander Macintosh, currently on active service,’ she answered stiffly. ‘You are arresting my mother and I protest at your intrusion.’
‘You can arrange to have your mother’s personal possessions delivered to the camp out at Liverpool,’ he said. ‘I apologise for intruding on your privacy but the warrant was issued this afternoon and all I am doing is my duty, Mrs.’
The police sergeant nodded to Karolina who rose from her chair. Giselle hugged her mother to her before she left and whispered in her ear, ‘I will fight to have you returned home.’
Karolina pushed her away gently. ‘My home is with my people,’ she said sadly. ‘It was inevitable.’
The sergeant took his prisoner by the elbow and gently escorted her from the room. Angus stood by, bristling at the invasion of his house. When Giselle glanced his way she could see that the tough Scot was ready to resist the police. She shook her head, warning him not to put himself in a position where he could be arrested for obstructing the police.
Sitting in an automobile a short distance away in the dark, Detective Inspector Jack Firth watched his men escort Karolina from the house
. Satisfied the arrest had occurred, he only had to telephone Mr George Macintosh to confirm that Karolina Schumann was on her way to the internment camp outside Sydney. When the vehicle conveying her pulled out of the gravel driveway, he put his own car into gear and drove back to his office in the city, where he immediately put through a call to George at his home.
George Macintosh was alone in his library when the call was transferred to him. Satisfied that his plan had worked, he put down the receiver and slumped back in his big leather chair. Had Karolina Schumann fallen into the hands of the intelligence people, she might have spilled the fact that she passed on her smuggled papers to him for transmission to Sweden and it would not take the counterintelligence officers much time to link him to a German spy. George shuddered. He had been named in the honours list for an imperial award and the scandal would have destroyed his scheme to rise to the top of his industry. He smirked. How easy it was to control one’s destiny when one had the brains and instinct for survival. It helped that he had absolutely no conscience or moral scruples.
From down the hallway he could hear his infant son, Donald, crying to be fed and the reassuring footsteps of the nanny going to his nursery. George glanced at the big clock in his office. It was near midnight but there was no sign of his wife. For the past two weeks she had not returned home until the early hours of the morning and then had gone directly to her room. He was sure that she was seeing someone, and had considered that she was attempting to provoke him into a divorce, which he would never give her. She would remain as his dutiful wife to accompany him to the functions he must attend to retain his high profile among those who counted in politics and business. It had occurred to him that he might, one day, throw his hat in the ring for a position in federal politics; he knew he had what it took to run the country.