Alice moved towards her husband and felt a need to possess him. Her want was a composite of love, frailty, and the fear of loss. Her energies simmered beneath the surface, her skin responsive to the most delicate touch or imperceptible breeze. Gently but persuasively, Alice placed her hands on Norman’s chest. She brushed them lightly against the fabric of his shirt, before she removed them to unbuttoning her floral dress. Alice allowed it to fall to the timber boards. The cotton garment floating down, taking inhibitions and shyness with it. She kissed the man she loved gently on the neck and unbuckled his belt. The tempo of their movements increased as the strained emotions of the last few hours reformed into unrestrained passion. Norm frantically removed Alice’s undergarments, and then picked up his wife in one fluid movement. Alice wrapped her slender legs around his waist, while her hands were clasped around his neck. They kissed roughly. Alice’s intensity drove Norman to a frenzy of lust that craved release. They stumbled towards the kitchen wall. Alice sighed as she felt the coldness of the plaster on her back, and moaned in complete submission as her husband entered her. His hips pushed harder as Alice clawed her nails along his shoulder blades. The low rumblings that came from deep within him developed into a ravenous cry as Alice used her entwined legs to meet his every thrust. Alice’s body became rigid, frozen in place at the height of her excitement. She pressed her body closer against his, as every muscle in her body tightened and then shuddered, driving her husband over the edge. He was rendered helpless and under her complete control in one blinding flash of pleasure.
***
‘Oh, hello, said Judith sharply. She placed one hand to her chest while the other clasped the clothes line. The peg that she was about to place fell from her grasp. ‘You gave me a fright.’
‘Sorry,’ said Norm, ‘didn’t mean to sneak up on you.’
‘No, no, not your fault, I was a million miles away… shopping in one of those big stores in Sydney,’ she said with a giggle.
Norm smiled, but didn’t reply immediately His morning had been unscripted, to say the least, and he was not sure how the next scene would play out. ‘Is Reg about?’
‘Yes,’ replied Judith. She noted Norman’s mood. ‘He is over in the shed... doing some work on a plough, I think. Is everything alright?’
‘Yes Jude, I won’t keep him long,’ said Norman as he made his way directly to the structure that housed the machinery, alongside the stable and milking shed.
Reg cursed as the spanner he was using slipped off the nut. It propelled his hand into the solid steel of the plough and skinned his knuckles.
‘Useless prick of a thing,’ yelled Reg.
‘Having some trouble?’ asked Norm from just outside the shed.
Reg kissed his knuckles, thought of something to say and then decided against it. ‘Hello, Norm. Bastard nuts are rusted on.’
‘Try giving it a whack.’
‘Already have. What brings you over this way Norm; I thought you were going over to see Richard and Paul?’
‘I am… eventually. Couple of things came up this morning.’ Norm took a casual look around the shed to give himself the time to gather his thoughts. ‘I’ve got something to tell you, Reg, or ask you, is probably the better way of saying it,’ Norm felt the contradiction in that his wife was not given the same option. ‘So I might as well just come out and say it. How do you feel about running the three places? I want to enlist.’
Reg rose from where he was crouched beside the plough. A range of thoughts passed through his mind. The most prominent being how Norm had been able to get under his guard and declare his intention to fight for his country. The feeling of jealousy that often weakened him crept into his veins.
The sensation had no real right to project itself, for Reg—since the Prime Minister’s speech—had discovered he had no desire to enlist. His energetic assessment of world politics, he realised, was about as far as he wanted to go. The declaration of war had softened his aggressiveness, and led him to his moment with Emily, where he had opened up and revealed some family history she was not aware of. It had felt good at the time—in that moment—but Reg had instantly regretted his actions, and berated himself while he had escaped down one side of the house. The divulging of closely held memories and emotions brought a sense of emasculation. That sensation brought forward a different type of aggressiveness, one of bitterness and malice, which would strive to take hold of the young father.
Confused by his own inadequacies, Reg focused his energies into not being manipulated by his uncle’s steadfast persona. A shrewder person may have welcomed Norm’s announcement, as it tied him to the farm and provided an excuse not to enlist. But Reg was more insidious than clever or intelligent, and he spoke before he collected his thoughts. ‘What about the new block?’
‘I have thought about that,’ replied Norm. He attempted to work on Reg’s ego. ‘But I think the McMillan boys will handle it under your supervision.’
‘I suppose so...’ said Reg. The idea of being in complete charge and out of his uncle’s shadow gave him a thrill that made him feel oddly excited after his initial resentment. ‘Have you said anything to the McMillans?’
‘Of course not, Reg, Alice and you are the only people who know, and Judith, once you speak to her. Richard and Paul are employees, good ones at that, but employees all the same.’
‘How did Aunt Alice take the news?’
‘Upset—at first,’ said Norm humbly, ‘but she is understanding and supportive.’
‘I thought of joining myself,’ said Reg, confident Norm would be resolute in his decision.
‘I didn’t realise...’
‘But then, what would we do with the property?’ asked Reg.
Norm pretended to inspect the plough. He ran his hand along it and allowed Reg’s question to hang in the air for a moment.
‘We...’ started Norm.
If you think the McMillans are up to it, I think I could run the farms,’ interjected Reg. ‘We can’t let the place go backwards after we have worked so hard.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ replied Norm innocently. ‘Well, it’s settled then, you’re the boss now, mate,’ added Norm with an awkward smile, as he reached out to shake Reg’s tentative hand.
‘When will you leave?’
‘Not for a bit. I have to be in Sydney in a few weeks, but if it is alright with you, I would like to go a bit earlier and have a few days with Alice, a sort of holiday before I depart.’
‘Certainly, Norm, whatever you like,’ replied Reg. The enormity of what had just unfolded started to sink in.
‘It will give us a chance to go and see the solicitor and make sure everything is in order.’
‘In order?’ quizzed Reg, without thought.
‘Well... yes, mate,’ replied Norm. He had tried to imply what he would prefer not to say out loud. ‘Just to cover ourselves...’
‘Yes, yes, Norm, sorry,’ said Reg, flustered, ‘you just tell me when.’
‘You have made this easy for me Reg, thanks’ said Norm. ‘I appreciate it.’ The two men shook hands, and then Norm left the shed and passed through the backyard towards the clothesline. The white sheets and pillow cases that Judith had hung out swayed gently in the light breeze, while Judith stood at the kitchen window and watched. Norm passed behind the sheets like an actor may step behind a curtain on stage. Judith was struck by the fluid and almost spiritual transition, and it caused her to pause and think. She craned her neck to catch another glimpse of Norm—but he was gone.
***
‘Hello, dear,’ said Judith, as Reg stormed into the kitchen, chest puffed out and full of bravado. He stopped suddenly near the kitchen table, as if he had forgotten why he had entered in the first place. ‘Have you misplaced something Reg?’
‘Misplaced?’ questioned Reg. He didn’t understand what his wife had said. He looked around the room with a half-smile on his face and then wiped his forehead with the back of hand.
‘You look a little lost, dear
,’ enquired Judith.
‘What on earth are you talking about woman!’ exclaimed Reg. ‘Would you mind making some tea?’
Judith moved towards the stove and thought of asking her husband if he was all right, but decided against it; she chose to remain quiet.
Several minutes of awkward silence passed before Reg suddenly decided to speak.
‘Norm is going to enlist.’
‘Oh, my goodness,’ said Judith. ‘Is that what he came to see you about?’
‘Yes, it was in fact,’ replied Reg, full of self-importance. ‘He feels I can run all three properties. Which, I must say,’ continued Reginald, while he stirred his tea that Judith had placed in front of him, ‘is fateful in its timing, seeing that I was planning to propose a few changes to how things were run anyway.’
‘Oh,’ replied Judith, not sounding as convinced of her husband’s ability as he was . ‘How is Alice?’ she asked.
‘You know he had to talk me around,’ said Reg, completely oblivious to his wife’s question. ‘Not in the question of whether I could handle the role,’ he boasted, while he sipped his tea. ‘Actually, I feel sometimes Norm has tried to hold me back intentionally, worried I might show him up.’
Judith looked at her husband quizzically, and asked her self quickly if he had been drinking, such was his behaviour. But she realised her husband was intoxicated by something else: egotism.
‘No, what I mean is,’ continued Reg—his answer had become a rant—‘he had to convince me not to enlist myself. Norm made a compelling argument that my knowledge and youth would be far better put to use in running the three farms, advancing both our families’ interests.’
‘You were going to enlist Reg?’ asked Judith, ‘I wasn’t aware.’
‘Well of course I was going to enlist and defend my country, Judith,’ exclaimed Reg in a raised voice. ‘Really, woman,’ he scoffed, before he gulped the last of his tea.
From down the hall the baby began to cry. Judith looked in the direction of the sound.
‘Does that baby ever stop crying?’ said Reg. He stood and exited the house without another word.
THIRTY
Margaret Atkins lay in her large bed and stared at the ceiling. With the sheets and quilt pushed to one end, she felt a devilish sense of invigoration, laced with defiance. She rolled onto her side and was captured by the site of the lavender plants in full bloom that grew just outside the bedroom window; the open windows carried their scent along with the already warm air.
While the summers were unbearably hot, and the winters frigid, Margaret had taken to life in Canberra relatively well. Spring and autumn were pleasant, and overall the seasons were not unlike those in her home town of Gilmurra. The attraction of the fledgling national capital was that she wasn’t under the intense scrutiny of the established and prying social clique of Gilmurra. Ironically, she had been a most enthusiastic member of that group, until she had experienced for herself the gavel of country social justice. The withdrawn glances and hurried whispers were her sentence, after stories of her row with Arthur grew their own legs.
New faces, and more importantly to Margaret, more influential faces, meant a fresh start while still having the stability—as artificial as it was—of marriage to a respected member of parliament. Arthur had recently bought a house in the suburb of Manuka, and Margaret had engaged herself in various social and charitable organisations. She had become acquainted with all the right people, and had plenty to keep her busy while her husband fulfilled his duties within his electorate.
Arthur had held his reservations as to her true motivations for joining such organisations. To his eye, Margaret had only ever shown interest in the advancement of one woman, and that was her. If Arthur had cared enough to air his thoughts with Margaret, she would probably even admit it to him, but only him; how her new friends perceived her was far more important than the revelation of hidden traits.
The door to the en-suite slid open. Margaret turned away from the window and faced the figure that stood at the edge of the bed.
‘Do you always have such long showers?’ asked Margaret as she grinned cheekily, while draped over one of the many pillows on the bed.
‘No, my dear, I don’t,’ smiled the young political correspondent, who moonlighted as a tennis instructor, ‘but I needed a moment to regain my strength.’
‘Come back to bed, Lachlan,’ purred Margaret, ‘I haven’t finished with you yet.’
Lachlan Campbell wrote for The Argus in Melbourne, and had developed a reputation for getting scoops in the political arena. His employees on La Trobe Street marvelled at his assumed, but of course unnamed, pool of sources, Margaret Atkins being one.
‘You know, Lachy,’ said Margaret, as she ran a hand over his body, ‘one of the benefits of living in Canberra is that my husband’s electorate is hundreds of miles away, and he loves nothing more than keeping in touch with his loyal voters. It allows me to be with you.’
‘You are a fiend, aren’t you, Margaret?’ said Lachlan playfully, but really believing she was.
‘A desirable one though?’ she suggested.
‘I can’t stay much longer,’ said Lachlan, changing the subject. ‘I have a meeting with Arthur Fadden.’
‘Oh, spare me Lachlan; another boring man on the long and painful list of my husband’s boring friends.’
‘Is your husband close with Fadden?’ asked Lachlan in search of a story; he felt something was amiss within the party that could destabilise and hurt the coalition and help Labor; Campbell’s admiration for Curtin always came through in his articles.
‘You could say...’
‘Did you hear that?’ said Lachlan.
‘Here what?’
‘Sounded like a door.’
‘Nonsense, Lachy,’ said Margaret as she leaned over to kiss his chest, ‘probably the...’
‘Now isn’t this delightful?’ said a calm and measured voice.
‘Oh, my God,’ cried Lachlan. He sat bolt upright while he attempted to gather up the sheets.
‘Arthur!’ cried Margaret, ‘you’re supposed to be...’
‘In my electorate,’ said Arthur helpfully. ‘Hello, Lachlan, fancy seeing you here. The Argus not paying well, or is this research?’ Lachlan Campbell sat beetroot-red, knowing that he would be on the next train to Melbourne. If he was lucky he would retain a job at the paper covering the social pages. Arthur Atkins was a respected man; even his adversaries liked him. Lachlan Campbell wouldn’t get a hello out of a politician now—let alone a comment. ‘No, Margaret, unfortunately for you,’ continued Arthur, ‘the whole team came down with a stomach bug, so we turned around.’
Margaret, also beetroot-red, not from embarrassment, but with fury at being caught out by her publicly adored husband, lay marooned on the little white island of crumpled sheets and pillows, without hope of rescue. ‘Don’t think you will get a divorce, you smug bastard!’ she screamed. Her voice made Lachlan shrink further into the bed. The once cocky journalist wished the mattress would swallow him up before things got worse.
‘Courts don’t look too favourably on adultery, dear.’
‘You might think I am stupid, Arthur, but you need to prove it, and I am sure neither one of us will say anything,’ taunted Margaret.
Arthur stared back calmly; he had seen that look in her eye before.
‘So, try if you will, Arthur.’
‘My dear, you remember Stanton, don’t you, from my office?’ said Arthur. The Member for Colston looked casually out into the living area and gestured in a hurried and encouraging manner to his staffer. The need to maintain dignity—after years of play-acting—left Arthur at that moment, and was replaced by a desire to be in his father’s company, where he could enjoy a quiet beer. Arthur had acknowledged, through his unorthodox act, that his marriage needed to come to an end. ‘Stanton was kind enough to help me with my luggage, Margaret. Now Stanton, you’ve met Mrs Atkins, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the emb
arrassed clerk.
‘And our friend Campbell?’ asked Arthur.
‘Hello, Lachlan.’
‘Well, I am glad that’s settled,’ said Arthur. He smiled at his wife like a man who has been cleared of debt.
‘Get out, get out of this house!’ screamed Margaret. The shrill of her voice caused the journalist to tumble out of bed with fright. He scrambled to his feet, his garments clutched to his chest. Arthur and Stanton stepped politely to one side for the flustered escapee.
‘No, Margaret,’ said Arthur. He resumed his previous position and allowed the uncomfortable Stanton to withdraw. ‘I will take a stroll, not a terribly long one, and when I return, you and whatever you can carry will no longer be here.’
‘What about money?’ cried Margaret pathetically, as Arthur turned and left the room.
‘Telephone your father.’
***
Denman Hill, October 1940
‘I’m in charge of running the properties now,’ barked Reginald. He rose from the lounge and paced towards the windows that overlooked the front paddocks of Denman Hill, ‘or have you forgotten that Alice?’
‘You may be—while Norm is away,’ retorted Alice. A self-assured emphasis on her husband’s name hit Reg as it intended. Her nephew looked down, the grimace ever so slight, but noticeable. Alice felt she had let her emotions get the better of her, something that was easily done in Reg’s presence, and she attempted to brush over her comment. ‘Regardless of who is in charge,’ she said calmly, ‘we are in partnership, and in my role as book-keeper; I need to be able to discuss things with you.’
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