Women and War

by Janet Tanner

  The car purred along the block. Under the railway arch, alongside the high stone parapets golden in the sun and covered with creeper. Tooheys Brewery loomed on the left. Memories. So many memories. But she hardly noticed. He glanced at Margaret who was staring fascinated at the gleaming assortment of bottles and glasses in the miniature bar.

  ‘A pretty child,’ he said, deceptively casual. ‘Yours, I presume.’

  She felt a small chill of fear. He reached out and touched Margaret’s hair. His ringed fingers looked thick and threatening against the soft dark silk.

  ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t want any harm to come to her,’ he said.

  The chill of fear became a river of ice. She pulled Margaret close into the protective circle of her arms. ‘You wouldn’t …’

  He smiled. ‘It must be very difficult for you to protect her all the time. Especially with the sort of life you are leading. Come back to me, Tara, and be sure she grows up into a beautiful young woman.’ He rapped on the smoked glass partition and the car slid to a stop. ‘Think about it. And remember, the more successful you are the more difficult it is to hide.’

  Somehow she had the car door open. Then she was standing on the pavement watching the Cadillac glide away and merge into the traffic in the sunlit street. She was shaking from head to foot. She had always known in her heart Red would come back one day. She had just become complacent about it – it was not possible to live with fear forever. Now he was back and it was not just her who was threatened but Margaret too.

  Stumbling, the child now a dead weight in her arms, she half-ran along the street. Where to go? Where? back to her hotel – would it be safe there? Red did not yet know where she was staying, did he? No, she had a little while. A little respite, but not long – not long …

  By the time she reached the hotel exhausted by physical exertion and fear she knew there was only one person she could turn to. She grabbed the telephone and asked for the call to be put through, then waited trembling and praying that he would be there, that she could reach him.

  An endless wait, a secretary’s modulated tones, and then she heard his voice, wonderfully calming, a rock to cling to in the midst of the torrent of her panic.

  ‘Dev!’ she whispered. ‘Oh Dev, please could you come over? I have to talk to you!’

  And without asking why he gave her his answer.

  ‘Give me five minutes and I’ll be with you, Tara.’

  ‘Well, Tara, I guess you have two choices,’ Dev said.

  As good as his word, it had taken him less than half an hour to reach her. Now he stood, back to the window, in her hotel room while she sat distraught on the edge of the bed. ‘The first is that you do as he asks and go back to him.’

  Her head jerked up. ‘No! I couldn’t do that!’

  ‘It sounds as though he gave you a good life.’

  ‘He’s a hoodlum and a murderer! He had Maggie’s Jack shot in cold blood. I couldn’t!’

  ‘Your other choice is to go back to Richard. You’d be safe with him.’

  She buried her face in her hands. ‘I don’t think he would want me. I’m not sure that he ever did. And besides – what about my commitments? I have signed a contract.’

  ‘These are special circumstances. I’m sure I could talk Duke into releasing you.’

  ‘But I’m due to open at the Capitol tomorrow night. It’s my dream, Dev. The Capitol, Sydney.’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, if you care more for your career than your safety …’

  ‘It’s not my safety I’m concerned about,’ she said impatiently. ‘It’s Margaret’s.’

  ‘Ah-hah. Well then, it’s even simpler. You send Margaret back to Richard.’

  ‘Oh!’ she was almost in tears. ‘I don’t want to part with her, Dev.’

  He pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one.

  ‘Your trouble is you want it all ways, Tara. But life is not like that. You have to make choices. And if Red Maloney is as dangerous as you say he is you had better choose pretty quickly.’

  She sat chewing her lip for a moment then stretched out her hand.

  ‘Can I have one of those cigarettes, please?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘You – a singer – smoking? Now, Tara, I don’t know about that.’

  ‘Don’t moralize with me!’ she snapped. ‘I’m shaking like a leaf, can’t you see that?’

  ‘All right, all right.’ He took out another cigarette, lit it and passed it to her. ‘Here you are. Don’t set yourself on fire.’

  She puffed, coughed as the smoke bit at her throat, and sat for a few moments in silence. Yes, she could see the sense in what he said. She had to make a decision; knew already what it must be. Margaret’s safety must be put first. She could take no risks with that. Red was a ruthless man and he would have no hesitation in carrying out his threats if he was thwarted. But it was hard. Oh God, so hard. To take her back to Richard and his mother. To give her up.

  But it need not be for long, she told herself. Just long enough for Red to forget about her …

  ‘I haven’t time to take her,’ she said, pressing her hands together to keep them from trembling. ‘ I wouldn’t be back in time to open.’

  ‘Your nanny could take her.’

  ‘Yes, but suppose Red …’

  ‘I’ll take them to the station,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t know me. Or the nanny. And it’s unlikely he would recognize Margaret.’

  ‘No, but …’

  ‘And I’m sure he won’t expect you to act so quickly. Pack her things, Tara. Now.’

  ‘Oh Dev …

  He crossed to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. It felt good and reassuring.

  ‘She’ll be all right,’ he said. ‘She will be safe in Melbourne.’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘All right, I’ll do it.’

  She stood up, turned to him and felt his arms go around her. She clung to him, needing him more than she had ever needed him, wanting to lose herself in the safety of his embrace.

  ‘All I ever seem to be is a present help in time of trouble,’ he said ruefully.

  ‘Not this time,’ she whispered. ‘You are, of course, but you’re more too, much more than that.’

  He held her a moment longer then put her gently away from him.

  ‘Later, Tara. For now there is no time to waste. Pack Margaret’s things. And tell your nanny to pack hers.’

  ‘Yes, Dev,’ she said obediently.

  Chapter Two

  Alys took the sleek bay and rode out across the Buchlyvie paddocks in search of John.

  Impossible almost now to see any signs of the ten year drought which had almost desolated the land. The rains had come again on the very day that the Japanese surrender was signed and the withered grass and the dry brown trees had responded by growing with fresh green vigour. Now, the pastures were rich again, the creeks brimming with clear bubbling water, the sky clean washed blue and silver. Peace had returned to Australia and Buchlyvie was prosperous and happy once more.

  Well, prosperous, anyway. For the rest …

  Alys saw the lonely figure dark against the skyline and headed the bay in his direction. God, but the bunnies were having a feast out here, she thought, riding through close-cropped patches. But today she had more important matters than the wretched rabbits on her mind. Today, she had something to talk to John about – and urgently.

  He raised his head at her approach, putting down the hammer he had been using to repair fences and pushing his hat to the back of his head.

  ‘What brings you out here, Alys? I thought you were knee deep in accounts. He took in her serious expression and his own face became serious. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I have just had a call from Richard Allingham.’

  ‘Oh.’ He picked up the hammer and took a healthy swing at one of the posts. ‘What did he want.’

  ‘He has a big problem. He wants our help.’

  ‘And what can we do to help Richard Allingham?’

  �
��He wants us to have Margaret for a while.’

  ‘What on earth for? I thought she was with her mother.’

  ‘Yes, well, it’s a long story …’ Alys dismounted and stood holding the bay by the reins while she explained. As she finished John’s lips pursed into a silent whistle.

  ‘Tara is a girl of many surprises, I’ll say that for her.’

  ‘Trouble certainly seems to follow her around.’ Momentarily, there was a faraway expression in Alys’ eyes. ‘Anyway, the point is Richard is afraid this Red character might trace Margaret to his home. The Allinghams are fairly prominent after all. So he is asking if we would be prepared to have her out here for a little while.’

  ‘And what did you say?’ John asked.

  ‘That I’d have to ask you, of course.’

  ‘Hmm. If it were left to you what would you say?’ His eyes were shrewd.

  ‘I’d say yes. She’s a lovely child; she’d be no trouble at all, especially with her nanny to look after her. And if we can do something to help.’

  ‘Yes.’ There was a wry note to the monosyllabic reply and she looked at him sharply.

  ‘Why did you say it like that?’

  He did not answer her directly. ‘Look, Alys you’re the one who will be most affected by this. If you think you can cope with having a baby here then just go ahead and say yes. It makes no difference to me.’

  She felt a fly tickle her cheek and brushed it away.

  ‘You said once that you didn’t think you could stand having children at your age.’

  ‘You make me sound like a grumpy old man!’ he laughed. ‘No, what I said was I didn’t think I wanted to start a family of my own again but since you are not able to have a baby that doesn’t arise. No, looking after someone else’s child is something quite different. It’s for a limited time and you know you can always hand her back.’

  ‘True. Though, quite honestly, I think I could become so attached to Margaret I wouldn’t want to hand her back. She’s so beautiful and sweet and she’s …’

  ‘Richard’s,’ he said. She glanced up at him and caught the look in his eyes. Half sad, half knowing. ‘That makes her special, doesn’t it, Alys?’

  She felt the colour rise in her cheeks and turned quickly to the bay, rubbing his coarse velvet nose in the hope that John would not notice.

  ‘What a funny thing to say! Richard is a good friend, of course …’

  ‘Of course.’ His tone was dry. ‘Yes, well, if it will help out tell them we’ll have Margaret here for as long as is necessary.’

  ‘Thanks, Oh – what time will you be in for supper?’

  ‘The usual time I should think. Make it a good feast. I’m starving.’

  ‘Right.’ The moment had passed. She remounted the bay and kicked him to a canter. But as she rode her mind was whirling and her hands trembled slightly on the reins.

  He knew. He knew the way she felt about Richard. How could she have hoped to keep it from him? God what a mess!

  The pastureland was eaten up by the flying hooves of the bay and still the thoughts whirled round Alys’ head. She loved Richard. It was true. From the first moment they had met she had known he could be special to her, the one person who could stir in her the feelings she had experienced for Race – and make her forget the tragic ending to that affair. But he had belonged to Tara. Now it seemed that marriage was all but over. If she was free they could have found happiness together, perhaps. But she was not free. She was committed to John. And she would never do anything to hurt her husband.

  That much, at least, she owed him.

  Tara came offstage with the deafening applause ringing in her ears. She had made it. A rave success at the Capitol, Sydney. Everything she had ever dreamed of. But there was a hollowness deep inside her that she could not for the moment identify and when she did, wished she had not.

  ‘Dev, I’m scared,’ she said.

  He had been in the dressing-room waiting for her, not a cramped shared dressing-room now but her own, equipped with a washbasin, easy chairs and a couch and with her shimmering, glitteringly glamorous dresses hanging beneath a plastic cover on a rail in the corner.

  ‘Why scared?’ He was stretched out in one of the easy chairs, smoking. ‘Scared is what you should be before a performance. You’ve finished now and you were a great success.’

  ‘I’m scared because of Red,’ she said.

  She sat down in front of the brightly lit mirror and began wiping off her make-up with wads of cotton wool and Leichner cream. As the greasepaint came off the pallor of her face was obvious.

  ‘Relax,’ Dev said. ‘You’ve not heard any more of him, have you?’

  ‘No, and that’s why I’m scared. He doesn’t give up easily, Dev. He’s not that sort of man.’

  ‘Look, be reasonable.’ Dev stubbed out his cigarette. ‘What can he do?’

  ‘I don’t know. Anything. Red can do anything.’

  ‘Correction. He used to be able to do anything. But he’s not the man he was. He’s been in prison for years. Others have taken up the reins of power. All Red Maloney is now is a lot of empty threats.’

  She shook her head. ‘He’s dangerous. Maybe even more dangerous if he feels weak. I know him. I lived with him, remember?’

  A wry smile twisted Dev’s mouth. ‘How did you explain him to Richard, I’d like to know.’

  She avoided the question. ‘There’s only one way I’ll ever feel safe from Red – when he is lying under six feet of earth.’

  ‘So – employ a hit man.’

  Her eyes flicked up, full of horror, to meet his in the mirror.

  ‘You’re not serious!’

  He lit another cigarette. ‘ Why not?’

  ‘Because it would make me no better than him, that’s why not! Killing is a mortal sin.’

  He laughed. ‘Still the good Catholic girl, in spite of everything. Well, if you won’t employ a hit man you could always say a few rosaries.’

  She tossed aside the used wad of cotton wool.

  ‘You don’t understand, Dev. He’s ruthless.’

  He stood up and came across to her, putting his cigarette down in the ashtray on her make-up table and placing his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘He’s just a man, Tara. Only a man.’ He was massaging gently, easing the tension out of her. ‘Do you want to go somewhere to eat first or shall we go straight home?’

  She sat quite still. His touch was arousing her as well as relaxing her, stirring the longing to have his arms around her, his body close to hers. That way and that way alone she could feel safe, losing herself and her fears in his strength.

  She looked up and saw his reflection in the mirror, his swarthily dark face, his eyes brightly dangerous, desiring her, his mouth – the mouth that could make her forget everything else – twisted into a half-smile. She looked at his hands, still spreading and kneading her shoulders, the fingers square and strong, and the need was suddenly a fire in her. No one had ever made love to her the way Dev did. Not Red, experienced and generous though he had been; certainly not Richard, always restrained, always too much of a gentleman to satisfy her totally. But Dev – oh Dev. He had never disappointed her. How was it that men could perform more of less the same actions and yet make it so different? She did not know – or care very much. Only that Dev could make her forget all her fears and worries for a while, lose her in a maze in a strange land where only the responses of her body and his were important.

  ‘Which is it to be then?’ Dev asked.

  In the mirror her eyes met his. She put her hands up to cover his, feeling the tiny pinpoints of fusion spark between them like bare electric wires.

  ‘Just for the moment I don’t want to do either,’ she said.

  She stood up, crossed to the door and slid the bolt home. Then she went to the couch, sat down on it and held her arms out to him, knowing that for a while at least the menace that was Red Maloney would be pushed away to the fringes of her consciousness.

  In t
he big double bed she shared with John, Alys lay tautly awake, every nerve strained and listening. Beside her John’s breathing was still deep and even, interspersed with small comfortable snores, and the warmth of his body glowed out towards Alys beneath the cool cotton sheets. A pleasant sensation. Sometimes when she could not sleep she curled herself around his back enjoying the contact and the knowledge that he, at least, was at peace with the world. Maybe he did know of her deep secret feelings for Richard but at least he did not let them disturb him unduly. He was too wise, too well adjusted for that. Jealousy was for younger, less self-assured men.

  But tonight there was no comfort to be drawn from his sleeping body. Tonight, Alys was barely even aware of it. Her own nerves were too tightly drawn, her instincts too busy telling her something was wrong.

  What had woken her? She did not know. Some small unconscious part of her remembered a sound that had jarred, something that should not have been, but now all was silence and she did not know what it was. A door slamming somewhere? The creak of a floorboard? I don’t know. I don’t know. But something … it was something …

  A soft scuffling noise made her tense and she shot up in bed.

  ‘John. John!’

  But still his breathing was deep and even. Her hand hovered over his shoulder then, on the point of waking him, she hesitated. Perhaps she was just imagining things.

  ‘I’ll look in on Margaret and see that she is all right,’ she thought.

  She got out of bed padding barefoot across the rugs which covered the polished board floor and went down the landing towards Margaret’s room. A nightlight was burning there, bathing the room in a soft rosy glow. Alys crossed to the cot and looked in.

  Margaret was sleeping as peacefully as John. Her curls were dark against the pillow; one small chubby hand lay on top of the covers, the other was bunched defensively against her cheek.

  A smile curved Alys’ mouth. It was the nanny’s day off and she had put Margaret to bed herself tonight, bathing her and revelling in the sweetness of her firm pink body, tickling her toes as she dried them in the downy-soft towel and tweaking each one in turn: ‘This little piggy went to market; This little piggy stayed at home …’