And Fire Falls (22 page)

He walked away to find a quiet place to read. Sean relayed the usual news, but then David came to a paragraph that caused him to catch his breath. Sean informed him that Sarah had married Charles Huntley in a rather quickly arranged wedding ceremony. Sean offered his opinion that it was a ‘shotgun wedding’ because of the haste to the altar. However, Sir George was said to be pleased with the marriage and had shifted most of his shares to them both as a wedding present. David hardly took in the rest of the letter.

*

Sean Duffy sat at the edge of the bed he shared with Louise. It was in the early hours of the morning and the sun would rise in a few hours. Tears streamed down his face as he watched her sleep, knowing that her life was now counted in weeks or days. The terrible disease was already taking its toll. Her curvaceous body was becoming skeletal and her face drawn. He knew she was in pain but she did not complain.

He stroked her hair as she slept fitfully. ‘Why could it not be me?’ Sean begged any god prepared to hear his plea. He had lost his belief in a loving God in the trenches of the Western Front when he heard young soldiers crying out for their mothers in their last agonised moments on earth. How could God allow such misery to fall upon His creation? His question was as old as religion itself and all he could do was watch helplessly as the woman he loved most in this world slowly died before him.

‘Sean?’ Louise asked in the dark. ‘Are you crying?’

Sean wiped his face with the back of his hand. ‘No,’ he lied. ‘You should go back to sleep, my darling.’

‘I am awake now,’ Louise said. ‘What time is it?’

‘I don’t know. Sometime after midnight.’

‘I was dreaming that Sarah had come to me,’ Louise said sadly. ‘When she did I looked into her eyes and suddenly saw George instead. I suppose my dream became a nightmare.’

Sean placed his hand over hers and felt how fragile it was. ‘I’m sure she will come to see you again,’ he said reassuringly.

‘I don’t think so,’ she sighed. ‘She is her father’s daughter and I think I’ve known that since she was old enough to talk.’

‘You have Donald,’ Sean said. ‘I know he loves you deeply.’

‘I also have your love,’ Louise said. ‘You will never know how much that has meant to me.’

Sean could feel her gently squeeze his hand and the tears fell harder. He continued to stroke her hair until she once again slipped into a morphine-induced sleep to dream, and then Sean Duffy cried like a child for what he knew was to come. How could it be that he had survived a war only to lose his peace?

21

S
ergeant Jessica Duffy loved her work. The twelve-hour shifts passed in a flash as she encoded and transmitted the messages from overseas filtered to her for the RAAF. She had been allocated a billet with three other girls from her section in a leafy Brisbane suburb overlooking the river, under the strict eye of a motherly widow whose husband had been killed in the last war.

The members of her unit sharing the house were picked up and dropped off after each shift by a staff car, and on occasion they had even bumped into General MacArthur himself in the corridors of the Brisbane HQ. Their social life was restricted by the long hours of work, but the four girls were able to enjoy rare evenings off, attending dances in town where they mixed mostly with American servicemen. Jessica found herself becoming friends with the woman she sat closest to in the office, Petty Officer Marion Bridges. Marion’s father was serving on an Australian warship in the Pacific, while Jessica’s father was serving with the army in New Guinea. Both were concerned about the two men they loved and were able to share their concerns with each other.

Jessica was at her post on a sunny spring day when she was approached by Captain Mark Carr.

‘Sergeant Duffy,’ he said, standing over her as she sat sorting communiqués. ‘One of the girls in our overseas section has reported sick and we need an urgent replacement. I suppose getting pregnant can be classed as getting sick.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Jessica answered. ‘Do you wish me to fill in?’

‘Correct,’ Carr said. ‘Her station is upstairs, and my counterpart there can brief you. I have assured them that you are suitably cleared for the post.’

Jessica cleared her section of the table and reported to her new department on the seventh floor, just a level below General MacArthur. She had heard rumours about the mysterious section of intelligence people up on the seventh level. The joke went that if you were sent to work there you were never seen again. It was said in jest, but as Jessica stood before the unmarked door guarded by two smartly dressed American soldiers with pistols on their hips, she felt extremely apprehensive. Perhaps it was because of the unusually serious tone Captain Carr had used when he’d spoken to her.

The door opened and Jessica was struck by the fact that there were also two fully armed soldiers just inside. She could see that they were military police and were carrying both Tommy guns and pistols. Maybe the rumours said in jest were true! One of the armed men carefully examined her papers before issuing an order to open the door.

She was met by an American colonel with thin grey hair, and from his insignia she could see that he was an intelligence officer. Behind him were only a handful of personnel, and most were not wearing military uniform. The room was divided by partitions and it was unusually quiet compared to the unit she had just left.

‘You are Sergeant Duffy?’ the colonel asked, holding out his hand for her identification papers. He scrutinised them with a stony expression. ‘Come with me,’ he directed, and Jessica followed. Her suspicions that this was no ordinary posting were being confirmed. He led her to an office, also guarded by a clean-cut, broad-shouldered young man who did not wear a military uniform but had a pistol tucked in a shoulder holster. She glanced at him and thought that he smiled back at her, but she entered the office before she could be sure.

‘Take a seat,’ the colonel said and pulled a cigar from a drawer in his desk. ‘You are not here by accident, Sergeant Duffy,’ he said, lighting and puffing on the cigar, filling the room with smoke.

‘Captain Carr recommended you to us. This position is normally for an officer but I have been informed your record in this field of codes is impeccable. I am also aware of your past as a missionary nun who escaped the Japs. You may not have been aware of it but you have been under tight scrutiny since you were sent to us, and reports back have convinced our intelligence people that you are discreet. In all, you seem to have the right stuff for an appointment here.’

Jessica did not think that she was exceptional, but hearing this from a high-ranking American officer made her feel less nervous about being in this almost sinister office. ‘I will do my best, sir,’ she replied.

‘If it was my choice, I wouldn’t have Aussies in my department, but Mac and your prime minister insist that your country have a representative in here. From what I have read of the vetting on you, you should have been commissioned. I see that you went to college and hold a bachelor’s. I have also been informed that your father is an Aussie sergeant serving in New Guinea, and that you come from money.’ Jessica wondered at the amount of knowledge this American officer had about her. ‘So, welcome to the most secret secret in this war.’

Jessica sat stunned by this welcome, but she could see the hint of a smile on the American colonel’s face.

‘Before you take up your post you will be required to sign some papers additional to those your country has made you sign. You might call them contracts, except the consequence of breaking these contracts could mean you disappear permanently. Are you prepared to put your life on the line for your country? There will be changes to the way you live.’

Now Jessica’s head was swirling with a thousand questions, and even a few fears. She could see that the colonel was not joking about ‘disappearing’. Had that been the fate of the girl she was obviously replacing in this enigmatic and dangerous department? Had she breached her ‘contract’? Was her being pregnant just a made-up story? Jessica took a deep breath and realised that her hands were sweating.

‘If this posting means I am able to contribute to the war effort more effectively, I do not hesitate in accepting, whatever terms it requires.’

‘Good,’ the colonel said. He pushed a folder across to Jessica; it had her name and rank on the cover page. ‘There is an empty desk outside my office that belonged to your predecessor. Read this carefully and put your signature on the places flagged,’ he said. ‘When you have done that, report to me again.’

Jessica stood and saluted the American officer who barely took any notice of her military protocol. The desk was very bare, with only two pencils and pad of blank paper. When she sat down she noticed the young civilian man with the exposed pistol watching her.
Oh my God!
she thought with a shock. She knew his face. He had been at a dance weeks earlier in a club in town where American servicemen gathered. But he had been in the uniform of an American air force sergeant. She had found him attractive, but when he had starting asking probing questions about what she did in her service, she had found an excuse to leave his company. Now he was actually smiling at her openly as he realised that she had recognised him. Jessica ignored him, and read the papers carefully, signing where necessary. The contract left her in no doubt that she would be in a great deal of trouble should she speak of her current posting and what it involved. She stood and turned to walk back to the colonel’s office.

The mysterious civilian was still standing beside the door. He was a man of average height but with broad and muscled shoulders. She could see his powerful biceps bulge from under the short-sleeved shirt he wore. He appeared to be of Latin heritage with olive skin, dark curly hair and brown eyes.

‘So, have you decided to join this outfit?’ he said quietly.

‘I have,’ Jessica answered, knocking on the office door.

‘Come in,’ the colonel bawled and Jessica stepped inside, passing the sheaf of papers to him. He flicked through the completed forms and placed them on his desk, glancing up at Jessica with a grim smile. ‘Welcome to the world of top-secret codes, Sergeant Duffy.’

*

The wedding in early October had been a quiet affair but it received a generous spread in the social pages, with no mention of the bride and groom’s haste to the altar. Sarah had informed her new husband that they would be living at her family home and Charles had not argued.

He had been granted some time off from his government job and one evening as Sarah undressed for bed he raised the idea of a belated honeymoon. He felt sure she would jump at the chance of getting away from the city for a while.

‘We don’t have time for a honeymoon,’ Sarah said, slipping under the silk sheet. ‘My pregnancy will start to show before too long and none of those old stuffy shirts on the board will approve of a pregnant woman working beside them. After all, a woman’s place is in the kitchen.’

‘Well, I have to agree,’ Charles said, missing the sarcasm in Sarah’s words. ‘You have to take care of our baby when it arrives.’

‘If I give up my place in the company now, Donald will take complete control, and I doubt there will be a place for me after the baby is born.’

‘There is nothing you can do about that,’ Charles said.

‘There is – if you take my place for me,’ Sarah said. ‘You can resign from your government job and take my place in the family business. After all, you are now Sir George Macintosh’s son-in-law and that has prestige.’

‘But if I resign I could be conscripted into the armed forces,’ Charles protested. ‘I could be sent overseas. That will help nothing.’

Sarah looked scornfully at her husband. She had not considered this ramification of resigning from a job considered vital to the war effort. She could see that the prospect of going to war frightened her husband, and that made her feel disdainful of him. She thought of David with a pang; he, she knew, was brave and was prepared to lay down his life for his country.

She did not love him at all and even on the day of the wedding Allison had taken her aside before the ceremony and asked about David. As only a best friend could know Allison had been party to Sarah’s expressed desires for her cousin. Sarah had quickly declared that she had not loved David but had experienced a girlish infatuation for him. Allison had stared at Sarah and said quietly. ‘You’re pregnant. Is it David’s child?’

Sarah had not answered, saved by the officiating minister calling them to enter the church as the groom had arrived. Sarah accepted that Charles had been her only option if she was to avoid bringing scandal on the family name. He was at least wealthy and well-connected, and had proved to be easily manipulated too. Now she required him to counter Donald when she would be temporarily out of the business world. Her husband’s cowardice would not prevent this.

‘I think my father could have your position in the business classified as an essential service,’ Sarah said. ‘If Donald has been able to avoid being called up, I am sure the same can be done for you.’

‘You do realise that my current position in the government has allowed your family to tap into very generous government contracts,’ Charles said.

‘And you have been rewarded for doing that service,’ Sarah said.

Charles glanced at Sarah. He was beginning to suspect that she was more interested in the family business than their relationship. ‘I will speak with some people I know in the government,’ he said. ‘If they can assure me that a position with your family business will allow me exemption from conscription I will resign. I will take your place for now, but in the future I intend to run for a seat in parliament and expect you and your family to back me.’

‘Having you in parliament might prove a great asset,’ Sarah mused. ‘I will speak to my father.’

Charles reached over to turn off the bedside light. He did so with an even stronger feeling that his place in the family was definitely at the lowest level.

*

Spring had established itself in the southern hemisphere with flowers and a new burst of life. However, sitting in the hospital ward late in the afternoon, holding the hand of Louise Macintosh, Sean Duffy could feel the brush of death close by. The cancer had gripped his love faster than he could have imagined, and the once beautiful woman was a skeleton lying back against the clean sheets. Her face was gaunt and her eyes had shrunk back into their sockets. Her skin was like a transparent thin sheet, and she hardly had the strength to speak. Thankfully, the morphine dulled her pain, otherwise Sean didn’t think he could bear her suffering.

‘She has not come to see me,’ Louise whispered and Sean leaned forward to hear her. ‘I was not even invited to her wedding.’

‘There is nothing I can say about Sarah,’ Sean said. ‘I tried to contact her. Donald will visit tonight when he finishes work. He is a good son.’

Louise attempted to squeeze Sean’s hand. He could feel the slight pressure. ‘We should have married,’ she sighed. ‘Then I would have been able to divest myself of the cursed Macintosh name.’

‘If we had married perhaps we would not have had as much fun as we have,’ Sean attempted to laugh. ‘Living in sin is something us Irish Papists understand. We are born with guilt and come to embrace it so we have something to confess to the priests.’

Louise smiled. ‘One of the best things in my life has been knowing your love. I’m sure God will understand that.’

Sean lifted her frail hand and kissed it gently. Around them nurses tended to the other patients. Sean could see from the shadows that the sun had set, and lights were already being turned on in the ward. He had been at Louise’s side for the last six hours as she slipped in and out of consciousness. The nurses had been kind and had not insisted on visiting hours. They, too, knew their patient was in her last hours of life. They had ensured that a partition was pulled into place to give the dying woman some privacy.

Louise had fallen asleep again but Sean kept hold of her hand. He was cursing inwardly that Donald had not yet arrived to be with his mother, and when he glanced up at the clock high on the wall he could see it was now seven-thirty.

‘Is that you, Donald?’ Louise said, awaking from her drug-induced slumber.

‘No, but I am still here, my darling,’ Sean said, gently brushing back a wisp of her hair from her forehead.

‘Tell Donald that I love him,’ Louise said. She closed her eyes and her breathing became shallow. Sean held her hand for a long time until he could no longer see her breast rise and fall. He sobbed silently, tears flowing until he could cry no longer.