Every night she prayed that Hal would survive undamaged in body and mind. He had been OK the last time she’d heard from him, although from what he hadn’t said she understood his experiences had been on the high side of unbearable.
She found it hard to imagine what the world would be like when the war was over. She also wondered, as she had when he’d been at Oxford, whether the years might not have changed him. Some experiences were bound to change any man, and she prayed about that too – that the man who came back would be a man she could still love. A man who, after all the years of blood and iron, could still love her.
In the meantime, her lunch with Arthur the following week would present its own challenges, and not just for her. Dad and Jess would also be involved.
She met Arthur in a restaurant on the edge of town. It had black-painted window frames and a striped awning over the front door and when she went in she found most of the tables occupied.
Arthur was sitting in a far corner and she went to join him. He looked grey and frail, as though a gust of wind might blow him away, yet his eyes were as bright as ever.
He stood up as Shannon came to the table; he had always had beautiful manners. They sat down and he signalled to the waitress. She came across and he asked Shannon what she would like to drink.
‘Nothing. Anything. I don’t drink much.’
He ordered a bottle of red wine.
‘Milford Estate Shiraz,’ he said. ‘I find as I grow older I have acquired a taste for it.’
The waitress brought the wine. He tasted it, nodded approvingly, and she filled their glasses. Shannon took a sip. Not too bad, she supposed. If you were a wine lover.
They ordered and she saw that the menu was far more extensive than anything you would find in Proserpine, or at the recreation centre, come to that.
Fillet of beef, ocean trout, chicken in a red wine sauce… Where could they get such supplies?
Arthur read her thoughts. ‘The Americans believe in feeding their officers well.’
Shannon looked at the other diners. Not a uniform in sight. ‘These people aren’t army.’
Arthur smiled but did not answer her directly. ‘The American influence will be very important after the war,’ he said. ‘As hoteliers, it will be up to us to raise our standards. That is why I want you to join me. I wish to restore to the Regency the reputation it once had. Did I ever tell you it once hosted royalty?’
‘I believe I did hear something about it,’ Shannon said.
‘So what do you say? Will you come and help me get the old lady back on her feet?’
Old lady? Shannon thought. But Arthur had always had a curiously formal way of speaking, as though he were still living in the days when the archduke had visited Airlie Beach.
‘I’ll have to speak to my boss. Hank Rankin can be tough and I can’t guarantee he’ll let me go.’
Arthur was tucking into his chicken schnitzel. ‘Have a word with him and let me know,’ he said.
Hank’s robust presence filled the room, as it always did, yet Shannon got on well with him. She’d made use of him, too: everything she knew about hotel management she had learnt from him. Learnt about the need for toughness, too.
Nice guys don’t make the big bucks. It was Hank’s motto.
Now he stared at her and his eyes were hard. ‘You telling me you wanna cut and run. That what you’re saying?’
‘Arthur thinks the war’s just about won. He wants me to help him get the Regency up to speed.’
‘I know what he wants. What about what I want? What about the tens of thousands of troops who’ll still be going from here straight into Nip Land? And come back? What about them?’
Shannon was silent.
‘That’s gonna be the biggest bloodbath this world has ever seen. It could take forever. Our boys, the ones that come through, gotta have somewhere to revive them when they come out of the line. And you plan to walk away and let them get on with it?’
‘I was asking. Just asking.’
‘Sure you were.’ He was chewing on something as he stared at her: his thoughts, perhaps. ‘You’re a worker, I’ll give you that. You done well with us. And your friend Arthur’s got the right idea: planning for peace. He’s thinking ahead. I like that. Leave it with me,’ he said. ‘I’ll see what I can come up with.’
‘And in the meantime?’
‘We got work to do. Let’s get on with it.’
‘He’s thinking about it,’ Shannon said. ‘Said he’ll get back to me.’
It had gone better than she’d expected but Arthur was impatient to get on. ‘What’s there to think about?’
‘He’s making a point. He’s telling me he runs the show and not me.’
‘Couple of weeks,’ Hank said. ‘Gimme a couple of weeks. I’ll have someone to take your place by then. And I don’t want to stand in your way.’
‘You’re a mate,’ Shannon said.
‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ said Hank, but smiled as he said it.
‘End of the month,’ Shannon said on the phone. ‘Expect me on April Fool’s Day. Let’s hope it’s not an omen.’
‘That is very good news,’ Arthur said. ‘I shall write and thank Mr Rankin for his consideration. As for your arriving on April Fool’s Day, I should tell you I have never taken any account of these foolish superstitions.’
Jess
There were days when Jess felt she was wandering in a desert. No past she wanted to remember; no prospects of anything worth having in the future.
She would never forget that meeting with her mother on the Shute Harbour jetty but knew there was nothing there for either of them, nothing but shame and the hurt of a child abandoned by the woman she had trusted above all others.
The one-night stand she’d had with Denzil Stone was a stain on her memory, too: an episode so quickly over that she’d hardly had time to register it was happening, a frustrating and painful business that had left her feeling defiled. Worse than that: ashamed, because she knew it would not have happened had she made any effort to prevent it. What made it even worse was that she’d heard later that Denzil had been boasting to his mates how easy she’d been.
She remembered a girl who’d thrown herself under a southbound lorry just out of town. It wasn’t a hard thing to do, once you’d made up your mind.
She wondered what it must feel like to see the front wheels of the lorry in the moments before it struck you, knowing it was too late to change your mind. She wondered if the girl had had a split second in which to regret it.
There were nights when Jess went to bed half-hoping she wouldn’t wake in the morning. Half-hoping: she wasn’t sure even of that, but watched the speeding trucks on the highway and knew she would never have the guts to do what that girl had done.
Useless, she thought. Useless even for that.
She’d moved down to Mackay when she’d left school at eighteen. Now, with Shannon tied up at the recreation centre, it was just Jess and Dad, with Dad dying a little more every day and a future devoid of purpose or hope.
‘I wish I’d never been born,’ she told her reflection in the mirror.
Three days later she met Luke Makepeace at a friend’s house.
She’d been invited to a party and had accepted only with misgivings, but with Dad sick all the time she reckoned she deserved a break.
As soon as she got there she knew she’d made a mistake, finding herself surrounded by adults trying to pretend they were teenagers. She slung back a couple of drinks from an array of bottles Corinne had got from who knew where and listened to Glen Miller on the gramophone. The mob was yowling all round her, making her want to scream. There was nothing for her there, and she was thinking of sneaking off home when she saw him. A man who was a man and not a boy, somewhere in his late twenties, tall, with dark hair and eyes.
He saw her the same moment she saw him, and the next minute they were like homing pigeons, making their way towards each other through the elbows and shrieks that all of
a sudden had become irrelevant.
His name was Luke Makepeace. He had blue eyes and a strong, well-made face.
‘You in the services?’
‘They wouldn’t have me. I’m running the family’s fertiliser plant outside Shute Harbour. Reserved occupation.’
‘Lucky for you.’
‘I’m not so sure. I feel like a draft dodger.’
‘Except that you’re not.’
‘Except that I’m not.’
Surreptitiously they checked each other out while having a drink.
‘You stay around here?’ he said.
‘In Willis Street. Near that American club that used to be the Grand Hotel.’
‘The Americans seem to be everywhere,’ he said with what might have been resentment.
Jess had heard that a lot of Aussie men felt upstaged by the Yanks but she thought how they’d helped Shannon to get ahead. ‘I don’t mind them myself,’ she said. ‘My sister works at that club.’
Later he walked her back to the cottage. The streets were quiet, with no one about and no cars or trucks either. Neither of them had much to say yet it seemed they’d talked a lot, just by walking side by side down the empty street.
Outside the cottage door Luke looked at her. ‘You got a phone number?’
‘Yes.’
The Americans had put one in, in case they ever needed Shannon in a hurry. She gave him the number and two days later he phoned her.
‘You free to have tea with me tomorrow night?’
‘I can’t. I’ve got my dad to look after,’ she said. ‘He’s sick and can’t be left for long.’
‘That’s a pity.’
Jess thought a moment. ‘Why don’t you come around to the cottage and I’ll cook something for us?’
‘And your father?’
‘Confined to his room. He won’t even know you’re here unless I tell him.’
‘And will you? Tell him, I mean?’
‘I’ll think about it. You haven’t said whether you’re coming or not.’
‘I will be delighted.’
‘Then think about it I will.’
‘What will you use for food? You want me to bring something? Or have you found a way to dodge the rationing?’
Jess laughed. ‘I’ll see you at seven.’
She phoned Shannon and explained the situation.
‘You want me to steal some stores for you?’ Shannon said.
‘Naturally I intend to pay for them.’
‘With what?’
‘Promises.’ Jess laughed.
She heard her own laugh, bright and clear. It occurred to her it was one of the few times since that meeting with Grace that she’d laughed and meant it.
‘I’ll see if I can organise something,’ Shannon said. ‘I’ll take it out of my pocket and you can repay me when you can.’ A momentary pause. ‘You’re brave, aren’t you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Cooking a meal for someone you fancy. What if you poison him?’
‘Who says I fancy him?’
‘I can hear it in your voice. Be careful, won’t you?’
‘Like you were with Hal?’ Again Jess laughed.
‘I never pretended to be a chef.’
‘I’m not pretending to be one, either.’
But I intend to become one. Because she knew now that was her ambition, to be not merely a good chef but a great one. How she was to achieve that she had no idea, but the ambition and determination were set in stone. Regardless of how the rest of the evening worked out, this meal for Luke Makepeace would be the first step along that road.
A carton of goodies from the recreation centre turned up mid-morning and she got to work.
At six o’clock she took Dad his supper. He could still talk to some extent, he could still hear, but how much he understood of what she was telling him she could never be sure.
One thing was definite: the paralysis had spread to his hands and he could no longer grip a spoon or fork. She had to feed him and it was not an easy business. Had to do other things for him, too, and that was not easy or pleasant, either, yet she did them patiently and with a measure of love that once she could not have imagined. She did all these things out of duty but with tenderness, too. His helplessness had put a chain on her life yet she did not resent it, any more than she resented Shannon’s commitments at the recreation centre that placed most of the burden on her. It was part of her life and she accepted it. With love all things were possible, but she certainly didn’t feel guilty about squeezing what she could of life around the edges of her obligations.
‘I have a visitor this evening,’ she told him as she tidied Dad’s bed. ‘But I’ll look in from time to time to make sure you’re OK.’
She checked her watch as she closed the bedroom door and went back to the kitchen.
The table was set. There were no candles but the carton had contained a one-third bottle of bourbon and it was waiting, with two glasses, and she had the wireless on. It was a music program with the sound turned low. These things, with the appetising smells now coming from the kitchen, made the setting as romantic as it could be with the resources at her disposal. She changed into her favourite dress, touched a lipstick to her mouth and brushed her shining hair.
On the nail of seven o’clock, there was a knock at the door.
It had been raining lightly and she saw drops sparkling in his dark hair. She saw him take in the room, the set table and Jess herself in one sharply focused movement of his blue eyes.
‘Nice,’ he said. He sniffed. ‘Something smells good.’
‘Let’s hope it tastes good, too.’
She had thought she might be nervous but was not. On the contrary, she was confident the evening would be a success. She did not think about what might follow the meal: whether he would thank her and leave, or sit and chat for a while and leave, or sit for a while and stay. She would know what she wanted when the time came and, for the moment, that was enough.
She watched him while they ate. There were hidden rivers of thought and perhaps instinctive knowledge flowing deep beneath his eyes. Whether those rivers would ever rise to the surface, or whether he was even aware of them, she did not know. It didn’t matter; living so far apart, this could never be more than a casual relationship, yet her awareness of the depths behind his eyes gave her comfort.
She knew now what she wanted: for the hidden waters of Luke’s being to wash away the memory of her mother and the folly of what she had allowed to happen with Denzil Stone. She took his hand across the table and looked into his eyes.
‘I think so,’ she said. ‘Don’t you?’
Afterwards she went to check on Dad, whom she found sleeping. She went back to her bedroom, where Luke was lying on the narrow bed. She squeezed in beside him, shaping her soft contours to the hard contours of the man. She slept.
A month after her dinner with Luke Makepeace, Jess was boiling an egg for her tea when Shannon, who had moved to the Regency two weeks before, turned up unexpectedly. They talked for no more than ten minutes with Dad coughing his lungs out in the upstairs room, stinking of sickness and approaching death. That was how long it took for Jess’s world to change.
‘I’m going to ask Doc Rigby to give Dad a proper going over,’ Shannon said. ‘Depending on what he has to say, I think it may be best if we move him to the Regency. We’ll lay on a nurse to come in and check on him on a daily basis. It’ll take the burden off you. You’ve had to carry this pretty much by yourself since you left school and I haven’t been able to help you as much as I’d have liked. Now I’m running the Regency we can hopefully do something about that.’
Jess was scared that the one thing that gave her life some meaning was about to be taken from her by this half-sister who, for all her soft words, had become more assertive than ever before.
‘This is Dad’s home,’ she said. ‘Are you sure he’ll want to move?’
‘I guess we both want what’s best for him.’
> ‘Whether he wants it or not?’
‘I think so, yes. I’m not sure he’s the best judge of what’s right for him now. And, unfortunately, we both know he’ll become more dependent as time goes by.’
Jess saw once again how working for the Americans had changed her sister. Whenever they caught up with each other they still got on fine, chatting and joking as before, but Shannon had become more determined to get her own way. There were times, like now, when Jess found that irritating, but she couldn’t deny that where Dad was concerned Shannon was probably right. As time went on he was going to need more care, not less. He needed it already, if she was honest with herself, and she knew she had neither the training nor the knowledge to provide it.
But what about me?
Not for quids could she bring herself to ask that question, yet it seemed Shannon had heard and understood her unspoken protest. ‘I’d want you to come as well, of course,’ she said.
And do what?
When Jess had been small, the dunny they’d had to share with their neighbours in Proserpine had given her nightmares of being trapped inside and unable to escape. She felt something of the same thing now, as though she were losing control of her life.
‘Another thing I wanted to ask you,’ Shannon said. ‘Would you mind terribly if I invited myself to tea? Next Tuesday, if that suits? I can organise the food, if you let me know what you want.’
‘You don’t need my permission. It’s your place as much as mine. More, really. You’re paying the rent.’
‘It’s your home,’ Shannon said gently.
‘Why do you want to come?’
‘I just fancied the idea. I thought it would be nice for the three of us to have a meal together.’
Jess was suspicious: these days Shannon did nothing without a reason. ‘You’ve never suggested it before.’
‘That’s true, and I’m sorry. But I’m suggesting it now. Please say yes.’
Jess was conscious of her own ungraciousness but, after the episode with her mother, wariness had become a habit. ‘If you like,’ she said. ‘But what do you want to eat?’
White Sands of Summer Page 20
