The nurses came forward with cards, chocolates and great, heartfelt hugs for Tom. Some were crying as they said their farewells. It was as warm a show of affection as she’d ever seen. The cameras loved it.
A nurse with steel grey hair stepped forward with a bunch of mauve and white lilacs for Kitty. ‘Your husband’s won a fair few hearts,’ she said. ‘He’ll be sorely missed.’
Kitty noted the name tag. ‘Thank you, Wendy.’ She buried her nose in the flowers, letting their heady fragrance chase away the smell of carbolic soap and disinfectant.
Wendy took her aside while Tom was busy with well-wishers. ‘Look after our Tom, Miss Munro. This lot here will be gunning for you if we hear any different.’
It was obviously meant to be a joke, but for some reason Wendy wasn’t smiling.
Kitty turned on her most dazzling smile. ‘We’ll be staying with Tom’s aunt, Lady Ann Sinclair. After that we’re going home to his country estate in Tasmania.’ She put a gloved hand on the nurse’s arm. ‘Never fear, Wendy. I intend to devote myself entirely to my husband while he recovers.’
Wendy did not look convinced. ‘No more movies then?’
A nearby reporter was eavesdropping and scribbling furiously on a notepad.
‘Not for now. I’m taking time off until Tom’s better. The studio was furious, of course, but I insisted.’
‘He’s not ill, you know,’ said Wendy.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Taking time off until Tom’s better? You speak as if he’s an invalid. Miss Munro, your husband is a perfectly healthy young man ... in every respect, if you understand me.’
‘Well, yes—’ The thought of being intimate with Tom made her skin crawl.
‘Wives often find it difficult to accept disfigurement. Some adjust, some don’t.’ Wendy fixed her with a probing stare, as if daring Kitty to search her soul. The reporter leaned closer.
‘I love my husband,’ said Kitty firmly, ‘and we are both absolutely thrilled to be reunited.’ Then, more quietly. ‘It doesn’t matter to me what Tom looks like. I’m not that shallow.’
Just then a group of men in RAF uniforms emerged from the corridor, joking and laughing and slapping Tom on the back. Men with missing fingers, lobster skin and bulbous lips. With crooked chins and no ears. Worst of all was a man with a trunk for a nose.
Kitty’s mouth gaped in open horror. One of these monstrosities turned to look right at her. His twisted mouth grinned ghoulishly and he waved his stump of a hand in her direction. She backed away as a wave of dizziness swept in.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Wendy. ‘Miss Munro?’
She turned towards the door, finding it hard to breathe. But before she had time to escape, Kitty fainted dead away.
Chapter 32
Emma arrived home to find a letter poked through the mail slot in the front door, addressed to Mr & Mrs Henry Abbott. She recognised the writing. Cheeky Tom — he knew Harry hated being called by his proper first name.
The note inside was brief. Tom was coming home; him and his wife, Kitty. They would arrive next Tuesday and looked forward to seeing Harry and Emma before travelling home to Binburra.
She read the letter again. After daydreaming about Tom’s return for so long, Emma was oddly troubled by the news. Her life was settled now. Mum was well. Harry worked all the time but that was how he liked it, and the shipyard continued to grow and thrive. Their marriage was happy enough. Best of all, Emma had finished her prerequisite subjects at Campbell College and qualified for entry into medicine at the university next year.
Emma tried to talk herself out of her disquiet. Tom coming home would make no difference at all. She’d be delighted to see him, of course. Hopeful that he and Harry could finally put their differences behind them, and she was curious to meet Kitty Munro.
Emma had seen both of her films and followed her career in the movie magazines. The scandal rags, Mum called them. Kitty had been controversially linked to the mysterious death of Hollywood star Montgomery Grant on the set of the ill-fated Secret Heiress. She’d also been prime fodder for the gossip columns when she left her injured war hero husband and flew to Hollywood to make a movie. Emma had been outraged. It was what prompted her to write to Tom at the hospital.
They’d exchanged many letters since. She told him about her studies, and Harry, and how she’d joined the Tasmanian Field Naturalists Club. We go for trips to places like Bruny Island and Coles Bay and meet each month in the Royal Society’s rooms at the Hobart Museum. You’d love it, Tom. Last time Crosbie Morrison gave a lecture on Tasmania’s marsupial predators. Your grandmother’s name is on the big Roll of Honour board as you come in. Your great-grandfather is there too.
Emma wanted to know about Tom’s treatments, insisting that she wasn’t the least bit squeamish. He wrote: As a woman with a keen interest in medicine, you may be interested to know how McIndoe remade my nose. He raised a flap of living skin and flesh from my upper arm, twisted and rolled it into a tube known as a pedicle, and stitched it to my poor burned face. When the pedicle had established itself, he cut it free from my arm and used it to rebuild my nose. Until then you would have laughed to see me, Emma, as I looked like an elephant with a trunk.
Although the letters were innocent enough, Harry didn’t need to know about them. Emma had gone so far as to ask Tom to use the Campbell College address when he wrote to her, so the mail never came to the house.
Harry’s animosity towards his brother had mellowed since the accident. He now agreed to sending the odd telegram, with his name included at the bottom. He read the telegrams sent in return. This new Harry might not object to her exchanging letters with Tom, but Emma wouldn’t risk it. His one-off threat to expose her chequered past was never very far from her thoughts.
Emma’s initial sense of unease was passing and she grew impatient for Harry to get home from work. How would he react to his brother’s return? Would he be glad, like she was? No, that wasn’t right. She was more than glad. The world seemed suddenly a much brighter place than it had been ten minutes ago.
* * *
Harry read the letter and snorted. ‘So, my little brother is coming home with his tail between his legs.’
Emma bristled. ‘It’s not like that.’
Harry kissed her. ‘Don’t worry, sweet. No need to jump to his defence and tell me what a hero he is. I’m sure Tom will make a fine job of that himself.’
She pulled away and checked the bubbling copper kettle. ‘You’re impossible, Harry. You’d better behave when we meet them or I’ll never speak to you again.’
He recaptured her, nibbling her ear. His finger traced the fine silver chain of her necklace, where it flashed against her smooth skin. ‘Did I say we’d meet them?’
‘Of course we will. It’s been years since you’ve seen your brother, and he’s been through so—’
‘Uh uh.’ He put his finger against her lips. ‘What did I say?’
‘Oh please, Harry.’ The whistling kettle grew more demanding.
‘I’m teasing, Em.’ Harry turned off the gas. ‘What’s this Kitty like, do you think?’
Emma wanted to say that she sounded awful. That she’d deserted Tom for months while he was in hospital, and that someone like her would never fit here in Hobart, let alone in the wilds of Binburra. But instead she shrugged and made the tea. The last thing she wanted to do was sound jealous of Tom’s wife.
‘They can stay here,’ she said. ‘We’ve plenty of room.’
It was true. They’d recently bought a spacious, two-storey home in Sandy Bay, not far from Campbell College. The war had stimulated a burst of manufacturing growth in everything from motor vehicles to the mining machinery. It had put Tasmania’s economy into overdrive and Harry was perfectly poised to capitalise on the opportunity. With the shipyard booming, unable to keep up with demand, the money rolled in. Harry began reclaiming the timber coupes, sheep stations and mining leases lost by his father. He bought back Canterbury Downs,
the Abbott family estate not far from Binburra, where his father had lived as a child. Harry leased the land out to a neighbouring farmer and held onto the imposing bluestone mansion as a weekend retreat. People said he had the Midas touch.
‘Well?’ said Emma. ‘Shall we ask Tom and his wife to stay?’
‘Whoa, let’s not go overboard.’ Their new house boasted six bedrooms, but Harry’s new-found tolerance of his brother apparently did not extend that far. ‘I said I’d see Tom, not fight over the toaster with him in the morning.’
Emma felt the unexpected sting of tears. ‘Why does everything have to be a fight with you?’
‘Tell you what. I’ll book them a couple of nights in a fancy hotel in town. Call it a late wedding present.’
‘Oh, yes, Harry. That’s a wonderful idea.’
Mum walked in. She barely needed her stick these days. ‘Did I hear the kettle?’
‘Harry’s twin brother is coming home with his new wife.’ Emma’s voice vibrated with excitement. ‘Tom’s the one in the RAF.’
‘Oh, I know who he is all right.’ Mum looked from her daughter to her son-in-law and back again. ‘I thought there was some kind of rift between him and Harry.’
‘My bloody oath there is,’ said Harry. ‘Miss sweetness-and-light here wants to pretend it never happened.’
Mum frowned. ‘This isn’t about Emma. Don’t let her push you into something you’re not comfortable with, Harry.’
‘I am in the room, Mum.’ Emma rarely became irritated with her mother, but this was one of those times. She’d worked hard to persuade Harry to see Tom. Effecting a reconciliation between the two brothers meant the world to her. It would have meant the world to their grandmother too, and here was Mum, sabotaging something she knew nothing about.
Harry seemed amused by Emma’s agitation. ‘I’m my own man, Eileen. Your charming daughter can convince me of many things, but reconnecting with my brother isn’t one of them. The truth is I’m curious. It’s been many long years since I’ve seen him.’
Mum poured him a cup of tea. ‘What age were you?’
‘Seventeen, at my grandmother’s funeral, and the last thing we did was throw punches at each other.’
‘Seventeen? You were just boys,’ said Mum. ‘But I’ll admit that’s not a good way to leave things.’ Mum offered Emma a cup, but she shook her head. ‘I hope you can patch things up. What was the fight about, love?’
‘My grandmother left her house and land at Hills End entirely to my brother. Tom seemed as surprised as I was, and swore he knew nothing of her plan. Yet when I proposed that he transfer half the property back to me, he wouldn’t. We grew up side by side on that rundown farm, each other’s best friend. But in the end, greed apparently trumped brotherly love. How am I supposed to forgive him for that, Eileen? Binburra was my home too.’
She lifted her eyebrows. ‘Sounds like you both have some soul-searching to do.’
‘Not me.’ Harry’s voice rose a notch, taking on a defensive edge. ‘Tom’s the one who needs to make amends.’
He received that probing look usually reserved for Emma, when Mum knew her daughter was holding back. ‘Are you sure about that, Harry? In my experience arguments have two sides, and are rarely about what people think they’re about.’
Emma stood dumbstruck. She’d puzzled for years over Harry’s estrangement from his brother. How many times had she quizzed him about it? How often had he stonewalled her, refusing even to speak Tom’s name. And now her mother asks some vague, casual question and Harry pours his heart out.
So their row was over Binburra. When she and Harry weekended at Canterbury Downs, they often visited Mrs Mills and Old George there. Harry was very fond of them and Emma had fallen in love with the place. Exploring the big old house, seriously in need of repair, but brimming with wonderful books and old world charm. Riding through the nearby hills on horseback, discovering a pristine wilderness alive with rare birds and animals. Harry knew those mountains like the back of his hand. It was one of the most impressive things about him.
Emma had always assumed Binburra belonged equally to both brothers, and Harry had never corrected her. Though the property was vast, it was mainly inaccessible wilderness, and the house would be expensive to restore. It couldn’t be worth a lot of money. Surely Tom could be persuaded to turn over Harry’s half, if it could bring peace to the family.
A stirring orchestral theme sounded from the wireless in the lounge room. ‘Ooh, time for The Lawsons.’ Mum turned to go. ‘Top up my tea will you Harry? I don’t want to miss the start.’
Harry did as she asked, adding an extra sugar lump for good measure, and took the cup in for her.
‘Why are you so good to Mum?’ Emma asked when he came back.
It was a rhetorical question, one she’d asked many times before, but apparently Harry’s forthright mood had not yet worn off. ‘I still miss my own mother, Em. Eileen reminds me of her sometimes; her wisdom, her kindness.’ He took his lucky gold nugget from his pocket and rubbed it idly between his fingers. ‘I was only ten when Mama died. Maybe if I’d had her for longer …’ His voice broke with emotion. ‘Maybe then I’d be a better man.’
A great gush of warmth filled Emma’s heart. She’d seen glimpses of this sensitive, vulnerable Harry. When he read The Great Gatsby and cried. When he took her sailing and watched an albatross soar across the leaden face of a storm. When he heard a news item on the wireless about a man who killed his wife and children before drowning himself.
‘How could someone do that?’ said Emma. ‘To his own children.’
‘Maybe in his own misguided mind it was an act of love.’ Harry had slumped forward, laying his head in his arms. ‘Who knows what’s in another’s heart?’
Emma treasured this softer, contemplative Harry, but could never predict when he would emerge. Her husband was usually such a cynic, with his clever, sarcastic tongue, ready to poke fun and scoff at any sentimentality. However, it seemed Tom’s imminent return had breached his defences. That could only be a good thing. It meant a reconciliation was truly on the cards.
‘You don’t need to be a better man for me.’ Emma put her arms around Harry’s neck and kissed him. ‘I want you just the way you are.’
‘More fool you, then.’ But behind his mocking eyes Emma could tell he was pleased. She had to stop thinking about Tom and concentrate more on her husband. Maybe then Harry would feel free to display his tender side more often. Maybe then she’d grow to love him the way he deserved to be loved.
Chapter 33
Harry and Emma stood by the window at Cambridge Airport, watching the silver airliner touch down. A twin engine Douglas DC-3 Harry noted, glad he recognised the plane in case the question came up. He didn’t want anybody, let alone Tom, thinking him ignorant.
A posse of reporters and photographers stood outside, waiting to pounce. What would Tom be thinking, coming home after all these years? He’d left this airport as a seventeen-year-old trainee mechanic, and was returning the conquering hero.
Harry’s sweaty hands were due to more than spring sunshine streaming through the glass. He hadn’t expected to be so nervous.
Emma touched his arm and pointed. ‘There they are.’
* * *
Harry couldn’t stop staring. Firstly at Kitty Munro, who was a knockout in her sleeveless white dress, killer heels and crown of golden ringlets. And then at Tom — thin and frail in his too-large uniform, scarred skin drawn tight over his skull, features warped almost beyond recognition. There seemed something mythic about the pair of them. Beauty and the beast.
As Tom and Kitty approached, Harry peered closer. The only original part of Tom’s face were those deep-set brown eyes; eyes that Harry knew as well as his own. Eyes that shone with welcome.
‘Hello little brother.’ Harry extended his hand. ‘It’s been a while.’ The skin of Tom’s hand felt rough and strange. It had been burned too. You poor bugger, he wanted to say.
Harry looke
d across at Emma. What would she think of her handsome flyboy now? But Emma didn’t seem to notice Tom’s disfigurement. She wrapped him in a long, heartfelt hug and kissed his cheek. ‘I can’t believe you’re back.’
Tom put a hand in the small of his wife’s back, urging her forward as introductions were made. Harry wished it was his hand instead. Her blue eyes fell on him and he felt special, like the only man in the world. Harry looked away, bashful as a school boy. Kitty was simply the most mesmerising woman he’d ever seen. Emma was lovely in a subtle, elegant way, but Kitty’s luminous beauty lit up the space around her. If Emma was Katharine Hepburn, Kitty was Jean Harlow times ten.
They collected the luggage and headed for the car, while airport security staff held back the press. Kitty and Emma walked on ahead. The two men trailed behind with the bags on a trolley.
‘You copped it hard, mate,’ said Harry.
Tom shrugged. ‘That’s life.’ He stopped to light a cigarette. ‘You and Emma, eh? You’re a lucky man, Harry. She looks damned good.’ Tom’s mouth turned up in a twisted smile, but the rest of his face didn’t follow. ‘Remember those boy’s trousers she used to wear? I barely recognised her in a dress.’
Harry didn’t want to talk about Emma with his brother. ‘I’ve booked you into the Grand.’
‘Better cancel it then,’ said Tom as they reached the car. ‘I haven’t come halfway round the world to stay in some hotel.’
A surge of irritation hit Harry. He’d gone out of his way to extend an olive branch and Tom was throwing it back in his face.
‘Drop us at the station,’ said Tom. ‘Old George can pick us up at Hills End.’
Harry bit his tongue and opened the door for Kitty. She favoured him with a dazzling smile that took his breath away. He tried to imagine this glorious, high-heeled creature at Binburra. Hiking up the waterfall track or slogging through mud to feed the horses. He failed.
‘You can’t take someone like Kitty on the train,’ he whispered.
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