“I’m warning you,” Sir Phillip snarled. “Defy me ...”
“And you’ll what?” Paul cut in furiously. “Disown me? Cut me off without a penny?”
“For God’s sake, let the past rest. There’s going to be a war. Hitler wants to conquer Europe, and you want to go gallivanting to the other side of the world. You have a responsibility to me, a duty to your country.”
“And what about your duty, Father? We were asked to billet some of those children being evacuated from London, and you refused.”
“They’re not staying here,” Sir Phillip snarled.
“How would it affect you?” he shot back. “You spend most of your time in London.”
“I won’t have snotty-nosed cockney brats swarming all over the place, whether I’m here or not.”
* * *
The Australian sun scorched down from a sky so blue it hurt Paul’s eyes, but none of the populace seemed to be worrying. No-one seemed particularly bothered by the fact England and France had signed the Munich Accord, either. Peace at any price the newspapers claimed. His father and some of his war-mongering cronies would have a field day lambasting Chamberlain for this perceived treachery. Appeasement had to be better than plunging the world into war with Nazi Germany.
There had been no pressing urgency, so he’d enjoyed himself on the ship coming out, but now he had arrived in the land of his birth, he felt a quickening of excitement. His feelings towards Allison had softened somewhat, she sounded very young in the letter, and no doubt his father would have brought considerable pressure to bear in prying their son from her.
Dixon’s Siding was a small town in North Eastern Victoria, according to the map he held in his hand. Smithers, from the Australian office, had met him on arrival, taken him to a hotel and provided a car. Everything had fallen into place effortlessly, the Melbourne office obviously ran on well oiled wheels, but Sir Phillip would expect nothing less from his employees.
Now, as he prepared to commence his early morning journey of discovery, Paul’s heartbeat quickened. He felt like an Olympic runner, primed and ready, waiting for the starting man’s pistol.
The Australian girls were pretty, tanned, and as leggy as young colts he noted, running an appreciative eye over the laughing group passing on the sidewalk as he reached his vehicle. Later, he would look up one of his pals from school who now lived in Melbourne, and ask to be introduced around.
As he drove towards Dixon’s Siding, his initial excitement became tempered by wariness. Was he doing the right thing? He didn’t want to cause any trouble for Allison if she had started up a new life, but he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t at least try to find out about her.
His father had refused point blank to tell him anything about Allison. He winced when he recalled the vicious words they’d flung at each other and his own ultimatum. Let him go to Australia to represent the business and try to track down Allison, or he would travel to Australia under his own steam and disappear. Rather than risk losing his only son completely, the man had finally, reluctantly, arranged for Paul to visit Australia as a representative of the company.
Now he passed miles of remarkably similar country, tall eucalypts and other scrubby plants, even a kangaroo or two flashed by. Birds in a multitude of gaudy colors flew about, not in the least worried by the dust rising from the wheels of his yellow Buick.
On arrival in a town called Euroa, he found a hotel that offered a lunch menu. It was a single storied red brick place surrounded by a wide verandah. The roast lamb tasted good even on such a hot day, but the cold beer proved a lifesaver he thought, licking the froth from his lips.
“Bloody stupid pommies.”
His hackles rose, at the insult to his fellow Englishmen. He clenched his fist under the table to stop himself from getting up and punching this uncouth slob in the mouth.
“They’re issuing everyone with bloody gas masks.” The man chortled. “Much good that will do if Herr Hitler bombs the place.”
Paul swallowed the last of his beer in one angry gulp and slammed out of the place.
* * *
Mid-afternoon, he arrived at the small settlement of Dixon’s Siding. One winding main street with a few empty, verandah covered shops. It had the appearance of a ghost town, run down, deserted, somehow sad. An old dog, resting outside the dusty general store, eyed him with indifference as he hesitated in the doorway.
If Allison refused to acknowledge him, could he take rejection from her yet again? Worse still, what if he didn’t like her? What if she turned out to be low and coarse? His hands started sweating and his heart pounded with a fearful anticipation. He could still leave, and no one would ever be the wiser. I’ve come all this way he thought, steeling himself, and I won’t take the cowardly option of running away. Taking a deep breath he pushed the door open and strode to where an old man waited behind the counter.
“Excuse me.”
“Yes?” Faded eyes in a wrinkled-up face, peered from behind gold-rimmed spectacles.
“I’m looking for a girl named Allison who lived here in 1916.”
“Don’t know anyone of that name. Hang on, there was little Allison Waverley who married the Calvert boy. He got killed in the war. Her brother did too, I think. My memory’s not so good now.”
“Do you know where she lives?” Paul clenched his hand in his pocket. The search was already over and it had been surprisingly easy.
“No, left town kind of sudden years ago.”
“You remember the little boy?”
“Yes, a fine little fellow. Very close those two. Without fail he always got a penny worth of boiled sweets, even though she could scarcely afford it most times. Governments don’t worry much about soldiers or their widows once a war is finished.”
“What happened to them?” Paul asked, trying to quell his excitement.
“I think she went to Melbourne. Never saw the boy again, but she came back with the girl baby…”
He cut the old man’s flow of words off with an imperious wave of his hand. He wasn’t interested in this other baby; it only confirmed his worst suspicions.
Her husband was dead, yet she had another baby. He felt somehow cheated, because he had started building Allison Calvert up as some innocent young girl seduced by an experienced older man.
“Would anyone else know their whereabouts?”
“No, I’m the last of the originals left now. A fire went through here in the twenties and just about wiped everything out.”
“Can you tell me where they used to live?”
The man gave him directions, and Paul returned to the car feeling let down. Calvert. Paul Calvert. It didn’t sound familiar. Had he once answered to that name?”
When he arrived at the house, it appeared derelict and over-grown with creepers, the garden an absolute jungle. He parked under the shade of a huge tree and dubiously walked up the broken path. The verandah sagged, and most of the floorboards were missing or broken. The door hung crazily on one rusty hinge, and judging by the odor emanating from within, animals lived here now.
He wandered around the back. The windows, strangely enough, were intact but filthy. Something drew him to a large peppercorn tree, and yes, there it was, much the worse for wear, but still recognizable. A swing.
A memory started stirring. “Higher, I want to go higher.” No mistaking it, the feeling proved to be so strong, he knew for certain he had spent time here.
He explored for half an hour or so, picking his way amongst the tumble down outbuildings until he came to an old orchard. Pictures flitted through his mind, but they were misty and unattainable, no matter how hard he grappled to remember.
His journey into the past had come to an abrupt halt, yet he wasn’t sorry for starting it. Maybe Sir Phillip had been right after all; leave the past buried where it belonged.
He didn’t doubt for a moment that he could find Allison if he really tried, not with the resources at his fingertips. Could hire a private investigator, pay someone to trawl t
hrough government records but he wouldn’t. Allison had obviously started a new life for herself somewhere else. Who was he to interfere with it after all these years?
* * *
On impulse he decided to look up some family friends in Sydney. He flew there, and after only a few days, regretted it. Things never changed. Once the society women knew he was Sir Phillip Ashfield’s son, they threw their daughters at him, inviting him to every imaginable function. If he went to another presentation ball he would surely be ill. As for the Saturday afternoon tea dances. He almost burst out laughing when someone described them as being respectable but slightly decadent. Good manners forced him to tolerate it, instead of telling them all to leave him alone.
Ian Jamieson proved to be a lifeline, and with almost indecent haste and apologizing profusely for having to hurry away because of some business emergency, Paul headed back to Melbourne to visit his friend. Ian, an architect, lived in a double storey terrace house in the inner suburb of Parkville.
Attired in casual slacks and an old shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, Ian greeted him cheerfully. “Heard you were in Sydney, old boy. Did you have a good time with the society ladies?”
“They were boring as hell.” Paul grinned at his friend. The third son of wealthy parents, Ian had nevertheless kicked over the traces of his social background. Pity I can’t do the same thing. Being an only son, he did have certain responsibilities, even if he sometimes found them onerous.
“Why don’t you temporarily delete Ashfield from your name, and use your second one, Thomas, isn’t it? It would keep the Melbourne society matrons off your back and give you plenty of freedom,” Ian suggested with a grin. “You might as well enjoy your time out here in Australia. I bet Sir Phillip has already got some blue blood lined up for you to marry.”
“Unfortunately he has. Caroline Bowater.” Paul grimaced.
“Say no more, dear boy, say no more. Leave yourself in the hands of Uncle Ian and I’ll introduce you to the most liberated women in Melbourne.”
* * *
Ian was a great one for parties, and the tempo of Paul’s social life became hectic.
“How are you enjoying Australia, darling?” Kitty, a blonde divorcee drawled.
“Very much.”
Kitty was fun. She liked to think of herself as modern and completely liberated. Her hair was bottle blonde, cut in a short, almost mannish style. She constantly smoked cigarettes through a long tortoise shell holder. She had a sensational figure and knew how to please a man. The owner of a fashionable Collins Street dress shop, she worked if and when she felt like it, as a generous allowance from a rich ex-husband enabled her to live in luxury.
Jean, Ian’s current girlfriend, worked part time as a receptionist in a Melbourne hospital. All the people in Ian’s set were young, high spirited, and intent on having a good time. No war talk. They enjoyed life in the fast lane. Champagne breakfasts on the YarraRiver, dinner at exclusive restaurants, dancing until the wee hours of the morning, and Paul found himself easily fitting in with them. What a life. No responsibility, pretty female companions. A man couldn’t ask for anything more. Could he?
Chapter Two
Daphne Clarke dashed towards the tram stop. If she turned up late one more time, Matron had warned she would be severely dealt with. Dismissal most probably. After all her months of hard, slogging work, it was unthinkable. Why did she promise to get those cottons for Mrs. Dalton in her lunch break or the sweets for old Mrs. Vincent?
Thwump! The impact almost knocked her over. Actually it would have, except two strong male hands caught hold of her shoulders.
“Frightfully sorry, Miss.”
“It’s my fault, I didn’t look where I was going,” Daphne apologized.
Paul found himself mesmerized by a pair of laughing hazel eyes, and a mouth quirking up at the corners with amusement. The girl’s hair, a bright chestnut color, was cut short and fell into waves about her pretty, heart-shaped face.
“Could you release me, I’ll be in trouble if Matron catches me being late again.”
“What’s your name?” Paul asked, refusing to let go.
“I beg your pardon.” She pursed her rosebud lips. “Please, I’ll be late, Matron will be furious.”
“If you tell me your name and where you work, I’ll let you go.”
“You cheeky devil.” She twisted out of his arms and dashed off.
He stood staring after her. What a pretty young woman with her bright floral dress and sunny smile. He wanted to meet her again. She jumped on a bus. He tried to board also, but it lumbered off just as he reached the back of it.
“Damn.” In desperation he flagged down a passing taxi. “Quick, driver, follow that bus.”
“What, mate!”
“The bus, follow it. I’ll double the normal fare.”
They had only travelled a few blocks when he saw his mystery girl alight. “Stop.” The driver slammed on the brakes. By the time Paul thrust a pound note at him and clambered out of the cab, she had disappeared. Now what could he do? Ah, she mentioned the word matron. Was she a nurse?
“Is there a hospital near here?” he asked a passer by.
“Yes. The Queen Victoria is over there.” The man pointed across the road.
“Thanks.” Tomorrow he vowed to find his mystery girl. He would have done it today except he had promised to meet Kitty for lunch.
He strode towards Kitty’s smart little dress shop. “Are you there, darling?” he called out on arrival.
Kitty stuck her blonde head out from behind a curtain. “I’ll be with you in a moment. Got a customer,” she mouthed the last three words.
He lit a cigarette, noticing for the first time that the gowns on display came from Paris. All Kitty’s clients were rich society women who could afford to pay the exorbitant prices she demanded. He waited until the middle-aged customer left, before turning the ‘closed for lunch’ sign out.
“Paul. Darling.” Kitty glided into his arms and turned her painted mouth up for a kiss.
For some strange, inexplicable reason the strong perfume she always favored seemed rather cloying today, and after a perfunctory peck on the cheek he stepped away.
“What’s the matter, Paul?”
“Nothing.”
“Our table isn’t booked until one. We’ve plenty of time for…” She ran her tongue provocatively across even white teeth. “Other things.”
“I’m not in the mood,” he stated, surprising himself as much as her.
“Darling.” She hooted with laughter. Gliding up to him again, she started unbuttoning his shirt. All the while moving her body against his in the slow, sensuous way that normally excited him. Today he felt nothing but annoyance.
“Look, Kitty, are we going to have lunch or not?”
“My, we are grouchy today. Get up on the wrong side of the bed?” she asked with a chortle. “You should have stayed the night with me.”
“Kitty!”
“All right. She threw her hands up in the air.
It was not a successful meal. He didn’t know why but he found the food tasteless, although they were eating in one of Melbourne’s best restaurants.
“Let’s go down to my holiday house in Frankston for the weekend,” Kitty suggested.
“No thanks.”
“But why?
“I’m sorry but I’ve got commitments in Melbourne.” He ignored Kitty’s pout, and pulled his hand away from hers.
Roses, that’s what his mystery girl smelt of. Her lips, though pink, were unpainted and the peaches and cream complexion needed no cosmetics to enhance its beauty.
* * *
For three days Paul waited unsuccessfully outside the hospital for a glimpse of the pretty girl who intruded on his thoughts during the day and disturbed his sleep at night. He became so obsessed with her he gave her a pet name, ‘Sunshine’, because she seemed so happy and bright. Suddenly she appeared, laughing and chattering to Ian’s girlfriend, Jean. What a str
oke of luck. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks.
As he strode over to them his heart slammed against his rib cage. Excitement swirled around in the pit of his stomach. “Hello, Jean. So we meet again.”
“Hello, Paul. Do you know Daphne?”
“Sort of.” He gave a lazy grin, hoping it would mask his exhilaration. “I nearly bowled her over in the street the other day.”
“You nearly sent me sprawling. How did you find me?”
“I followed you in a taxi, Sunshine.”
“Sunshine!” Daphne started laughing.
“I was desperate to call you something; you wouldn’t give me your name.”
“I suppose I should formally introduce you to each other after a statement like that.” Jean smiled. “Sunshine indeed. Paul Thomas meet Daphne Clarke.”
He felt a twinge of annoyance. For some reason he could not even explain to himself, he wanted to tell Daphne his correct name. There was the matter of his birth too. He didn’t want to have any secrets between them. What would she say if she knew he was illegitimate? Fear clutched as his stomach, like a giant fist opening and closing, pounding against the wall of his gut.
“How do you know Jean?” Daphne asked in a sweet melodious voice that drove all coherent thought from his head.
“Um, through a mutual friend.” Was the best he could come up with, “I…I’m staying with him.” He had never felt this nervous in his life before.
“Paul belongs to the class known as the idle rich,” Jean said with a grimace. “Doesn’t need to work like us mere mortals.”
He watched with a feeling of dread as the light died in Daphne’s eyes, like a night lamp being switched off.
“Here’s my bus. Goodbye, Paul. See you Monday, Jean.”
He made to follow, but Jean’s hand restrained him. “She’s a good kid, Paul. Do yourself and her a favor. Stick with the Kittys’ of this world. You’d only break her heart.”
Momentarily, Jean’s words shocked him into silence. “What makes you think I’d want to hurt her?” He would gladly lay down his life for Daphne but could hardly say so. He felt vulnerable, afraid of what he was starting to feel, yet terrified of losing her.
A Mortal Sin Page 2
