‘No, sir,’ James replied, but he did at least descend to ground level. ‘Well, they’re children, sir, and they were upstairs in an attic kind of place. Seems they play there.’
‘We scared him!’ the eldest child, a girl, said cheekily. ‘We made creaky noises on the floor and he got ever so scared.’
‘And him a soldier,’ the second girl scoffed.
‘Then he chased us,’ the little boy put in, and he stuck out his tongue at James who was hard put, Harry guessed, not to respond in the same manner. The noises he’d heard had been happy ones, if somewhat loud. Without a doubt Lt Ross had been playing with the kids.
‘You know you’re not supposed to make any noise downstairs,’ the woman Harry had followed told the children. ‘Go on through to the kitchen and you can have a bit of my mind with your morning tea.’
‘Ooh, we love a bit of your mind!’ the older girl cooed, teasing the woman with her smiling eyes.
‘Can we have cream on it, Bella?’ the younger one demanded, reaching out to take the little boy’s hand.
The children capered off, milling about the woman who flapped her hands at them and scolded softly.
‘Are there any more up there?’ Harry asked his lieutenant.
‘Not as far as I know,’ the young man replied. ‘But it wouldn’t surprise me. The place is like a rabbit warren. And speaking of same, sir, there are rabbits, though only four as far as I could see. The whole top floor’s set up like a playground for those kids.’
‘Funny the doctor didn’t mention them,’ Harry mused, then he caught the gleam in his subordinate’s eye and realised why the aggravating young woman had chosen not to mention children. He shrugged.
‘I’ve had a particularly trying morning,’ he said gruffly, and sneezed three times as if to prove his point.
‘Are you still in those wet clothes?’ a voice that was fast becoming familiar demanded. She swept into view, and bestowed a radiant smile on James. ‘There’s tea made and fresh scones in the kitchen, Lieutenant, if you’re allowed to take a break. I’m sorry the children teased you, and I can’t promise it won’t happen again. They’re so full of energy, and being cooped up like they are—well, it’s hard for them.’
‘About those children—’ Harry began, but the sound of a bell ringing down the gloomy passageway had the doctor walking briskly away from them again.
‘Well, tea and scones sounds good to me,’ James said cheerfully. ‘I had your kit put in the first room on the left as you go up the stairs, if you want to get out of those wet clothes.’
Harry stopped his roar of outrage with difficulty, contenting himself with a snarl at his junior officer and with stamping up the stairs. Until he remembered Cathy and her pain, and trod more quietly.
He changed into dry clothes, found a slicker and made his way back down the stairs and out to where the tent city was now all but complete. No one had offered him tea and scones.
‘You’re doing well,’ Kirsten told Cathy, who was kneeling on the bed, her head down on a pillow and her hips the highest part of her body. ‘And as long as you’re relatively comfortable like that, I’ll let the labour proceed normally.’
She had a drip running into Cathy’s arm and a foetal scalp electrode monitoring the baby’s heart. Now all they had to do was keep Cathy as comfortable as possible and wait.
Which gave her time to think about the army’s invasion.
Not a good idea!
‘Ring for me if you need me,’ she told Ken. ‘I want to check on our other patients, particularly Chipper, who’s feeling frisky so will be looking for mischief, and old Mr Curtis. If he’s up and about all the activity will have disturbed him.’
‘It won’t have worried Chipper,’ Ken said. ‘He’s been spoiling for a fight since the decision to close the hospital was first mentioned. Having an officious army major around the place will give him a bit of fun.’
‘He’s not here to have fun,’ Kirsten reminded the nurse. ‘And I’d just as soon he didn’t argue with the army major. That man wants us out of here, and I don’t doubt he’s got the power to achieve it if we push him too far.’
She left Ken with Cathy and made her way to Chipper’s room. He was folding sheets of paper into sleek-winged missiles, one of which sailed over her head as she walked in.
‘I want peaceful co-existence with the army boys,’ she told him, catching the second missile in mid-flight and sending it shooting back towards her patient. ‘And no enticing the kids to mischief or mutiny, Chipper—I mean that. So far our plan to stay open has worked well, but if we aggravate the major—’
‘He’ll bundle us out without a moment’s hesitation?’ Chipper nodded. ‘He gave me the impression he was less than pleased to see us, but the young lad, his off-sider, seems OK, and I met another bloke, an underling of some kind, lost he was, and he seemed like a regular guy.’
Kirsten hid a smile.
‘I don’t think they’re a special breed, army types,’ she said. ‘It’s not a genetic trait.’
‘No?’ Chipper raised an eyebrow and sent a missile gliding towards the high ceiling.
Kirsten caught it as it dropped and fiddled with the paper.
Of course, a fondness for giving orders couldn’t be genetic, but the major’s dark eyes, set in a face that seemed made for command—they’d come from dominant genes.
She was wondering what colour his hair might be, having only seen it darkly wet, when the subject of her cogitations caught another missile in the doorway and, holding it in one hand, peered in towards Kirsten.
‘I was looking for you, Doctor.’
His tone suggested the search had been her fault.
‘And now you’ve found me! Well done,’ she responded, moved to sharpness by her errant thoughts. ‘Have you met Mr Jones, better known as Chipper?’
The army of one advanced into the room and actually put out a hand to shake Chipper’s.
‘Harry Graham.’
The introduction was perfunctory but Kirsten gave him points for not putting his rank in front of his name—as some doctors she knew put their title.
‘Graham, eh?’ Chipper said. ‘Common enough name, son, but well respected around these parts.’
The newcomer seemed to stiffen, but he said lightly, ‘Then I shall endeavour not to bring it into disrepute.’
Kirsten wondered if she might have imagined his reaction. Particularly as he’d picked up a sheet of Chipper’s paper and was folding a new design of missile.
‘These don’t have quite the range of the ones you’ve been folding, sir, but I think you’ll find they’ll beat yours for accuracy.’
He threw his missile, which skimmed by Kirsten’s left ear before gliding to the floor.
‘We’ll see about that, young fellow!’ Chipper said. ‘A contest. Paper planes at twenty paces.’
‘I’ll leave you boys to play,’ Kirsten said. She turned and walked towards the door, telling herself it was stupid to feel put out that the man who’d said he’d been looking for her should have been so easily diverted by Chipper’s paper planes.
Cathy first—everything still progressing smoothly, Ken providing the support and encouragement the labouring woman had hoped to have from Rob.
‘Actually, it’s probably better having Ken,’ Cathy told Kirsten during a lull in her contractions. ‘If it was Rob I’d be worrying about how he was taking it all. This way I can concentrate on me.’
Kirsten left them to it, but as she walked out of the room she’d set up as a theatre the army caught up with her, in the person of Harry Graham.
‘I put Chipper’s challenge off until another day,’ he said, falling into step beside her. ‘I wanted to ask if you’d have time to show me over the place—you mentioned water and generators. I need to know exactly what’s at hand. And exactly who you have in the building—what personnel we have to account for in any emergency.’
Kirsten stopped walking so she could turn and face him. His hair was a kind o
f sun-streaked golden brown.
Which didn’t make him any less formidable a foe, she reminded herself.
‘Did you get a personality transplant while you were changing clothes?’ she asked. ‘What happened to the ranting and raving about immediate evacuation?’
She saw his lips tighten and knew she’d gone too far—but, then, she usually did when she let her mouth have its way.
‘I was not ranting and raving,’ he said coldly. ‘I was, naturally, startled to find a supposedly unoccupied building inhabited by the very people who should have been the first evacuated.’
‘But now? You’ve had a change of heart? Realised it would be counter-productive to disrupt the lives of the people here any more than is necessary?’ Kirsten challenged.
‘Or is this little tour of inspection so you can draw up your plans to remove the lot of us? What do you favour? Force or stealth? Perhaps a silent commando raid in the early hours of the morning?’
‘Lord, save me from all women!’ the man called Harry Graham prayed, flinging his arms into the air before lowering them so he could run his fingers through his light-catching hair. ‘Force or stealth? Good grief! We’re here to help, lady, in case you haven’t got the message. Here to save what can be saved of the town and salvage what’s left when the waters finally subside. It’s not a war—’
Whatever he’d been going to add was lost in a rattle of gunfire. Kirsten, whose nerves were already lacerated by the army’s arrival, leapt in fright. Harry caught her and held her steady, his hands warm on her shoulders.
‘It’s a toy,’ he growled. ‘Those kids, I expect. I would have thought it’s hardly conducive to hospital quiet, having the three of them around, but I have no doubt you’ve got some bizarre explanation for their presence in this place.’
Kirsten, who was thinking how…supportive his hands had felt on her shoulders, and how nice it would be to have a supportive someone in her life, nodded vaguely.
‘They know they’re not to make a noise down here and usually they obey that rule without question. It’s probably James’s fault. I bet he’s been playing with them again.’
The growl that issued from Harry Graham’s throat boded ill for James, but at least mentioning the young man had worked as a diversion while Kirsten pulled herself together.
‘The children’s father died of cancer six weeks ago,’ she explained. ‘Their mother is out on their property, trying to hold things together until the floods are past when she might have time to sort out her life—possibly even grieve, poor thing.’
‘So you’ve adopted the children? That makes sense,’ Harry said, trying to sound sardonic although the plight of newly fatherless children had unexpectedly tugged at his heart.
‘There’s no one else to take them at the moment. Elizabeth didn’t want them going to strangers in another town while they’re still coming to terms with their father’s death.’
‘Elizabeth?’ Harry echoed, feeling a hollowness where the tugging had been earlier. It was a coincidence, nothing more.
‘Their mother,’ Kirsten told him. ‘She’s one of the local Grahams Chipper told you about, although she’s Elizabeth Rogers now. Her father, the children’s grandfather, is here as well. He has emphysema. He’s a stubborn old man and wouldn’t admit he needed hospitalisation, but he was too much for Elizabeth to cope with on her own, especially with the floods at the same time. We let him think he’s here to keep an eye on the kids.’
He’s here as well! The phrase echoed in Harry’s ears as he battled a welter of emotions he had never expected to feel. They swamped his body, battered at his mind and choked his lungs. Then anger, born of fear, uncertainty and frustration, surfaced and he let it burn.
‘All these people should have been moved out of town weeks ago!’ He frowned ferociously at the aggravating doctor to be sure she got the message.
Not that it seemed to bother her. In fact, she smiled at him, the movement of her lips distracting him for a moment so that he missed the flash of fire in her eyes.
‘So we’re back to that refrain, are we?’ she retorted. ‘Perhaps you’d better go and change your clothes again. The “nice” has worn off that set!’
She spun away, and disappeared into the room where they’d left Cathy earlier. No doubt knowing he wouldn’t want to follow her in there.
CHAPTER THREE
WHICH left Harry with two alternatives. He could make his own way through the building, opening doors and taking his chances on what or who might be behind them.
Or wait until Dr McPherson came out.
He had just decided that the first of these alternatives was too much to handle right now when the small boy appeared.
‘Please, sir, James said we had to call you sir because that’s your name. Could you tell me where Kirstie’s gone because I have to ’pologise to her for making the noise with the gun? Bella had hidden it, you see, and when I saw it in the pantry I forgot about the noise it makes. My father gave it to me before he died. It’s a great gun, sir—even James says it’s good.’
Dark brown eyes peered anxiously up at him, and Harry, whose sole contact with children had been from within the anonymity of a Santa suit at the company Christmas party, found himself lost for words.
He hunkered down so his face was on a level with the boy’s and looked at the child, trying not to think the thoughts that clamoured in his head.
‘The doctor is busy right now but I’ll tell her you apologised,’ he said. ‘Now, where are your sisters? Shouldn’t you all be playing somewhere?’
The boy sighed.
‘Upstairs!’ he said gloomily. ‘We’re always supposed to be upstairs. Except when we come down to sit with Grandad, but we can’t do that much because he tries to talk to us and that makes him cough and then we have to go away. Libby says he’s going to die soon but Bella says she’s not to talk that way.’
The brown eyes grew luminous with tears.
‘I don’t much like people dying,’ the little boy said huskily, then he added, as an afterthought, ‘Sir.’
Harry felt his heart crack open and pain seep like red blood through his body. ‘No, it’s not much fun,’ he agreed, ‘but there’s no use our getting gloomy about it. Especially not when I’ve got a ton of work to do. I tell you what. How about you come with me while I check on the troops? You shoot off and tell your sisters or Bella that you’re coming with me, and I’ll get something waterproof to stop you getting wet.’
The smile that lit up the small face was like a precious gift.
‘We’ll meet at the front door,’ Harry added, hoping he sounded a lot more military and a lot less choked up than he felt.
He should never have come to Murrawarra!
Not that he’d had a choice. Orders were orders and his had said Murrawarra.
And although he could probably have pleaded some excuse…
He took the stairs two at a time, found a poncho in his kit and came more slowly back down the steps, to find the small boy standing in the middle of that vast foyer.
‘You’re looking very cross. If you’ve changed your mind I’ll understand,’ the child said gloomily, and Harry realised his thoughts were showing.
‘No way,’ he assured his new companion. ‘I was thinking of other things, that’s why I might have looked cross. Here, let’s see if this will do the trick.’
He slid the poncho over the child’s head, and shuffled it so the folds covered his clothes.
‘Do you have a name?’ he asked. ‘I’m Harry, by the way,’ he added, holding out his hand. ‘I’d rather my friends called me that than sir.’
The little boy solemnly shook his hand then raised the brown eyes to meet Harry’s.
‘I’m Anthony,’ he said, ‘and my sisters are Meg and Libby. Libby’s the eldest, but Meg’s the bossiest. Did you have sisters, sir? They’re a dreadful pest most of the time but, with Mum not here, I guess it’s better than not having anyone.’
He tucked his hand confidingly
into Harry’s and, without waiting for a reply to his question—fortunately, as far as Harry was concerned—he continued his artless prattle, pointing out architectural details of the building like the great banisters Kirstie wouldn’t let him slide down, and generally filling Harry in on the trials and tribulations of the life of a small boy.
Once outside, his attention turned to the mechanical marvels arrayed before his wondering eyes. He demanded to know the horsepower of the trucks, where the exhaust came out on the amphibious vehicles and more intimate details of the army’s mobilisation than Harry could provide.
‘Ah, CSM,’ he said, greeting his company sergeant major with relief, ‘I don’t suppose we’d have someone from the motor pool available to show young Anthony over our transport vehicles? He’s staying in the old building and going a bit stir-crazy, being kept inside all the time.’
If Bill Jordan thought the request odd, he had the good sense not to say so.
‘Can do, sir,’ he responded, then he bent towards the child. ‘You want to come along with me, young fella?’
Anthony looked up at Harry.
‘Are you coming, sir?’ he asked, apparently forgetting the order to call his new friend by his first name.
For a moment Harry almost weakened and agreed to go along, but he knew there were a string of matters demanding his attention. For a start, he had to track down Captain Woulfe and find out what was happening about the protection of the buildings in the main street.
‘Sorry, Anthony, but I’ll have to catch up with you later. In fact, I’ll come and collect you in an hour or so and take you back to Bella for your lunch.’
He would pin Kirsten McPherson down at the same time, and insist on a tour of the building while he was over there.
Anthony nodded, accepting the compromise, and went happily off with Bill, but the thought of touring the building—and meeting the as yet unmet occupants—left Harry feeling queasy.
And reconsidering an enforced evacuation of the entire population of the old convent.
It should be easy enough to organise. All he had to do was call in aviation support and airlift the lot of them to Vereton. He’d go to his office and arrange it right now. And within a couple of hours he’d have everyone out.
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