While the Moon Burns

by Peter Watt

  ‘I think we can come to an arrangement,’ she finally said. ‘The house is big enough for you to have separate quarters. Do as I say, and you’ll profit from the arrangement. We are husband and wife in name only.’

  ‘Well, I expect to be able to take time off to play golf, and sit in on board meetings,’ Charles said. ‘You can make the business decisions, and from time to time, we can pretend to be a loving duo at social occasions.’

  Sarah considered what her husband was saying, and saw merit in his words. After all, she was still in a world of old men who saw her as an upstart young woman. A husband and child would show the world that she was a decent and reliable person.

  ‘You can move into the house, and the servants will show you your quarters,’ Sarah said. ‘If there’s nothing else . . .’

  ‘Short and sweet,’ Charles said, rising from his seat. ‘I expect my son will be with us from next week onwards.’

  ‘I can arrange that,’ Sarah said.

  Charles nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. He knew his wife well enough to know his return was not the only thing worrying her.

  After Charles left Sarah lifted the telephone to dial a number of an old boyfriend. William Price answered from his nightclub, and she spoke with him briefly about the death of Allison Lowe. He assured her that nothing could be traced back to her. Preston had approached him about the job and it had all gone smoothly, even with the use of a Macintosh vehicle.

  Sarah replaced the receiver and stared at the wall. She was not so sure he was right.

  TWENTY-THREE

  As Jessica was in Sydney, she decided to telephone Donald at his flat in the city and asked after him. Donald explained he had undergone some plastic surgery for his scars, but the operations were unable to fully conceal his injuries. But he was learning to live with the disfigurement. He had also decided to leave Macintosh enterprises, due to his sister’s management style. She had been able to manipulate the company to exclude him from all decision-making processes, leaving him with nothing to do but sit at his desk, staring at the walls. Other than that, he felt good about life. His salary from Macintosh enterprises still flowed into his bank account, allowing him to consider another career.

  They arranged to meet in the city to watch a movie together. It was a heart-warming film called A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. The sun was down when they left the theatre. Donald could see theatre-goers attempting to hide their furtive glances at the sight of his damaged face. It depressed him. Sensing his melancholy mood, Jessica slipped her arm into his as they walked down the street to a familiar cafe.

  ‘It doesn’t worry you that you’re being seen in public with a circus freak?’ Donald asked as they passed a woman whose young son made no attempt to hide his curiosity, staring openly at Donald.

  ‘You are no circus freak, Donald Macintosh,’ she said with a gentle smile. ‘You bear the scars of a wounded warrior.’

  ‘It almost sounds romantic, the way you put it,’ Donald replied with a twisted smile.

  ‘Like you, I have seen war at close quarters, and those stupid, little people who stare are ignorant. They were huddled in their homes when we were facing invasion. They were very happy to let other mother’s sons and husbands go away, with many never returning. Now that it’s over, they have forgotten the price men like you paid to keep them safe in their little houses.’

  They reached the cafe and stepped inside. There were a few young people sitting at tables, and even one or two men still in uniform. The soldiers hardly gave Donald a second glance, and Donald could see from the ribands on their uniforms they had seen action in the Pacific.

  A teenage woman sitting with the soldiers cast Donald a look of disgust. ‘They shouldn’t let blokes looking like that come to places like this,’ she said.

  Fury and sadness mixed in Donald’s mind. He was about to stand up and leave when he heard one of the soldiers say, ‘Shut up, Sheila, can’t you see the bloke’s probably copped shrapnel!’

  ‘Tarakan,’ Donald replied. ‘Jap mortar.’

  The soldier turned to Donald with an apologetic look. ‘Sorry, cobber,’ he said. ‘Me girlfriend is a bit young to know what it was like for us. I copped some at Milne Bay in the leg. Bloody painful.’ With that, the soldier rolled up the leg of his pants, displaying a terrible scar that ran from knee to ankle.

  ‘Well, you can see mine,’ Donald said with a smile, whilst the young woman remained sheepishly quiet. For the first time he did not feel any embarrassment when Jessica clasped his hand across the table.

  The soldier limped to Donald, stopped and extended his hand. Donald accepted the gesture, and then, without a word, the soldier and his date departed.

  ‘Well, what shall we have with a cup of tea?’ Jessica asked without letting go of Donald’s hand. He ordered scones with jam and cream.

  ‘What do you plan to do, now that you’re out of the army?’ Jessica asked, sipping her tea.

  ‘I know this sounds crazy, but I want to go back to the bush and run a cattle station,’ Donald said. ‘I’ve always wanted to work on the land, even from my time on Glen View before the war.’

  ‘Funny that you should say that,’ Jessica said. ‘Mitch is currently in charge, but I think he prefers to be one of the boys mustering cattle. He admits he doesn’t have a good head for the paperwork. Would you consider managing the property? I may have to spend some time away on business.’

  ‘You don’t think my face will frighten the cattle?’ Donald said with his twisted grin.

  ‘You still have a beautiful smile,’ Jessica responded, smiling herself.

  Then, Jessica said, ‘Something has haunted me for a long time. Something I’ve tried to repress.’

  ‘I hope it’s the same thing that’s haunting me,’ Donald said.

  ‘I know I have always really loved you,’ Jessica said. ‘Other men may have come into my life, but you always remained, like a rock. I’ve been told how you and your wonderful mother were working to help Dad establish a foothold in your own companies. You could have told me – but you didn’t.’

  ‘If I had, you might have thought I was trying to buy your love,’ Donald said, and realised that he was fighting back tears.

  He was acutely aware of how strong Jessica’s grip was around his hands. It seemed so strange that, at this moment, in this rundown cafe, their true feelings for each other should arise.

  ‘I have always loved you, Jessica Duffy, and always will.’

  Now there were tears in Jessica’s eyes as they faced each other across the scratched formica tabletop.

  ‘Where do we go from here?’ he asked.

  ‘There are wounds people cannot see,’ Jessica said. ‘I need to let my scars heal first.’

  ‘I understand,’ Donald said. ‘We’ll live each day until you choose to make a decision about us.’

  They sat together until the cafe was closed, then walked hand in hand along the street towards the future.

  *

  Donald was scheduled to attend an extraordinary meeting called by his sister at the Macintosh building. He arrived and went upstairs to his office, only to find it locked and his key no longer working.

  He glanced down the corridor to see board members drifting into the conference room. None bid him a good morning. Fuming, Donald followed them into the large room with its great table, and sat down in his chair. His sister entered the room, and Donald noticed the men acknowledged her with polite nods or mumbled greetings.

  Sarah took her seat at the head of the table, and without further pleasantries opened the meeting.

  ‘Welcome, gentlemen,’ Sarah said. ‘I will apologise for the short notice of this meeting. For the last few days my assistants have gathered disturbing information about the ownership of key companies within our portfolio. It appears someone devious from within the company has been deliberately sabotag
ing us. I’m sad to say that the person behind the sabotage is none other than my own brother Donald. It appears that he and my late mother were selling off their shares to the late Mr Tom Duffy, who was attempting to gather a controlling interest in many critical companies we own. I have consulted with our legal team, and a clause in the constitution has been breached. The breach carries with it a penalty clause that forbids the offender from having a seat on this board. So it is with deep regret that I must order my brother to leave the building immediately, and never return.’

  Sarah’s statement rippled as a shock down the table. A silence fell over the room and a few eyes looked to Donald, who merely lit a cigarette, blowing smoke into the air. He did not appear to be overly concerned at his sister’s declaration.

  ‘Well, gentlemen,’ Donald finally said. ‘Everything my sister has told you is true. I have been assisting Tom Duffy’s companies to take out crucial shares in the family’s financial institutions. This empire is founded on the blood of innocent people and my sister, who seems to have an intense interest in the family history, can vouch for that. So I thought I might try and rectify the imbalance by assisting a man whose ancestors were amongst the aggrieved.’

  Donald rose to his feet. ‘I bid you all a good morning.’

  Silence followed Donald’s exit from the room.

  An hour later he sat in Sean Duffy’s office, hat in hand.

  ‘So, the Macintosh dynasty is Sarah’s alone, since David has no interest in joining her,’ Sean said. ‘I guess you’re now out in the open as a member of the opposition.’

  ‘Guess so,’ Donald said. ‘I was going to resign anyway, as Jessie wants me to manage Glen View. I’m due to leave tomorrow night on the train north. At least my sister was not able to strip me of my allowance, which was granted under the terms of my father’s last will and testament.’

  ‘You and Jessie were always fated to find each other in the end,’ Sean said gently. ‘Glen View has more meaning than any financial return it might yield. It is the traditional land of your family, and mine.’

  ‘Jessica has vowed to bring Sarah down,’ Donald said. ‘She holds her responsible for Tom’s death. So do I. My sister may not have pulled the trigger, but she put the gun in his killer’s hand. I once read about the people psychiatrists refer to as sociopaths. I fear my sister suffers from that condition.’

  ‘Whatever you call it,’ Sean said, ‘she’s extremely dangerous. I suspect she inherited some of your father’s ways. I also have a gut feeling that Sarah is behind Allison’s death, although I have no proof at this stage. No one is safe when she sets her sights on them.’

  ‘I know she’s obsessed with David,’ Donald added. ‘Pity help the man who scorns my sister’s attention, and from what I hear, David and his battalion will be back from New Guinea soon.’

  ‘I had a letter last week from David,’ Sean said. ‘He wishes to remain in the army.’

  ‘He could take up a position with the family business,’ Donald said.

  ‘Not David,’ Sean said. ‘He’s a soldier through and through. I don’t know if I should tell him of my suspicions about Sarah’s possible involvement in Allison’s death. I fear how he would react.’

  ‘I think it’s best he doesn’t know,’ Donald agreed. ‘He has suffered enough.’

  *

  Major David Macintosh stood on the open deck of the British aircraft carrier, gazing at the twin headlands of Sydney Harbour. The wind whipped at his uniform as the sun rose behind them.

  ‘Ah, but that is the most beautiful sight in the world,’ Captain Brian Williams said beside him. ‘Home, a cold beer and the biggest plate of steak and eggs any man could imagine. Do you expect anyone to be at the wharf to welcome you home?’

  ‘Maybe my Uncle Sean,’ David said. ‘No one else. How about you?’

  ‘The wife and kids,’ Brian answered. ‘Along with a heap of rellos.’

  ‘Lucky man,’ David sighed. ‘Probably within a week the battalion will disappear off the rolls as redundant. That’s going to be hard to take. All those years we belonged to the family we called the battalion, and each and every soldier, our brother.’

  ‘I kind of never thought about that,’ Brian said. ‘But you’re right, when I think about how much we shared. We lost a lot of good cobbers along the way.’

  Both men fell silent, lost in thought.

  The sun was spreading its spring warmth, its soft shadows falling in the crevices of the sandstone cliffs and sea-washed ledges of rock. The bow of the carrier passed through the harbour headlands. Both men could see distant figures along the shoreline going about their lives with hardly a glance at the aircraft carrier entering the harbour. It had been such a familiar sight over the past few weeks as ships brought men back from former war zones. Some members of the battalion had volunteered for occupation service in Japan, but David wanted to return to Sydney to chase up his continuing service with the army, which he knew would be reorganised to meet the needs of a nation at peace.

  The soldiers aboard the aircraft carrier fell into ranks alongside the sailors as the big warship was nudged into the dock by the tiny tugs hovering around her hull. Soon they could see the mass of waiting faces staring up at them from the wharf. They could hear cheering, and the occasional name being called. Then it was time to walk down the gangway to meet the welcoming crowd of friends and family.

  David shook hands with Brian before they made their way down. ‘Cobber, I just want to thank you for your bloody good support in the company,’ David said.

  ‘Mate, we’ll have to keep in touch,’ Brian responded. ‘It was your brilliant leadership that got most of us through alive. You can be proud of that. If there was ever another war, I want to be beside you in the trenches.’

  ‘There will be other wars,’ David said. ‘We never learn from history.’

  The two men parted and went their separate ways. David reached the wharf and immediately spotted Sean hobbling towards him. Beside Sean was Harry Griffiths and a badly disfigured man – for a second, David didn’t recognise his cousin.

  ‘Welcome home, son,’ Sean said, hugging the big soldier to him.

  ‘Welcome home, young Dave,’ Harry said, thrusting out his hand. ‘I thought I should be here to see that you keep out of trouble when we go for an overdue beer or two.’

  ‘Donald, I see you ran into some Jap metal,’ David said, gripping his cousin’s hand. ‘I reckon it kind of improves your looks.’

  Both men laughed at the joke, as only soldiers could. Together the four men left the wharf and entered the first hotel they could find near the disembarkation point. It was already crowded with disembarked men eager to get their hands on a cold, Aussie ale. David hardly remembered the rest of the day as the beer flowed along with stories of the Great War and what was being now called World War II.

  For a moment, when David awoke in a bed in Sean’s flat the next morning, he did not know where he was. His head was fuzzy from the alcohol and the unfamiliar feeling of clean sheets and a soft bed. Was he in hospital? Slowly the familiar room focussed around him.

  He sat up and placed his feet on the floor, and tried to remember the day before. Outside, he could hear the sounds of a city at peace, of cars, trams, people laughing. He attempted to remember moments from the previous day before.

  Donald had said something about coming down from Queensland to marry Jessica Duffy – and David was expected to be best man. Donald was getting married! David recalled the drunken conversation with his cousin, then the memories of Allison swept over him. He had attempted to repress her memory and now felt the tears run down his cheeks. He started sobbing.

  The beautiful woman he was meant to return to was gone forever, and so was the battalion he loved so much. Never before had he felt so lost. This was an alien world where he did not belong. He was almost thirty, and nothing in the future seemed certain. From
the hills of Spain to the jungles of New Guinea, all he seemed to have known for the last decade was war and conflict.

  David buried his head in his hands and continued crying like a child, whispering Allison’s name, glad that no one could see him. He would have given anything to see her beautiful face again, and to hear her sweet voice. How unfair life was, that it should take her, and let him live.

  In the kitchen Sean paused in his preparation of David’s breakfast. He could hear the sound of grief in the tiny flat, and put down the fork he was using to stir scrambled eggs.

  Sean remembered how he had gone through the same thing when he returned from the Western Front. It was as if, in peace, a tap was finally turned on, and the bitter tears from years of combat flowed.

  ‘Oh, dear boy,’ he said softly. ‘The war has finally caught up with you.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The day arrived in late October for Jessica and Donald to be married. David had abstained from his drinking binges to sober up enough for his role as best man, and prepared his wedding speech. Sean had dug out his best dinner suit, and even young Patrick was outfitted in a suit to match Sean and David’s.

  The wedding was at St Mary’s Cathedral in Sydney. David carried out all his best man duties, also ensuring the limousine was ready to whisk the newly married couple to their reception at the prestigious Australia Hotel.

  Sean, Patrick and David arrived by taxi at the hotel entrance. Already, guests were streaming in to go to the Emerald Room, with its high ceilings, Italian chandeliers and a marble fountain gurgling water on a raised dais in one end of the dining room. All around the reception area, palm shrubbery created an outdoor ambience.

  David, Sean and Patrick walked past the entrance with its polished, red-granite Doric columns and Victorian-era mahogany staircase that led to the many floors above. David could see Jessica, holding a huge bouquet of roses, disappear into the Moorish Room. Her long, white silk wedding grown flowed across the floor, and she glowed with happiness.